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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular
-Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 47, Vol. I, November 22,
-1884, by Various
-
-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
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth
- Series, No. 47, Vol. I, November 22, 1884
-
-Author: Various
-
-Release Date: October 23, 2021 [eBook #66599]
-
-Language: English
-
-Produced by: Susan Skinner, Eric Hutton and the Online Distributed
- Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
- produced from images generously made available by The
- Internet Archive)
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR
-LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 47, VOL. I, NOVEMBER 22,
-1884 ***
-
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL
-
-OF
-
-POPULAR
-
-LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART
-
-Fifth Series
-
-ESTABLISHED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, 1832
-
-CONDUCTED BY R. CHAMBERS (SECUNDUS)
-
-NO. 47.—VOL. I. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1884. PRICE 1½_d._]
-
-
-
-
-CURIOSITIES OF THE BANK OF ENGLAND.
-
-
-Considering the world-wide reputation of the Bank of England, it is
-remarkable how little is generally known as to its internal working.
-Standing in the very heart of the largest city in the world—a central
-landmark of the great metropolis—even the busy Londoners around it
-have, as a rule, only the vaguest possible knowledge of what goes on
-within its walls. In truth, its functions are so many, its staff so
-enormous, and their duties so varied, that many even of those who have
-spent their lives in its service will tell you that, beyond their own
-immediate departments, they know but little of its inner life. Its mere
-history, as recorded by Mr Francis, fills two octavo volumes. It will
-be readily understood, therefore, that it would be idle to attempt
-anything like a complete description of it within the compass of a
-magazine article. There are, however, many points about the Bank and
-its working which are extremely curious and interesting, and some of
-these we propose briefly to describe.
-
-The Bank of England originated in the brain of William Paterson,
-a Scotchman—better known, perhaps, as the organiser and leader of
-the ill-fated Darien expedition. It commenced business in 1694, its
-charter—which was in the first instance granted for eleven years
-only—bearing date the 27th July of that year. This charter has been
-from time to time renewed, the last renewal having taken place in
-1844. The original capital of the Bank was but one million two hundred
-thousand pounds, and it carried on its business in a single room in
-Mercers’ Hall, with a staff of fifty-four clerks. From so small a
-beginning has grown the present gigantic establishment, which covers
-nearly three acres, and employs in town and country nearly nine hundred
-officials. Upon the latest renewal of its charter, the Bank was divided
-into two distinct departments, the Issue and the Banking. In addition
-to these, the Bank has the management of the national debt. The books
-of the various government funds are here kept; here all transfers are
-made, and here all dividends are paid.
-
-In the Banking department is transacted the ordinary business of
-bankers. Here other banks keep their ‘reserve,’ and hence draw their
-supplies as they require them. The Issue department is intrusted
-with the circulation of the notes of the Bank, which is regulated as
-follows. The Bank in 1844 was a creditor of the government to the
-extent of rather over eleven million pounds, and to this amount and
-four million pounds beyond, for which there is in other ways sufficient
-security, the Bank is allowed to issue notes without having gold in
-reserve to meet them. Beyond these fifteen million pounds, every note
-issued represents gold actually in the coffers of the Bank. The total
-value of the notes in the hands of the public at one time averages
-about twenty-five million pounds. To these must be added other notes
-to a very large amount in the hands of the Banking department, which
-deposits the bulk of its reserve of gold in the Issue department,
-accepting notes in exchange.
-
-All Bank of England notes are printed in the Bank itself. Six
-printing-presses are in constant operation, the same machine printing
-first the particulars of value, signature, &c., and then the number
-of the note in consecutive order. The paper used is of very peculiar
-texture, being at once thin, tough, and crisp; and the combination of
-these qualities, together with the peculiarities of the watermark,
-which is distributed over the whole surface of the paper, forms one
-of the principal guarantees against imitation. The paper, which is
-manufactured exclusively at one particular mill, is made in oblong
-slips, allowing just enough space for the printing of two notes side by
-side. The edges of the paper are left untrimmed, but, after printing,
-the two notes are divided by a straight cut between them. This accounts
-for the fact, which many of our readers will doubtless have noticed,
-that only one edge of a Bank-note is smooth, the other three being
-comparatively ragged. The printing-presses are so constructed as
-to register each note printed, so that the machine itself indicates
-automatically how many notes have passed through it. The average
-production of notes is fifty thousand a day, and about the same number
-are presented in the same time for payment.
-
-No note is ever issued a second time. When once it finds its way back
-to the Bank to be exchanged for coin, it is immediately cancelled; and
-the reader will probably be surprised to hear that the average life
-of a Bank-note, or the time during which it is in actual circulation,
-is not more than five or six days. The returned notes, averaging, as
-we have stated, about fifty thousand a day, and representing, one day
-with another, about one million pounds in value, are brought into what
-is known as the Accountant’s Sorting Office. Here they are examined
-by inspectors, who reject any which may be found to be counterfeit.
-In such a case, the paying-in bank is debited with the amount. The
-notes come in from various banks in parcels, each parcel accompanied
-by a memorandum stating the number and amount of the notes contained
-in it. This memorandum is marked with a certain number, and then each
-note in the parcel is stamped to correspond, the stamping-machine
-automatically registering how many are stamped, and consequently
-drawing immediate attention to any deficiency in the number of notes
-as compared with that stated in the memorandum. This done, the notes
-are sorted according to number and date, and after being defaced by
-punching out the letters indicating value, and tearing off the corner
-bearing the signature, are passed on to the ‘Bank-note Library,’ where
-they are packed in boxes, and preserved for possible future reference
-during a period of five years. There are one hundred and twenty clerks
-employed in this one department; and so perfect is the system of
-registration, that if the number of a returned note be known, the head
-of this department, by referring to his books, can ascertain in a few
-minutes the date when and the banker through whom it was presented;
-and if within the period of five years, can produce the note itself
-for inspection. As to the ‘number’ of a Bank-note, by the way, there
-is sometimes a little misconception, many people imagining that by
-quoting the bare figures on the face of a note they have done all that
-is requisite for its identification. This is not the case. Bank-notes
-are not numbered consecutively _ad infinitum_, but in series of one
-to one hundred thousand, the different series being distinguished as
-between themselves by the date, which appears in full in the body of
-the note, and is further indicated, to the initiated, by the letter and
-numerals prefixed to the actual number. Thus 25/O 90758 on the face of
-a note indicates that the note in question is No. 90758 of the series
-printed on May 21, 1883, which date appears in full in the body of
-the note. 69/N in like manner indicates that the note forms part of a
-series printed on February 19, 1883. In ‘taking the number’ of a note,
-therefore, either this prefix or the full date, as stated in the body
-of the note, should always be included.
-
-The ‘Library’ of cancelled notes—not to be confounded with the Bank
-Library proper—is situated in the Bank vaults, and we are indebted to
-the courtesy of the Bank-note Librarian for the following curious and
-interesting statistics respecting his stock. The stock of paid notes
-for five years—the period during which, as before stated, the notes are
-preserved for reference—is about seventy-seven million seven hundred
-and forty-five thousand in number. They fill thirteen thousand four
-hundred boxes, about eighteen inches long, ten wide, and nine deep.
-If the notes could be placed in a pile one upon another, they would
-reach to a height of five and two-third miles. Joined end to end they
-would form a ribbon twelve thousand four hundred and fifty-five miles
-long, or half-way round the globe; if laid so as to form a carpet, they
-would very nearly cover Hyde Park. Their original value is somewhat
-over seventeen hundred and fifty millions, and their weight is about
-ninety-one tons. The immense extent of space necessary to accommodate
-such a mass in the Bank vaults may be imagined. The place, with its
-piles on piles of boxes reaching far away into dim distance, looks like
-some gigantic wine-cellar or bonded warehouse.
-
-As each day adds, as we have seen, about fifty thousand notes to the
-number, it is necessary to find some means of destroying those which
-have passed their allotted term of preservation. This is done by fire,
-about four hundred thousand notes being burnt at one time in a furnace
-specially constructed for that purpose. Formerly, from some peculiarity
-in the ink with which the notes were printed, the cremated notes burnt
-into a solid blue clinker; but the composition of the ink has been
-altered, and the paper now burns to a fine gray ash. The fumes of the
-burning paper are extremely dense and pungent; and to prevent any
-nuisance arising from this cause, the process of cremation is carried
-out at dead of night, when the city is comparatively deserted. Further,
-in order to mitigate the density of the fumes, they are made to ascend
-through a shower of falling water, the chimney shaft being fitted with
-a special shower-bath arrangement for this purpose.
-
-Passing away from the necropolis of dead and buried notes, we visit
-the Treasury, whence they originally issued. This is a quiet-looking
-room, scarcely more imposing in appearance than the butler’s pantry in
-a West-end mansion, but the modest-looking cupboards with which its
-walls are lined are gorged with hidden treasure. The possible value
-of the contents of this room may be imagined from the fact that a
-million of money, in notes of one thousand pounds, forms a packet only
-three inches thick. The writer has had the privilege of holding such a
-parcel in his hand, and for a quarter of a minute imagining himself a
-millionaire—with an income of over thirty thousand per annum for life!
-The same amount might occupy even less space than the above, for Mr
-Francis tells a story of a lost note for thirty thousand pounds, which,
-turning up after the lapse of many years, was paid by the Bank _twice
-over_! We are informed that notes of even a higher value than this have
-on occasion been printed, but the highest denomination now issued is
-one thousand pounds.
-
-In this department is kept a portion of the Bank’s stock of golden
-coin, in bags of one thousand pounds each. This amount does not require
-a very large bag for its accommodation, but its weight is considerable,
-amounting to two hundred and fifty-eight ounces twenty pennyweights,
-so that a million in gold would weigh some tons. In another room of
-this department—the Weighing Office—are seen the machines for detecting
-light coin. These machines are marvels of ingenious mechanism. Three or
-four hundred sovereigns are laid in a long brass scoop or semi-tube, of
-such a diameter as to admit them comfortably, and self-regulating to
-such an incline that the coins gradually slide down by their own weight
-on to one plate of a little balance placed at its lower extremity.
-Across the face of this plate two little bolts make alternate thrusts,
-one to the right, one to the left, but at slightly different levels.
-If the coin be of full weight, the balance is held in equipoise, and
-the right-hand bolt making its thrust, pushes it off the plate and down
-an adjacent tube into the receptacle for full-weight coin. If, on the
-other hand, the coin is ever so little ‘light,’ the balance naturally
-rises with it. The right-hand bolt makes its thrust as before, but
-this time passes harmlessly beneath the coin. Then comes the thrust of
-the left-hand bolt, which, as we have said, is fixed at a fractionally
-higher level, and pushes the coin down a tube on the opposite side,
-through which it falls into the light-coin receptacle. The coins thus
-condemned are afterwards dropped into another machine, which defaces
-them by a cut half-way across their diameter, at the rate of two
-hundred a minute. The weighing-machines, of which there are sixteen,
-are actuated by a small atmospheric engine in one corner of the room,
-the only manual assistance required being to keep them supplied with
-coins. It is said that sixty thousand sovereigns and half-sovereigns
-can be weighed here in a single day. The weighing-machine in question
-is the invention of Mr Cotton, a former governor of the Bank, and among
-scientific men is regarded as one of the most striking achievements of
-practical mechanics.
-
-In the Bullion department we find another weighing-machine of a
-different character, but in its way equally remarkable. It is the
-first of its kind, having been designed specially for the Bank by Mr
-James Murdoch Napier, by whom it has been patented. It is used for the
-purpose of weighing bullion, which is purchased in this department.
-Gold is brought in in bars of about eight inches long, three wide, and
-one inch thick. A bar of gold of these dimensions will weigh about two
-hundred ounces, and is worth, if pure, about eight hundred pounds.
-Each bar when brought in is accompanied by a memorandum of its weight.
-The question of quality is determined by the process of assaying; the
-weight is checked by means of the weighing-machine we have referred to.
-This takes the form of an extremely massive pair of scales, working
-on a beam of immense strength and solidity, and is based, so as to
-be absolutely rigid, on a solid bed of concrete. The whole stands
-about six feet high by three wide, and is inclosed in an air-tight
-plate-glass case, a sash in which is raised when it is desired to
-use the machine. The two sides of the scale are each kept permanently
-loaded, the one with a single weight of three hundred and sixty ounces,
-the other with a number of weights of various sizes to the same amount.
-When it is desired to test the weight of a bar of gold, weights to the
-amount stated in the corresponding memorandum, _less half an ounce_,
-are removed from the latter scale, and the bar of gold substituted in
-their place. Up to this point the beam of the scale is kept perfectly
-horizontal, being maintained in that position by a mechanical break;
-but now a stud is pressed, and by means of delicate machinery, actuated
-by water-power, the beam is released. If the weight of the bar has been
-correctly stated in the memorandum, the scale which holds it should be
-exactly half an ounce in excess. This or any less excess of weight over
-the three hundred and sixty ounces in the opposite scale is instantly
-registered by the machine, a pointer travelling round a dial until it
-indicates the proper amount. The function of the machine, however, is
-limited to weighing half an ounce only. If the discrepancy between the
-two scales as loaded is greater than this, or if on the other hand the
-bar of gold is more than half an ounce less than the amount stated in
-the memorandum, an electric bell rings by way of warning, the pointer
-travels right round the dial, and returns to zero. So delicate is the
-adjustment, that the weight of half a penny postage stamp—somewhat less
-than half a grain—will set the hand in motion and be recorded on the
-dial.
-
-The stock of gold in the bullion vault varies from one to three million
-pounds sterling. The bars are laid side by side on small flat trucks or
-barrows carrying one hundred bars each. In a glass case in this vault
-is seen a portion of the war indemnity paid by King Coffee of Ashantee,
-consisting of gold ornaments, a little short of standard fineness.
-
-One of the first reflections that strike an outsider permitted to
-inspect the repository of so much treasure is, ‘Can all this wealth
-be safe?’ These heaps of precious metal, these piles of still more
-precious notes, are handled by the officials in such an easy-going,
-matter-of-course way, that one would almost fancy a few thousands would
-scarcely be missed; and that a dishonest person had only to walk in
-and help himself to as many sovereigns or hundred pound notes as his
-pockets could accommodate. Such, however, is very far from being the
-case. The safeguards against robbery, either by force or fraud, are
-many and elaborate. At night the Bank is guarded at all accessible
-points by an ample military force, which would no doubt give a good
-account of any intruder rash enough to attempt to gain an entrance. In
-the event of attack from without, there are sliding galleries which
-can be thrust out from the roof, and which would enable a body of
-sharpshooters to rake the streets in all directions.
-
-Few people are aware that the Bank of England contains within its walls
-a graveyard, but such is nevertheless the fact. The Gordon riots in
-1780, during which the Bank was attacked by a mob, called attention to
-the necessity for strengthening its defences. Competent authorities
-advised that an adjoining church, rejoicing in the appropriate name
-of St Christopher-le-Stocks, was in a military sense a source of
-danger, and accordingly an Act of Parliament was passed to enable
-the directors to purchase the church and its appurtenances. The old
-churchyard, tastefully laid out, now forms what is known as the Bank
-‘garden,’ the handsome ‘Court Room’ or ‘Bank Parlour’ abutting on one
-of its sides. There is a magnificent lime-tree, one of the largest in
-London, in the centre of the garden, and tradition states that under
-this tree a former clerk of the Bank, _eight feet high_, lies buried.
-With this last, though not least of the curiosities of the Bank, we
-must bring the present article to a close. We had intended briefly to
-have referred to sundry eventful pages of its history; but these we are
-compelled, by considerations of space, to reserve for a future paper.
-
-
-
-
-BY MEAD AND STREAM.
-
-
-CHAPTER LVII.—THE SECRET IN THE OAK PARLOUR.
-
-At Willowmere, the rapidity with which Mr Hadleigh regained strength
-astounded Dr Joy, and delighted the patient’s nurses, Aunt Hessy and
-Madge.
-
-‘Wonderful nerve, wonderful physique he must have,’ whispered Dr Joy
-admiringly on the fifth day; ‘and yet, according to all accounts, he
-did not study the economy of either in the course of his life. Well,
-well; we do come across extraordinary constitutions occasionally, and
-his is one of them.’
-
-The peculiarity of the case was that, after the first shock, the
-patient was perfectly calm, and showed not the remotest symptom of
-delirium. He understood everything that passed around him, and when
-permitted, talked quietly about the fire, and listened attentively to
-all that was related to him regarding it.
-
-He heard with pleased surprise the account of how Caleb had rescued
-him, and said to Madge: ‘I must do something for that man; but it will
-have to be by your hand, for he is evidently resolved to accept nothing
-from mine.’
-
-‘We will have to find out where he is, before we can do anything for
-him. He intended to go to Australia; but the day after he regained his
-freedom, he wrote to Philip saying that he had altered his mind, and
-was going to the United States.’
-
-‘Why did not Philip keep him here?’
-
-‘He tried to persuade him to remain, but could not. Poor Caleb, he does
-not know what a sorry heart he has left behind him.’ Here she checked
-herself, feeling that she was entering upon delicate ground. ‘He sent
-good wishes to you, and to all of us, and promised to write again to
-Philip, so that we may have an opportunity of serving him yet.’
-
-‘He is a headstrong fellow,’ said Mr Hadleigh; ‘and I hope he may
-not ruin his own prospects by his too great eagerness to secure the
-independence of his neighbours. You see, Miss Heathcote, he is one
-of those unhappy people who have reached the stage of education in
-which they discover that they have certain rights, without having got
-education enough to recognise the responsibilities which these rights
-entail. Well, we must wait till we have news of him.... Has my safe
-been dug out of the ruins yet?’
-
-That was a question he had been asking daily from the moment when
-he comprehended the disaster which had befallen him; and the answer
-had been hitherto always the same: ‘Not yet.’ At length came the
-information that the safe had been found, and was apparently little
-damaged by its ordeal of fire.
-
-Then Mr Hadleigh bade Philip take his keys and bring him from the safe
-a little deed-box marked ‘_L. H. Private_.’ When Philip returned with
-the box, his father had been moved into the Oak Parlour, where he was
-reclining in a big armchair, supported by down cushions. A cheery fire
-with one of Madge’s oak-logs was blazing on the hearth, raising the
-temperature of the apartment to summer heat.
-
-When the box was placed on the table beside him, he desired to be left
-alone until he should ring a hand-bell which was within his reach.
-He had caused Philip to place the key in the box, and for a space he
-remained motionless, staring at it, as if hesitating to touch again the
-spring of emotions which he had intended should be there shut up from
-him for ever. His eyelids drooped, and in spite of the bright glow of
-the fire, a shadow fell on his pale face.
-
-‘Yes, I thank God that I am spared to do this thing,’ he muttered at
-length. ‘Let the secret die with me—it was a cruel as well as a selfish
-wish that prompted me to reveal it to them. What matter to me how
-they may hold me in their memory? They may think of me as that which
-circumstances made me appear, not as what I wished to be. What matter?
-The dead are beyond earthly pain and passion. I shall not stretch my
-hand from the grave to cast the least shade of regret over their lives.’
-
-He slowly took from the box the two packets he had so carefully sealed
-and put away on the night of the fire. The one was addressed to
-Madge as Mrs Philip Hadleigh; the other, to his son Philip, with the
-injunction that he, after reading, was to decide whether or not to show
-it to his wife. The paper addressed to Madge, he took up and held in
-the long thin scarred hands as if it were a thing capable of feeling.
-He broke the seal and took the paper from the envelope, performing
-the operation mechanically, whilst the far-away look was in his eyes,
-and the Something he had sought but could not reach was fading from
-his vision altogether. His was the kind of expression with which one
-who knows he is doomed watches the last sunset displaying its brief,
-changing glories on the horizon. The broad streams of gleaming amber
-and opal are quietly transfused into the pensive gray of twilight, and
-the darkness follows.
-
-‘They must never know.’
-
-He made a movement as if to drop the paper into the fire, paused, and
-his eyes rested on the writing, although they did not distinguish the
-words. And there was no need; for they only represented in a feeble way
-thoughts which were always present to his mind.
-
-‘I must speak’—such were the written words—‘or I shall lose all
-self-restraint. You cannot be harmed by what is put down here. Perhaps
-you will never see it; you certainly shall not until after my funeral,
-and then you may be able to understand and think none the less kindly
-of me for this confession.
-
-‘You have seen me in my darkest moods, and you have wondered at my
-melancholy—wondered why I who had been granted such a large measure of
-what the world esteems prosperity should find no contentment in it. I
-have partly explained the cause to Philip: I could not explain it to
-you.
-
-‘With bitter reason I early learned to believe that money—mere
-money—was the source of all earthly happiness. I was mistaken, and
-found out my mistake too late. I should have been content, perhaps
-happy in a way, if I could have gone on to the end without the
-knowledge that the want of Love is the only real sorrow which can enter
-into man or woman’s life. But there was nobody to lead me out of the
-miserable conviction which took possession of my mind as I watched
-those dearest to me fall one by one, not with the merciful swiftness
-of soldiers in battle, but in the lingering torments of soul and body
-which come to those who are poor.
-
-‘Left alone, I looked around. The whole world was my enemy, to be
-conquered by force and stratagem. Any man may be rich, I said, who
-has a clear head and no conscience; who is willing to abandon all
-sentiment, forego all trivial pleasures, and give himself absolutely to
-the service of the world’s idol. I gave myself to the idol; and wealth
-came to me in increasing stores year by year, month by month, day by
-day.
-
-‘At first, the sense of my victory sufficed; but soon there came the
-consciousness that this was not happiness; it was the successful
-working of a machine. I craved for something more, but did not know
-what it was. My wife’s affection, I knew, belonged to another: I had
-married her with that knowledge. I tried to win the friendship of my
-children; but the girls had learned to regard me with a kind of fear,
-Coutts with indifference, and Philip was the only one who could speak
-to me with frankness. His generous nature comforted me, but did not
-fill up the void in my life.
-
-‘I was still seeking the Something which was necessary to me, and at
-length I found it in YOU.... Yes, you taught me what love was—I loved
-you with all the fervour of youth. My years, my experience of the world
-intensified the love which I had never known before. I was prepared to
-sacrifice all my possessions, all my hopes, for you.
-
-‘Do not start away and cast the paper from you; I have made the
-sacrifice.
-
-‘At the same moment in which the treasure that would have made life
-beautiful was revealed to me, there was also revealed the impossibility
-of its ever becoming mine. I was like a seaman who is shipwrecked and
-sinks within sight of land. I will not try to tell you through what
-pain I passed to the recognition of the duty Love imposed—to help
-forward your happiness in any direction in which you might think it
-lay. I will not try to tell you with what agitation I learned for the
-first time, what must have become known to me long before, had it not
-been for the morbid isolation in which my days were passed, that you
-and Philip were betrothed.
-
-‘My first desire then was to bring about your union as speedily
-as possible, believing that I should find my peace in having the
-privilege of calling you daughter. Meeting your uncle Crawshay in
-the market-place, I took him to a private apartment in the inn and
-endeavoured to explain my wishes. I must have spoken stupidly, for he
-misunderstood me, and fancied that the proposal was on my own account.
-His misconception startled and confused me, and he left me in great
-indignation.
-
-‘I thought of following him to Willowmere and explaining; but the
-effort already made had tried me so much, that not feeling sure of
-what awkwardness of speech or what irrepressible sign of emotion might
-betray my secret, I determined to let matters take their course, whilst
-my task should be to keep Philip at home and to hasten the marriage.
-You know how earnestly I strove to carry out that resolution.
-
-‘You and Philip will be happy. You two have found in time the golden
-key of life, and in your happiness I shall find mine at last. I want to
-live till then; and, after, I shall pass away content.’
-
- * * * * *
-
-The invalid seemed to arouse from a sad and yet pleasing dream, for
-there was a faint smile on his worn face, and the eyes seemed to
-brighten as with the consciousness of victory—that greatest of all
-victories, the conquest of self.
-
-He rang the hand-bell, and Madge herself promptly answered the summons.
-
-‘It is you I wanted, my child.... How good and patient you have been
-with me—Madge. Take notice, I am to call you henceforth, Madge, my
-child.’
-
-‘And I shall call you father,’ she said tenderly, taking one of his
-hands and stroking it affectionately.
-
-He was silent for a few moments; then lifting his head, he drew her
-towards him and kissed her with strange solemnity on the brow.
-
-‘Yes, my child,’ he said calmly, ‘that is the name which commands a
-portion of your love—and you will give me a little of it?’
-
-‘A great deal of it—you may be sure of that,’ she answered, blushing
-slightly, and thinking how could she do otherwise than give a great
-deal of love to Philip’s father.
-
-‘You give me more comfort than you know, my dear daughter. Now take
-this paper and place it on the fire, so that I may see it burn to
-ashes.’
-
-She obeyed unquestioningly; and he watched the flame stretching its
-white fingers round the secret which was to die with him; saw the paper
-curl into black and white films; and then he drew a long breath of
-relief.
-
-‘They can never know now,’ was his mental exclamation. ‘Thank God it is
-done, and by her hand.’
-
-There was a little while of dreamy silence, during which Madge stood
-by his side, holding his hand, and anxiously noting every change on
-his countenance. The changes were rapid and curious as those of a
-kaleidoscope: now there was pain; again a stern frown, as if checking
-some rebellious spirit, and anon a serene smile of resignation and
-content. With this latter expression he looked up to her.
-
-‘Call Philip.’
-
-The son was immediately in attendance.
-
-‘I hope you are not exerting yourself too much, sir,’ was his anxious
-observation.
-
-‘O no; I am wonderfully strong this afternoon, and am taking advantage
-of the renewed strength to put some matters straight, which being done,
-will relieve my mind, and so give me the better chance of a speedy
-recovery. But it is as well to be prepared for the worst; and therefore
-I wish to have the satisfaction of handing you this packet in Madge’s
-presence. You will learn from it that when I took from you the portion
-of my fortune which would have been yours in the ordinary course of
-events, I gave it to your future wife. I did not intend you to know
-this until after my death; but as your uncle has come to grief, I am
-desirous of relieving your mind as soon as possible from any fear of
-the future; and I should have been glad to have helped Austin Shield
-out of his difficulties, for your mother’s sake—but he would refuse any
-help that came from me.—What is that?’
-
-The exclamation was caused by one of the oak panels facing him slowly
-moving aside and revealing the form of a man.
-
-
-
-
-MORE USES OF PAPER.
-
-
-The place of timber in construction bids fair to be taken by
-papier-mâché, and it may claim to rival iron itself in the multiplicity
-of its industrial applications. Besides the advantage of its cheap
-construction, papier-mâché is not affected by changes of temperature,
-does not crack, like wood or plaster, and is never discoloured by rust.
-It can be bronzed, painted, polished, or gilded, made heavy or light
-as required, and possesses greater adaptability for quick removal or
-adjustment than most other materials. Its uses in architecture seem to
-have no limit, as has been shown by building and completely furnishing
-a dwelling-house entirely of this material. According to report, a
-huge hotel is about to be constructed in America in which paper will
-take the place of stone and brick. The fourth paper dome in the United
-States and, it is thought, in the world, will crown the new Observatory
-at Columbia College, in New York. A trade journal remarks that besides
-the paper dome at the Troy Polytechnic, there is a second at West
-Point, and a third at Beloit College. That at West Point is said to
-be the largest, but that at Columbia College the best in construction
-and arrangement. The method used in the manufacture of the paper is
-kept a secret, the makers using a patented process. The dome is made
-in sections—twenty-four in number. They are bent over towards the
-inside at the edges and bolted to ribs of wood. The shell, though very
-thin, is as stiff as sheet-iron. On one side of the dome is the oblong
-opening for the telescope, and over this a shutter, also of paper, but
-stiffened with wood-lining, which slides around on the outside of the
-dome. The whole dome is so light that the hand can turn it.
-
-As regards the uses of papier-mâché in Europe, we hear of a complete
-church being built in Bavaria, having columns, walls, altar, roof,
-and spire all of this material. Some of the most tasteful halls on
-the continent and in this country are finished in it in preference
-to wood. Mantels, mirrors, frames, and gilded chandeliers are of
-its composition. Pedestals, newels, vases, furniture, and ornaments
-of all kinds, no less than floors and staircases, gas-pipes, and
-even chimney-shafts, can be made of it. In Breslau, a chimney-shaft
-fifty feet high is said to have been made of paper-pulp chemically
-impregnated so as to resist combustion.
-
-Incombustible as well as water-proof paper is now no novelty, and
-has before been alluded to in this _Journal_; but an account of some
-further experiments in this line has since reached us. M. G. Meyer
-of Paris recently exhibited to the ‘Société d’Encouragement pour
-l’Industrie nationale’ specimens of an incombustible paper capable of
-taking on inks of various shades, and also paintings, and preserving
-them even in the fire of a gas-flame. It was stated by him that the
-papers and documents shown had been for four hours in a pottery
-furnace, and had displayed undoubted fire-resisting properties. Paper
-of this indestructible nature should be in good demand for wills,
-deeds, and account-books, &c. It is also suitable for wall-covering,
-and ought, we should think, to be of great value for theatrical
-decorations and scenery. The latter can be rendered uninflammable by
-using this inventor’s material as well as his incombustible colours.
-While on the subject of decoration may be mentioned the new kind of
-satin paper recently brought out for this purpose. It is made by
-covering common paper with adhesive size, and sprinkling dyed asbestos
-powder on its moist surface. Asbestos readily takes up all colours,
-especially those of aniline, so that some very rich effects can be
-produced.
-
-Paper curtains, counterpanes, sheets, and so forth, are said to have
-been among the objects of interest at the Sydney Exhibition; and so
-there is no reason to doubt the report that table-napkins of the same
-adaptable substance are regularly supplied at the cheap dining-rooms
-of Berlin. The napkins are of tissue-paper with a coloured ornamental
-border—not only because paper is cheaper than diaper, but as a
-protection against pilfering. Indeed, so common are paper table-napkins
-said to be at Berlin, that the manufacturers advertise them regularly
-in the newspapers at the rate of about nine or ten a penny.
-
-When we think of the extraordinary uses to which paper is applied, it
-is not so startling to learn that this material may even enter into
-the composition of our post-prandial cigar. If we are to believe the
-newspapers, millions of cigars are annually manufactured in Havana
-without so much as a single fibre of tobacco-leaf being utilised in the
-process of their fabrication. The great straw-paper factory in New York
-State has for some time been making a peculiar sort of extremely thin
-fine paper, which it has been discovered is used for making cigars.
-This we are told is thoroughly soaked in a solution composed of tobacco
-refuse boiled in water, then dried and pressed between stamps, which
-impart to it the appearance of the finest leaf so exactly as to defy
-detection even on the part of the experienced in such matters. Of these
-paper-leaves are fabricated the spurious cigars alluded to, which are
-exported from Cuba to all parts of the world as genuine tobacco. The
-cost of their production is nothing in comparison with the prices at
-which they are disposed of. A slight difference in weight between the
-genuine and the spurious cigar of identical brand and size, affords,
-it is stated, the only certain means of detecting this fraud, so alike
-in appearance are the weeds of real tobacco and their counterfeit
-presentments in straw-paper.
-
-As delicate sheets of paper can be made to serve for steel or iron,
-it is easily understood that school-slates can be manufactured from
-similar apparently unpromising beginnings. They are made of white
-cardboard, covered with a film formed by the action of sulphuric acid
-on tissue-paper. This covering, according to an American journal, is
-probably a modification of celluloid. The slates can be used with
-a lead-pencil or with ink; and to remove the marks, the slate is
-washed with cold water. A special ink is also prepared for use with
-these white slates. Another form of slate is made by coating the
-white cardboard with water-glass. It may be used with lead-pencils or
-coloured crayons. When the surface becomes soiled, the water-glass may
-be rubbed off with sand-paper, and a new film may be put on with a
-sponge or brush dipped in water-glass.
-
-To the number of paper-making materials now in use must be added an old
-weed of the nettle species, not of the stinging kind. From the bark of
-certain shrubs, also, several kinds of Japanese paper are made. The
-strongest and commonest is made from the bark of the mitsuma. A paper
-of superior quality is likewise made from the kozu, a small tree of the
-mulberry family, imported from China. The inner bark of both shrubs is
-washed and dried, softened in steam and boiling water, and afterwards
-beaten with staves until a fine paste is formed. This paste mixed with
-water is then made into paper in the ordinary way.
-
-A new use of cedar-bark has been undertaken at New Bedford,
-Massachusetts. The Acushnet paper-mill at that point is, it
-appears, nearly completed, and was built for the express purpose of
-manufacturing pulp and paper from cedar-bark. This, we are told, is
-the first enterprise of the kind ever undertaken. The bark is taken
-from shingle butts that are sixteen inches long, and are bundled for
-shipment like laths. The new mill will work up three cords of bark a
-day. The first product will be for carpet linings; but the paper is
-said to be equally adapted to other purposes.
-
-A new method of preparing soluble wool from tissues in which wool and
-cotton are combined has been discovered. When subjected to a current
-of superheated steam under a pressure of five atmospheres, the wool
-melts and falls to the bottom of the pan, leaving the cotton, linen,
-and other vegetable fibres clean and in a condition suitable for
-paper-making. The melted wool is afterwards evaporated to dryness, when
-it becomes completely soluble in water. The increased value of the rags
-is said to be sufficient to cover the whole cost of the operation.
-
-With the use of the papyrus, as is well known, the Egyptians were
-early acquainted, and its manufacture was a government monopoly, as
-paper-making is to this day at Boulak, the river-port of Cairo. The
-remarkable aptitude for paper-making displayed by the Boulak Arabs
-is an hereditary accomplishment. The Daira paper manufactory in the
-suburb of Boulak regularly employed, we are told, more than two hundred
-hands before the late war, almost all natives. Most of the paper turned
-out is for packing purposes; but thousands of reams of good writing
-and printing paper are also manufactured. The writing-paper is made
-specially for Arabic writing; and what is produced in excess of the
-requirements of the country is exported eastward, partly to Arabia, and
-a small portion even to India. Though linen and cotton rags are used
-in this factory, the interior of the stalk of the sugar-cane furnishes
-an endless supply of paper-making material. In the production of what
-is called ‘straw’ paper in Europe, the _hilfa_ grass plays a very
-important part. The Daira factory at Boulak enjoys a monopoly of this
-industry in Egypt; and in connection with it is the National Printing
-Office, also under the control of the same administration.
-
-In conclusion, some reference may be made to a published work entitled
-_The Paper Mill Directory of the World_, which will appear annually.
-It contains a complete catalogue of all the paper and pulp mills on
-the globe. The total number of mills existing is four thousand four
-hundred and sixty-three. The German Empire, with over eleven hundred,
-heads the list in point of numbers, the United States following very
-closely. Then we have France with considerably more than five hundred,
-Austro-Hungary, England, Italy, Russia, Spain, Sweden, Canada and
-Norway, the remainder being scattered over various parts of the world.
-It appears that the mills in the United States are capable of turning
-out seven million some odd hundred thousand pounds-weight, in round
-numbers, of pulp and paper daily. Over a million pounds is produced in
-Massachusetts alone.
-
-
-
-
-ONE WOMAN’S HISTORY.
-
-
-CHAPTER VIII.
-
-At the very time Mr Dulcimer was assisting Miss Wynter across the
-stepping-stones, the stranger whose unexpected appearance the previous
-night had so startled Madame De Vigne was pacing leisurely up the
-valley in the direction of the waterfall.
-
-When, on inquiring for Madame De Vigne at the hotel that morning, he
-was told that she had gone out for the day with a picnic party, his
-suspicious nature at once took the alarm. Might she not by some means
-have discovered his presence in the hotel? he asked himself; and might
-not this story of the picnic be nothing more than a subterfuge, by
-means of which she would obtain a start of several hours in her efforts
-to escape from him? He at once ordered a fly and set off in pursuit. On
-reaching the place where the wagonettes had been left, he found that if
-he persisted in his search for Madame De Vigne, he would be compelled
-to do the rest of the distance on foot. He disliked walking, but in
-this case there was no help for it; accordingly, he set out on his way
-to the glen with such grace as there might be in him.
-
-He was a man to all appearance about forty years of age—he might
-be a little older; but his figure was still as lithe and active as
-that of many a man of twenty. He had jet-black hair, and his closely
-cropped beard and moustache were of the same hue. He had large, white,
-carnivorous-looking teeth, and small black eyes as piercing as gimlets,
-with now and then a strange, furtively suspicious look glancing at you
-out of their corners. His features were aquiline, rather finely cut,
-and his complexion sallow. By the majority of people he would have been
-accounted a fairly handsome man. He was fashionably dressed, but it was
-after the fashion of a Parisian dandy, not that of a London swell; and
-there is a vast difference in the styles of the two.
-
-When he had passed through the wicket which gave admittance to the glen
-and was within a few yards of the bridge, he paused and gazed around.
-Not a creature was to be seen, for, before this, Dick and Bella had
-gone on a further journey of exploration and were no longer visible.
-
-‘So! This must be the place where they told me that I should find her,’
-said the stranger to himself in French. ‘But she is not here. Well, I
-can wait.’ He advanced a few yards farther up the glen. ‘We could not
-have a better place for our meeting. There will be no one to overhear
-what we shall have to say to each other. Ah, _ma chère_ Mora, what a
-surprise for you! How enchanted you will be to find that your brave
-Hector is not dead, as they wrote and told you he was, but alive, and
-burning to embrace you! What happiness for both of us!’
-
-He had been climbing slowly up the ravine, and by this time he had
-reached the spot where Mora had been sitting but a short time before.
-Her sketch-book attracted his eye; he took it up and opened it.
-
-‘Hers! Here is her name. She cannot be far away. A man’s head—a
-likeness evidently. The same again—and yet again. I must find out the
-name of this monsieur. I shall have much pleasure to introduce myself
-to him.’ A slight noise startled him. He shut the book and raised his
-eyes. ‘Ah! here comes my angel,’ he exclaimed. ‘_Sacre bleu!_ she is
-handsomer than ever.’
-
-For the moment Mora did not perceive him. When she did, she put a hand
-quickly to her heart and gave a great gasp.
-
-‘Ah!’ What a volume of meaning that little word conveyed!
-
-Monsieur De Miravel—for such was the name he now chose to be known
-by—advanced a step or two smilingly, and bowed with all a Frenchman’s
-grace. ‘_Me voici!_’ he said. ‘Hector—thy husband—not dead, but alive
-and’——
-
-She stopped him with an imperious gesture. ‘Wretch—coward—felon!’ she
-exclaimed, and her voice seemed to express the concentrated passion and
-hatred of years. ‘I could never quite believe that I had been fortunate
-enough to lose you for ever. I had a presentiment that I should some
-day see you again. Why have you followed me? But I need not ask. It is
-to rob me again, as you robbed me before. _Voleur!_’
-
-She stood before him drawn up to the full height of her magnificent
-beauty, her bosom heaving, her eyes dilating, her head thrown slightly
-back, her clenched hands hanging by her sides, her shoulders a little
-raised. Even the scoundrel whom she had addressed could not help
-admiring her as she towered before him in all the splendour of her
-passion.
-
-A small red spot flamed on either cheek, but his voice had still a
-smile in it when next he spoke. ‘Ah ha!’ he said. ‘You are still the
-same charming Mora that you always were! You still call me by the same
-pretty names! How it brings back the days of long ago!’
-
-‘How much money do you want of me?’ she demanded abruptly. ‘What price
-do you expect me to pay that I may rid myself of your presence?’
-
-‘Softly, _ma chère_, softly. I have not been at all this great trouble
-and expense to discover you, without having something to say to you. I
-want to talk what you English call business.’
-
-‘Name your price and leave me.’
-
-‘Taisez-vous, je vous prie. You are here, and you must listen to me.
-You cannot help yourself.’
-
-Madame De Vigne bit her lip, but did not reply.
-
-De Miravel sat down, crossed his legs, leant back a little, and looked
-up at her with half-shut eyes. ‘Five years ago,’ he began, ‘you
-received a certain letter in which you were informed that I was dead.
-That letter, by some strange error, was forwarded to the wrong person.
-It was not I, your husband, who was dead, but another man of the same
-name—another Hector Laroche. When the mistake was discovered, you had
-left the place where you had previously been living, and no one knew
-what had become of you. Two years ago I found myself in Paris again.
-When I had arranged my private affairs, which had suffered during my
-long absence, I began to make inquiries concerning the wife from whom I
-had been so cruelly torn, and whom my heart was bleeding to embrace.’
-
-‘_Menteur!_’ ground out Mora between her teeth.
-
-He waved, as it were, the epithet aside with an airy gesture of his
-hand, and continued: ‘For a long time I could hear nothing concerning
-her, and I began to fear that I had lost her for ever. But at length a
-clue was put into my hands. I discovered that, in consequence of the
-death of a relative, my incomparable wife had come into a fortune of
-twelve thousand francs a year—that she had changed her name from Madame
-Laroche to that of her aunt, Madame De Vigne, and that she and her
-sister had gone to make their home in England. Naturally, I follow my
-wife to England, and here, to-day, _me voici!_’
-
-‘Your price—name your price,’ was all that the lady deigned to answer.
-
-‘Pardon. I am not in want of money—at present. It was my wife whom I
-sought everywhere, and now that I have found her, I do not intend ever
-to leave her again.’
-
-‘Liar and villain!’
-
-‘Doucement, je vous prie. Listen! I am no longer so young as I once
-was. I have travelled—I have seen the world—I am _blasé_. I want a
-home—I want what you English call my own fireside. Where, then, should
-be my home—where should be my fireside, but with my wife—the wife
-from whom I have been torn for so many cruel years, but whom, _parole
-d’honneur_, I have never ceased to love and cherish in my heart!’
-
-‘Oh! this is too much,’ murmured Mora under her breath, the fingers
-of one hand griping those of the other like a vice. The tension was
-becoming greater than she could bear.
-
-‘But there need be no scandal, no éclaircissement among my dear wife’s
-English friends,’ went on De Miravel with the same hard, set smile.
-‘I have thought of all that. Madame Laroche is dead—Hector Laroche is
-dead. In their place we have here, Madame De Vigne, a charming widow;
-and Monsieur De Miravel, a bachelor not too antique to marry. Monsieur
-De Miravel has known and admired Madame De Vigne before her marriage
-to her late husband. What more natural than that he should admire her
-still, that he should make her an offer of his hand, and that she
-should accept it? So one day Madame De Vigne and Monsieur De Miravel
-are quietly married, and, _pouf!_ all the respectable English friends
-have dust thrown in their eyes!’
-
-For a moment or two Mora stared at him in silence; then she said in a
-low voice: ‘And you propose this to me!—to me!’
-
-‘Sérieusement, ma chère—sérieusement. It is a beautiful little scheme.’
-
-‘If you will not take your price and leave me, I at least can leave
-you,’ she answered in low, determined tones. ‘No power on earth can
-compel me to live with you for a single hour as your wife, and no power
-shall. I would sooner drop dead at your feet.’
-
-The Frenchman bent his head and sniffed at the flower in his
-button-hole. When he lifted his face again there was a strange
-expression in his eyes, which his unhappy wife remembered only too
-well, and caused her to shudder in spite of herself. She felt that the
-scorpion’s sting of what he had to say to her was yet to come. When he
-next spoke, there was the same cold, cruel glitter in his eyes that
-travellers tell us is to be seen in the eyes of a cobra at the moment
-it is about to strike.
-
-‘Mademoiselle your sister—what a beautiful young lady she is!’ he said,
-speaking even more softly than he had done before, and balancing his
-cane on a couple of fingers as he spoke. ‘I saw her this morning for
-the first time. She is to be married in a little while to the son of a
-rich English _milord_. Is it not so? _Eh bien!_ I wonder what this rich
-_milord_, this Sir William, would say, and what the young gentleman,
-his son, would say, if they were told that the sister of the charming
-Mademoiselle Clarice was the wife of a _déporté_—of Hector Laroche,
-a man who had worked out a sentence of penal servitude at Noumea. Of
-course the rich Sir William would at once take Monsieur Laroche to
-lunch with him at his club, and the young gentleman would present him
-with a little cheque for five or six thousand francs; and he would be
-asked to give the bride away at the wedding, and he would sign his name
-in the register, thus—“Hector Laroche, _ex-déporté_, number 897.”’
-
-For a moment or two it seemed to Mora as if earth and heaven were
-coming together.
-
-‘So, fiend! miscreant! that is your scheme, is it?’
-
-‘I have shown you my cards,’ he answered with a shrug. ‘I have hidden
-nothing from you. So now, _chère_ Madame De Vigne, you have only to
-give your promise to marry your devoted De Miravel; and the moment you
-do that, Hector Laroche dies and is buried out of sight for ever, and
-neither Sir William nor his son will know that such a _vaurien_ ever
-existed.’
-
-‘Leave me—leave me!’ she exclaimed in a hoarse whisper.
-
-He glanced at her keenly. It was evident that just at present she could
-bear no more. It was not his policy to drive her to extremities. He
-rose from his seat.
-
-‘I will go and promenade myself for a little while,’ he said. ‘In half
-an hour I will return.’
-
-He raised his hat as he might have done to a duchess. She stood a
-little aside, to let him pass, but did not allow her eyes to rest on
-him for a moment. He turned and took the path which led up the ravine.
-
-Mora sank down wearily on the seat he had vacated. At that moment she
-felt as if she would have been grateful for the earth to open and
-swallow her up. She was appalled at the blackness of the gulf to the
-edge of which her husband had just dragged her. What should she do?
-Whither should she turn? To whom should she look for help? Alas! in all
-the wide world there was no one who could help her—least of all the man
-whose strong protecting love had seemed but yesterday as though it were
-able to shield her from every harm.
-
-‘I am in the coils of a Python that will slowly but surely strangle
-me,’ she said. ‘Yes—death alone can release me. And only yesterday
-I was so happy! If I could but have died at the moment Harold
-pressed his lips to mine! Why does he not come? I must tell him
-everything—everything. And after that?’ She shuddered, and rose to her
-feet. ‘And he loves me so much!’ she said with a heart-broken sigh.
-‘Poor Harold! Poor Harold!’
-
-Scarcely conscious of what she was doing, she turned and took the same
-path that she had taken before when she went to watch for Colonel
-Woodruffe’s coming up the valley. Her one burning desire now was to see
-him; beyond that, her mind at present refused to go.
-
- * * * * *
-
-‘I am afraid that as an ambassador the colonel was a failure.’
-
-The speaker was Mr Etheridge, and it was to Clarice Loraine that his
-remark was addressed.
-
-Mr Etheridge had had pointed out to him and had duly admired the
-view so much extolled by the young girl, and the two were now slowly
-sauntering back to their starting-point. By this time Clarice felt
-herself quite at ease with her companion, so much so, indeed, that in
-her prettily confidential way she had told him all about how Archie and
-she became acquainted, how they grew to love each other, how Archie
-proposed and was accepted, and how surprised they all were afterwards
-to find that he was a baronet’s son. Then she went on to tell him of
-Archie’s letter to his father, the first result of which was Colonel
-Woodruffe’s visit at the vicarage.
-
-‘Well, and what happened after the colonel’s visit?’ continued Mr
-Etheridge.
-
-‘Archie wrote again, twice; but there came no answer till yesterday,
-when he received the telegram which summoned him to meet his father in
-London.’
-
-‘Supposing Sir William should refuse his consent, what would the result
-be in that case?’
-
-‘That is more than I can tell,’ she answered with a little trembling of
-her lips. ‘But before Archie left us, my sister told him that he went
-away a free man—that if his father were opposed to the marriage, we
-should look upon his promise as if it had never been given; and that if
-we never saw him again, we should know the reason why, and never blame
-him in our thoughts.’
-
-‘And you agreed with what your sister said?’
-
-‘With every word of it.’
-
-‘That was very brave of you. But what had Mr Archie to say to such an
-arrangement?’
-
-‘He laughed it to scorn. He said he would do all that lay in his power
-to win his father’s consent, but that—that’——
-
-‘In any case, he would hold you to your promise, and come back and
-claim you for his wife? Mr Archie would find himself a very poor man if
-Sir William were to cut off his allowance.’
-
-‘That is a prospect which does not seem to frighten him in the least.’
-
-‘But doubtless it would not be without its effect upon you, Miss
-Loraine. You would hardly care to tie yourself for life to a pauper.’
-
-‘O Mr Etheridge, what a strange opinion you must have formed of me! I
-would marry Archie if he had not a sovereign to call his own.’
-
-‘The charming imprudence of a girl in love. Then you would marry him in
-opposition to his father’s wishes?’
-
-‘Now you ask me a question that I cannot answer. That, and that only,
-would cause me to hesitate.’
-
-‘Why should the wishes of a selfish valetudinarian—of a man whom you
-have never seen—cause you to hesitate, or be allowed to come between
-you and the happiness of your life?’
-
-‘Ah! but could I ever be really happy with the knowledge for ever in
-my mind that I had been the cause of separating a father from his son,
-and that by becoming Archie’s wife I had blighted the fairest prospects
-of his life? And then, perhaps—who can tell?—after a time he might
-become a little tired of me—men do sometimes tire of their wives, don’t
-they?—and then he might begin to remember and regret all that he had
-sacrificed in marrying me; and that, I think, would nearly break my
-heart.’
-
-The old man laid his hand caressingly on her arm for a moment. ‘Well,
-well, we must hope for the best,’ he said. ‘We must hope that Sir
-William will not prove a very flinty-hearted papa.’
-
-She smiled up gratefully in his face. ‘Tell me, Mr Etheridge, is Sir
-William a very terrible person to have to do with?’
-
-He broke into a little laugh. ‘Terrible, miss? No; hardly that, I
-think; but eccentric, if you please. The fact is that Sir William is
-one of those men of whom it can never be predicated with certainty what
-view he will take, or what conclusion he will arrive at, with regard to
-any matter that may be brought before him. He has an obnoxious habit
-of thinking and deciding for himself, and is seldom led by the opinions
-of others. Yes, undoubtedly Sir William is a very eccentric man.’
-
-They had got back to the bridge by this time. ‘Why, I declare, yonder
-comes Colonel Woodruffe!’ exclaimed Clarice. ‘I am _so_ pleased—and so
-will Mora be.’
-
-‘Evidently the colonel is a favourite,’ said Mr Etheridge drily.
-
-‘Of course he is. Everybody likes Colonel Woodruffe. But probably you
-know him already, Mr Etheridge?’
-
-‘I have met him occasionally at Sir William’s house. I have no doubt he
-would remember me if you were to mention my name.’
-
-‘I will go and speak to him, if you will excuse me for a few moments.’
-
-Clarice sped quickly across the bridge. Mr Etheridge sat down on the
-parapet and fanned himself with his hat.
-
-The colonel, who had been gazing round him in some perplexity, hurried
-forward the moment he perceived Miss Loraine.
-
-‘Good-morning, Colonel Woodruffe,’ said the girl as she held out her
-hand. ‘I am delighted to find that you have discovered us.’
-
-‘Your sister told me that you were all to be at High Ghyll to-day, so
-I have driven round in search of you. But where are the rest of the
-party?’
-
-‘Gone in search of the picturesque, I have no doubt. Mora was here a
-little while ago; and see’—pointing with her finger—‘yonder are her
-sketch-book and shawl, so that she cannot be far away.’
-
-The colonel had been gazing over Clarice’s shoulder at Mr Etheridge.
-‘Whom have you yonder?’ he asked. ‘I seem to know his face.’
-
-‘Such a dear old gentleman!—Mr Etheridge, Sir William Ridsdale’s
-secretary.’
-
-‘Sir William Ridsdale’s secretary!’ echoed the colonel with an air of
-stupefaction.
-
-‘Yes; he recognised you the moment he saw you. He says that he has met
-you occasionally at Sir William’s house.’
-
-‘Oh, indeed! But what has brought him here, may I ask?’
-
-‘He has come all the way from Spa with a letter for Archie from his
-father. But when he reached here this morning, he found that Archie
-had been telegraphed for last evening to meet his father in London.—It
-seems very strange, doesn’t it? But then, as Mr Etheridge says, Sir
-William is a very eccentric man.’
-
-‘Very eccentric, indeed,’ responded the colonel absently.
-
-‘So that of course accounts for it.—But yonder comes Mora.’
-
-The colonel turned eagerly. ‘Then, with your permission, I will leave
-you to Mr Etheridge.’
-
-‘We shall see you at luncheon, of course?’
-
-‘You may rely upon me not to miss that,’ answered the colonel with a
-laugh.
-
-Clarice kissed her hand to her sister, and then went back to Mr
-Etheridge. She wanted to afford the colonel an opportunity for a
-_tête-à-tête_ with Mora, so she at once proposed another ramble to Mr
-Etheridge, who assented with alacrity.
-
-The moment Colonel Woodruffe drew near Mora De Vigne, he saw that
-something was amiss. She looked an altogether different woman from her
-whom he had parted from only a few hours before with a tender light of
-love and happiness in her eyes. His heart misgave him as he walked up
-to her.
-
-‘What has happened?’ he asked in anxious tones as he took her hand.
-‘What has wrought this change in you? Your hand is like ice.’
-
-She gazed up into his face for a moment or two without speaking, with
-a dumb, pitiful wistfulness in her eyes, that affected him strangely.
-Then she said: ‘Why did you not read the letter which I gave you last
-evening?’
-
-He gazed at her for a moment. ‘You know my reasons for not reading it.
-But why do you ask that now?’
-
-‘Because, if you had read it, you would have saved me from having
-to tell so much to-day, which, in that case, you would have known
-yesterday.’
-
-‘Pardon me, but you speak in enigmas.’
-
-‘You have read of earthquakes, although you may never have felt the
-shock of one. One minute all is fair, bright, and beautiful; the
-next, there is nothing but ruin, disaster, and death. Since I saw you
-yesterday, the foundations of my life, which I thought nothing could
-ever shake more, have crumbled into utter ruin around me.’
-
-‘How can that be, while I am here to guard and cherish you? Yesterday,
-you gave me your love—your life. What power on earth can tear them from
-me?’
-
-‘Ah me! Listen, and you shall learn.’
-
-She sat for a few moments with bent head, as if scarcely knowing how to
-begin. The colonel was standing a little way from her, one of his arms
-twined round the slender stem of a sapling.
-
-‘What I am about to tell you is the life-story of a most unhappy
-woman,’ she said, lifting her head and gazing sadly into his eyes. ‘My
-father was an Englishman, who was engaged for many years in business
-near Paris. I was educated in a convent, as girls are educated in
-France. I had left the convent about a year, and was keeping my
-father’s house—my mother having died meanwhile, and my sister being
-away at school—when a certain Monsieur Laroche became a frequent
-visitor. Before long, my father told me that his affairs were deeply
-involved. Laroche was the only man who could or would save him, and
-that only on condition that I became his wife. I was little more than
-a child in worldly knowledge; I knew that in France the question of
-a girl’s marriage is always settled by her parents; so, although I
-already detested the man, I yielded to my father’s entreaties, and
-became Madame Laroche. Within a year, my father died—by his own hand.’
-
-‘My poor Mora!’
-
-‘Whatever wreck of property he left behind, my husband contrived
-to obtain possession of. But before that time, I knew him to be an
-inveterate gambler, and worse! Of my life at that time I care not now
-to speak. Can there be many such men as he in the world—such tigers in
-human form? I hope not.
-
-‘Some time after, when my life had become a burden almost greater than
-I could bear, there came news of the death of my godmother, and that
-she had left me a legacy of two thousand pounds. The money had not been
-six hours in my possession, before my husband broke open my bureau and
-robbed me of the whole of it, together with my own and my mother’s
-jewels. I was left utterly destitute. A few months later came the war,
-the siege of Paris, and the famine. Oh! that terrible time. I often
-live it over again in my dreams even now.’
-
-‘And you have gone through all this!’ said the colonel.
-
-‘I had no tidings of my husband till the war was over,’ resumed Mora.
-‘Then came news indeed. He had been detected cheating at cards—there
-had been a quarrel—the lights had been blown out, and the man who had
-accused him had been shot through the heart. My husband was tried,
-found guilty, and condemned to a long term of penal servitude.’
-
-‘A happy riddance for you and every one,’ remarked the colonel with a
-shrug.
-
-‘I had friends who did not desert me in my extremity. I gave lessons
-in English, and so contrived to live. One day there came an official
-notification that my husband was dead. He had died in prison, and had
-been buried in a convict’s grave. Was it wicked to feel glad when I
-read the news? If so, then was I wicked indeed.’
-
-‘No one but a hypocrite could have pretended to feel otherwise than
-glad.’
-
-‘My sister was with me by that time. I never told her the history of my
-marriage, and my husband she had never seen. She knew only that I had
-been deserted and was now a widow. Our quiet life went on for a time,
-and then, by the death of an aunt, I came into possession of a small
-fortune. I changed my name, as requested in my aunt’s will, and after a
-little while Clarice and I came to England. The rest you know.’
-
-The colonel looked puzzled. ‘Pardon me,’ he said, ‘if I fail to see why
-you have thought it needful to tell me to-day that which I did not wish
-or ask to be enlightened about yesterday.’
-
-‘I have told you this to-day because yesterday, a little while after
-you left me, I saw—my husband.’
-
-‘Your husband!—But how’—— He stared at her as though he could not say
-another word. Mora was now the calmer of the two.
-
-‘The letter which I received five years ago informing me of his death
-was sent to me in error. Another man bearing the same name as my
-husband—a _déporté_ like him, had died; and somehow one convict would
-seem to have been mistaken for the other.’
-
-‘O Mora, Mora, and am I then to lose you!’ cried the colonel.
-
-She did not speak; but at that moment all the anguish of her soul was
-revealed in her eyes.
-
-Involuntarily he moved from the place where he had been standing and
-sat down by her side.
-
-‘And I love you so dearly!—so dearly!’
-
-‘And I you!’ she answered scarcely above a whisper. ‘I may tell you
-this now—for the last time.’
-
-Their hands sought each other, touched and clasped. In the silence
-that ensued, the leaves seemed whispering among themselves of that
-which they had just heard; while the stream went frothing and fuming
-on its way like some wordy egotist who cares for nothing save his own
-ceaseless babble.
-
-‘And this miscreant has tracked you?’ said the colonel at length.
-
-‘He was with me but just now. He may return at any moment.’
-
-‘Such vermin as he have seldom more than one thought, one want—Money. I
-am rich, and if’——
-
-Mora shook her head. ‘He wants more than money.’
-
-‘Ha!’
-
-‘You do not know Hector Laroche. As I said before, he is a tiger in
-human form. He loves gold; but he loves still better to have under his
-claws a writhing, helpless, palpitating victim, whom he can torture and
-play with and toss to and fro at his pleasure, over whose agonies he
-can gloat, and whose heart he can slowly vivisect and smile while he
-does it.’
-
-‘And he would make such a victim of you?’
-
-‘He has done it once, and he would do it again. He is now passing under
-a false name. What he demands is, that instead of claiming me as the
-wife whom he married several years ago, I shall go through a second
-form of marriage with him under the name he is now known by, and that
-by such means the dark story of his former life shall be buried for
-ever.’
-
-‘There is no law, human or divine, that can compel you to accede to
-so monstrous a demand,’ exclaimed the colonel in tones resonant with
-indignation.
-
-‘As I said before—you do not know the man. Should I refuse to accede
-to his wishes, he threatens to go to Sir William Ridsdale—for with
-his usual diabolical ingenuity, he has found out all about Clarice’s
-engagement—and say to him: “Are you aware that your son is about to
-marry a person whose sister is the wife of a _déporté_—of a man who has
-undergone a term of penal servitude?” And, O Colonel Woodruffe! if he
-does that—if he does that, what will become of my poor Clarice!’
-
-‘A scheme worthy of the Foul Fiend himself!’ exclaimed the colonel as
-he sprang to his feet.
-
-There was a painful pause. The colonel was thoroughly taken aback by
-what he had just heard. At length he said slowly: ‘Surely—surely there
-must be some way of escape.’
-
-Mora shook her head. ‘I know of none,’ she answered simply.
-
-A few moments later, there was a noise of approaching footsteps. The
-colonel drew a pace or two farther away.
-
-
-
-
-CHRISTMAS TREES.
-
-THEIR SHADY SIDE.
-
-
-The few words I am about to write upon the subject of Christmas Trees
-for children may perhaps be best illustrated by what originally gave
-rise to these remarks—namely, the first festivity of the kind attended
-by my own juveniles. It was given by a friend, whose rooms were narrow
-in proportion to the numbers of small people she expected, and seniors
-were therefore not included in the invitations. I was asked, however,
-to go on the morning of the party to inspect the tree when it was set
-up and loaded with its treasures. A goodly array they surely formed.
-Toys of every kind, most of them very costly; for my friend had been
-regardless of expense. He calculated that eighty pounds would scarcely
-cover the outlay upon the articles provided. When I considered how
-easy to please in their playthings children often are; how tenderly
-the battered doll or dilapidated horse is sometimes cherished; how the
-sixpenny toy with the charm of novelty upon it, will put out of favour
-its guinea predecessor—for children, unlike adults, do not estimate
-things because of their money value—I could not help thinking this
-was a sad waste of money. The delicate machinery of those expensive
-mechanical toys would also run great risk of being put out of order or
-broken among the crowd of eager children, with no parents present to
-guard them from injury. Altogether, the gorgeous Christmas tree seemed
-destined to be ‘a thing of beauty and of joy’ for a very short time
-indeed.
-
-The eventful evening arrived, and great was the excitement. My small
-daughter was a pretty child, and very comely she looked in her dainty
-lace-trimmed frock and pink ribbons, when, with her young brother, she
-came fluttering into my boudoir; nurse, proud and pleased, escorting
-the pair and carrying their wraps. With true feminine instinct, the
-little damsel betook herself to the tall pier-glass, surveying her
-finery therein with much satisfaction. ‘I daresay,’ she said, turning
-round after a prolonged gaze, ‘that I shall be the nicest-dressed
-little girl at the party!’
-
-‘No, indeed—that you won’t,’ promptly interposed nurse. ‘Don’t you go
-to think such a thing, dear. You’ll see, when you get into the room,
-there’ll be a-many little ladies just as nice as yourself, perhaps even
-nicer.’ Which speech was a sacrifice of candour on the part of nurse,
-who was given to regard her young charge as being as good as the best,
-though she felt called on by duty to nip vanity in the bud.
-
-The morning after a night’s dissipation is generally a trying one,
-when excitement has passed off and reaction set in. Late hours and
-hot rooms, fruits and pastries and unwholesome liquids at times when
-healthy slumbers would otherwise have been the order of the night, are
-apt to have a damaging effect upon the temper. The present occasion was
-no exception to the rule. My children were not looking their happiest
-when they appeared carrying a load of things which they laid roughly
-down and proceeded to turn over with a listless air.
-
-‘What lovely toys!’ I exclaimed. It was truly an _embarras de
-richesses_. There were treasures that, if gradually bestowed, would
-have driven the recipients wild with delight. ‘What fortunate young
-people you are!’ I added, examining the glittering heap that they were
-surveying so discontentedly. ‘Don’t you think so?’
-
-‘The little B——s got much better things!’ they murmured.
-
-‘This doll, so beautifully dressed’——
-
-‘Ah, if you had seen the one Mary got!’ pouted the little girl, pushing
-with her foot the despised doll. ‘It opened and shut its eyes, and had
-a pearl necklace and embroidered shoes. And Mary was so conceited and
-disagreeable about it; and so ill-natured, she’d scarcely let me look
-at it. I hate Mary B——!’
-
-‘You were great friends with her,’ cried the young brother, ‘until she
-got that better doll; and you were just as conceited, too, about your
-own, until hers cut it out.’
-
-‘Oh, _you_ needn’t talk, after the way you behaved to poor little Fred
-H——. Would you believe it, mamma? he quarrelled with that poor child—a
-little mite of a fellow, not half his size—hustling and bullying him,
-and wanting to drag away his book that he got for a prize.’
-
-‘No; I did not want to drag it away from him. Don’t tell stories. ’Twas
-to be an exchange. I got a ridiculous toy-horse—a little rubbishy
-thing, only fit for a baby like him; and he said he would take it and
-give me the book—a lovely _Robinson Crusoe_, that he couldn’t read. And
-then the stupid little fellow howled when I went to get it from him.’
-
-‘And you flew into a rage, and smashed the toy; and the governess said
-it was a shame, and’——
-
-‘Oh, come!’ I said, interrupting recriminations that were getting
-angry, and putting a stop to the dispute.
-
-It was not the moment for impressing moral truths upon the young pair;
-but while deferring these to a more fitting opportunity, I made my
-own reflections upon Christmas trees in general and this party in
-particular.
-
-It was plain that envy, hatred, and much uncharitableness had resulted
-from it—feelings latent, alas! in our poor human nature, that need not
-premature development. Discontent too, and rivalry and greed were, it
-would seem from the nature of the entertainment, liable to be aroused
-in childish breasts. So I locked away the disparaged prizes, until
-later on, when the satiety produced by a glut had passed off and
-envious comparisons were forgotten.
-
-We had merry gatherings of small people at wholesome hours, and happy
-little feasts, and games and romps in every-day clothes. But this was
-my children’s first—and last—Christmas Tree.
-
-
-
-
-THE MISSING CLUE.
-
-
-CHAPTER VI.—HOBB DIPPING BEWILDERED.
-
-Mine host of the _Saxonford Arms_ sits in his lonely back-parlour,
-looking thoughtfully into the fire, and taking alternate whiffs and
-pulls from a clay pipe and a beer-jug which stands on the table at his
-elbow. During the past week, no traveller has entered Hobb Dipping’s
-ancient house of entertainment, and the worthy man was beginning to
-wonder whether it was within the bounds of possibility that any one
-would ever enter it again. For several days the snow had been drifting
-up against his front-door, and for over a week the howling wind had
-stormed and beat against the walls of the old inn. True, the wind had
-dropped somewhat during the night; but Jerry—the man-of-all-work, and
-old Dipping’s special informant upon all matters—had reported that
-the snow-drift was ‘alarmin’ deep in places;’ while, if he needed any
-confirmation of this statement, he had but to turn his eyes towards
-the windows and gaze over the frozen waste which extended on every side.
-
-Hobb Dipping was an old man now, and fifteen years had whitened his
-hair since the fatal night when Sir Carnaby Vincent was shot by the
-military in his house. The innkeeper’s thoughts had apparently at this
-moment been dwelling upon that catastrophe, for he muttered to himself:
-‘Fifteen years! I shouldn’t ha’ thought it!’ at the same time looking
-gloomily at a well-thumbed scrap of paper which he was turning over
-between his fingers. ‘Fifteen years!’ muttered old Dipping, who was
-enveloped in a thick volume of smoke, consequent upon his exertions
-with the clay pipe aforesaid—‘fifteen years, an’ no one’s guessed it
-yet. Why, what fools we all be!’
-
-‘Hi, master!’ says Jerry, popping his head in through the doorway.
-‘Here’s a gentleman come; wants to know if he can be put up for a night
-or two.’
-
-Old Hobb peeped through a little latticed window into the courtyard,
-and saw a gentleman of military aspect sitting motionless in his saddle
-amidst a thin cloud of falling snow. It is Reginald Ainslie.
-
-‘Why do you keep the gentleman waiting out there?’ is the indignant
-exclamation of mine host, who seems to be endowed with sudden energy.
-‘Put up for a night or two! Of course he can; for a month, if he likes.
-Show the gentleman in, and then go attend to his horse.’
-
-When the man has disappeared, old Dipping bustles out of the room to
-find something to tie over his head, before he dares to venture into
-the cold biting air. On his return, he finds his visitor has thrown
-aside his heavy riding-cloak, and is reclining in an armchair, with
-every appearance of fatigue expressed in his attitude and countenance.
-Jerry whispers that the gallant must be right bad, for it was all
-he could do to help him out of the saddle. ‘And his nag ain’t much
-better,’ he goes on. ‘They ha’ come a long bad road this day, I’ll
-warrant.’
-
-Dismissing his vassal hastily, Hobb Dipping pours out a mug of strong
-spiced ale, and presents it to his visitor.
-
-‘I ask your pardon, sir,’ said the old man, ‘for letting you wait such
-a while outside; the snow lies so thick that I did not hear the sound
-of your horse’s hoofs.’
-
-Before honest Dipping could finish his speech, he was startled by his
-visitor making a quick movement and catching eagerly at the scrap of
-paper which the landlord had a short while ago held in his hand, and
-which, on rising to receive the traveller, he had laid on the table.
-There was a short uncomfortable pause, while Reginald eagerly turned
-over the object in his hand. ‘How did you come by this?’ he at length
-gasped out, the tone of his voice expressing great eagerness and
-anxiety.
-
-Hobb Dipping’s first thought was to hollo for Jerry, having some idea
-that his strange visitor’s head must be turned; his second, was to try
-and remember where he had placed his spectacles.
-
-‘My sight is bad, sir,’ he said as he fumbled in his pockets. ‘I can
-scarcely make out what you be askin’ of.’
-
-‘This—this piece of paper!’ exclaimed Ainslie, thrusting forward the
-identical scrap which old Hobb had been examining at the time of his
-arrival.
-
-‘It come here by accident, sir,’ answered old Hobb slowly and
-unwillingly.
-
-‘Was left here, eh?’
-
-‘Just so, sir—it were.’
-
-‘How long ago?’
-
-‘Well, sir, it’s something between fifteen and sixteen year.’
-
-‘Gracious powers!’ vociferated Ainslie, striking his fist on the table.
-‘I believe the man was right.’
-
-The landlord stretched out one hand imploringly towards his excited
-visitor.
-
-‘What now?’ inquired Reginald, who was vainly endeavouring to peruse
-the writing with which the paper was covered.
-
-‘I want you to give me back that paper, sir.’
-
-‘Be good enough, landlord, to leave it with me for the present, and
-bring me something to eat!’
-
-Old Hobb looked wistfully at the scrap of paper which his visitor was
-handling, and proceeded to the larder, with considerable misgiving
-expressed on his countenance. When mine host at length returned, he
-found his guest a trifle more composed. Reginald Ainslie was still
-poring over the mysterious piece of paper; but it was evident, from his
-disappointed mien, that he was considerably perplexed.
-
-‘Landlord,’ he said in a low voice, when the arrangements for his meal
-were complete, ‘close the door!’
-
-Hobb Dipping obeyed, and then stood waiting, as if for further orders.
-
-‘Sit down,’ said the lieutenant.
-
-The landlord seated himself in silence, and watched his visitor. After
-a few minutes had passed in silence, Reginald Ainslie laid down his
-knife and fork and leaned back in his chair.
-
-‘Is your name Dipping?’
-
-‘It is so, sir.’
-
-‘Will you please to tell me,’ continued Ainslie, ‘the particulars of
-how you became possessed of this scrap of paper?’
-
-Old Hobb waxed extremely uncomfortable under the visitor’s fixed gaze;
-he scratched his bald skull, looked wistfully round the room, and
-then asked in an affrighted whisper: ‘Be you anything to do with the
-magistrates, sir?’
-
-Reginald shook his head.
-
-‘If you’re not, sir,’ went on the landlord, evidently very much
-relieved, ‘would you mind first letting me know your reason for askin’
-those questions?’
-
-‘My reason for asking them,’ answered Reginald, ‘is because your reply
-may prove to be of serious importance to me. I have ridden a long way,
-a very long way, and solely on purpose to communicate with the landlord
-of this inn upon a subject which may prove the means of benefiting us
-both.—Do you remember a gentleman named Sir Carnaby Vincent?’
-
-Hobb started a little at the abruptness of the question, but answered:
-‘Ay, sir, that I do. And haven’t I good cause to remember him? That bit
-of paper, sir, I have always fancied belonged to the poor gentleman.
-I found it on the stairs while the red-coats were searchin’ his room;
-they must ha’ passed it somehow.’
-
-‘That was on the night when he was shot here—was it not?’
-
-‘You seem to know pretty much about it, sir,’ remarked the host, with
-an inquisitive look. ‘I ain’t going to deny the fact; it did happen on
-that night. But excuse me being so bold, sir; you must have been quite
-a young chap at that time; you can’t recollect it, surely?’
-
-‘I remember nothing about the matter myself,’ replied Ainslie, ‘nor
-have I been in this part before. But Sir Carnaby’s attempted escape,
-and the fatal result, were officially reported to the government and
-to his friends. You think that this scrap of writing belonged to Sir
-Carnaby Vincent?’
-
-‘Yes, sir; though I didn’t know his name till I learned it from the
-soldiers, after all was over.’
-
-‘Why did you not deliver this up to them, when you discovered it on the
-stairs?’
-
-‘Well, you see, sir, it was like this,’ replied old Hobb unwillingly.
-‘I was sorry for the poor gentleman, besides being angry with the
-soldiers. But little they cared about that. So I thought as how I’d
-just keep it to myself, in case the man-servant who got off should
-venture here again. Thinks I: “I’ll give it up to him, and disappoint
-the other parties a bit for what they’ve done in my house.”—I hope your
-honour won’t inform against me!’ suddenly exclaimed the old man, who
-began to have an idea that he was disclosing somewhat more than was
-prudent to a total stranger.
-
-‘My intentions are quite the opposite, I assure you,’ said Reginald,
-eager to set his informant’s mind at rest. ‘Go on; pray, do not stop.’
-
-‘Well, sir,’ resumed Dipping, ‘as I said, I kept the paper, thinking
-that I might chance to drop across the man-servant. But though one of
-the labourers spoke to him that morning, I never see him again; and
-here I have been keeping this bit of writin’ over fifteen year without
-being able to make out what it means or anything about it. I should ha’
-burnt it soon, I fancy.’
-
-‘Burnt it!’ exclaimed Reginald. ‘What madness!’
-
-‘Can you read it, sir?’ inquired old Hobb in a curious tone.
-
-‘Read it! No, I cannot; worse luck. Chinese looks quite easy compared
-with the jumble of letters which are set down upon this scrap of
-paper.—Has any one seen it besides myself?’
-
-‘Only one or two persons, sir,’ answered Dipping—‘I didn’t want the
-tale to get abroad—an’ when they see it, they turned it over just the
-same as you’re a-doing now: they none of ’em could make it out.’
-
-‘What became of the other papers?’ suddenly demanded Ainslie, looking
-up, and desisting from the occupation of gnawing his thumb-nail.
-
-‘There were none others as I know of, sir,’ replied old Dipping. ‘A
-pair of saddle-bags, I think, was took—my memory ain’t quite so good
-as it used to be. But this I do know for certain—there were no papers
-found except this one little bit. The soldiers swore hard, and said
-that the man who got off had taken ’em with him.’
-
-‘Did it never occur to you that the attendant acted most strangely on
-that occasion?’ asked Ainslie.
-
-‘Ay, sir, I have thought of that many a time,’ answered mine host,
-scratching his head. ‘It was a queer thing for him to do—to be sure it
-was. The man certainly was not running away cowardly-like, to leave
-his master in the lurch; he would never have hampered himself with the
-other horse in the way he did, and then go and cut his way through the
-middle of the redcoats. He might have got off t’ other way through the
-village without riskin’ his blessed neck. It’s my opinion, sir, an’
-always was, that he did it to take the fire off on himself, while Sir
-Carnaby got away over Long Fen on foot. Very creditable it must ha’
-been on him, sir; an’ had he drawn the redcoats away for a few minutes
-longer, the poor gentleman would have been clean away. He was nearly
-down at the foot of the stairs when they challenged him. It being dark,
-and getting no answer back, they blazed away. I let the soldiers in
-myself, or they would have beat the door down. But when they called out
-they would fire at the gentleman if he did not speak, I yelled to ’em
-not to do murder in my house. But it were too late,’ said old Hobb,
-sternly knitting his brows—‘it were too late. God help me! what could I
-do? I couldn’t stop it.’
-
-‘It was no fault of yours, my man!’ said Ainslie, seeing that the old
-fellow faltered; ‘and do not imagine for an instant that you will get
-into any trouble by telling me all this. To set your mind easy on that
-score, I may as well inform you at once that Sir Carnaby Vincent, who
-so unfortunately lost his life here, was my uncle.’ Reginald paused
-for a moment to watch the effect which this announcement had upon his
-listener, and then went on once more. ‘The affair,’ said he, ‘which
-brings me here is of the greatest secrecy, and whatever consequences
-may result from my taking this step, I strictly require of you that no
-word of it shall ever be mentioned hereafter.’
-
-‘Trust me for that, sir,’ returned the landlord: ‘it shall never pass
-my lips to any one.’
-
-Directing mine host to draw his chair nearer to the fire, Reginald
-Ainslie commenced a narration which is sufficiently long to warrant its
-being the subject of another chapter.
-
-
-CHAPTER VII.—REGINALD’S STORY.
-
-‘My father,’ said the lieutenant, ‘was a gentleman of great property,
-and a close friendship existed between him and the brother of his
-wife—Sir Carnaby, to wit. They became mixed up with a discontented body
-of people named Jacobites; and a short time before the unhappy affair
-which we have been talking about, two warrants were issued for their
-apprehension. My father was seized at once; but Sir Carnaby Vincent
-contrived to make his escape for a time, till at length he closed his
-flight at this place. You know what happened when he and his servant
-arrived here; they were surprised by a party of military, who had
-received notice of their movements; and my uncle was shot dead. His
-attendant fortunately escaped, and returned, after a short time had
-elapsed, to our family with the sad news. The proceedings against my
-father, Sir Henry Ainslie, were suspended through want of sufficient
-evidence, and he was allowed to come back to his home, only to die
-shortly afterwards, broken both in spirits and in circumstances. Before
-his death, he made an appalling disclosure to my mother, the sum of it
-being this—that, trusting to the ultimate success of the revolution
-which he had been hoping to raise, both he and Sir Carnaby had heavily
-mortgaged their estates, and placed all their available money at the
-service of the king that was to be. Where this large amount had been
-placed, or to whom it had been intrusted, it is now impossible to say,
-for my father breathed his last ere he could impart any additional
-information. The consequences of this act proved most disastrous. Our
-mansion and estates were immediately seized upon; and beyond a small
-income which my mother possessed in her own right, we were left with
-scarcely any means of support. From the scanty information we could
-gather from Sir Carnaby’s attendant, it was considered not at all
-improbable that the disposal of this wealth had been intrusted to his
-master; and subsequent inquiries proved that he had actually taken with
-him in his flight a number of valuable papers and documents. What these
-papers referred to, it is equally impossible to say; but there has
-always existed among us a strong impression that they related to the
-immense sum which had been advanced upon the family estates.’
-
-‘Well, sir,’ exclaimed old Hobb, when the narrative had arrived at this
-stage, ‘you don’t suppose that the gentleman brought all that lump of
-money here?’
-
-‘Not the money exactly,’ answered Reginald, smiling. ‘I don’t credit my
-plotting relative with being such a fool as to carry that about with
-him.’
-
-‘The soldiers found but little in them saddle-bags, an’ he brought
-nought else with him; I can swear to that,’ said Dipping obstinately.
-
-‘My good man,’ returned Ainslie, ‘the documents I refer to might have
-been carried about his person.’
-
-‘Nothin’ was found on the body when it was searched, before being
-buried; I remember that right enough, sir,’ persisted old Hobb.
-
-‘That is the very point I wished to come to,’ said the lieutenant
-triumphantly. ‘You are sure that no papers of any kind were discovered
-on his person?’
-
-‘Quite sure, sir,’ replied Dipping emphatically.
-
-‘Then just listen to what I have to say,’ continued Reginald, speaking
-in an impressive voice and fixing his eyes upon the landlord’s
-countenance. ‘The man-servant who accompanied Sir Carnaby to this place
-swears that his master corresponded with no single person during his
-flight; moreover, that he handled the saddle-bags you have just now
-been speaking of, several times, and remembers to have noticed that one
-of them contained a small black box.’
-
-The wondering expression on old Hobb’s face had considerably increased
-by this time.
-
-‘We have now got to a critical point in my story,’ continued the
-lieutenant. ‘Derrick—the man who accompanied Sir Carnaby hither—told
-me he was the first to hear the sound of the approaching military,
-and that, being apprehensive of danger, he stole along the gallery
-with the intention of waking his master. When Sir Carnaby opened the
-door of his room, the man was surprised to find him fully dressed.
-Hurried as their conference must have been, Derrick was sharp enough
-to notice that his master had been using some sort of a knife, and
-that the black box which he had before seen that night on the table,
-had now disappeared, and that the saddle-bags were empty. However, all
-persuasion could not induce my unfortunate relative to flee, which in
-itself appears to be very strange. He told his attendant that he would
-follow him if he would take the horses to the place agreed upon—that
-more lives than his own depended upon his not leaving the place at
-once, and several other things equally incomprehensible. Derrick at
-last unwillingly consented to obey his instructions, and left the
-house, wondering much at his master’s conduct. The two, as you know,
-never met again.—This man,’ resumed Ainslie, after a pause—‘this man,
-Derrick, always expressed a belief—a strange one, truly—that Sir
-Carnaby was so anxious for the safety of the contents of that precious
-saddle-bag, that he would not retire to rest until he had placed it
-in a secure hiding-place. He might possibly have just been concluding
-his task as the attendant arrived at his door with the alarming news;
-at any rate, it seems not at all unlikely that his object in sending
-the man to a rendezvous was in order to gain time, while he made
-a desperate attempt to unearth again this mysterious box prior to
-escaping from the inn with it. Or, it is quite possible that my uncle,
-being startled by the report of firearms, resolved to let this precious
-property, which would implicate so many persons, remain in its place of
-concealment, trusting, in the event of his escape, to return and secure
-it once more.’
-
-‘Do you mean to say that the gentleman hid it in this very house?’
-gasped the landlord, with considerable astonishment depicted on his
-countenance.
-
-‘That is what I think.’
-
-‘Well, well!’ exclaimed the old man, ‘to think that I should ha’
-slept an’ eaten an’ drunk within them blessed walls for fifteen year,
-with—who knows—half a million of property hidden about the place
-unbeknown to me! Suppose there had been a fire, sir.’
-
-‘It is fortunate there has not been one,’ replied Reginald.
-
-‘Am I to understand that you wish to search the house?’ inquired old
-Hobb, whose imagination was fired with a variety of wild speculations,
-among which the probable discovery of a strong case of bullion figured
-not the least conspicuously.
-
-‘The whole house!—certainly not,’ answered Reginald with a faint smile.
-‘I am afraid that would waste too much valuable time. What I want first
-is a bed for the night.’
-
-‘There’s the room which Sir Carnaby himself had: your honour wouldn’t
-have no objection to that?’
-
-‘Certainly not,’ said Ainslie. ‘The knowledge that the room has some
-unpleasant circumstances connected with it will not affect me in the
-least. I shall sleep as soundly in that apartment as in any other.’
-
-‘Very good, sir.’ And mine host was about to leave the apartment, when
-his visitor arrested him. ‘One word more, Mr Dipping.’
-
-‘Certainly, sir.’
-
-‘I have placed complete confidence in you,’ said Ainslie, ‘and have
-intrusted to your keeping a secret, the importance of which you must be
-well aware of. I wish you to guard it carefully. You have kept _that_
-secret fairly enough,’ pointing to the scrap of writing; ‘try if you
-cannot keep this one too.—Do you understand?’
-
-The landlord intimated that he would do as his visitor wished, and then
-departed, leaving Reginald to digest such thoughts as this conversation
-had called up.
-
-The twilight was by this time gray, and very little light remained,
-while a few solitary objects that could be seen through the dimmed
-glass in the old casements, looked shadowy and opaque. With the
-exception of one small lamp, which Hobb Dipping had placed upon the
-table, the room was but imperfectly lighted by the flickering fire.
-Outside, the snow was silently falling, not thickly, but in large
-steady flakes. The wind had dropped, and with it the whirling drift,
-while the old walls of the _Saxonford Arms_ had ceased to groan and
-creak.
-
-‘Sir,’ said Hobb, reappearing once more, ‘the room’s ready. Shall I
-show you the way?’
-
-Reginald motioned to the landlord to lead on, and they passed out
-together into a dark draughty passage.
-
-‘This here’s the staircase, sir,’ remarked old Dipping, who was in
-advance, bearing the light; ‘and that be the very place where the poor
-gentleman fell.’
-
-The landing before them was lighted by a gray ghostly window, which
-faded into insignificance on the approach of the landlord’s yellow,
-flaring lamp. When this apparition was passed, there came three
-shallow steps up, then a short dusky gallery, and Reginald Ainslie
-found himself in the room with which his departed relative had had so
-mysterious a connection.
-
-‘This, sir,’ said old Hobb, extending his right hand somewhat after the
-manner of a travelling showman—‘this, sir, is Sir Carnaby’s room.’
-
-‘Well, landlord,’ said Reginald, ‘I think I need detain you no longer.’
-
-Bidding mine host good-night, Ainslie carefully fastened the door, and
-then sat down before the fire, to ponder over his strange situation,
-ere consigning himself to rest for the night.
-
-
-
-
-WOUNDER AND HEALER.
-
-(THE IDEA TAKEN FROM AGOUB’S TRANSLATION OF AN ARABIC SONG.)
-
-
- Thy witching look is like a two-edged sword
- To pierce his heart by whom thou art surveyed;
- Thy rosy lips the precious balm afford
- To heal the wound thy keen-edged sword has made.
-
- I am its victim; I have felt the steel;
- My heart now rankles with the smarting pain;
- Give me thy lips the bitter wound to heal—
- Thy lips to kiss, and I am whole again.
-
- DAPHNIS.
-
- * * * * *
-
-Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON,
-and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.
-
- * * * * *
-
-_All Rights Reserved._
-
- * * * * *
-
-[Transcriber’s note—the following changes have been made to this text.
-
-Page 750: Hobbs to Hobb—“answered old Hobb slowly”.]
-
-*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR
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