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diff --git a/old/68689-0.txt b/old/68689-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 81b484f..0000000 --- a/old/68689-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9041 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Forge and furnace, by Florence Warden - -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: Forge and furnace - A novel - -Author: Florence Warden - -Release Date: August 5, 2022 [eBook #68689] - -Language: English - -Produced by: MWS, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FORGE AND FURNACE *** - - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber’s note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - -[Illustration: “Oh, father, don’t, don’t! You’ll hurt him.” ---_Frontispiece._] - - - - -FORGE AND FURNACE - -A Novel - - -BY -FLORENCE WARDEN - -AUTHOR OF - -“THE HOUSE ON THE MARSH,” “SCHEHERAZADE,” “A PRINCE -OF DARKNESS,” ETC. - -[Illustration: Logo] - -NEW YORK -NEW AMSTERDAM BOOK COMPANY -156 FIFTH AVENUE - - - - -COPYRIGHT, 1896, -BY -NEW AMSTERDAM BOOK COMPANY. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - -CHAPTER PAGE - I. A Pair of Brown Eyes 5 - - II. Claire 13 - - III. Something Wrong at the Farm 18 - - IV. Claire’s Apology 21 - - V. Bram’s Rise in Life 31 - - VI. Mr. Biron’s Condescension 38 - - VII. Bram’s Dismissal 46 - - VIII. Another Step Upward 54 - - IX. A Call and a Dinner Party 61 - - X. The Fine Eyes of her Cashbox 70 - - XI. Bram Shows Himself in a New Light 80 - - XII. A Model Father 86 - - XIII. An Ill-matched Pair 102 - - XIV. The Deluge 111 - - XV. Parent and Lover 118 - - XVI. The Pangs of Despised Love 126 - - XVII. Bram Speaks his Mind 134 - -XVIII. Face to Face 143 - - XIX. Sanctuary 151 - - XX. The Furnace Fires 159 - - XXI. The Fire Goes Out 168 - - XXII. Claire’s Confession 173 - -XXIII. Father and Daughter 184 - - XXIV. Mr. Biron’s Repentance 190 - - XXV. Meg 200 - - XXVI. The Goal Reached 206 - - - - -FORGE AND FURNACE; - -THE ROMANCE OF A SHEFFIELD BLADE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -A PAIR OF BROWN EYES. - - -Thud, thud. Amidst a shower of hot, yellow sparks the steam hammer -came down on the glowing steel, shaking the ground under the feet of -the master of the works and his son, who stood just outside the shed. -In the full blaze of the August sunshine, which was, however, tempered -by such clouds of murky smoke as only Sheffield can boast, old Mr. -Cornthwaite, acclimatized for many a year to heat and to coal dust, -stood quite unconcerned. - -Tall, thin, without an ounce of superfluous flesh on his bones, with a -fresh-colored face which seemed to look the younger and the handsomer -for the silver whiteness of his hair and of his long, silky moustache, -Josiah Cornthwaite’s was a figure which would have arrested attention -anywhere, but which was especially noticeable for the striking contrast -he made to the rough-looking Yorkshiremen at work around him. - -Like a swarm of demons on the shores of Styx, they moved about, -haggard, gaunt, uncouth figures, silent amidst the roar of the furnaces -and the whirr of the wheels, lifting the bars of red-hot steel with -long iron rods as easily and unconcernedly as if they had been hot -rolls baked in an infernal oven, heedless of the red-hot sparks which -fell around them in showers as each blow of the steam hammer fell. - -Mr. Cornthwaite, whose heart was in his furnaces, his huge revolving -wheels, his rolling mills, and his gigantic presses, watched the work, -familiar as it was to him, with fascinated eyes. - -“What day was it last month that Biron turned up here?” he asked his -son with a slight frown. - -This frown often crossed old Mr. Cornthwaite’s face when he and his -son were at the works together, for Christian by no means shared his -father’s enthusiasm for the works, and was at small pains to hide the -fact. - -“Oh, I’m sure I don’t remember. How should I remember?” said he -carelessly, as he looked down at his hands, and wondered how much more -black coal dust there would be on them by the time the guv’nor would -choose to let him go. - -A young workman, with a long, thin, pale, intelligent face, out of -which two deep-set, shrewd, gray eyes looked steadily, glanced up -quickly at Mr. Cornthwaite. He had been standing near enough to hear -the remarks exchanged between father and son. - -“Well, Elshaw, what is it?” said the elder Mr. Cornthwaite with an -encouraging smile. “Any more discoveries to-day?” - -A little color came into the young man’s face. - -“No, sir,” said he shyly in a deep, pleasant voice, speaking with a -broad Yorkshire accent which was not in his mouth unpleasant to the -ear. “Ah heard what you asked Mr. Christian, sir, and remember it was -on the third of the month Mr. Biron came.” - -“Thanks. Your memory is always to be trusted. I think you’ve got your -head screwed on the right way, Elshaw.” - -“Ah’m sure, Ah hope so, sir,” said the young fellow, smiling in return -for his employer’s smile, and touching his cap as he moved away. - -“Smart lad that Elshaw,” said Mr. Cornthwaite approvingly. “And steady. -Never drinks, as so many of them do.” - -“Can you wonder at their drinking?” broke out Christian with energy, -“when they have to spend their lives at this infernal work? It parches -my throat only to watch them, and I’m sure if I had to pass as many -hours as they do in this awful, grimy hole I should never be sober.” - -The elder Mr. Cornthwaite looked undecided whether to frown or to laugh -at this tirade, which had at least the merit of being uttered in all -sincerity by the very person who could least afford to utter it. He -compromised by giving breath to a little sigh. - -“It’s very disheartening to me to hear you say so, Chris, when it has -been the aim of my life to bring you up to carry on and build up the -business I have given my life to,” he said. - -Christian Cornthwaite’s face was not an expressive one. He was -extraordinarily unlike his father in almost every way, having prominent -blue eyes, instead of his father’s piercing black ones, a fair -complexion, while his father’s was dark, a figure shorter, broader, and -less upright, and an easy, happy-go-lucky walk and manner, as different -as possible from the erect, military bearing of the head of the firm. - -What little expression he could throw into his big blue eyes he threw -into them now, as he pulled his long, ragged, tawny moustache and -echoed his father’s sigh. - -“Well, isn’t it disheartening for me too, sir,” protested he -good-humoredly, “to hear you constantly threatening to put me on bread -and water for the rest of my life if I don’t settle down in this -beastly hole and try to love it?” - -“It ought to be natural to you to love what has brought you up in every -comfort, educated you like a prince, and made of you----” - -Josiah Cornthwaite paused, and a twinkle came into his black eyes. - -“Made of you,” he went on thoughtfully, “a selfish, idle vagabond, -with only wit enough to waste the money his father has made.” - -“Thank you, sir,” said Chris, quite cheerfully. “If that’s the best the -works have done for me, why should I love them?” - -At that moment young Elshaw passed before his eyes again, and recalled -Christian’s attention to a subject which would, he shrewdly thought, -divert the current of his father’s thoughts from his own deficiencies. - -“I wonder, sir,” he said, “that you don’t put Bram Elshaw into the -office. He’s fit for something better than this sort of thing.” - -And he waved his hand in the direction of the group in the middle of -which stood Elshaw, rod in hand, with his lean, earnest face intent on -his work. - -Josiah Cornthwaite’s eyes rested on the young man. Bram was a little -above the middle height, thin, sallow, with shoulders somewhat inclined -to be narrow and sloping, but with a face which commanded attention. -He had short, mouse-colored hair, high cheek bones, a short nose, a -straight mouth, and a very long straight chin; altogether an assemblage -of features which promised little in the way of attractiveness. - -And yet attractive his face certainly was. Intelligence, strength of -character, good humor, these were the qualities which even a casual -observer could read in the countenance of Bram Elshaw. - -But the lad had more in him than that. He had ambition, vague as yet, -dogged tenacity of purpose, imagination, feeling, fire. There was the -stuff; of a man of no common kind in the young workman. - -Josiah Cornthwaite looked at him long and critically before answering -his son’s remark. - -“Yes,” said he at last slowly, “I daresay he’s fit for something -better--indeed, I’m sure of it. But it doesn’t do to bring these young -fellows on too fast. If he gets too much encouragement he will turn -into an inventor (you know the sort of chap that’s the common pest of -a manufacturing town, always worrying about some precious ‘invention’ -that turns out to have been invented long ago, or to be utterly -worthless), and never do a stroke of honest work again.” - -“Now, I don’t think Elshaw’s that sort of chap,” said Chris, who looked -upon Bram as in some sort his protégé, whose merit would be reflected -on himself. “Anyhow, I think it would be worth your while to give him a -trial, sir.” - -“But he would never go back to this work afterwards if he proved a -failure in the office.” - -“Not here, certainly.” - -“And we should lose a very good workman,” persisted Mr. Cornthwaite, -who had conservative notions upon the subject of promotion from the -ranks. - -“Well, I believe it would turn out all right,” said Chris. - -His father was about to reply when his attention was diverted by the -sudden appearance, at the extreme end of the long avenue of sheds and -workshops, of two persons who, to judge by the frown which instantly -clouded his face, were very unwelcome. - -“That old rascal again! That old rascal Theodore Biron! Come to borrow -again, of course! But I won’t see him. I won’t----” - -“But, Claire, don’t be too hard on the old sinner, for the girl’s sake, -sir,” said Chris hastily, cutting short his protests. - -Mr. Cornthwaite turned sharply upon his son. - -“Yes, the old fox is artful enough for that. He uses his daughter to -get himself received where he himself wouldn’t be tolerated for two -minutes. And I’ve no doubt the little minx is up to every move on the -board too.” - -“Oh, come, sir, you’re too hard,” protested Chris with real warmth, and -with more earnestness than he had shown on the subject either of his -own career or of Bram’s. “I’d stake my head for what it’s worth, and I -suppose you’d say that isn’t much, on the girl’s being all right.” - -But this championship did not please his father at all. Josiah -Cornthwaite’s bushy white eyebrows met over his black eyes, and his -handsome, ruddy-complexioned face lost its color. Chris was astonished, -and regretted his own warmth, as his father answered in the tones he -could remember dreading when he was a small boy-- - -“Whether she’s all right or all wrong, I warn you not to trouble your -head about her. You may rely upon my doing the best I can for her, on -account of my relationship to her mother. But I would never countenance -an alliance between the family of that old reprobate and mine.” - -But to this Chris responded with convincing alacrity-- - -“An alliance! Good heavens, no, sir! We suffer quite enough at the -hands of the old nuisance already. And I have no idea, I assure you, of -throwing myself away.” - -Josiah Cornthwaite still kept his shrewd black eyes fixed upon his -son, and he seemed to be satisfied with what he read in the face of -the latter, for he presently turned away with a nod of satisfaction -as Theodore Biron and his daughter, who had perhaps been lingering a -little until the great man’s first annoyance at the sight of them had -blown over, came near enough for a meeting. - -“Ah, Mr. Cornthwaite, surely there’s no sight in the world to beat -this,” began the dapper little man airily as he held out a small, -slender, and remarkably well-shaped hand with a flourish, and kept -his eyes all the time upon the men at work in the nearest shed as -if the sight had too much fascination for him to be able readily to -withdraw his eyes. “This,” he went on, apparently not noticing that -Mr. Cornthwaite’s handshake was none of the warmest, “of a whole -community immersed in the noblest of all occupations, the turning of -the innocent, lifeless substances of the earth into tool and wheel, -ship and carriage! I must say that this place has a charm for me -which I have never found in the fairest spots of Switzerland; that -after seeing whatever was to be seen in California, the States, the -Himalayas, Russia, and the rest of it, I have always been ready to say, -not exactly with the poet, but with a full heart, ‘Give me Sheffield!’ -And to-day, when I came to have a look at the works,” he wound up in a -less lofty tone, “I thought I would bring my little Claire to have a -peep too.” - - -[Illustration: “Ah, Mr. Cornthwaite, surely there’s no sight in the -world to beat this.”--_Page 10._] - - -In spite of the absurdity of his harangue, Theodore Biron knew how -to throw into his voice and manner so much fervor. He spoke, he -gesticulated with so much buoyancy and effect, that his hearers were -amused and interested in spite of themselves, and were carried away, -for the time at least, into believing, or half-believing, that he was -in earnest. - -Josiah Cornthwaite, always accessible to flattery on the matter of “the -works,” as the artful Theodore knew, suffered himself to smile a little -as he turned to Claire. - -“And so you have to be sacrificed, and must consent to be bored to -please papa?” - -“Oh, I shan’t be bored. I shall like it,” said Claire. - -She spoke in a little thread of a musical, almost childish, voice, -and very shyly. But as she did so, uttering only these simple words, -a great change took place in her. Before she spoke no one would have -said more of her than that she was a quiet, modest-looking, perhaps -rather insignificant, little girl, and that her gray frock was neat and -well-fitting. - -But no sooner did she open her mouth to speak or to smile than the -little olive-skinned face broke into all sorts of pretty dimples. The -black eyes made up for what they lacked in size by their sparkle and -brilliancy, and the two rows of little ivory teeth helped the dazzling -effect. - -Then Claire Biron was charming. Then even Josiah Cornthwaite forgot -to ask himself whether she was not cunning. Then Chris stroked his -mustache, and told himself with complacency that he had done a good -deed in standing up for the poor, little thing. - -But rough Bram Elshaw, whom Chris had beckoned to come forward, and who -stood respectfully in the background, waiting to know for what he was -wanted, felt as if he had received an electric shock. - -Bram was held very unsusceptible to feminine influences. He was what -the factory and shop lasses of the town called a hard nut to crack, a -close-fisted customer, and other terms of a like opprobrious nature. -Occupied with his books, those everlasting books, and with his vague -dreams of something indefinite and as yet far out of his reach, he -had, at this ripe age of twenty, looked down upon such members of the -frivolous sex as came in his way, and dreamed of something fairer in -the shape of womanhood, something to which a pretty young actress whom -he had seen at one of the theatres in the part of “Lady Betty Noel,” -had given more definite form. - -And now quite suddenly, in the broad light of an August morning, with -nothing more romantic than the rolling mill for a background, there had -broken in upon his startled imagination the creature the sight of whom -he seemed to have been waiting for. As he stood there motionless, his -eyes riveted, his ears tingling with the very sound of her voice, he -felt that a revelation had been made to him. - -As if revealed in one magnetic flash, he saw in a moment what it was -that woman meant to man; saw the attraction that the rough lads of his -acquaintance found in the slovenly, noisy girls of their own courts and -alleys; stood transfixed, coarse-handed son of toil that he was, under -the spell of love. - -The voice of Chris Cornthwaite close to his ear startled him out of a -stupor of intoxication. - -“What’s the matter with you, Bram? You look as if you’d been struck by -lightning. You are to go round the works with Miss Biron and explain -things, you know. And listen” (he might well have to recall Bram’s -wandering attention, for this command had thrown the lad into a sort of -frenzy, on which he found it difficult enough to suppress all outward -signs), “I have something much more important to tell you than that.” -But Bram’s face was a blank. “You are to come up to the Park next -Thursday evening, and I think you’ll find my father has something to -say to you that you’ll be glad to hear. And mind this, Bram, it was I -who put him up to it. It’s me you’ve got to thank.” - -“Thank you, sir,” said Bram, touching his cap respectfully, and trying -to speak as if he felt grateful. - -But he was not. He felt no emotion whatever. He was stupefied by the -knowledge that he was to go round the works with Miss Biron. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -CLAIRE. - - -Bram wondered how Mr. Christian could give up the pleasure of showing -Miss Biron round the works himself. Christian’s partiality for feminine -society was as great as his popularity with it, and as well known. The -partiality, but not perhaps the popularity, was inherited from his -father--at least, so folks said. - -And Bram Elshaw, looking about for a reason for this extraordinary -conduct on the part of the young master, and noting the wistfulness of -that young man’s glances and the displeasure on the face of the elder -Mr. Cornthwaite, came very near to a correct diagnosis of the case. - -Bram was always the person chosen to carry messages between the works -and Holme Park, the private residence of the Cornthwaites, and the -household talk had filtered through to him about Theodore Biron, the -undesirable relation of French extraction, who had settled down too -near, and whose visits had become too frequent for his rich kinsman’s -pleasure. And the theory of the servants was that these visits were -always paid with the object of borrowing money. - -Not that Theodore looked like an impecunious person. To Bram’s -inexperienced eyes Mr Biron and his daughter looked like people of -boundless wealth and great distinction. Theodore, indeed, was if -anything better dressed than either of the Cornthwaites. His black -morning coat fitted him perfectly; his driving gloves were new; his -hat sat jauntily on his head. From his tall white collar to his tight -new boots he was the picture of a trim, youthful-looking country -gentleman of the smart and rather amateurish type. - -He had a thin, small-featured face, light hair, light eyebrows, and the -smallest of light moustaches; pale, surprised eyes, and the slimmest -pair of feminine white hands that ever man had. Of these he was proud; -and so his gloves kept their new appearance for a long time, as he -generally carried them in his hand. - -As for Claire, she not only looked better dressed than either Mrs. or -Miss Cornthwaite, but better dressed than any of the ladies of the -neighborhood. And this was not Bram’s fancy only; it was solid fact. - -Claire Biron had never been in France, and her mother had been an -Englishwoman of Yorkshire descent. But through her father she had -inherited from her French ancestors just that touch of feminine genius -which makes a woman neat without severity, and smart looking without -extravagance. - -In her plain gray frock and big yellow chip hat with the white gauze -rosettes, the little slender, dark eyed girl looked as nice as no -ordinary English girl would think of making herself except for some -special occasion. - -Bram had not the nicely critical faculty to enable him to discern -things. All he knew, as he walked through the black dust with Miss -Biron and pointed out to her the different processes which were going -on, was that every glance she gave him in acknowledgment of the -information he was obliged to bawl in her ear was intoxicating; that -every insignificant comment she made rang in his very heart with a -delicious thrill of pleasure he had never felt before. - -And behind them followed the two older gentleman, Mr. Cornthwaite -explaining, commenting, softening in spite of himself under the artful -interest taken in every dryest detail by the airy Theodore, who trotted -jauntily beside him; and grew enthusiastic over everything. - -Before very long, however, Mr. Cornthwaite, who was getting excited -against his will over that hobby of “the works” which Theodore managed -so cleverly, drew his companion away to show him a new process which -they were in course of testing; and for a moment Bram and Miss Claire -were left alone together. - -And then a strange thing, a thing which opened Bram’s eyes, happened. -From some corner, some nook, sprang Chris, and, hooking his arm with -affectionate familiarity within that of Miss Biron, he said-- - -“All right, Elshaw; I’ll show the rest. Come along, Claire.” - -And in an instant he had whirled away with the young lady, who began to -laugh and to protest, round the nearest corner. - -Bram was left standing stupidly, with a feeling rising in his heart -which he could not understand. What was this that had happened? Nothing -but the most natural thing in the world; and the impulse of sullen -resentment which stirred within him was ridiculous. There was, there -could be, no rivalry possible between Mr. Christian Cornthwaite, the -son of the owner of the works, and Bram Elshaw, a workman in his -father’s employment. And Miss Biron was a lady as far above him (Bram) -as the Queen was. - -This was what Bram told himself as, with hard-set jaw and a lowering -look of discontent on his face, he quietly went back to his work. - -But the matter was not ended with him. As he went on mechanically with -his task, as he bent over the great steel bar with his long rod, his -thoughts were with the pair, the well-matched, handsome pair of lovers, -as he supposed them to be, who had flitted off together as soon as -papa’s back was turned. - -Now what did that mean? - -If it had been any other young lady Bram would not have given the -matter a second thought. Christian Cornthwaite’s flirtations were as -the sand of the sea for multitude, and he would bring half-a-dozen -different girls in a week to “see over the works” when papa could be -relied upon to be out of the way. Christian had the easy assurance, -the engaging, irresponsible manners which always make their possessor -a favorite with the unwise sex, and was reported to be able to win the -favor of a prude in less time than it takes another man to gain the -smiles of a coquette. - -And so where was the wonder that this universal favorite should be a -favorite with Miss Biron? Of course, there was nothing in the fact to -be wondered at, but the infatuated Bram would have had this particular -lady as different from other ladies in this respect as he held her -superior in every other. - -But then a fresh thought, which was like a dagger thrust on the one -hand, yet which brought some bittersweet comfort for all that, came -into his mind. Surely Miss Biron was not the sort of girl to allow such -familiarity except from the man whom she had accepted for a husband. -Surely, then, these two were engaged--without the consent, or even the -knowledge, of Mr. Cornthwaite very likely, but promising themselves -that they would get that consent some day. - -And as he came to this decision Bram looked black. - -And all the time that these fancies chased each other through his -excited brain this lad of twenty retained a saner self which stood -outside the other and smiled, and told him that he was an infatuated -young fool, a moonstruck idiot, to tumble headlong into love with a -girl of whom he knew nothing except that she was as far above him, and -of all thought of him, as the stars are above the sea. - -And he was right in thinking that there was not a man in all that crowd -of his rough fellow-workmen who would not have jeered at him and looked -down upon him as a hopeless ass if they had known what his thoughts and -feelings were. But for all that there was the making in Bram Elshaw, -with his dreams and his fancies, of a man who would rise to be master -of them all. - -Out of the heat of the furnace and the glowing iron Bram Elshaw -presently passed into the heat of the sun, and stood for a moment, -his long rod in his hand, and wiped the sweat from his face and neck. -And before he could turn to go back again he heard a little sound -behind him which was not a rustle, or a flutter, or anything he could -describe, but which he knew to be the sound of a woman moving quickly -in her skirts. And the next moment Miss Biron appeared a couple of -feet away from him, smiling and growing a little pink as a young girl -does when she feels herself slightly embarrassed by an unaccustomed -situation. - -Before she spoke Bram guessed by the position in which she held her -little closed right hand that she was going to offer him money. And -he drew himself up a little, and blushed a much deeper red than the -girl--not with anger, for after all was it not just what he might have -expected? But with a keener sense than ever of the difference between -them. - -Miss Biron had begun to speak, had got as far as “I wanted to thank you -for explaining everything so nicely,” when something in his look caused -her to stop and hesitate and look down. - -She was suddenly struck with the fact that this was no common workman, -this pale, grimy young Yorkshireman with the strong jaw and the clear, -steady eyes, although he was dressed in an old shirt blackened by coal -dust, and trousers packed with pieces of sacking tied round with string. - -“Ah’m reeght glad to ha’ been of any service to yer, Miss,” said Bram -in a very gentle tone. - -There was a moment’s silence, during which Miss Biron finally made up -her mind what to do. Looking up quickly, with the blush still in her -face, she said, “Thank you very much. Good-morning,” and, to Bram’s -great relief, turned away without offering him the money. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -SOMETHING WRONG AT THE FARM. - - -It is certain that Bram Elshaw was still thinking more of Miss Biron -than of the communication which Mr. Cornthwaite was to make to him when -he presented himself at the back door of his employer’s residence on -the following Thursday evening. - -Holme Park was on the side of one of the hills which surround the city -of Sheffield, and was a steep, charmingly-wooded piece of grass and -from a small plateau in which the red brick house looked down at the -rows of new red brick cottages, at the factory chimneys, and the smoke -clouds of the hive below. - -Bram had always taken his messages to the back door of the house, but -he was shrewd enough to guess, from the altered manner of the servant -who now let him in and conducted him at once to the library, that this -was the last time he should have to enter by that way. - -And he was right. Mr Cornthwaite was as precise in manner, as -business-like as usual, but his tone was also a little different, as he -told Bram that his obvious abilities were thrown away on his present -occupation, and that he was willing to take him into his office, if he -cared to come, without any premium. - -Bram thanked him, and accepted the offer, but he showed no more than -conventional gratitude. The shrewd young Yorkshireman was really more -grateful than he seemed, but he saw that his employer was acting in -his own interest rather than from benevolence, and, although he made -no objections to the smallness of the salary he was to receive, he -modestly but firmly refused to bind himself for any fixed period. - -“Ah may be a failure, sir,” he objected quietly, “and Ah should like to -be free to goa back to ma auld work if Ah was.” - -So the bargain was struck on his own terms, and he retired respectfully -just as a servant entered the library to announce that Miss Biron -wished to see Mr. Cornthwaite. And at the same moment the young girl -herself tripped into the room, with a worried and anxious look on her -face. - -Mr. Cornthwaite rose from his chair with a frown of annoyance. - -“My dear Claire, your father really should not allow you to come this -long way by yourself--at night, too. It is neither proper nor safe. By -the time dinner is over it will be dark, and you have a long way to go.” - -“Oh, but I am going back at once, as soon as you have read this,” said -Claire, putting a little note fastened up into a cocked hat like a -lady’s, into his unwilling hand. “And perhaps Christian would see me as -far as the town, if you think I ought not to go alone.” - -But this suggestion evidently met with no approval from Mr. -Cornthwaite, who shook his head, signed to Bram to remain in the room -and began to read the note, all at the same time. - -“My dear,” said he shortly, as he finished reading and crumpled it up, -“Christian is engaged at present. But young Elshaw here will show you -into your tram, won’t you, Elshaw?” - -“Certainly, sir.” Bram, who had the handle of the door in his hand, -saluted his employer, and retreated into the hall before Claire, who -had not recognized him in his best clothes, had time to look at him -again. - -“A most respectable young fellow, my dear, though a little rough. One -of my clerks,” Bram heard Mr. Cornthwaite explain rapidly to Miss Biron -as he shut himself out into the hall and waited. - -Bram was divided between delight that he was to have the precious -privilege of accompanying Miss Biron on her journey home, and a sense -of humiliation caused by the shrewd suspicion that she would not like -this arrangement. - -But when a few minutes later Claire came out of the library all his -thoughts were turned to compassion for the poor girl, who had evidently -received a heavy blow, and who had difficulty in keeping back her -tears. She dashed past him out of the house, and he followed at a -distance, perceiving that she had forgotten him, and that his duty -would be limited to seeing without her knowledge that she got safely -home. - -So when she got into a tram car at the bottom of the hill outside the -park he got on the top. When she got out at St. Paul’s Church, and -darted away through the crowded streets in the direction of the Corn -Exchange, he followed. Treading through the crowds of people who filled -the roadway as well as the pavement, she fled along at such a pace that -Bram had difficulty in keeping her little figure in view. She drew away -at last from the heart of the town, and began the ascent of one of the -stony streets, lined with squalid, cold-looking cottages, that fringe -the smoke-wreathed city on its north-eastern side. - -Bram followed. - -Once out of the town, and still going upwards, Claire Biron fled like -a hare up a steep lane, turned sharply to the left, and plunged into -a narrow passage, with a broken stone wall on each side, which ran -between two open fields. This passage gave place to a rough footpath, -and at this point the girl stood still, her gaze arrested by a strange -sight on the higher ground on the right. - -It was dark by this time, and the outline of the hill above, broken by -a few cottages, a solitary tall chimney at the mouth of a disused coal -pit, and a group of irregular farm buildings, was soft and blurred. - -But the windows of the farmhouse were all ablaze with light. A long, -plain stone building very near the summit of the hill, and holding -a commanding situation above a sudden dip into green pasture land, -the unpretending homestead dominated the landscape and blinked fiery -eyes at Claire, who uttered a low cry, and then dashed away from the -footpath by a short cut across the fields, making straight for the -house. - -All the blinds were up, and groups of candles could be seen on the -tables within, all flickering in the draught, while the muslin curtains -in the lower rooms were blown by the evening wind into dangerous -proximity to the lights. - -And in all the house there was not a trace of a living creature to be -seen, although from where Bram stood he could see into every room. - -He followed still, uneasy and curious, as Claire climbed the garden -wall with the agility of a boy, and ran up to the house door. - -It was locked. Nothing daunted, she mounted on the ledge of the nearest -window, which was open only at the top, threw up the sash, and got into -the room. - -A moment later she had blown out all the candles. Then she ran from -room to room, extinguishing the lights, all in full view of the -wondering Bram, who stood watching her movements from the lawn, until -the whole front of the house was in complete darkness. - -Then she disappeared, and for a few minutes Bram could see nothing, -hear nothing. - -But presently from the back part of the rooms, there came to his -listening ears a long, shrill cry. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -CLAIRE’S APOLOGY. - - -The effect of that cry upon Bram Elshaw was to set him tingling in -every nerve. - -The lawn which ran the length of the farmhouse was wide, and sloped -down to a straggling hedge just inside the low stone wall which -surrounded the garden and the orchard. Up and down this lawn Bram -walked with hurried footsteps, uncertain what to do. For although he -recognized Claire’s voice, the cry she had uttered seemed to him to -indicate surprise and horror rather than pain, so that he did not feel -justified in entering the house by the way she had done until he felt -more sure that his assistance was wanted, or that his intrusion would -be welcome. - -In a very few moments, however, he heard her cry--“Don’t, don’t; oh, -don’t! You frighten me!” - -Bram, who was by this time close to the door, knocked at it loudly. - -Waiting a few moments, on the alert for any fresh sounds, and hearing -nothing, he then made his way round to the back of the house, leaping -over the rough stone wall which divided the garden from the farmyard, -and tried the handle of the back door. - -This also was fastened on the inside. - -But at the very moment that Bram lifted the latch and gave the door a -rough shake he heard a sound like the clashing of steel upon stone, a -scuffle, a suppressed cry, and upon that, without further hesitation, -Bram put his sinewy knee against the old door, and at the second -attempt burst the bolt off. - -There was no light inside the house except that which came from the -fire in an open range on the right; but by this Bram saw that he was in -an enormous stone-paved kitchen, with open rafters above, a relic of -the time when the farmer was not one of the gentlefolk, but dined with -his family and his laborers at a huge deal table under the pendant hams -and bunches of dried herbs which in the old days used to dangle from -the rough-hewn beams. - -Bram, however, noticed nothing but that a door on the opposite side of -the kitchen was swinging back as if some one had just passed through, -and he sprang across the stone flags and threw it open. - -There was a little oil lamp on a bracket against the wall in the wide -hall in which he found himself. Standing with his back to the solid -oak panels of the front door, brandishing a naked cavalry sword of -old-fashioned pattern, stood the airy Theodore Biron in dressing-gown -and slippers, with his hair in disorder, his face very much flushed, -and his little fair moustache twisted up into a fierce-looking point at -each end. - -On the lowest step of a wide oak staircase, which took up about twice -the space it ought to have done in proportion to the size of the hall, -stood little Claire, pale, trembling with fright, trying to keep her -alarm out of her voice, as she coaxed her father to put down the sword -and go to bed. - -“Drunk! Mad drunk!” thought Bram as he took in the situation at a -glance. - -At sight of the intruder, whom she did not in the least recognize, -Claire stopped short in the midst of her entreaties. - -“What are you doing here? Who are you?” asked she, turning upon him -fiercely. - -The sudden appearance of the stranger, instead of further infuriating -Mr. Biron, as might have been feared, struck him for an instant into -decorum and quiescence. Lowering the point of the weapon he had been -brandishing, he seemed for a moment to wait with curiosity for the -answer to his daughter’s question. - -When, however, Bram answered, in a respectful and shame-faced manner, -that he had heard her call out and feared she might be in need of help, -Theodore’s energy returned with full force, and he made a wild pass or -two in the direction of the young man, with a recommendation to him to -be prepared. - -Claire’s terrors returned with full force. - -“Oh, father, don’t, don’t! You’ll hurt him!” she cried piteously. - -But the entreaty only served to whet Theodore’s appetite for blood. - -“Hurt him! I mean to! I mean to have his life!” shouted he, while his -light eyes seemed to be starting from his head. - -And, indeed, it seemed as if he would proceed to carry out this threat, -when Bram, to the terror of Claire and the evident astonishment of her -father, rushed upon Theodore, and, cleverly avoiding the thrust which -the latter made at him, seized the hilt of the sword, and wrested it -from his grasp. - -It was a bold act, and one which needed some address. Mr Biron was for -the moment sobered by his amazement. - -“Give me back my sword, you impudent rascal!” cried he, making as he -spoke a vain attempt to regain possession of the weapon. - -But Bram, who was a good deal stronger than he looked, kept him off -easily with his right hand, while he retained a tight hold on the sword -with his left. - -“You shall have it back to-morrow reeght enough,” said Bram -good-humoredly. “But maybe it’ll be safer outside t’house till ye feel -more yerself like. Miss Claire yonder knaws it’s safe wi’ me.” - -“Oh, yes; oh, yes,” panted Claire eagerly, though in truth she had not -the least idea who this mysterious knight-errant was. “Let him have it, -father; it’s perfectly safe with him.” - -But this action of his daughter’s in siding with the enemy filled Mr -Biron with disgust. With great dignity, supporting himself against the -wall as he spoke, and gesticulating emphatically with his right hand, -while with his left he fumbled about for his gold pince-nez, he said in -solemn tones-- - -“I give this well-meaning but m-m-muddle-headed young man credit for -the best intentions in the world. But same time I demand that he should -give up my p-p-property, and that he should take himself off m-m-my -premises without furth’ delay.” - -“Certainly, sir. Good-evening,” said Bram. - -And without waiting to hear any more of Mr Biron’s protests, or heeding -his cries of “Stop thief!” Bram ran out as fast as he could by the -way he had come, leaving the outer door, which he had damaged on his -forcible entry, to slam behind him. - -Once outside the farmyard, however, he found himself in a difficulty, -being suddenly stopped by a farm laborer, in whom his rapid exit from -the house had not unnaturally aroused suspicions, which were not -allayed by the sight of the drawn sword in his hand. - -“Eh, mon, who art ta? And where art agoin’?” - -Bram pointed to the house. - -“There’s a mon in yonder has gotten t’ jumps,” explained he simply, -“and he was wa-aving this abaht’s head. So Ah took it away from ’un.” - -The other man grinned, and nodded. - -“T’ mester’s took that way sometimes,” said he. “But this sword’s none -o’ tha property, anyway.” - -Bram looked back at the house. Nobody had followed him out; even the -damaged door had been left gaping open. - -“Ah want a word wi’ t’ young lady,” said he. “She knaws me. I work for -Mr. Cornthwaite down at t’ works in t’ town yonder.” - -“Oh, ay; Ah’ve heard of ’un. He’s gotten t’ coin, and,” with a -significant gesture in the direction of the farmhouse, “we haven’t.” - -“You work on t’ farm here?” asked Bram. - -The man answered in a tone and with a look which implied that affairs -on the farm were in anything but a flourishing condition-- - -“Ay, Ah work on t’ farm.” - -And, apparently satisfied of the honesty of Bram’s intentions, or else -careless of the safety of his master’s property, the laborer nodded -good-night, and walked up the hill towards a straggling row of cottages -which bordered the higher side of the road near the summit. - -Bram got back into the farmyard, and waited for the appearance at the -broken door of some occupant of the house to whom he could make his -excuses for the damage he had done. He had a shrewd suspicion who that -occupant would be. Since all the noise and commotion he and Theodore -Biron had made had not brought a single servant upon the scene, it -was natural to infer that Mr. Biron and his daughter had the house to -themselves. - -And this idea filled Bram with wonder and compassion. What a life for -a young girl, who had seemed to rough Bram the epitome of all womanly -beauty and grace and charm, was this which accident had revealed to -him. A life full of humiliations, of terrors, of anxieties which would -have broken the heart and the spirit of many an older woman. Instead of -being a spoilt young beauty, with every wish forestalled, every caprice -gratified, his goddess was only a poor little girl who lived in an -atmosphere of petty cares, petty worries, under the shadow of a great -trouble, her father’s vice of drink. - -And as he thought about the girl in this new aspect his new-born -infatuation seemed to die away, the glamour and the glow faded, and he -thought of her only as a poor little nestling which, deprived of its -natural right of warmth and love and tenderness, lives a starved life, -but bears its privations with a brave look. - -And as he leaned against the yellow-washed wall he heard a slight -noise, and started up. - -Miss Biron, candlestick in hand, was examining the injuries done to her -back door. - -Bram opened his mouth to speak, but he stammered and uttered something -unintelligible, taken aback as he was by the vast difference between -the fancy picture he had been drawing of the young lady and the reality -with which he was confronted. - -For instead of the wan, white face, the streaming eyes, the anxious and -weary look he had expected to see, he found himself face to face with a -cheery little creature, brisk in movement, bright of eyes, who looked -up with a start when he appeared before her, and said rather sharply-- - -“This is your doing, I suppose? And instead of being scolded for the -mischief you have done you expect to be thanked and perhaps rewarded, -no doubt?” - -At first Bram could scarcely believe his ears. - -“Ah’m sorry for t’ damage Ah’ve done, miss,” he said hurriedly. “And -that’s what Ah’ve waited for to tell yer, nowt but that. But it’s not -so bad as it looks. It’s nobbut t’ bolt sprung off and a scratch to the -paint outside. If you can let me have a look into your tool-chest, -Ah’ll set it reght at once. And for t’ paint, Ah’ll come up for that -to-morrow neght.” - -Miss Biron smiled graciously. The humble Bram had his sense of humor -tickled by the airs she was giving herself now, as if she had forgotten -altogether her helpless fright of only an hour before, and the relief -with which she had hailed his disarming of her father. - -“Well, that’s only fair, isn’t it?” said she with a bright smile, as -she instantly acted upon his advice by disappearing into the house like -a flash of lightning. - -Bram heard the rattling of tools, and as it went on some time without -apparent result, he stepped inside the door to see if he could be of -any assistance. - -Claire had thrown open the door of a cupboard to the left of the wide -hearth, and was standing on a Windsor chair turning over the contents -of a couple of biscuit tins on the top shelf. Bram, slow step by slow -step, came nearer and nearer, fascinated by every rapid movement of -this, the first feminine creature who had ever aroused his interest. -How small her feet were! Bram looked at them, and then turned away -his head, as if he had been guilty of something sacrilegious. And -the movement of her arm as she turned over the odds and ends in the -boxes, the bend of her dark head as she looked down, filled him afresh -with that strange new sense of wonder and delight with which she had -inspired him on his first sight of her at the works. Against the light -of the candle, which she had placed on the shelf, he saw her profile in -a new aspect, in which it looked prettier, more childlike than ever. - -“Better give me t’ box, miss,” suggested Bram presently. - -Miss Biron started, not knowing that he was so near. - -“Very well,” said she. “You can look, but I am afraid you won’t find -any proper tools here at all.” - -She was right. But Bram was clever with his hands as well as with his -head, and he could “make things do.” So that in a very few minutes he -was at work upon the door, while Miss Biron held the light for him, -and watched his nimble movements with interest. - -And while she watched him it occurred to her, now that she felt quite -sure he was no mere idler who had burst his way into the house from -curiosity, that she had been by no means as grateful for his timely -entrance as he had had a right to expect. And the candle began to shake -in her hands as she glanced at him rather shyly, and wondered how, -without casting blame upon her father, she could make amends to this -methodical, quiet, and rather mysterious young Orson for the part he -had taken in the whole affair. - -“I’m really very much obliged to you,” she said at last, with a very -great change in her manner from the rather haughty airs she had -previously assumed. “I----” - -She hesitated, and stopped. Bram had glanced quickly up at her, and -then his eyes had flashed rapidly back to his work again. - -“I seem to know your face,” said she with a manner in which sudden -shyness struggled with a sense of the dignity it was necessary for her -to maintain in these novel circumstances. “Where have I met you before? -And what is your name?” she added quickly, as a fresh suspicion rushed -into her mind. - -“My name is Elshaw, miss. Bram Elshaw,” he answered, as he sat back on -his heels and hunted again in the biscuit tin. “And I’ve seen you. I -saw you t’ other day, last Tuesday, at Mr. Cornthwaite’s works. It was -me showed you round, miss.” - -“Oh!” - -The bright little face of the girl was clouded with bewilderment. - -“And then again Ah saw you to-neght up to Mr. Cornthwaite’s house, up -at t’ Park. And he told me for to see you home, miss.” - -“Oh!” - -This time the exclamation was one of confusion, annoyance, almost of -horror. - -“I remember! He said--he said--he would send some one to see me home. -But--er--er--I was in such a hurry--that--that I forgot. And I ran off -by myself. And--and so you followed; you must have followed me!” - -And Claire’s pretty face grew red as fire. - -The truth was she had been angry with Mr. Cornthwaite for the manner of -his reception, for the dry remarks he had made about her father, and -for his manifest and most ungracious unwillingness to allow Christian -to see her home. And she had made up her mind that no “respectable -young man” of Mr. Cornthwaite’s choosing should accompany her if Chris -might not. And so, dashing off through the park in the dusk by a short -cut, she had thought to escape the ignominy which Mr. Cornthwaite had -designed for her. - -Bram, with a long, rusty nail between his teeth, grew redder than she. -In an instant he understood what he had not understood before, that the -young lady had taken the offer of his escort as a humiliation. She had -wanted to go back with Christian, and Mr. Cornthwaite had wished to put -her off with one of his workmen! Bram felt that her indignation was -just, although he was scarcely stoical enough not to feel a pang. - -“You see, miss,” he said apologetically, taking the nail out of his -mouth, “Ah was bound to come this weay, and so Ah couldn’t help but -follow you. And--and when Ah heard you call aht--why Ah couldn’t help -but get in. Ah’m reght sorry if Ah seemed to be taking a liberty, miss.” - -Again Claire was struck as she had been that day at the works by the -innate superiority of the man to his social position, of his tone to -his accent. - -“It was very lucky for me--I am very glad, very grateful,” said she -hurriedly, in evident distress, which was most touching to her hearer. -“I don’t know what I should have done--I--I must explain to you. You -must not think my father would have done me any harm,” she went on -earnestly, with a great fear at her heart that Bram would report these -occurrences to his employer, and furnish him with another excuse for -slighting her father. “He gets like that sometimes, especially in the -hot weather,” she went on quickly, and with so much intensity that it -was difficult to doubt her faith in the story. “He was in the army -once, and he had a sword-cut on the head when he was out in India. And -it makes him excitable, very excitable. But it never lasts long. Now he -is fast asleep, and to-morrow morning he will be quite himself, quite -himself again. You won’t say anything about it to Mr. Cornthwaite, will -you?” she wound up, with a sidelong look of entreaty, as Bram, having -finished his task, rose to his feet and picked up the coat he had -thrown off before setting to work. - -“No, miss.” - -There was something in his tone, in his look, as he said just those two -words which inspired Claire with absolute confidence. - -“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you very much.” - -And Bram understood that her gratitude covered the whole ground, and -took in his forcible entrance, the time he had spent in mending the -door, and his final promise. - -“And Ah’ll look in to-morrow neght, miss,” said he as he turned in the -doorway and noticed how sleepy her brown eyes were beginning to look, -“and give a coat of paint to’t.” - -“Oh, you need not. It’s very good of you.” - -He touched his cap, and turned to go; but as he was turning, -Claire, blushing very much, and conscious of this conflict between -conventionality and her sense of what she owed to this dignified young -workman, who could not be rewarded with a “tip,” thrust out her little -hand. - -Then Bram’s behavior was for the moment rather embarrassing. The -privilege of touching her fingers, of holding the hand which had -stirred in him so many strange reflections for a moment in his own, as -if they had been friends, equals, was one which he could not accept -with perfect equanimity. She saw that he started, and, blushing more -than ever, she seemed in doubt as to whether she should withdraw her -hand. But, seeing her hesitation, Bram mastered himself, took the hand -she offered, wrung it in a strong grip, and walked quickly away towards -the gate. - -He felt as if he was in Heaven. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -BRAM’S RISE IN LIFE. - - -What was there about this little brown-eyed girl that she should -bewitch him like this? Bram, who flattered himself that he had his wits -about him, who had kept himself haughtily free from love entanglements -up to now, could not understand it. And the most amazing part of it -all was that his feelings about her seemed to undergo an entire change -every half-hour or so. At least a dozen times since his infatuation -began he fancied himself quite cured, and able to laugh at himself and -look down upon her. And then some fresh aspect of the little creature -would strike him into fresh ecstasies, and he would find himself as -much under the spell as ever. - -Thus the first sight of her that evening in Mr. Cornthwaite’s study had -thrilled him less than the announcement of her name. But, on the other -hand, the touch of her hand so unexpectedly accorded, had quickened his -feelings into a delicious frenzy, which lasted during the whole of his -walk down into the town and out to the one small backroom in a grimy -little red brick house where he lodged. - -When Bram tried to think of Miss Biron soberly, to try to come to -some sort of an estimate of her character, he was altogether at a -loss. Her tears, her terrors, her smiles, her little airs, all seemed -to succeed each other as rapidly as if she had been still a child. -No emotion seemed to be able to endure in her volatile nature. He -doubted, considering the matter in cold blood, whether this was a -characteristic he admired; yet there it was, and his infatuation -remained. - -With all her limitations, whatever they might be; with all her faults, -whatever they were, Miss Claire Biron had permanently taken her place -in Bram’s narrow life as the nearest thing he had ever seen to an ideal -woman, as the representative, for the time being at least, of that -feminine creature, the necessity for whom he now began to understand, -and who was to come straight into his heart and into his arms some day. - -For, with all his ambitions, his reasonable hopes, Bram was as yet too -modest to say to himself that this white-handed lady herself, this -pearl among pebbles, was the prize for which he must strive; no, she -only stood for that prize in his mind, in his heart, or so at least -Bram told himself. - -Bram thought about Miss Biron and her bibulous papa all night, for he -scarcely slept, but with the morning light came fresh cares to occupy -his thoughts. - -It was his first day at his new employment in the office, and Bram, -though he managed to hide all traces of what he felt under a stolid -and matter-of-fact demeanor, felt by no means at his ease on his first -entrance among the young gentlemen in Mr. Cornthwaite’s office. - -He had put on his Sunday clothes, not without a pang at the -extravagance in dress which his rise in life entailed. Nobody in the -office seemed to have heard of his promotion, for the other clerks took -no notice of him on his entrance, evidently supposing that he had been -sent for, as was frequently the case, to take some message or to do -some errand which required a trustworthy messenger. - -When, after being called into the inner office, he came out again -and took his place at a desk among the rest there was a burst of -astonishment, amusement, and some contempt at his expense. And when the -truth became known that he had come among them to stay, he straight -from the coalyard and the mill and the shed outside, the feelings -of all the young gentlemen found vent in “chaff” of a particularly -merciless kind. - -His accent, his speech, his dress, his look, his walk, his manner, all -formed themes for the very easiest ridicule. Never before had they had -such an opportunity, and they made the most of it. But if they thought -to make life in the office unbearable for Bram they had reckoned -without their host. Bram cased himself in an armor of stolid good -humor, joined in the laugh against himself, and in affecting to try to -assume their modes of speech and manner contrived to burlesque them at -least as well as they had mimicked him. - -And the end of it was that the fun languished all too soon for their -wishes, and Bram when he left the office that afternoon, and wiped his -face as he used to do after another sort of fiery ordeal, congratulated -himself on having got through the day better than he had expected. - -Christian Cornthwaite ran out after him, and slapped him on the back. - -“Well, Elshaw,” cried he, “and how do you feel after it?” - -“Much t’ same as Dan’l did when he’d come out of t’ den o’ lions, sir,” -replied Bram grimly. “T’ young gentlemen in there,” and he pointed with -his thumb over his shoulder, “doan’t find me grand enough for’em.” - -“And so you want to go back to the works, Bram?” - -“No fear, sir,” answered the new clerk dryly. “They’ll get used to me, -or else maybe I shall get used to them. Or wi’ so many fine patterns -round me maybe Ah shall be a polished gentleman myself presently.” - -“No doubt of it, Bram. But you’ve been rather roughly treated. It ought -to have been managed gradually, bit by bit, and then at last, when -you took your place in the office, I ought to have sent you to my own -tailor first, and had you properly rigged out.” - -Bram looked down ruefully at his Sunday clothes. - -“Ah felt a prince in these last evening,” he expostulated. - -Christian laughed heartily. - -“Well, they couldn’t beat you at the main things, Elshaw, at writing -and spelling and calculating, eh?” - -“No,” answered Bram complacently. “Ah could beat most of ’em there.” - -As a matter of fact, Bram’s self-teaching, with the additional help of -the night school in the winter, had so developed his natural capacity -that he was as far ahead of his new companions intellectually as he was -behind them in externals. Christian, who knew this, felt proud of his -protégé. - -“There are some more hints I want to give you,” said he, as he put his -arm through that of his rough companion and walked with him up the -street, with the good-natured familiarity which made him popular with -everybody, but in the exercise of which he was very discriminating. -“You will have to leave William Henry Street, or wherever it is you -hang out, and take a room in a better neighborhood. And I will show you -where you can go and dine. Look here,” he went on, stopping abruptly, -“come up to me this evening, and we’ll have a talk over a pipe. You -smoke, I suppose?” - -“No, sir,” said Bram. “Ah don’t smoke. It’s too expensive. And Ah thank -you kindly, but Ah’ve got a job out Hessel way this evening, and--” - -Christian interrupted him with sudden interest. - -“Out Hessel way? Why, that’s near Duke’s Farm. Will you take a note -up for me to Miss Biron? She lives there. You can find the house easy -enough.” - -Bram, who had listened to these words with emotions he dared not -express, agreed to take the note, but did not mention that it was to -the farmhouse that his own errand took him. - -All the happiness he had felt over the anticipated walk to Hessel -evaporated as he watched Christian tear a leaf out of a note-book, -scribble hastily on it in pencil, fold and addressed it to “Miss Claire -Biron.” - -But what a poor fool he was to be jealous? Could there be a question -but that Mr. Christian Cornthwaite, with his good looks and his gayety, -his position and his fortune, would make her a splendid mate? - -Something like this Bram carefully dinned into himself as he took the -note, and went home to his tea. - -But for all that, he felt restless, dissatisfied, and unhappy as he set -out after tea on his walk up to Hessel with that note from Christian -Cornthwaite to Miss Biron in his pocket. - -Although it was a hot evening, and the walk was uphill all the way, -Bram got to the farm by half-past six, and came up to the door just as -a woman, whom he decided must be the servant, came out of it. - -She was about forty years of age, a little under the middle height, -thickset of figure, and sallow of skin. But in her light gray eyes -there was a shrewd but kindly twinkle; there was a promise of humor -about her mouth and her sharply-pointed nose which made the countenance -a decidedly attractive one. - -She made no remark to Bram, but she turned and watched him as he -approached the back door, and did not resume her walk until he had -knocked and been admitted by Claire herself. - -Miss Biron seemed to feel some slight embarrassment at the sight of -him, and received his explanation that he had come to repaint her -door with an assumption of surprise. The shrewd young man decided -that the young lady had repented her unconventional friendliness of -the preceding evening, and was inclined to look upon his visit as an -intrusion. His manner, therefore, was studiously distant and respectful -as he raised his cap from his head, gave the reason for his coming, -and then said that he had brought a note for her from Mr. Christian -Cornthwaite. - -Claire blushed as she took it. Bram, who had brought his paint can and -his brush, took off his coat, and began his task in silence, with just -a sidelong look at the girl as she began to read the note. - -At that moment the inner door of the kitchen opened, and Mr. Biron -entered with a jaunty step, arranging a rosebud in his button-hole in -quite a light comedy manner. Catching sight at once of Bram at work -on the door, that young man observed that a slight frown crossed his -face. After a momentary pause in his walk, he came on, however, as -gayly as ever, and peeping over his daughter’s shoulder read the few -words the note contained, and said at once-- - -“Well, you must go, dear; you must go.” - -Claire blushed hotly, and crumpled up the note. - -“I--I don’t want to. I would rather not,” said she in a low voice. - -“Oh, but that’s nonsense,” retorted he good-humoredly. “Chris is a good -fellow, a capital fellow. Put on your hat, and don’t be a goose. I’ll -see that the young man at the door has his beer.” - -Bram heard this, and his face tingled, but he said nothing. He -perceived, indeed, from a certain somewhat feminine spitefulness in Mr. -Biron’s tone, that the words were said with the intention of annoying -him. - -Claire appeared to hesitate a moment, then quickly making up her mind -she said--“All right, father, I’ll go,” and disappeared through the -inner door. - -Theodore, without any remark to Bram, followed her. - -In a few moments Bram heard a movement in the straw of the farmyard -behind him, and looking round saw that Claire was standing behind him -with her hat and gloves on, and was apparently debating in her own mind -whether she would utter something which was in her thoughts. He saluted -her respectfully with a stolid face. Then she began to speak, reddened, -stammered, and finally made a dash for it. - -“Where do you live?” she asked suddenly. “I mean--is it far from here?” - -“No, miss; it’s over yon,” answered Bram mendaciously, nodding in the -direction of the cottages on the brow of the hill. - -“Then would you very much mind--” and Bram could see that her breast -was heaving under the influence of some strong emotion, “keeping your -eye upon this place until I come back? You know all about it,” she went -on, with a burst of uneasy confidence, “so that it’s no use my minding -that. And when my father’s left alone--well, well, you know,” said -she, blushing crimson, and keeping her eyes down. “And Joan has to go -home to her husband and children at night. And--and I’m afraid when he -gets excited, you know, that he’ll set the place on fire. He nearly did -last night. You see, my poor father has a great many worries, and a -very little affects his head--since that sabre cut in India.” - -The humility, nay, the humiliation in her tone, touched Bram to the -quick. He promised at once that he would take care that Mr. Biron did -no harm either to himself or to the house while she was away, and -received her grateful, breathless, little whisper of “Thank you; oh, -thank you,” with outward stolidity, but with considerable emotion. - -Then she ran off, and he went quietly on with his work. - -It took him a very short time to finish putting on the one coat of -paint, which was all he could do that night; and then, as Mr. Biron had -not appeared again, Bram thought he had better take a look round and -see what that gentleman was doing. So he took up his paint-can, and, -leaving the door open to dry, made his way round to the front of the -house, and peeped cautiously in at the lower windows; and in one of -them he saw a couple of empty champagne bottles, with the corks lying -beside them, and an overturned glass on the table. - -“T’owd rascal hasn’t wasted much time,” thought Bram to himself, as -he stared at the evidences of Mr. Biron’s solitary dissipation, and -looked about for the toper himself. But Theodore was not in the room. -Neither was he in the room on the other side of the front door, as Bram -hastened to ascertain. Perhaps he had had sense enough to make his way -upstairs to his own room to sleep off the effects of the wine. - -This seeming to be a probable explanation of his disappearance, Bram -was inclined to trouble himself no further on that head, when a faint -noise, which seemed to proceed from the bowels of the earth, attracted -his attention. There was a grating under the window of the room which -appeared to be the dining-room, and in the cellar which was thus dimly -lighted some one appeared to be moving about. - -Bram, in his character of sworn guardian of the house, thought it best -to investigate, so he ran round to the back, entered by the open door, -and found a trap-door in the hall just outside the kitchen door. - -A strong smell of paraffin was the first thing he noticed as he looked -down the ladder; the next was the sight of Mr. Biron calmly emptying -a can of the oil upon the loose straw and firewood which the cellar -contained. - -Startled by the sudden light and noise above, Mr. Biron dropped the can -as the trap-door opened, and then Bram saw that in his left hand he -held a box of matches. - -“Tha fool, tha drunken fool, coom up wi’ ye!” shouted Elshaw, as he -stretched down a strong arm and pulled Theodore up by his coat collar. - -Bram had expected his captive to stagger, and so he did. He had -expected him to stammer and to stare; and he did these things also. But -Bram had seen a good deal of drunkenness in his time, and he was not -easy to deceive. - -Suddenly holding the slender little man at arm’s length from him, and -looking steadily into his eyes with a black frown on his own face, he -shouted in a voice which might have roused the village-- - -“Why, you d----d old rascal, what villainy have you been up to? You’re -as sober as I am!” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -MR. BIRON’S CONDESCENSION. - - -When Mr. Theodore Biron found himself pulled up the steps of his -cellar, and roughly shaken by the very person who had disarmed him on -the previous evening, his rage was such that he lost his usual airy -self-possession completely, and betrayed himself in the most unworthy -manner. - -“Who are you, sir? And how dare you interfere with me in this way?” -stammered he, as he tried in vain to release himself from the -determined grasp of the young clerk. - -“Coom up to t’ light, and then you’ll see who Ah am,” said Bram, as -with a strong arm he dragged the little man up the steps, and, shutting -the trap-door, folded his arms and turned to look at him. - -“Do you dare to justify this outrage, this--this burglarious entry upon -my premises? The second in two days? Do you dare to justify it?” said -Theodore haughtily. - -“Ay,” said Bram surlily, “Ah’m going to give information to t’ police. -Ah’m goin’ to tell them to keep an eye upon you, Mr. Biron, and not -to be surprised if t’ house is burnt down; since you’ve got odd ways -of amusing yourself with matches and paraffin, and with candles left -ablaze near light curtains. Ah suppose you’re insured, Mr. Biron?” - -“Whatever you suppose has nothing to do with the question,” retorted -Mr. Biron, whose little thin cheeks were pink with indignation, and -whose light eyes were flashing with annoyance and malignity. “Nobody -is likely to pay much attention to the statements of a man who is -evidently a loafer and a thief.” - -“A thief!” shouted Bram with a menacing gesture, which had the effect -of sending Theodore promptly into the little dining-room behind him. -“Well, we’ll see whether t’ word of t’ thief won’t be taken against -yours, Mr. Biron.” - -There was a pause. Theodore from behind the table in the little -dining-room, where he was twirling his moustache with a trembling white -hand, looked at him with apprehension, and presently laughed in an -attempt to recover his usual light-hearted ease of manner. - -“Come, come,” said he, “this is carrying a joke too far, for I suppose -it was intended for a joke--this intrusion upon my premises--and that -you never had any real thought of carrying anything away. I remember -your face now; you are one of the workmen at my cousin’s place, -Cornthwaite’s Iron-Works.” - -Bram, who was not unwilling to make terms with Miss Biron’s father, -stared at him sullenly. - -“Ah’m not one of t’ workmen now. Ah’m in t’ office,” said he. - -Mr. Biron raised his eyebrows; he did not seem pleased. It had in fact -occurred to him that this young man was employed as a sort of spy by -the Cornthwaites, with whom he himself was by no means an acceptable -person. - -He smiled disagreeably. - -“One of the clerks, eh? One of the smart young men who nibble pens in -the office?” - -“Ay, but ma smartness isn’t outside, Mr. Biron.” - -“I see. Great genius--disdains mere appearance and all that.” - -Bram said nothing. Theodore’s sneers hurt him more than any he had ever -been subjected to before. He felt, in spite of his contempt for the -airy-mannered scoundrel, that he himself stood at a disadvantage, with -his rough speech and awkward movements, with the dapper little man in -front of him. The consciousness that he himself would be reckoned of -no account compared to Theodore Biron by the very men who despised the -latter and respected himself was the strongest spur he had ever felt -towards self-improvement. - -“And what brings a person of your intellectual calibre into our humble -neighborhood?” pursued Theodore in the same tone. - -“Ah’m looking for lodgings up this way,” answered Bram shortly. - -The idea had come to him that evening that, since he had been told to -change his lodgings, he would settle in the neighborhood of Hessel. - -As he had expected, Mr. Biron did not look pleased. - -“And you are making yourself at home in advance!” suggested he dryly. - -“Well, sir, you needn’t see more of me than you feel inclined to,” -retorted Bram. - -And, with a curt salutation, he turned on his heel and went out of the -house by the back way, through the kitchen and the still open outer -door. - -He went up the hill towards the row of cottages on the summit, and -made inquiries which resulted in his finding the two modest rooms he -wanted in the end house of all, within a stone’s throw of a ruin so -strange-looking that Bram made a tour of inspection of the ramshackle -old building before returning to the town. - -This ruin had once been a country mansion of fair size and of some -importance, but the traces of its architectural beauties were now -few and far apart. Of the main building only one side wall retained -enough of its old characteristics to claim attention; at the top of the -massive stonework a Tudor chimney, of handsome proportions, rose in -incongruous stateliness above the decaying roof which had been placed -over a row of cottages, which, built up within the old wall, had grown -ruinous in their turn, and were now shut up and deserted. - -At the back of this heterogeneous pile and a little distance away -from it, another long and massive stone wall, with a Tudor window -out of which once Wolsey had looked, had now become the chief prop -and mainstay of another row of buildings, one of which was a school, -another a chapel, while a third was a now disused stable. - -And in the shelter of these ruins and remains of greatness a tall -chimney, a cluster of sheds, and a pile of grass-grown trucks marked -the spot where a now disused coal mine added a touch of fantastic -desolation to the scene. - -Bram went all round the pit-mouth and surveyed the town of Sheffield, -with its dead yellow lights and its patches of blackness, like an inky -sea bearing a fleet of ill-lighted boats on its breast in a Stygian -mist. He thought he should like this evening walk out of the smoke and -the lick of the fiery tongues, even without the occasional peeps he -should get at Miss Biron. - -But he hardly knew, perhaps, how much the thought of her, of her -dancing eyes, her rapid movements like the sweep of a bird’s wing, had -to do with his feeling. - -He went back round the pit’s mouth, making his way with some difficulty -in the darkness over the rough stones with which the place was thickly -strewn. - -And as he came to the remains of the old mansion he heard the laugh of -Christian Cornthwaite, a little subdued, but clearly recognizable, not -very far from his ears. - -Bram straightened himself with a nasty shock. By the direction from -which the sound came, he knew that Christian was in the ruin itself; -and that he was not there by himself was plain. Who then was with him? -Bram did not want to find an answer to this question; at least he told -himself that he did not. The dilapidated shell of the old mansion was -not the place where a lady would meet her lover. Bram had peeped into -one of the deserted cottages on his way to the pit’s mouth, and had -seen that, boarded up as doors and windows were, there were ruinous -crannies and spaces through which a tramp or vagrant could creep to a -precarious shelter. - -Christian, who loved an adventure, amorous or otherwise, was evidently -pursuing one now. - -Bram walked down the hill, passed the cottage where he had engaged his -new rooms, whistling to himself, and telling himself persistently that -he was not wondering where Miss Biron had gone to that evening. And -then he became suddenly mute, for, turning his head at the sound of a -light footstep behind him, he saw Claire herself coming down the hill -at a breathless rate. - -She passed him without seeing him. Her head was bent low, and her feet -seemed to fly. Bram’s heart seemed to stop beating as he watched her. - -But he would not allow that he suspected her of being the person who -had been in the ruined building with Christian Cornthwaite. It was true -that Christian had sent her a note in which he had evidently asked her -to meet him; it was true that she had acceded to the request, at her -father’s instigation. - -But although Bram clenched his teeth in thinking of Theodore, and felt -a sudden impulse of fierce indignation against that gentleman, he would -not acknowledge to himself that it was possible to connect her with an -act inconsistent with the modesty of a gentlewoman. - -He was not far behind when Theodore, lively, bright, and entirely -recovered from the discomposure into which Bram’s unseemly violence had -thrown him, came forth from the farmyard to meet his daughter. - -“My dear child, I was getting quite anxious about you. Where’s Chris? I -thought he would have seen you back home.” - -“I left him--at the top of the hill, papa,” answered Claire in a demure -voice. - -And she ran past Theodore into the house. - -Then Theodore, whose eyes were sharp, recognized Bram. And there -flashed through his brain, always active on his own behalf, the -suspicion that this presumptuous young man might be spying not so much -on his employer’s account, as upon his own. The idea struck Theodore as -preposterously amusing; but at the same time he thought that something -might be made out of the foolish fellow’s infatuation, if it indeed -existed. - -“Well, and how about the lodgings?” said he with cheerful -condescension, as Bram came nearer. - -“Ah’ve found some,” replied Bram shortly. - -“And what brings you so far afield?” went on Theodore more urbanely -than ever. “May I hazard the conjecture that there’s a lady in the -case?” - -The young man was quick to seize this suggestion, which he saw might be -used most usefully hereafter. - -“Ay, sir, that’s about reght,” said he. “But she doan’t live here,” he -went on, making up his story with great deliberation as he spoke. “She -lives miles away in t’ country; but Ah thought Ah’d better settle out -of t’ town myself, before Ah went courting.” - -Theodore was disappointed, but he did not show it. - -“Well,” said he, “we shall see something of you now and then, I -daresay.” - -And he nodded good-bye in the most affable manner. - -Bram saluted respectfully, but he was too shrewd to be much impressed, -in the manner Theodore intended, by this change towards him. - -Away from the glamour cast upon him by the fact of Claire’s presence -in his vicinity, Bram had sense enough to reflect that the less he saw -of Miss Biron and her shifty father the better it would be for him. He -did not say this to himself in so many words; but the knowledge was -borne strongly in upon him all the same. There were forces in those two -persons, differently as he esteemed them, against which he felt that he -had no defence ready. Theodore was cunning and grasping; his daughter -was, as Bram knew, used by her father as a tool in his unscrupulous -hands. Deep as Bram’s compassion for the charming girl was, and his -admiration, he had the strength of mind to live for months in her -neighborhood without making any attempt to speak to her. - -He saw her, indeed, morning after morning, and evening after evening, -on his way down to the works and on his way back. For the road from his -lodgings lay past the farm, where Miss Biron was always busy with her -poultry in the morning, and working in her garden at night. - -It was not often that she saw Bram, but when she did she had always -a smile and a nod for him; never more than that though, even when he -lingered a little, in the hope that she would throw him a word. - -Bram saw Theodore sometimes, lounging in a garden chair, with a -cigarette in his mouth; and sometimes Chris Cornthwaite would be with -him, or walking by Claire’s side round the lawn, chattering to her -while she pottered about her late autumn flowers. - -This sight always sent a sharp pang through Bram’s heart; for he had -conceived the idea that Christian, nice fellow though he was, might be -too volatile a person to value Claire’s affection as she deserved. - -Claire, on her side, seemed to be happy enough with Christian. Her -pretty laugh rang out gayly; and Bram, even while he laughed at himself -for a sentimental folly, found himself praying that the poor child -might not be deceived in her hopes of happiness with her volatile lover. - -For Christian, amiable and devoted as he might be with Claire, had not, -as Bram knew, given up his amiability and devotion to other girls; and -after the second or third time that Bram had seen him at Hessel Farm, -he mentioned casually to the newly promoted clerk that he did not want -his father to hear of his visits there. - -Whereat Bram looked grave, and foresaw trouble in the near future. - -The March winds had begun to blow fiercely on the high ground above -Hessel, when Theodore Biron at last discovered a use to which to put -his young neighbor. Would Bram do some marketing for him in the town? -Bram was rather surprised at the request, for an excuse for going into -the town was what Theodore liked to have. But when he found that the -task he was expected to undertake was the purchase of one pound’s worth -of goods for the sum of five shillings, which was all the cash Theodore -trusted him with, Bram, when Theodore had turned his back upon him, -stood looking thoughtfully at the two half-crowns in his hand. - -And while he was doing so Claire, who had seen the transaction from the -window, ran out of the house and came up with him. As usual, the girl’s -presence threw a spell upon him, and put to flight all the saner ideas -he had conceived as to the desirability of trying to conquer his own -infatuation. She came up smiling, but there was anxiety in her face. - -“What has papa been saying to you?” she asked imperiously. - -“He wants me to get some things for him in the town,” said Bram -straightforwardly. “But Ah’m such a bad hand at marketing--that--that -Ah’m afraid----” - -Claire blushed, and interrupted him impatiently. - -“He’s not given you money enough, of course. He never does. He doesn’t -understand. Men never do. They think everything can be got for a few -pence for the housekeeping, and that one is wasteful and extravagant. -Give me the money; I’ll see about the things.” - -“No, you won’t, Miss Claire,” said Bram composedly, as he put the two -half-crowns in his pocket. “You’ve put me on my mettle. Ah’m going to -see what Ah can do, and show you that the men can give the ladies a -lesson in marketing, after all.” - -But Claire did not reply in the same light tone. She looked up in his -face with an expression of shame and alarm in her eyes, which touched -him keenly. With a little catch in her breath, she tried to protest, to -forbid. Then she read something in Bram’s eyes which stung her, some -gleam of pity, of comprehension. She broke off short, burst into tears, -and turned abruptly away. - -Bram stood by the gate for a few seconds, with his head hung down, and -a guilty, miserable look on his face. Then, as nobody came out to him, -he slunk quietly away. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -BRAM’S DISMISSAL. - - -It was with some diffidence that Bram presented himself at the -farmhouse door that evening. He went through the farmyard to the back -door, and gave a modest knock. It was Joan, the servant, who opened the -door to him, and Bram, as his own eyes met those of the middle-aged -Yorkshire woman, had a strong sense that she read him, as he would have -expressed it, “like a book.” Indeed Joan could read character in a face -much more easily than she could read a printed page. Having been born -long before the days of School Boards, she had been accustomed from her -early youth to find her entertainment not in cheap fiction, but in the -life around her; so that she was on the whole much better educated -than women of her class are now, having stored her mind with the facts -gained by experience and observation. - -She looked at him not unkindly. - -“Ah,” she began, with a nod of recognition, as if she had known him -well for a year instead of now speaking to him for the first time, “Ah -thowt it was you. Mister Christian he comes in by t’ front door.” - -Bram did not like this comparison. It suggested, in the first place, -that Joan had an instinct that there was some sort of rivalry between -himself and Mr. Christian. It suggested also the basis on which they -respectively stood. - -“I’ve brought some things Miss Biron wanted,” he began, forgetting that -he had been commissioned, not by the young lady, but by her father. - -Joan smiled a broad smile of shrewd amusement. Bram wished she would -mind her own business. - -“Weel, here she be to see them hersen,” said she, as the inner door of -the kitchen opened, and Claire came in. - -“Oh, Joan, papa wants you to----” began she. - -Then she saw Bram, and stopped. - -“I’ve brought the things, Miss Claire,” said he in a shy voice. - -Miss Biron had stopped short and changed color. She now came forward -slowly, and passing Joan, held open the door for him to enter. - -“Oh, please come in,” she said in a very demure voice, from which it -was impossible to tell whether she was pleased or annoyed, grateful or -the reverse, for his good offices. - -Bram entered, and proceeded to place his enormous parcel on the deal -table, and to cut the string. He was passing through the refining -process very rapidly; and, already, in the clothes which he had chosen -under Chris Cornthwaite’s eye, he looked too dignified a person to -engage in the duties of a light porter. - -Claire, more demure than ever, spoke as if she was much shocked. - -“Oh, have you carried that heavy parcel? Oh, I’m so sorry. It is very, -very kind of you, but----” - -She stopped, stammering a little. Joan, who was standing with her hands -on her hips, admiring the scene, laughed scornfully. - -“Eh, but it’s a grand thing to be yoong! Ah can’t get no smart yoong -gen’lemen to carry my parcels for me, not if they was to see me -breakin’ ma back.” - -“Why, you’ve got a husband to carry them for you,” said Claire quickly, -and not very happily; for Joan laughed again. - -“Ay, Miss Claire, but they doan’t do it after they’re married; so do -you make t’ moast o’ your time.” - -And Joan, with an easy nod which was meant to include both the young -people, went through into the hall with leisurely steps. - -As she had left behind her a slight feeling of awkward reserve, Claire -felt bound to begin with an apology for her. - -“She’s rather rough, but, oh, so good,” said she. - -“Then if she’s good to you, I can forgive all her roughness,” said Bram. - -And the next minute he wished he had not said it. - -There was a momentary pause, during which Bram busied himself with -the strings of his parcels. With a rapid eye, Miss Biron ran over the -various things which the outer wrapper had contained. Then, with a -bright flush in her face, she took her purse from her pocket. - -“How much do I owe you?” she asked quickly. “Three boxes of candles, -eighteenpence. Two boxes of sardines, two and sixpence. Box of figs, -half-a-crown----” - -Bram interrupted her hotly. “One and ninepence, the figs,” cried he, -“and the sardines were only ninepence a tin.” - -“Then they are not the best.” - -“Yes, they are.” - -This colloquy, short and simple as it was, had left the combatants, for -such they seemed, panting with excitement. Miss Biron looked at the -young man narrowly and proceeded in a tone of much haughtiness---- - -“I must beg you to tell me really what they cost, whatever my father -said. He knows nothing about the price of things, but”--and the young -lady gave him a look which was meant to impress him with her vast -experience in these matters--“I do.” - -Bram, afraid of offending her still further, and conscious of the -delicate ground upon which he stood, began submissively to add up the -various items, deducting a few pence where he dared, until the total -of nineteen shillings and fourpence was reached. Miss Biron opened her -purse rather nervously, and took out a small handful of silver, a very -small handful, alas! - -“Let me see. Papa gave you five shillings----” - -“And then the ten he gave me as I went out by the gate after you’d gone -up,” pursued Bram, imperturbably. - -“Ten!” echoed Claire, sharply. “Papa gave you ten shillings more!” - -“Half-a-sovereign, yes,” replied Bram, mendaciously. “You said he -hadn’t given me enough, you know, so he gave me the ten shillings. You -ask him.” - -Claire shook her head. - -“It’s no use asking papa anything,” she said with a sigh. Then she -added, suddenly raising her head and flashing her eyes, “I must trust -to your honor, Mr. Elshaw.” - -The sound of his name uttered by her lips gave Bram a ridiculous -thrill of pleasure. He had supposed she only knew him as “Bram,” and -the thought that she had taken the trouble to inquire his name was a -delicious one. - -“Yes,” said he simply, in no wise troubled by the doubt she expressed. -“Well, that’s fifteen shillings, and you owe me four shillings and -fourpence.” - -She gave him a quick glance of suspicion, and then counted out her poor -little hoard of sixpences and coppers. She had only three shillings and -sevenpence. - -“I owe you,” said she, as she put the money into his hand, “ninepence, -which I must pay you next week. But, please, I want you to promise,” -she earnestly went on, “not to do any more shopping for papa. He is so -extravagant,” and she tried to laugh merrily, “that I have to keep some -check upon him, or we should soon be ruined.” - -“All right, Miss Claire, I’ll do just as you wish, of course. But it’s -a great pleasure to me to be able to do any little thing for you. -You know, for one thing,” he added quickly, fancying that she might -think this presumptuous, “that Mr. Christian was the person who got me -moved up out of the works, so I am doubly glad to do anything for--for -anybody he takes an interest in.” - -Over Claire’s sensitive face there passed a shadow at the mention of -Christian’s name. - -“Christian Cornthwaite is my cousin, you know,” said she. “He often -talks of you. He says you are very clever, and he is very proud of -having discovered you, as he calls it.” - -“It was very good of him,” said Bram. “I’m afraid I don’t do him much -credit; I’m such a rough sort of chap.” - -Miss Biron looked at him rather shyly, and laughed. - -“Well, you were, just a little. But you are--are----” - -“A little bit better now?” suggested Bram modestly. - -“Well, I was going to say a great deal better, only I was afraid it -sounded rather rude. What I meant was that--that----” - -“Well, I should like to hear what it was you meant.” - -“Well, that you speak differently, for one thing.” - -“But I slip back sometimes,” said Bram, laughing and blushing, just as -she laughed and blushed. “It’s so hard not to say ‘Ah’ when I ought to -say ‘I.’ I’m getting on, I know, but it’s like walking on eggs all the -time.” - -Then they both laughed again, and at this point the door opened and Mr. -Biron came in. - -He was very amiable, and insisted on Bram’s coming into the dining-room -with him. As Bram neither smoked nor drank, however, Theodore’s offer -of whisky and cigars was thrown away. But Bram sat down and made a -very good audience, laughing at his host’s stories and jokes, so that -he found himself forced into accepting an invitation to come in again -on the following evening. - -By Theodore’s wish it became Bram’s frequent custom to spend an hour at -the farmhouse in the evening; and the young man soon availed himself of -the intimacy thus begun to make himself useful to Claire in a hundred -ways. He would chop wood in the yard, mend broken furniture, fetch -things from the town, and bargain for her for her poultry, suggest and -help to carry out reformations in her management of the dairy--doing -everything unobtrusively, but making his shrewd common sense manifest -in a hundred practical ways. - -And Claire was grateful, rather shy of taking advantage of his -kindness, but giving him such reward of smiles and thanks as more than -repaid him for labor which was pleasure indeed. - -Sometimes Christian Cornthwaite would be at the farm, and on these -occasions Bram saw little of Claire, who was always monopolized by -her cousin. Christian was as devoted as Bram could have wished; but, -if Theodore thought that the young man delayed his coming, he did not -scruple to send his daughter on some excuse to call at Holme Park, -always refusing Bram’s humble offers to take the message or to escort -Claire. - -The one thing Bram could have wished about Claire was that she should -be less submissive to her unscrupulous father in matters like this. -He would have had her refuse to go up to Holme Park, where she was -always received, as Bram knew, with the coldness which ought to have -been reserved for Theodore. And especially did Bram feel this now -that he knew, from Theodore’s own lips, that the notes he sent by his -daughter’s hand to Josiah Cornthwaite were seldom answered. It made -Bram’s blood boil to know this, and that in the face of this fact -Theodore continued to send his daughter up to his rich cousin’s house -on begging errands. - -Bram was in the big farm kitchen by himself one cool September -evening, busily engaged in making a new dressing-table for Claire out -of some old boxes. He had his coat off, and was sawing away, humming to -himself as he did so, when, turning to look for something he wanted, he -found, to his surprise, that Claire, whom he had not seen that evening, -was sitting in the room. - -She had taken her hat off, and was sitting with it in her lap, so -silently, so sadly, that Bram, who was not used to this mood in the -volatile girl, was struck with astonishment. - -For a moment he stood, saw in hand, looking at her without speaking. - -“Miss Claire!” exclaimed he at last. - -“Well?” - -“When did you come in? I never saw you come in!” - -“No. I didn’t want you to see me. I don’t want any one to see me. So I -can’t go in because papa has the door open, and he would catch me on -the way upstairs.” - -“What’s wrong with you, Miss Claire?” - -Bram had come over to her and was leaning on the table and speaking -with so much kindness in his voice that the girl’s eyes, after glancing -up quickly and meeting his, filled with tears. - -“Oh, everything. One feels like that sometimes. Everybody does, I -suppose.” - -Bram’s heart ached for the girl. He guessed that she had been to Holme -Park on the usual errand, and that she had been coldly received. He -could hear Theodore strumming on the piano in the drawing-room. The -piano was so placed that the player had a good view of the open door, -and Bram knew that Theodore had chosen this method of filling up the -time till his daughter’s return. Apparently he had now caught with his -sharp ears the sound of voices in the kitchen, for the playing ceased, -and a moment later he presented himself at the door with a smiling face. - -“Good-evening, Elshaw. Heard you sawing away, but didn’t like to -disturb you till I heard another voice, and guessed that I might. Any -answer to my note, Claire?” - - -[Illustration: For a moment he stood, saw in hand, looking at her -without speaking.--_Page 52._] - - -“No, papa.” - -Claire had risen from her chair, and was standing with her back turned -to her father, pretending to be busy sticking the long, black-headed -pins into her hat. - -“No answer. Oh, well, there was hardly an answer needed. That’s all -right.” - -From his tone nobody would have guessed that Theodore cared more than -his words implied; but Bram, who saw most things, noticed a frown of -disappointment and anger on the airy Mr. Biron’s face. After a pause -Theodore said-- - -“I think I shall go down the hill and have a game of billiards. That -will fill up the time till you’ve finished your carpentering, Elshaw, -and then we’ll finish up with a game of chess.” - -And Theodore disappeared. A few moments later they heard him shut -himself out by the front door. - -Bram after a glance at Claire went on with his sawing, judging it wiser -not to attempt to offer the sympathy with which his heart was bursting. - -When he had been going on with his work for some minutes, however, -Claire came and stood silently beside him. He looked up and smiled. - -“Go on with your work,” said she gravely, “just for a few minutes. Then -I’m going to send you away.” - -“Send me away, Miss Claire? What for?” - -“For your own good, Mr. Elshaw.” - -Bram suddenly pulled himself upright, and then looked down at her in -dismay. - -“Mr. Elshaw! I’m getting on in the world then! I used to be only Bram.” - -“That’s it,” said Claire in a low voice, looking at the fire. “You used -to be only Bram; but you’ve got beyond that now.” - -“But I don’t want to get beyond that with you, Miss Claire,” protested -he. - -“What you want doesn’t matter,” said she decidedly. “You can’t help -yourself. I’ve heard something about you to-night. Oh, don’t look like -that; it was nothing to your discredit, nothing at all. But you’ve -got to give up your carpentering and wood chopping for us, Bram, and -you’re not to come here again.” She spoke with much decision, but her -sensitive face showed some strange conflict going on within her, in -which some of the softer emotions were evidently engaged. Whatever it -was that made her turn her humble and useful old friend away, the cause -was not ingratitude. - -Before he could put another question, being indeed too much moved to be -able to frame one speedily, Bram was startled by a tapping at the door. -Miss Biron started; Bram almost thought he saw her shiver. She pointed -quickly to the inner door. - -“Go at once,” said she in an imperious whisper, “and remember you are -not to come back; you are never to come back.” - -Bram took up his coat, slipped his arms into it, and obeyed without -a word. But the look on his face, as Claire caught a glimpse of it, -was one which cut her to the quick. She drew a deep breath, and threw -out her hands towards him with a piteous cry. Bram stopped, shivered, -made one step towards her, when the tap at the door was repeated more -sharply. - -Claire recovered herself at once, made a gesture to him to go, and -opened the one door as he let himself out by the other. - -Bram heard the voice of the newcomer. It was Christian Cornthwaite. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -ANOTHER STEP UPWARD. - - -Bram left the farmhouse in a tumult of feeling. Why had he been -dismissed so abruptly? Why had he been dismissed at all? - -It was on Christian’s account apparently. But what objection could -Christian have to his visits to the farm? - -On the many occasions when the two young men had met there Bram had -always been shunted into the background for Christian, and had been -left at his modest occupations unheeded, while Claire gave all her -attention to her cousin. Bram had looked upon this arrangement as quite -natural, and had never so much as winced at it. The idea that Christian -Cornthwaite might look upon him as a possible rival being out of the -question, again Bram asked himself--What could be the reason of his -dismissal? - -He did not mean to take it quietly; he had conceit enough to think that -Claire would be sorry if he did. He could flatter himself honestly -that during the past six months he had become the young lady’s trusted -friend, never obtrusive, never demonstrative, but trusted, perhaps -appreciated, none the less on that account. - -Bram had the excuse of Theodore’s invitation for hanging about the -neighborhood until that gentleman’s return. But at the very moment -when Mr. Biron’s gay voice, humming to himself as he came up the hill, -struck upon Bram’s ear, Christian Cornthwaite came out through the -farmyard gate. - -“Hallo, Elshaw, is that you?” he asked, as he came out and passed his -arm through Bram’s. “I wondered what had become of you when I did not -find you in the house this evening. I’d begun to look upon you as one -of the fixtures.” - -“I was there this evening, Mr. Christian,” replied Bram soberly. “But I -got turned out without much ceremony just before you came.” - -“Turned out, eh? I didn’t think you ever did anything to deserve such -treatment from any one.” And Chris looked curious. “You are what I call -a model young man, if anything a little too much like the hero of a -religious story for young ladies, written by a young lady.” - -Bram was quite acute enough to understand that this was a sneer. - -“You mean that I’m what you and your friends call a prig, Mr. -Christian?” he said quite unaffectedly, and without any sign of -shame or regret. “Well, I suppose I am. But you don’t allow for the -difference between us at starting. To get up to where you stand from -where I used to be, one must be a bit of a prig, don’t you think?” - -“Perhaps so. I think you may be trusted to know your own business, -Elshaw. You’re one of the men that get on. It won’t do you any harm on -the way up if you leave off chopping firewood in your shirt-sleeves for -people who don’t think any the better of you for it.” - -Bram, who had let himself be led up the hill, stopped short. - -“She doesn’t think any the worse of me for doing any little thing I can -to help her,” said he in a muffled voice. - -Christian began to laugh. - -“She? You mean Claire. Oh, no, no, she does justice to everybody, bless -her dear little heart! I was thinking of our rascally friend, her -father. You know very well that he uses his daughter as a means for -getting all he can out of everybody. I hope you’ve not been had by the -old ruffian, Elshaw?” - -“No, Mr. Christian; no, I haven’t,” answered Bram hastily. “That is, -not to an extent that matters.” - -“Ah, ha! That means you have been had for half-crowns, for instance?” -As Bram moved uneasily, Chris laughed again. “Of course, it is no -affair of mine; I’m quite sure you can see through our frivolous friend -as well as anybody else. But if, as you say, you have been dismissed, -why, I advise you not to try to get reinstated.” - -Now, this advice troubled Bram exceedingly. It was excellent of its -kind, no doubt; but he asked himself whether the man who was so keenly -alive to the disadvantages of even an acquaintance with the Birons -could really be ready to form an alliance which must bring the burden -of the needy elderly gentleman upon him for life. His feelings upon the -subject were so keen that they would not permit him to temporize and to -choose his words and his opportunity. Quite suddenly he blurted out-- - -“You’re going to marry Miss Claire, aren’t you?” - -Christian, who always took things more easily than his deeper-natured -companion, looked at the earnest, strongly-cut face with something -like amusement. Luckily, it was too dark for Bram to see the full -significance of his companion’s expression. - -“Marry her? Why, yes, to be sure I hope so. My father is very anxious -for me ‘to settle down,’ as he calls it, though I would rather, for my -own part, not settle down quite so far as matrimony just yet.” - -There was a pause. Then Bram said in a dry voice-- - -“I can’t understand you, Mr. Christian. You seem just as nigh what a -man ought to be as a man can be in lots of ways. And I can’t understand -how a man like that, that is a man like you, shouldn’t be all on fire -to make the girl he loves his wife as quick as he can. Is that a part -of my priggishness, Mr. Christian, to wonder at that?” - -Christian did not answer at once. They had reached the top of the hill, -and were standing by the ruined cottages, which looked more desolate -than ever in the darkness of the winter evening. The wind whistled -through the broken walls and the decaying rafters. - -Bram remembered the evening when he had heard Christian’s laugh in that -very pile. - -“I suppose it is, Bram,” said Chris at last. “But I rather like it in -you, all the same. I can’t help laughing at you, but I think you’re -rather a fine fellow. Now, listen to me. You may go on wondering at my -behavior as much as you like, but you mustn’t yourself have anything -more to do with the Birons. We’ll say I’m jealous, Bram, if you like. -I really think it’s true, too,” he added with a flippancy which belied -his words. - -But Bram shook his head solemnly. - -“No, Mr. Christian,” he answered; and in the excitement he felt the -strong Yorkshire accent was heard again in his voice. “You’ve no -call to be jealous of me, and you know that right well. If I were a -gentleman born, like you----” - -“Don’t use that expression,‘gentleman born,’ Elshaw,” interrupted -Chris lightly. “It means nothing, for one thing. My great-grandfather -was a mill hand, or something of that sort, and so were the -great-grandfathers of half the men in the House of Lords. And it sounds -odd from a man like you, who will be a big pot one of these days.” - -“Well, Mr. Christian, if I’d been brought up in a big house, like you, -and had had my face kept clean and my hair curled instead of being -allowed to make mud-pies in the gutter----” - -“I _wanted_ to make mud-pies in the gutter!” interpolated Christian -cheerfully. - -“Well, you know what I mean, anyhow. If we’d stood just on the same -ground----” - -“We never should have stood on the same ground, Elshaw,” said Chris -with a shrewd smile. - -“----And if I hadn’t been beholden to you for the rise I’ve got, I’d -have fought you for the place you’ve got with her very likely. But, as -it is, I’m nowhere; I don’t count. And you know that, Mr. Christian.” - -“Indeed, I’m very glad to hear it, for if there’s one man in the -world I should less like to have for a rival than another, in love -or in anything else, it’s you, Bram. I know you’re a lamb outside; -but I can’t help suspecting that there’s a creature more like a tiger -underneath.” - -“I’m inclined to think myself, Mr. Christian, that the creature -underneath’s more like an ass,” said Bram good-humoredly. - -They were standing at the top of the hill; it was a damp, cold night, -and Christian shivered. - -“You mustn’t stand here talking, Mr. Christian,” said Bram. “You are -not so used to strong breezes as me.” - -“Well, good-night; I won’t take you any further. You live somewhere -about here, I know. But, I say.” He called after Bram, who was turning -back. “There’s one thing I want to tell you. Don’t say anything to the -guv’nor about meeting me at the farm.” - -Bram stared blankly, and Christian laughed. - -“My dear fellow, don’t you know that these matters require to be -conducted with a little diplomacy? When a man is dependent upon his -father, as he always is if he’s a lazy beggar like me, that father has -to be humored a little. I must prepare him gradually for the shock, if -I’m ever to marry Claire.” - -“All right, Mr. Christian. I’ll say nothing, of course. But I shall -be glad to hear that matters are straight. It seems hard on the young -lady, doesn’t it?” - -“Ah, well, life isn’t all beer and skittles for any of us.” - -Christian called out these words, turning his head as he walked rapidly -away on the road to Holme Park. - -Bram had made such astonishing progress in the office since his -promotion, not much more than a year before, that nobody but himself -was astonished when he was called into the private office of the elder -Mr. Cornthwaite, about a fortnight after his talk with Christian, and -was formally invited by that gentleman to dine at Holme Park in the -course of the following week. Bram’s first impulse was to apologize for -declining the invitation, but Mr. Cornthwaite insisted, and with such -an air of authority that Bram felt there was no escape for him. - -But, meeting Christian later in the day, Bram related the incident -rather as if it were a grievance. - -“You know, Mr. Christian, it’s not in my line, that sort of thing. Ah -shall make a fool o’ myself, Ah know Ah shall.” - -And, either accidentally or on purpose, he dropped again into the -strong Yorkshire dialect, which since his elevation he had worked -successfully to overcome. - -But Christian only laughed at his excuses. - -“You’d be a fool to refuse,” he said shortly. “I’ll take you round to -my tailor’s again, and he’ll measure you for your war-paint.” - -Bram’s face fell. - -“No, Mr. Christian, no. I’m not going to dress myself up. Mr. -Cornthwaite won’t expect it, and what would be the good of my wasting -all that money on clothes you’ll never catch me wearing again? And the -oaf I should look in ’em too! Why, you’d all be laughin’ at me, an’ not -more than I should be laughin’ at myself.” - -“Elshaw,” returned Chris gravely, “the one thing which distinguishes -you above all the self-made men and born geniuses I’ve ever heard about -is that you’ve got too broad a mind to despise trifles. While Sir -George Milbrook, who began as a factory hand, and Jeremiah Montcombe -of Gray’s Hall, and a lot of other men who’ve got on like them, make -a point of dropping their H’s and clipping their words just as they -used to do forty years ago, you’ve thought it worth your while to drop -your Ah’s and your tha’s, till there’s very little trace of them left -already, and there’ll be none in another year. Well, now, there are -some more trifles to be mastered, and dressing for dinner is one of -them. So buck up, old man, and come along. And by-the-by, as you’ll -always take a hint from me, couldn’t you let yourself drop into slang -sometimes? Your language is so dreadfully precise, and you use so many -words that I have to look out in the dictionary.” - -“Do I, Mr. Christian?” asked Bram, surprised. Then he laughed and -shook his head. “No, I can’t trust myself as far as the slang yet. It -wouldn’t come out right perhaps. I shouldn’t have discrimination enough -to choose between the slang that was all right and the slang which -would make the ladies look at each other.” - -“Well, I suppose I must let you have a few months’ grace. But it’s only -on condition that you smoke an occasional cigarette, and that you don’t -stick so persistently to soda water and lemonade, when you’re asked to -have a drink.” - -“But, Mr. Christian, I’m not used to wine and spirits, not even to -beer, and if I was to drink them they would get into my head. And as it -takes me all my time to speak properly and behave so as to pass muster, -as it is, you’d better leave pretty well alone, and let me keep to the -soda water.” - -“Oh, well, as long as you’re not moved by conscientious scruples I -don’t so much mind. But teetotalism savors rather too much of the -Sunday-school and the Anti-Tobacco League. Mind, I don’t want to make -you an habitual drunkard, but I should like to feel sure that you -understand there is a happy medium.” - -“Oh, yes, I understand that,” said Bram with a comical look; “but I -wish I hadn’t to go up to the Park Thursday week all the same.” - -Chris looked at him steadily, and played with his long, tawny moustache -for a few moments in silence. - -“So do I. I wish you hadn’t got to go too,” said he at last. - -But he would not explain why; he turned the subject by remarking that -they mustn’t forget the visit to the tailor’s. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -A CALL AND A DINNER PARTY. - - -It is not to be supposed that Bram had forgotten all about Claire -Biron, or that he had not been tempted to break through the command -she had imposed upon him. At first he had intended to present himself -as usual at the farm on the evening after his summary dismissal, and -to brave her possible displeasure. He felt so sure of her kind feeling -toward himself that he had very little doubt of overcoming her scruples -from whatever cause they arose. - -On the very next morning, however, he had come suddenly upon her as he -went down the hill towards the town; and Claire had cut him, actually -cut him, passing him with her eyes on the ground, at a rapid pace. - -Bram was so utterly overwhelmed by this action on her part that he -stood stupidly staring at her figure as it went quickly upwards, -uncertain what to do, until she turned into the farmyard and -disappeared. - -He went on to the office with a dull weight at his heart, hoping -against hope that she would relent, that she would smile at him with -her old friendliness when next they met, but unable to stifle the fear -that the pleasant friendship which had been so much to him was now over. - -As to her reasons for this new course of treatment he could make no -guess which seemed to him at all likely to be the right one. She had -heard something about him, that was her excuse, something not to his -discredit, but which was, nevertheless, the cause of her sending him -away. Now, Bram could think of nobody who was likely to be able to -tell Claire the one fact which might have brought about his banishment -conceivably, the fact that he loved her. He had kept his secret so well -that he might well feel sure it was in his own power, so well that he -sometimes honestly doubted whether it was a fact at all. - -Besides, even if it had been possible for her to find this out, she -would not have dismissed him in this curt, almost brutal, fashion. - -The more Bram thought about his banishment, the farther he seemed -to get from a sane conclusion; but he could not rest. He could not -dismiss the matter from his mind. Full as his new life was of work, of -interest, of ambitions, of hopes, the thought of Claire haunted him. He -wondered how she was getting on without him, knowing that he had made -himself useful to her in a hundred ways, and that if she did not miss -him, she must at least miss the work he did for her. - -And Christian--he had told Bram in so many words that he meant to marry -his cousin; yet his visits had fallen off in frequency, and Bram had an -idea that Claire looked unhappy and anxious. - -Bram knew very well that he could get an invitation back to the farm at -any moment by putting himself in the way of Theodore. But he would not -do this; he would not go back without the invitation, or at least the -consent of Claire herself. - -So he avoided Theodore, and went up and down the hill with an outward -air of placid unconcern until the evening before the day when he was -to dine at Mr Cornthwaite’s. - -It was a pleasant October evening; there was a touch of frost in the -air, which was bracing and pleasant after the heavy atmosphere of the -town. When he got close to the farmhouse, he saw Claire crossing the -farmyard on her way to the kitchen door, with a heavy load of wood in -her arms. It seemed to him that her face looked sad and worn, that odd -little face which had so little prettiness in repose except for those -who knew the possibilities for fun, for tenderness, that lay dormant in -her bright brown eyes. - -He hesitated a moment, and then went quickly through the gate. - -“May I help you, Miss Claire?” - -She did not start or pretend to be surprised. She had seen him coming. - -She stopped. - -“You know what I told you, that you were not to come here again,” she -said severely. - -But it was severity which did not frighten him. - -“Well,” he began humbly, “I’ve kept away nearly a fortnight.” - -“But I said you were never to come again.” - -“I don’t think you can have meant it though. You would have given me -some reason if you had.” - -Claire frowned and tapped her little foot impatiently on the ground. - -“Oh, you know, you must know. You are not stupid, Mr. Elshaw.” - -“I’m beginning to think I am,” said Bram, as he began to take her load -from her with gentle insistence. - -It amused and touched him to note how glad she was, in spite of her -assumed displeasure, to give her work up to him in the old way. He -opened the kitchen door, and took the wood into the scullery, where -Joan was at work, just as he used to do for her, and then went through -the kitchen slowly on his way out again. - -Claire was standing by the big deal table. - -“Thank you, thank you very much,” said she. - -But her tone was not so bright as usual; she was more subdued -altogether--a quiet, demure, downcast little girl. Bram, making his way -with leaden feet to the outer door, wanted to say something, but hardly -knew what. He hoped that she would stop him before he reached the door, -but he was disappointed. He put his hand upon the latch and paused. -Still she said nothing. He opened the door, and glanced back at her. -Although the look she gave him in return had nothing of invitation in -it, he felt that there was something in her sad little face which made -it impossible to leave her like that. - -“Miss Claire,” said he, and he was surprised to find that his voice -was husky and not so loud as he expected, “mayn’t I finish the -dressing-table?” - -“If you like.” - -Her voice was as husky as his own. - -Without another word he set about the work, found the saw, which, -by-the-bye, was his own, the wood, and the rest of the things he -wanted, and in less than ten minutes was at work in the old way, and -Claire, fetching her needlework, was busy by the fire, just as she used -to be. She was too proud to own it; but Bram saw quite plainly that -this quiet re-establishment of the old situation made her almost as -happy as it did him. - -“Things going all right, Miss Claire?” asked he as he took up his plane. - -“No, of course they’re not. They’re going all wrong, as usual. More -wrong than usual. Johnson takes more advantage than ever of there being -nobody to look after him properly.” - -Johnson was the farm bailiff, and he had worked all the better for -the suggestions sharp-sighted Bram had made to Claire. Since Bram’s -banishment Johnson had been rampant again. Claire was quite conscious -of this, and she turned to another subject, to allow him no opportunity -of applying her comments. - -“And you--at least I needn’t ask. You always get on all right, don’t -you?” - -“I shall come to grief to-morrow,” answered Bram soberly. “I’ve got -to go up to the Park to dinner. What do you think of that, Miss -Claire? And to wear a black coat and a stiff shirt-front, just like a -gentleman! Won’t they all laugh at me when my back’s turned, and talk -about daws’ and peacocks’ feathers? It’s all Mr. Christian’s fault, so -I suppose you will say it’s all right?” - -“It is all right, Bram,” said Claire gravely; “and they won’t laugh -at you. They can’t. You’re too modest. And too clever besides.” She -paused, dropped her work in her lap, and looked intently at the fire. -“Is it true that you’re going to be married, Bram?” she presently asked -abruptly. - -“Married! Me! Lord, no. Who told you such a thing as that?” And Bram -stood up and looked at her, letting his plane lie idle. - -“Papa said he thought you were. He said you were engaged to a girl who -lived in the country. You never told me about her.” - -“And is that why you sent me away?” - -At his tone of dismay Claire burst out laughing with her old hilarity. - -“Oh, no, oh, no. I sent you away, if you must know, because I had heard -that you were to go up and dine at Holme Park, and because I knew that -it would be better for you to be able to say there that you didn’t -visit us.” - -“Is _that_ what you call a reason?” asked Bram scornfully, angrily. - -“Yes, that’s one reason.” - -“Well, well, haven’t you any better ones?” - -“Perhaps. But I shan’t tell you any more, so you need not ask me for -them. I want to know something about this girl you’re engaged to.” - -“Not engaged,” said Bram stolidly. - -“Well, in love with then? I want to know something about her. I think -it very strange that I never heard anything about her before. What is -she like?” - -“Well, she’s like other girls,” said Bram. “She is much like nine out -of every ten girls you meet.” - -“Really? I shouldn’t have thought you’d care for a girl like that, -Bram.” - -“You must care for what you can get in this world,” said Bram -sententiously. - -“Well, tell me something more. Is she tall or short, fair or dark? Has -she blue eyes, or gray ones, or brown?” - -Bram looked thoughtful. - -“Well, she’s neither tall nor short. She’s not very dark, nor yet very -fair. And her eyes are a sort of drab color, I think.” - -“You don’t mean it, Bram? I suppose you think it’s no business of mine?” - -“That’s it, Miss Claire.” - -“I don’t believe in the existence of this girl with the drab-colored -eyes, Bram.” - -Claire had jumped up, and darted across to the table in her old -impulsive way; and now she stood, her eyes dancing with suppressed -mirth, just as she used to stand in the good old days before the -rupture of her own making. - -Bram was delighted at the change. - -“Well, I won’t say whether she exists or not,” replied he with a smile -lurking about his own mouth; “and I don’t choose to have my love -affairs pried into by anybody, I don’t care who. How would you like -people to pry into yours?” - -She grew suddenly grave, and he wished he had not said it. - -“There’s no concealment about mine, Bram,” she said quietly. - -“You’re going to marry Mr. Christian?” - -“I suppose so.” - -Why did she speak so quietly, so wistfully? The question troubled -Bram, who did not dare to say any more upon a subject which she seemed -anxious to avoid as much as she could. And the talk languished until -Claire heard her father’s footsteps coming down the stairs. - -“Now go,” said she imperiously. “I don’t want you to meet papa. And you -mustn’t come again. And you mustn’t tell them up at Holme Park that -you were here this evening.” - -Bram frowned. - -“Miss Claire,” said he, “I am a deal prouder of coming here than I am -of going up to t’ Park. And if I’m to choose between here and t’ Park, -I choose to come here. But I shall be let to do as I please, I can -promise you. But, of course, if you don’t want me here, I won’t come.” - -“Good-night,” said she for answer. - -And she hurried him out of the house, and shut the door upon him in -time to prevent her father, who was in the passage outside, from -meeting him. - -Bram went up to the Park on the following evening in much better -spirits than if he had not had that reassuring interview with Claire. -He still felt rather troubled as to the prospects of the marriage -between her and her cousin, but he hoped that he might hear something -about it in the family circle at Holme Park. - -The ordeal of the evening proved less trying than the promoted clerk -had expected--up to the certain point. - -With the ladies of the family he had already become acquainted. Mrs. -Cornthwaite was a tiresome elderly lady of small mental capacity and -extremely conservative notions, who alternately patronized Bram and -betrayed her horror at the recollection of his former station. The -good lady was a perpetual thorn in the side of her husband, whom she -irritated by silly interruptions and sillier comments on his remarks, -and to her daughter, who had to be ever on the alert to ward off the -effects of her mother’s imbecility. - -The daughter, Hester, was a thoroughly good creature, who had been -worried into a pessimistic view of life, and into a belief that much -“good” could be done in the world by speaking her mind with frank -rudeness upon all occasions. The consequence of these peculiarities -in the ladies of the household was that to spend an evening in their -society was a torture from which all but the bravest shrank, although -every one acknowledged that they were the best-intentioned people in -the world. - -The only guests besides Bram were Mr. and Mrs. Hibbs and their only -daughter, whom Bram knew already by name and by sight. - -Mr. Hibbs was a coal-owner, a man of large means, and a great light -in evangelical circles. He was a tall, sallow man, with thin whiskers -and a deliberate manner of speaking, as if he were always in the -reading-desk, where on Sundays he often read the lessons for the day. -His wife was a comfortable-looking creature, with a round face and a -round figure, and a habit of gently nodding her head after any remark -of her husband’s, as if to emphasize its wisdom. - -As for Minnie, it struck Bram, as he made her the bow he had been -practising, that she exactly answered to the description he had -given Claire of the supposed lady of his heart. There was only this -difference, that she was distinguished from most young women of her -age by the exceedingly light color of her eyebrows and eyelashes. She -appeared to have none until you had the opportunity for a very close -inspection. - -She had quite a reputation for saintliness, which had reached -even Bram’s ears. Her whole delight was in Sunday-school work and -in district visiting, and the dissipations connected with these -occupations. - -She was, however, very cheerful and talkative during dinner; and Bram -was surprised to see how very attentive Christian, who sat by her -side, was to this particularly unattractive young person, who was the -antithesis of all he admired. - -For Christian’s good nature did not generally go the length of making -him more than barely civil to plain women. - -Bram found Miss Cornthwaite kind and easy to get on with. She was -a straightforward, practical woman, on the far side of thirty, and -this grave, simple-mannered young man, with the observant gray eyes, -interested and pleased her. She tried to intercept the glances of -horror which Mrs. Cornthwaite occasionally threw at him, and the -terrible explanations with which the elder lady condescendingly favored -him. - -Thus, when the Riviera was mentioned, Mrs. Cornthwaite threw him the -good-natured aside, audible all over the room-- - -“The shore of the Mediterranean, you know, the sea that lies between -France and Italy, and--and those places!” - -And when some one used the word “bizarre,” Mrs. Cornthwaite smiled at -Bram again, and again whispered loudly-- - -“Quaint, odd, you know. It’s a French word.” - -“Mamma, you needn’t explain. Mr. Elshaw speaks better French than we -do, I’m quite sure,” said Hester good-naturedly enough, though she had -better have made no comment. - -But Bram said at once, as if grateful to the old lady-- - -“No, Miss Cornthwaite, I can read and write French pretty well, but I -can’t speak it. And when I hear a French word spoken I don’t at once -catch its meaning.” - -“There, you see, Hester, I was right. I knew Mr. Elshaw would be glad -of a little help,” said Mrs. Cornthwaite triumphantly. - -“Very glad, indeed,” assented Bram, quickly interposing as Hester was -about to continue the argument with her mother. - -It was not until the ladies had left the room, and Bram, with an amused -glance at Christian, had taken a cigarette, that the real ordeal of the -evening came for the young clerk in a shape he had never expected. - -“I suppose you hardly know, Elshaw,” said Mr. Cornthwaite with -a preliminary cough, as if to show that he was about to make an -announcement of importance, “why I was so particularly anxious for you -to dine with us this evening?” Bram looked interested, as, indeed, he -felt. “You are aware, Elshaw, of the enormously high opinion of your -talents which my son has always held. He now proposes that you should -go to London to represent us in a rather delicate negotiation, in -place of himself. And as the reason is that he will himself be occupied -with pleasanter matters than those of dry business, I thought it would -interest you to be present on the occasion of the first announcement of -the pleasanter matter in question. It is not less than a wedding----” - -“A wedding, sir?” Bram’s face clouded with perplexity. - -“Yes, Elshaw. You have had the honor of being introduced to the young -lady this evening. My son has been fortunate enough to obtain the heart -and a promise of the hand of Miss Minnie Hibbs.” - -Bram looked steadily at Christian. He dared not speak. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE FINE EYES OF HER CASH-BOX. - - -Christian Cornthwaite pretended to be occupied in conversation with his -future father-in-law, while Mr. Cornthwaite, senior, in his blandest -and most good-humored tones, made the announcement of his son’s -intended marriage to the astonished Bram. - -But Christian’s attention was not so deeply engaged that he could not -take note of what was happening, and he noticed the dead silence with -which Bram received the announcement, and presently stole a furtive -look at the face of the young clerk. - -Bram caught the look, and replied to it with a steady stare. Chris -turned his eyes away, but that look of Bram’s fascinated him, worried -him. In truth, it had been his fear of what Elshaw would say, even more -than his own disinclination, which had kept him hovering on the brink -of his engagement with Miss Hibbs for so long. - -And now he felt that he would have preferred some outbreak on Bram’s -part to this stony silence. - - -[Illustration: “A wedding, Sir?” Bram’s face clouded with perplexity. ---_Page 70._] - - -Even Josiah Cornthwaite was puzzled by Bram’s reception of the news. -The young man seemed absolutely unmoved by the fresh proof of his -employer’s confidence given in the information that he was to be sent -to London on important business. He grew even uneasy as Bram’s silence -continued, or was broken only by the briefest and coldest of answers. -He looked from his son to Bram, and perceived that there was some -understanding between them. And his fears grew apace. He shortened the -stay in the dining-room, therefore, and letting Mr. Hibbs and Chris -enter the drawing-room together, he took Bram up the stairs, with the -excuse of showing him the view of the town from one of the windows. - -Bram was shrewd enough to guess that he was to be “pumped.” - -“This news about my son’s intended marriage seems to have taken you by -surprise, Elshaw,” said Mr. Cornthwaite as they stood together looking -out on the blurred lights of the town below. - -“Well, sir, it has,” admitted Bram briefly. - -“But you know he is twenty-six, an age at which a young man who can -afford it ought to be thinking of marrying.” - -“Oh, yes.” - -“You thought, perhaps, that such a volatile fellow would be scarcely -likely to make such a sensible choice as he has done?” went on Josiah -with an air of bland indulgence, but with some anxiety in his eyes. - -There was a pause. - -“That was what you thought, eh?” repeated Mr. Cornthwaite more sharply. - -Bram Elshaw frowned. - -“Sir, may I speak out?” asked he bluntly. - -“Certainly.” - -“Well, then, sir, I don’t think it is a wise choice--if it was his -choice at all, and not yours, sir?” - -Now, Mr. Cornthwaite, while giving his permission to speak out, had not -expected such uncompromising frankness as this. He was taken aback. He -stammered as he began to answer-- - -“Why, why, what do you mean? Could there be a more sensible choice than -such a lady as Miss Hibbs? A good daughter, not frivolous, or vain, or -flighty; a sensible, affectionate girl, devoted to her parents and to -good works. Just such a girl, in fact, as can be depended upon to make -a thoroughly good, devoted wife.” - -“For some sort of men, sir. But not for a man like Mr. Christian,” -returned Bram with decision. - -His blood was up, and he spoke with as much firmness as, and with more -fire than, he had ever before shown to his employer. - -Mr. Cornthwaite, who had grounds for feeling uneasy, was lenient, -patient, attentive, curious. - -“Why, don’t you know, Elshaw,” said he sharply, “that a man should -mate with his opposite if he wants to be happy? That grave and serious -men like frivolous wives; but that your lively young fellow likes a -sober-minded wife to keep his house in order?” - -“Sir, if it’s Mr. Christian’s choice, there’s an end of it,” said Bram -brusquely. - -“Of course it’s his choice, none the less, but rather the more, that -it meets not only with my approval, but with that of the ladies of my -family,” said Mr. Cornthwaite pompously. - -Yet still he was curious, still unsatisfied. And still Bram said -nothing. - -“Believe me,” Mr. Cornthwaite went on impressively, “a man is none the -less amenable to the influence of a good wife for having sown his wild -oats first. With a wife like the one I--no, I mean he has chosen,” a -faint smile flickered over Bram’s mouth at this correction, “my son -will settle down into a model husband and father. You want the two -elements, seriousness on the one side, good-humored gayety on the -other, to make a happy marriage. Why, I ought to know, for these are -exactly the principles on which I married myself.” - -Mr. Cornthwaite uttered these words with an air of bland assurance, -which, he thought, must carry conviction. But his young hearer, -unfortunately, had heard enough about the domestic life at Holme Park -to know that the “sensible marriage” on which Mr. Cornthwaite prided -himself had by no means resulted in domestic peace. The bickerings of -the ill-matched pair were, in fact, a constant source of misery to -all the household, and were used freely by Chris as an excuse for his -neglect of home. - -Bram, therefore, received this information with courtesy, but without -comment. Mr. Cornthwaite kept his eyes steadily fixed upon the young -man, and found himself at last obliged to put a direct question. - -“You had, I suppose, expected him to make a different sort of choice?” - -“Very different, sir.” - -“Some one, perhaps, whom you would have considered better suited to -him?” - -“Much better suited, sir.” - -Mr. Cornthwaite’s face clouded. - -“Whom do you mean?” - -Bram only hesitated a moment. He could do Christian no harm now by -telling the truth; and he had a lingering hope that he might bring old -Mr. Cornthwaite to see the matter with his own eyes. - -“Sir,” said he, “have you never suspected your son of any attachment, -any serious attachment, to a lady as good as Miss Hibbs is said to be, -and a great deal more attractive?” - -Bram felt as he said this that he had lapsed into the copybook style of -conversation which Chris had pointed out as one of his besetting sins. -But he could not help it. He felt the need of some dignity in speaking -words which he felt to be momentous. - -Mr. Cornthwaite looked deeply annoyed. - -“I have not,” said he shortly. And again he asked--“Whom do you mean?” - -“Miss Claire Biron, sir,” answered Bram. - -Mr. Cornthwaite’s face darkened still more. - -“What!” cried he in agitation which belied his words. “You believe that -my son ever gave that girl a serious thought? And that the daughter of -such a father could be a proper match for my son? Absurd! Absurd! Of -course, you are a very young man; you have no knowledge of the world. -But I should have thought your native shrewdness would have prevented -your falling into such a mistake as that.” - -Bram said nothing. Mr. Cornthwaite, in spite of the scornful tone he -had used, was evidently more anxious than ever to learn whatever Bram -had to tell on the subject. After a short silence, therefore, he asked -in a quieter tone-- - -“How came you to get such a notion into your head, Elshaw?” - -“I knew that they were fond of each other, sir; and I knew that Miss -Biron was a young lady of character, and what you call tact.” - -“Tact! Humbug!” said Mr. Cornthwaite shortly. “She is an artful, -designing girl, and she and her father have done all in their power to -entangle my son. But I foresaw his danger, and now I flatter myself I -have saved him. You, I see, have been taken in by the girl’s little -mincing ways, just as my son was in danger of being. But I warn you not -to have anything to do with them. They are an artful, scheming pair, -both father and daughter, and it would be ruin for any man to become -connected with them--ruin, I say.” - -And he stared anxiously into Bram’s face. - -“Has she led you on too?” he asked presently, with great abruptness. - -Bram’s face flushed. - -“No, sir. She has forbidden me to come to her father’s house.” - -“Ah! A ruse, a trick to encourage my son!” cried the old gentleman -fiercely. “I wish he were safely married. I shall do all in my power to -hurry it on. How often have you seen him about there? You live near, I -believe?” said he curtly. - -“I have seen him now and then, not so very often lately,” answered -Bram. - -“Ah, well, you won’t see him there much longer. Miss Hibbs will see to -that.” - -“Sir, you are wrong,” cried Bram, whose head and heart were on fire at -these accusations against Claire. “Miss Hibbs may be a good girl, as -girls go. I don’t know” (Bram’s English gave way here) “nothing against -her. But I do know you don’t give your son a chance when you make him -marry a sack o’ meal like that, and him loving a flesh-and-blood woman -like Miss Biron! Why, sir, ask yourself whether it’s in nature that he -should settle down to the psalm-singing that would suit her, so as to -be happy and satisfied to give up his wild ways? Put it to him point -blank, sir, which he’d do of his own free will, and see what answer -you’ll get from him!” - -“I shall do nothing of the kind,” said Mr. Cornthwaite hastily, “and -I’m exceedingly sorry to find you so much more gullible than I had -expected, Elshaw. Is it possible you didn’t observe how this young -woman ran after my son? Coming to this house on every possible occasion -with some excuse or other?” - -“That was her father’s fault, sir,” retorted Bram hotly. - -“Probably he had something to do with it; but she fell in with his -wishes with remarkable readiness, readiness which no modest girl -would have shown in the circumstances. She must have seen she was not -welcomed with any warmth by the heads of the household at least.” - -The blood rushed to Bram’s forehead. The idea of poor little Claire -creeping unwillingly to the great house on one of her father’s -miserable errands, only to be snubbed and coldly received by every one, -struck him like a stab. - -“Surely, sir, there was no place in the world where she had so good a -right to expect to be well received as here?” said he, with difficulty -controlling the emotion he felt. “A young girl, doing her best to -fulfil every duty, with no friends, no mother, no father worthy of the -name. And you are her relations; here there were women, ladies, who -knew all about her, and who might be expected to sympathize with her -difficulties and her troubles!” - -Bram, who spoke slowly, deliberately, choosing his words with nice -care, but uttering them with deep feeling, paused, and looked straight -into Mr. Cornthwaite’s face. But there was no mercy in the fiery black -eyes, or about the cold, handsome mouth. - -“They would have shown her every sympathy,” said he coldly, “if she had -not abused the privilege of intimacy by trying to ensnare my son.” - -“Mr. Cornthwaite,” interrupted Bram scornfully, “do you really think -Mr. Christian ever waited for a girl to run after him? Why, for every -time Miss Biron’s been up here--sent here by her father, mind--he’s -been three or four or five times down at the farm!” - -Mr. Cornthwaite’s eyes blazed. By a quick movement he betrayed that -this was just what he had wanted to know. His face clouded more than -before. - -“Ah!” said he shortly, “that’s what I’ve been told. Well, it’s the -girl’s own doing. If she’s got herself into a scrape, she has no one -but herself to thank for it, no one. Shall we join the ladies in the -drawing-room?” - -He led the way downstairs, and Bram followed in dead silence. - -A horrible, sickly fear had seized his heart; he could not but -understand the imputation Mr. Cornthwaite had made, accompanied as it -was by a look, the significance of which there was no mistaking. - -Claire, poor little helpless Claire, the cherished idol of his -imagination and of his heart, lay under the most cruel suspicion which -can assail a woman, the suspicion of having held her honor too lightly. - -Bram, shocked beyond measure, recoiled at the bare mention of this -suspicion in connection with the girl he worshipped. The next moment -he cast the thought behind him as utterly base, and felt that he had -disgraced himself and her by the momentary harboring of it. - -But as for Mr. Cornthwaite, Bram felt that he hated the smug, elderly -gentleman, who troubled himself not in the least about the helpless, -friendless girl who loved his son, and whose only thought was to hurry -his son into a heartless marriage in order to “save him from” the -danger of his repairing his supposed error. - -In these circumstances, Bram lost all self-consciousness, all -remembrance of his unaccustomed dress, of his attitudes, of his -awkwardness, and entered the drawing-room utterly absorbed in thoughts -of Claire. Old Mrs. Cornthwaite, who was fumbling about with a lapful -of feminine trifles, smelling-bottle, handkerchief, spectacle-case, -dropped one of them, and he hastened to pick it up. - -“Thank you,” said she, with a gracious, good-humored smile, “you are -more attentive than any of the grand folk.” - -“Mamma,” cried Hester in fidgety exasperation. And good-naturedly -fearing that he might have been hurt by her mother’s lack of tact, she -opened the old-fashioned, but not unhelpful, album of photographs, -which lay on a table near her, and asked him if he cared for pictures -of Swiss scenery. - -“Not much, Miss Hester,” said Bram. - -But he went up to the table, encouraged by her kind manners, by the -honest look in her eyes, in the hope that he might find a supporter in -her of the cause he had at heart. - -“But I should like to see some photographs of you and Mr. Christian, if -you have any.” - -She opened another album, smiling as she did so, and offering him a -chair near her, which he immediately took. - -“I never show these unless I am asked,” she said. “Family photographs I -always think uninteresting, except to the family.” - -“And to those interested in the family,” amended Bram. “You see, Miss -Hester, there’s hardly another thing in the world I care about so much. -That’s only natural, isn’t it, after what I’ve been treated like at -their hands.” - -He was conscious that his English was getting doubtful under the -influence of the emotion which he could not master. But Miss -Cornthwaite seemed, of course, not to notice this. She was extremely -well disposed towards this frank young man with the earnest eyes, the -heavy, obstinate mouth, and the long, straight chin, which gave so much -character to his pale face. - -“Christian always speaks of you with such boyish delight, as if he had -discovered you bound hand and foot in the midst of cannibals who wanted -to eat you,” said she laughing. - -“So he did, Miss Hester,” answered Bram gravely, almost harshly. - -He could not speak, could not think of Chris just now without betraying -something of the emotion the name aroused in him. And he glanced -angrily across to the corner where Chris was sitting beside prim little -Miss Hibbs, who was giggling gently at his remarks, but clasping her -hands tightly together, and keeping her arms pinned closely to her -sides, as if she felt that she was unbending more than was meet, and -that she must atone for a little surface hilarity by this penitential -attitude. - -Hester Cornthwaite noticed the glance thrown by Bram, and felt curious. - -“I am very glad he is going to be married,” she said quickly, with an -intuition that he would not agree with her. Bram looked her full in the -face in a sudden and aggressive manner. - -“Why are you glad?” he asked abruptly. - -She was rather disconcerted for a moment. - -“Why? Oh, because I think it will be good for him, that he will -be happier, that he will settle down,” she answered with a little -confusion. - -Surely he must know as well as she did that there were many reasons for -wishing Chris to grow more steady. A little prim suggestion of this -feeling was noticeable in her tone. - -“I don’t think he would settle down, if so he was to marry a girl -he didn’t care for,” said Bram bluntly. “And I should have thought -you would agree with me, understanding Mr. Christian as you do, Miss -Hester.” - -Miss Cornthwaite drew her lips rather primly together. - -“He does care for her, of course,” said she rather tartly, “else why -should he marry her?” - -Bram smiled, and gave her a glance of something like scorn. - -“There are a good many reasons why he should marry to please Mr. -Cornthwaite, your father, when he can’t marry to please himself.” - -“Why can’t he? Who does he want to marry?” asked Miss Cornthwaite -quickly. - -“Why, Miss Biron, Miss Claire Biron, of Duke’s Farm,” replied honest -Bram promptly. - -Hester’s thin and rather wizened face flushed. She frowned; she looked -annoyed. “Dear me! I never heard anything about it,” she said testily. -“And I can hardly think he would wish to do anything so very unwise. -Christian isn’t stupid, though he’s rather volatile.” - -“Stupid! No, indeed. That he should want to marry Miss Biron is no -proof of stupidity. Where could he find a nicer wife? How could you -expect him to sit and look contentedly at Miss Hibbs when there is such -a girl as Miss Biron within ten miles?” - -Hester looked more prim than ever. - -“You seem very enthusiastic, Mr. Elshaw. Pray, what have you to say -about Mr. Biron?” - -“Well, Mr. Christian wouldn’t have to marry him.” - -“That is just what he would have to do,” retorted she quickly. “Mr. -Biron would take good care of that. Christian would never be able to -shake him off.” - -“Well,” said Bram, “he can’t shake him off now, can he? So he would be -no worse off.” - -“Now, seriously, Mr. Elshaw, would you like to have such a -father-in-law yourself?” - -Bram’s heart leapt up. But he did not tell the young lady that he -only wished he had the chance. Instead of that, he answered in a -particularly grave and judicial tone-- - -“If I had, I’d soon bring him to reason. He’s not stupid either, you -see. I’d make an arrangement with him, and I’d make him keep to it. -And if he didn’t keep to it----” - -“And he certainly wouldn’t. What then?” - -“Well, then perhaps I’d get rid of him some way, Miss Hester.” - -“I certainly shouldn’t advise my brother to run the risk of having to -do that, and all for a girl much too volatile to make him a good wife. -Why, she is nearly half French.” - -Bram looked at her quickly. - -“Surely, Miss Hester, you who have travelled and been about the world, -don’t think the worse of a lady for that?” - -Miss Cornthwaite reddened, but she stuck to her guns. - -“I hope I am above any silly insular prejudice,” she said coldly. -“But I certainly think the French character too frivolous for an -Englishman’s wife. Why, when Claire comes here, though she will sob as -if her heart was breaking one moment at the humiliations her father -exposes her to, she will be laughing heartily the next.” - -“Poor child, poor child! Thank heaven she can,” said Bram with solemn -tenderness which made Miss Cornthwaite just a little ashamed of -herself. “And don’t you think a temper like that would come in handy -for Mr. Christian’s wife, as well as for Mr. Biron’s daughter?” - -“Oh, perhaps,” said Miss Cornthwaite very frigidly, as she stretched -out her hand quickly for a fresh book to show him. - -Poor Claire had no partisan here. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -BRAM SHOWS HIMSELF IN A NEW LIGHT. - - -Now, Christian felt throughout the evening that Bram was avoiding his -eyes, saving himself up, as it were, for an attack of eye and tongue, a -combat in which Chris would have all he could do to hold his own. - -Christian was fond of Bram, fonder even, perhaps, than Bram, with his -honest admiration and indulgence, was of him. The steady, earnest -character of the sturdy man of the people, with his straightforward -simplicity, his shrewdness, and his blunt outspokenness when his -opinion was asked, had constant attraction for the less simple, but -more amiable, son of the owner of the works. He wanted to put himself -right with Bram, and to do it in such a way as to put Bram in the wrong. - -He tried to get an opportunity of a chat with the sullen-looking young -clerk, who, however, avoided this chance more cleverly than Chris -sought it. - -At the close of the evening, when Bram had reeled off without a -mistake the elaborate speech of thanks to Mrs. Cornthwaite which he -had prepared beforehand, he contrived very cleverly to slip out of the -house while Chris was occupied with the perfunctory attentions demanded -by his _fiancée_. And with the start he thus obtained, he contrived to -reach the foot of Hassel Hill before he became aware that he was being -followed. - -“Hallo!” cried out a bright voice, which he knew to be that of Chris. -“Hallo!” - -Bram did not answer, did not slacken his pace, but went straight on up -the hill, leaving Chris to follow or not as he pleased. - -He had reached the outer gate of Duke’s Farm before Chris came in -sight, toiling up the steep road in silence after him. Then the pursuer -called out again. Somebody besides Bram recognized the voice, for a -minute later Bram saw a light struck in an upper window of the farm. -The window was thrown up, and somebody looked out. Bram, however, -stalked upwards in silence still. - -He had reached the first of the row of cottages on the top of the hill, -when Chris, making a last spurt, overtook him, and seized him by the -arm. - -“Bram, Bram, what’s the matter with you? I’ve been panting and puffing -after you for a thousand miles, and I can’t get you to turn that wooden -head of yours. Come, I know what’s wrong with you, and I mean to have -it out with you at once, and have done with it. So come along.” - -He had already hooked his arm within that of the unwilling Bram, -who held himself stiffly, stubbornly, with an air which seemed to -say--“Well, if you want it, you can have it.” - -And so, the one eager, defiant, impetuous, the other stolid and -taciturn, the two men walked past the rows of mean cottages, past -Bram’s own lodgings, and up to the very summit of the hill, where the -ruined, patched-up, and re-ruined mansion was, and the disused coal -shaft with its towering chimney. - -“And now,” cried Chris, suddenly stopping and swinging Bram round to -face him in the darkness, “we are coming to an understanding.” - -“Very well, sir.” - -“Now, don’t ‘sir’ me, but tell me if you’re not ashamed of yourself----” - -“Me ashamed of myself! I like that!” cried Bram with a short laugh. -“But that’s the way with you gentlemen. If you please, we’ll not have -any talk about this, because honor and honesty don’t mean the same -thing to you as to me.” - -“That’s a nasty one,” retorted Chris in his usual airy tone. “Now, look -here, Bram, although you’re so entirely unreasonable that you don’t -deserve it, I’m going to condescend to argue with you, and to prove to -you the absurdity of your conduct in treating me like this.” - -“Like what, Mr Christian?” - -“Oh, you know. Don’t let’s waste time. You are angry because I’m -marrying Miss Hibbs----” - -“No,” said Bram obstinately. “I’m not angry with you for marrying Miss -Hibbs. I’m angry because you’re not marrying the girl you love, the -girl you’ve taught to love you.” - -“Same thing, Bram. I can’t marry them both, you know.” - -Bram shook his arm free angrily. - -“Mr. Christian, we won’t talk about this no more,” said he in a voice -which was hoarse, and strained, and unlike his own. “I might say things -I shouldn’t like to. Let me go, sir; let me go home, and do you go home -and leave me alone.” - -“No, I won’t leave you till we’ve threshed the matter out. Be -reasonable, Bram. You know as well as I do that I’m dependent on my -father----” - -“You knew that all along. But you said, you told me----” - -“I told you that I wanted to marry my cousin Claire. Well, so I did. -But my father wouldn’t hear of it; apart from the objection he has to -the marriage of cousins----” - -“That’s new, that is,” put in Bram shortly. - -“Apart from that, I say, he wouldn’t have anything to say to the match -for a dozen reasons. You know that. And, knowing how I’m placed, it is -highly ridiculous of you to make all this fuss, especially as you, no -doubt, intend to use the opportunity to cut in yourself.” - -His tone changed, and Bram detected real pique, real jealousy in these -last words. - -Bram heard this in dead silence. - -“You do, eh?” went on Chris more sharply. - -“No, Mr. Christian, I do not. I couldn’t come after you in a girl’s -heart.” - -“Why not? You are too modest, Bram.” - -Perhaps Chris flattered himself that he spoke in his usual tone; but an -unpleasant, jeering note was clearly discernible to Bram Elshaw’s ears. -Christian went on in a more jarring tone than ever. - -“Or have you been so far penetrated with the maxims of the -Sunday-school that you would not allow a girl a little harmless -flirtation?” - -“Flirtation!” echoed Bram angrily. “It was more than that, Mr. -Christian, more than that--to her!” - -“It was nothing more than that,” said Chris emphatically. “I have done -the girl no harm.” - -Before the words were out of his mouth Bram had sprung forward with the -savagery of a wild animal. In the obscurity of the cloudy night his -eyes gleamed, and with set teeth and clenched fists he came close to -Christian, staring into his eyes, stammering in his vehemence. - -“If you had,” whispered he almost inaudibly, but with passion which -infected Christian and awed him into silence, “If you had done -her--any--harm, I’d ha’ strangled you, Mr. Christian. I’d ha’ gone -down to t’ works, when you was there, and I’d ha’ taken one o’ t’ -leather bands o’ t’ wheels, and I’d ha’ twisted it round your neck, Mr. -Christian, and I’d ha’ pulled, and pulled, till I saw t’ eyes start out -o’ your head, and t’ blood come bursting out o’ your mouth. And I’d ha’ -held you, and tightened it, and tightened it till the breath was out o’ -your body!” - -When he had finished, Bram still stood close to Christian, glaring at -him with wild, bloodshot eyes. Christian tried to laugh, but he turned -suddenly away, almost staggering. He felt sick and faint. It was Bram -who recovered himself first. He confronted Chris quickly, looking -ashamed, penitent, abashed. - -“Ah shouldn’t ha’ said what Ah did,” said he, just in his old voice, -as if he had been again a mere hand at the works. “It was not for me -to say it, owing what Ah do to you, Mr. Christian. But--by--I meant it -all the same.” And again the strange new Bram flashed out for a moment. -“And I’m thinking, Mr. Christian,” he went on, resuming the more -refined tones of his later development, “that it will be best for me to -leave the works altogether, for it can never be the same for you and me -after to-night. You can’t forgive me for what I’ve said, and--well, I -feel I should be more comfortable away, if it’s the same to you.” - -There was a pause, hardly lasting more than a few seconds, and then -Chris spoke, with a hoarse and altered voice, but in nearly his -ordinary tones-- - -“But it’s not the same to me or to us, not at all the same, Bram. My -delinquencies, real or imaginary, cannot be allowed to come between my -father and the best clerk he ever had, the man who is to make up for -my business shortcomings. So--so if you please, Elshaw, I’ll take my -chance of the strangling, though, mind you, I should have thought you -might have discovered some more refined mode of making away with me, -something just as effective, and--and nicer to look at.” - -His voice was tremulous, and he did not look at Bram, though he -succeeded pretty well in maintaining a light tone. Bram laughed shortly. - -“My refinement’s only skin deep, you see, Mr. Christian. I told you so. -The raw Sheffielder’s very near the top. And in these fine clothes, -too!” - -He glanced down rather scornfully at the brand-new overcoat, and at the -glazed expanse of unaccustomed shirt-front which showed underneath. - -There was another pause. Both the young men were trembling violently, -and found it pretty hard to keep up talk at this placid level of -commonplace. Quite suddenly Chris said--“Well, good-night, Elshaw,” and -started on his way back to Holme Park at a good pace. - -Bram drew a long breath. He had just gone through an experience so -hideous, so horrible, that he felt as if he had been seared, branded -with a hot iron. For the first time he realized now what he had been -simple enough not to suspect before, that Christian had never for a -moment seriously entertained the idea of marrying Claire. - -And yet he was in love with her! Bram, loving Claire himself, was -clear-sighted and not to be deceived on this point. Christian loved her -still enough to be jealous of any other man’s feelings for her. He had -betrayed this fact in every word, in every tone. If, then, he loved her -and did not mean to marry her, he, the irresistible, the spoilt child -of the sex, what right had he to love her, to make her love him? What -motive had he in passing so much of his time at Duke’s Farm? - -And there darted into poor Bram’s heart a jealous, mad fear that was -like a poison in his blood. He clenched his teeth, he shook his fists -in the air; again the wild, fierce passion which had swept over him at -Christian’s stabbing words seized him and possessed him. - -He turned quickly, as if to start in pursuit of Chris, when a low -sound, a cry, stopped him, turned him as if into stone. - -For, at a little distance from him, between where he stood and the -retreating figure half-way down the hill, stood Claire. - -An exclamation escaped his lips. She ran panting towards him. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -A MODEL FATHER. - - -Dark as the night was, the moon being so thickly obscured by clouds -that she never showed her face except through a flying film of vapor, -Claire seemed to detect something alarming in Bram’s attitude, -something which caused her to pause as she was running up the hill -towards him. - -At last she stopped altogether, and they stood looking each at the -figure of the other, motionless, and without speaking. - -As for Bram, he felt that if he tried to utter a single word he should -choke. He could not understand or analyze his own feeling; he did -not well know whether his faith in her innocence and purity remained -intact. All he knew, all he felt, as he looked at the little creature -who seemed so pitifully small and slight as she stood alone on the -hillside, wrapt tightly in a long cloak, but shivering in the night -air, was that his whole heart was sore for her, that he ached for pity -and distress, that he did not know what he should say, what he could -do, to comfort and console her. - -At last she seemed to take courage, and came a few steps nearer. - -“Mr. Elshaw!” - -“Yes, Miss Claire.” - -She started, and no wonder. For his voice was as much changed as were -the sentiments he felt for her. - - -[Illustration: An exclamation escaped his lips. She ran panting towards -him.--_Page 86._] - - -She came a little nearer still, with hesitating feet, before she spoke -again. - -“Was that--wasn’t that my cousin, Christian Cornthwaite, who went away -when he saw me?” - -It was Bram’s turn to start. So that was the reason of the sudden -flight of Chris! He had seen and recognized the figure of Claire as she -came up the hill behind Bram. - -“Yes, Miss Claire.” - -Another pause. She was near enough now to peer up into his face with -some chance of discerning the expression he wore. It was one of -anxiety, of tenderness. She drew back a little. - -“I--I heard him call--I heard a voice call out ‘Hallo!’” she explained, -“and I jumped up, and looked out of the window, and I saw you, and I -saw my cousin following you. And you would not answer him. But he still -went on. And--and I was frightened; I thought something dreadful had -happened, that you had quarrelled; so I got up and came up after you. -And I saw----” - -She stopped. Bram said nothing. But he turned his head away, unable -to look at her. Her voice, now that she spoke under the influence of -some strong emotion, played upon his heartstrings like the wind upon an -Æolian harp. He made a movement as if to bid her go on with her story. - -“I saw,” she added in a lower voice, “I saw you spring upon him as if -you were going to knock him down. You had been quarrelling. I’m sure -you had. And I was frightened. I screamed out, but you didn’t hear me, -either of you; you were too full of what you were saying to each other. -And it was about me; I know it was about me. Now, wasn’t it?” - -Bram was astonished. - -“What makes you think that, Miss Claire? Did you hear anything?” - -“Ah!” cried she quickly. “That’s a confession. It was about me you were -quarreling. Can’t you tell me all about it at once?” - -But Bram did not dare. He moved restlessly from the one foot to the -other, and suddenly said-- - -“You’re cold; you’re shivering. You’ll catch an awful chill if you -stay up here. Just go down back to the farm, Miss Claire, like a good -girl”--and unconsciously his tone assumed the caressing accents one -uses to a favorite child--“and you shall hear all you want to know in -the morning.” - -But she stood her ground, making an impatient movement with one foot. - -“No, Bram, you must tell me now. What was it all about?” - -He hesitated. Even if he were able to put her off now, which seemed -unlikely, she must hear the truth some day. It was only selfishness, -the horror of himself giving her pain, which urged him to be reticent -now. So he said to himself, doggedly preparing for his avowal. His -anger against the Cornthwaites, his fear of hurting her, combined to -make his tone sullen and almost fierce as he answered-- - -“Well, Miss Claire, I was angry wi’ him because I thought he hadn’t -behaved as he ought.” - -There was a pause. It seemed to Bram that she guessed, with feminine -quickness, what was coming. She spoke, after another of the short -pauses with which their conversation was broken up, in a very low and -studiously-restrained tone-- - -“How? To whom, Bram?” - -“To--to you, Miss Claire,” answered Bram with blunt desperation. - -Another silence. - -“Why, what has he done to me?” asked she at last. - -“He has gone and got engaged--to be married--to somebody else; that’s -what he’s done, there!” - -Bram was fiercer than ever. - -“Well, and what of that?” - -He could not see her face, and her tone was one of careless bravado. -But Bram was not deceived. He clenched his fists till the nails went -deep into his flesh. It cut him in the heart to have to tell her this -news, to feel what she must be suffering. He answered as quietly as he -could. - -“Nothing, but that I think he ought--he ought----” - -“You think he ought to have told me. Oh, I guessed, I guessed what was -going to happen,” replied Claire rapidly in an off-hand tone. “I should -have heard it from himself to-morrow. Who--who is it?” - -“A Miss Hibbs.” - -“Oh, yes, of course. I might have known.” - -But her voice trembled, and Bram, turning quickly, saw that the tears -were running down her cheeks. She was angry at being thus caught, and -she dashed them away impatiently. - -“D---- him!” roared Bram, clenching his fists and his teeth. - -“Hush, Bram, hush! I’m surprised. I’m ashamed of you! And, besides, -what does it matter to you or to me either whom Mr. Cornthwaite -marries?” - -“It does matter. He ought to have married you, and taken you away out -of the place, and away from the life you have to live with that old -rascal----” - -Bram was beside himself; he did not know what he was saying. Claire -stopped him, but very gently, saying-- - -“Hush, Bram. He’s my father.” - -“Well, I know that, but he’s a rascal all the same,” said Bram bluntly. -“And Mr. Christian knows it, and he had ought to be glad to have the -chance of taking you away, and making you happier. He’s behaved like a -fool, too, for the girl his father’s found for him will never get on -with him, never make him happy, like you would have done, Miss Claire. -He is just made a rod for his own back, and it serves him jolly well -right!” - -Claire did not interrupt him; she was crying quietly, every tear she -let fall increasing Bram’s rage, and throwing fuel on the fire of his -indignation. Perhaps his anger soothed her a little, for it was in a -very subdued little voice that she presently said-- - -“Oh, Bram, I don’t think that! I do wish him to be happy! Indeed, -indeed I do. And if it wasn’t for one thing I should be very, very glad -he’s going to marry somebody else--very, very glad, really!” - -Bram had come a little nearer to her; he spoke earnestly, tenderly, -with a voice that trembled. - -“You’re fond of him?” said he, quickly, imperiously. - -“Yes, I’m very fond of him. He’s my cousin, and he’s always been kind -to me. But I didn’t want to marry him. Oh, I didn’t want to marry him!” - -Bram was astonished, incredulous. He spoke brusquely, almost harshly. - -“He thought you did. He thought you cared for him. So did I, so did -everybody.” - -“Yes. I know that. He’s so popular that people take it for granted one -must care for him. But I didn’t--in the way you mean.” - -Bram was still dubious. - -“Then, why,” said he suddenly, “do you take this so much to heart?” - -Claire made a valiant attempt to dry her eyes and steady her voice. - -“Because,” said she in a hesitating voice, “because of--of--because of -papa! He wanted me to marry him; he counted on it; and now--oh, dear, I -don’t know what he will do, what he will say. Well, it can’t be helped. -I must go back; I must go home. Good-bye; good-night!” - -Before Bram could do more than babble out “Good-night, Miss Claire,” -she had flown like the wind down the hill towards the farm. - -Bram went back to his lodging in a sort of delirium. Was it possible -that Claire had spoken the truth to him? That she really cared not -a straw for her cousin except in a cousinly way; that all she was -troubled about was her father’s displeasure at having missed such a -chance of a connection with the family of the long purse. - -Bram understood very little about the nature of women. But he had, of -course, acquired the usual vague notions concerning the reticence, the -ruses of girls in love, and he could not help feeling that in Claire’s -denial there was matter for distrust. How, indeed, should she, this -little friendless girl who had no other lovers, fail to respond to -the affection of a man as attractive, both to men and women, as Chris -Cornthwaite? And did not the behavior of Chris himself confirm this -view? If Claire had not cared for him, why should he have received -Bram’s frowns, his angry reproaches, with something which was almost -meekness, if he had felt them to be absolutely undeserved? The more -he considered this, the more impossible it seemed that Claire’s -lame explanation of her tears, of her distress, could be the true -one. It seemed to Bram that Theo Biron, with his shrewdness and his -cunning, must have been the very person to feel most sure that Josiah -Cornthwaite would never allow the marriage of Chris with Claire. - -Again, why, if she had not felt a most deep interest in Chris had -she taken such a bold step as to follow him up the hill that night? -Surely it must have been in the hope of speaking with him, perhaps of -reassuring herself from his own lips on the subject of the rumors of -his approaching marriage, which must have reached her? If, too, Chris -had had nothing to reproach himself with on her account, why had he -fled so quickly, so abruptly, at the first sight of her? - -More and more gloomy grew Bram Elshaw’s thoughts as he approached the -cottage where he lodged, passed through the little bit of cramped -garden, and let himself in. Entering his little sitting-room, and -striking a light, he found a note addressed to himself lying on the -table. The writing of the envelope was unknown to him, and he opened -it with some curiosity. The letter was stamped with this heading--“The -Vicarage, East Grindley.” - -“Grindley! East Grindley!” thought Bram to himself. “Why, that’s where -my father’s people came from!” - -And he read the letter with some interest. It was this: - - - “Dear Sir,--I am sorry to inform you that Mr. Abraham Elshaw, - who is some relation of yours, though he hardly seems himself to - know in what degree, is very ill, and not expected to live many - days. He has desired me to write and ask you if you will make an - effort to come and see him without delay. I may tell you that I - understand Mr. Elshaw has heard of the rapid manner in which you - are getting on in the world; he has, in fact, often spoken of you - to us with much pride, and he is anxious to see you about the - disposal of the little property of which he is possessed. I need - not ask you under the circumstances to come with as little delay - as possible.--Yours very truly, - - “BERNARD G. THORPE. - - “P.S.--Mr Elshaw has been a member of my congregation for many - years, and he chose me rather than one of his own relations to - open communication with you. I should have preferred his choosing - one of them, but he refused, saying they were unknown to you, so - that I could not refuse to fulfil his wishes.” - - -Bram put down the letter with a rather grim smile. He had never seen -this namesake of his, but he had heard a good deal about him. An -eccentric old fellow, not a rich man by any means, he had saved a few -hundred pounds in trade of the smallest and most pettifogging kind, -on the strength of which he had given himself great airs for the last -quarter of a century among the pit hands and mill hands and grinders -who formed his family and acquaintance. A sturdy, stubborn, miserly -old man, of whose hard-fistedness and petty money-grabbing Bram had -heard many tales. But the family was proud of him, though it loved him -not. Bram remembered clearly how, when he was a very small child, his -father had gone out on a strike with his mates, and his poor mother, at -her wits’ end for a meal, had applied to the great Abraham for a small -loan, and how it had been curtly and contemptuously refused. - -This was just the man, this hard-fisted, self-helping old saver of -halfpence, to bestow upon the successful and prosperous young relation -the money of which he would not have lent him a cent if he had been -starving. Bram told himself that he must go, of course: and he -resolved to do his best with the old man for those unknown relations -who might be more in want of the money than he himself was. For he was -shrewd enough to foresee that old Abraham’s intention was to make his -prosperous young relation heir to what little he possessed. He resolved -to ask next morning for a day off, and to go at once to East Grindley. - -Bram got the required permission easily enough, and went on the very -next day to see his reputed wealthy namesake. East Grindley was a good -many miles north of Sheffield and it was late in the day before he -returned. - -Throughout the whole of the day he had been haunted by thoughts of -Claire; and no sooner had he had his tea than he determined to go to -the farm, with the excuse of asking if she had caught cold the night -before. - -He was in a fever of doubt, anxiety, and only half-acknowledged hope. -He had wished, honestly wished, when he believed Claire to be as -fond of Chris as Chris was of her, that the cousins should marry, -that little Claire should be taken right out of her troubles and her -difficulties, and set down in a palace of peace and content, of luxury -and beauty, with the man of her heart. But if those words of Claire’s -uttered to him the night before were really true, might there not be a -chance that he might win her himself? That he might be the lucky man -who should build her a palace, and lift her from misery into happiness? - -Bram knew that Claire liked him; knew that the distance between himself -and her, which had seemed immeasurable thirteen months before, had -diminished, and was every day diminishing. If, indeed she did not care, -had never cared for her cousin with the love Bram wanted, who had a -better chance with her than himself, whom she knew so well, and trusted -so completely? - -Bram with all his humility, was proud in his own way, and exceedingly -jealous. If Claire had loved her cousin passionately, and had been -jilted by him, as Bram had believed to be the case, he did not feel -that he should even have wished to take the vacant place in her heart. -No doubt the wish would have come in time, but not at once. If, -however, it were true that she had not cared for Chris in the only way -of which Bram would have been jealous, why, then, indeed, there was -hope of the most brilliant kind. - -Bram, on his way to the farm, began to see in his heart such visions as -love only can build and paint, love, too, that has not taken the edge -off itself, frittered itself away, on the innumerable flirtations with -which his daily companions at the office beguiled the dead monotony of -existence. - -In his new life, as in his old, it was Bram’s lot to be “chaffed” daily -on his unimpressionability, on the stolid, matter-of-fact way in which -he went about his daily work, “as if,” as the other clerks said, “his -eyes could see nothing better in the world than paper and ink, print -and figures.” - -Bram on these occasions was accustomed to put on an air of extra -stolidity, and to shake his head, and declare that he had no time to -think of anything but his work. And all the time he wondered to himself -at the ease with which they could chatter of their affection for this -girl and that, and enjoy the jokes which were levelled at them, and -wear their heart upon their sleeve with ill-concealed delight. - -And he smiled to himself at their mistake, and went on nourishing his -heart with its own chosen food in secret, with raptures that nobody -guessed. - -And now the thought that his dreamy hopes might grow into realities -brought the color to his pale cheeks and new lustre to his steady gray -eyes, as he walked soberly down the hill, and entered the farmyard in -the yellow sunlight of the end of a fine day in September. - -He knocked at the kitchen door, and nobody answered. He knocked more -loudly, fancying that he heard voices inside the house. But again -without result. So he opened the door, and peeped in. A small fire was -burning in the big grate, but there was nobody in the room. With the -door open, however, the voices he had faintly heard became louder, and -he became aware that an altercation was going on between Claire and -her father in the front part of the house. - -He was on the point of retiring, therefore, with a sigh for the poor -little girl, when a cry, uttered by her in a wailing tone, reached his -ears, and acted upon his startled senses like flaming pitch on tow. - -“Oh, papa, don’t, don’t hurt me!” - -The next moment Bram had burst the opposite door open, and saw -Theodore, his little, mean face wrinkled up with malice, strike -Claire’s face sharply with his open hand. This was in the hall, outside -the dining-room door. - -No sooner was the blow given than Bram seized Theodore, lifted him into -the air, and flung him down against the door of the dining-room with -such force that it burst open, and Mr. Biron lay sprawling just inside -the room. - -Claire, her cheek still white from the blow, her eyes full of tears of -shame, rushed forward, ready to champion her father. - -“Go away,” she said in a strangled, breathless voice. “Go away. How -dare you hurt my father? You have no right to come here. Go away.” - -She tried to speak severely, harshly, but the tears were running -down her face; she was heart-broken, miserable, full of such deep -humiliation that she could scarcely meet his eyes. But Bram did not -heed her, did not hear her perhaps. He was himself trembling with -emotion, and his eyes shone with that liquid lustre, that yearning of -long-repressed passion, which no words can explain away, no eyewitness -can mistake. - -He stretched out his hand, without a single word, and took both hers in -one strong clasp. And the moment she felt his touch her voice failed, -died away; she bent down her head, and burst into a fit of weeping more -passionate than ever. - -“Hush, my dear; hush! Don’t cry. Remember, it’s only me; it’s only -Bram.” - -He had bent his head too, and was leaning over her with such tender -yearning, such undisguised affection, in look, manner, voice, that no -girl could have doubted what feeling it was which animated him. With -his disengaged hand he softly touched her hair, every nerve in his own -body thrilling with a sensation he had never known before. - -“Hush, hush!” - -The whisper was a confession. It seemed to tell what love he had -cherished for her during all these months; a love which gave him now -not only the duty, but the right of comforting her, of soothing the -poor little bruised heart, of calming the weary spirit. - -“Hush, dear, hush!” - -Whether it was a minute, whether it was an hour, that they stood like -this in the little stone-flagged hall in the cool light of the dying -September evening, Bram did not know. He was intoxicated, mad. It was -only by strong self-control that he refrained from pressing her to his -breast. He had to tell himself that he must not take advantage of her -weakness, he must not extort from her while she was crushed, broken, a -word, a promise, an assurance, which her stronger, her real self would -shudder at or regret. She must feel, she must know, that he, Bram, was -her comforter, the tender guardian who asked no price, who was ready to -soothe, to champion, and to wait. - -Meanwhile the strong man found in his own sensation reward enough and -to spare. Here, with her heart beating very near his, was the only -woman who had ever lit in him the fiery light of passion; her little -hands trembled in his, the tender flesh pressing his own hard palm with -a convulsive touch which set his veins tingling. The scent of her hair -was an intoxicating perfume in his nostrils. Every sobbing breath she -drew seemed to sound a new note of sweetest music in his heart. - -At last, when he had been silent for some seconds, she suddenly drew -herself back, with a face red with shame; with eyes which dared not -meet his. Reluctantly he let her drag her hands away from him, and -watched her wipe her wet eyes. - -“Papa! Where is he?” asked she quickly. - -Staggering, unsteady, hardly knowing where he went, or what he did, -Bram crossed the hall, and looked into the dining-room. But the lively -Theodore was not there. He turned and came face to face with Claire, -who was redder than ever, the place where her father had struck her -glowing with vivid crimson which put the other cheek to shame. - -She moved back a step, looking about also. Then she went quickly out of -the room, and recrossed the hall to the drawing-room. But her father -was not there either. Back in the hall again, she met Bram, and they -glanced shyly each into the face of the other. - -Both felt that the fact of their having let Mr. Biron disappear without -having noticed him was a mutual confession. Claire looked troubled, -frightened. - -“I wonder,” said she in a low voice, “where he has gone?” - -But Bram did not share her anxiety. There was no fear that Mr. Biron -would let either rage or despair carry him to the point of doing -anything rash or dangerous to himself. - -“He’ll turn up presently,” said he, with a scornful movement of the -head, “never fear, Miss Claire. Have you got anything for me to do this -evening? You’re running short of wood, I think.” - -He walked back into the kitchen, which, being the least frequented -by the fastidious Theodore, was Bram’s favorite part of the house. -In a few moments Claire came softly in after him. She seemed rather -constrained, rather stiff, and this made Bram very careful, very -subdued. But there was a delicious peace, a new hope in his own heart; -she had rested within the shelter of his arms; she had been comforted -there. - -“You ought not to have come this evening, Bram,” she said with studied -primness. “You know, I told you that before. It only makes things worse -for me, it does really.” - -“Now, how can you make that out?” asked Bram bluntly. - -“Why, papa will be all the angrier with me afterwards. As for--for what -you saw him do, I don’t care a bit. It makes me angry for the time, -and just gives me spirit enough to hold out when he wants me to do -anything I won’t do, I can’t do.” - -“What was it he wanted you to do?” asked Bram, grinding his teeth. - -Claire hesitated. She grew crimson again, and the tears rushed once -more to her eyes. - -“I’d rather not tell you.” Then as she noticed the expression on Bram’s -face grow darker and more menacing, she went on quickly--“Well, it was -only that he wanted me to go up to Holme Park again to-night--with a -note--the usual note. And that I can’t--_now!_” - -Bram’s heart sank. Of course, she meant that it was the engagement of -Chris which made this difference. But why should this be, if she did -not care for him? Bram came nearer to her, leaned on the table, and -looked into her face. What an endless fascination the little features -had for him. When she looked down, as she did now, he never knew what -would be the expression of her brown eyes when she looked up, whether -they would dance with fun, or touch him by a queer, dreamy, expression, -or whether there would be in them such infinite sadness that he would -be forced into silent sympathy. Bram waited impatiently for her to look -up. - -As he came nearer and nearer, she still looking down, but conscious -of his approach, a new thought came into his mind, a cruel, a bitter -thought. Suddenly he stood up, still leaning over the corner of the -table. - -“Are you what they call a coquette, Miss Claire?” he asked with blunt -earnestness. - -She looked up quickly then, with a restless, defiant sparkle in her -eyes. - -“Perhaps I am. French people, French women, are all supposed to be, -aren’t they? And my grandmother was French. Why do you ask me?” - -“Because I don’t understand you,” answered Bram in a low, thick voice. -“Because you tell me you don’t care for Mr. Christian, and I should -like to believe you. But you tell me to keep away, and yet--and -yet--whenever I come you make me think you want me to come again, -though you tell me to go. But surely, surely, you wouldn’t play with -me; you wouldn’t condescend to do that, would you? Now, would you?” - -She looked up again, stepping back a little as she did so; and there -was in her eyes such a look of beautiful confidence, of kindness, of -sweet, girlish affection, that Bram’s heart leapt up. He had promptly -sat down again on the table, and was bending towards her with passion -in his eyes, when there stole round the half-open door the little, -mean, fair face of Theodore. - -Bram sprang up, and stood at once in an attitude of angry defiance. - -But Theodore, quite unabashed, was in the room in half a second, -holding out his pretty white hand with a smile which was meant to be -frankness itself. - -“Mr. Elshaw,” said he, “we must shake hands. I won’t allow you to -refuse. I owe you no grudge for the way you treated me a short time -ago; on the contrary, I thank you for it. I thank you----” - -“Papa!” cried poor Claire. - -He waved her into silence. - -“I thank you,” he persisted obstinately, “for reminding me that I was -treating my darling daughter too harshly, much too harshly. Claire, I -am sorry. You will forgive me, won’t you?” - -And he put his hand on her shoulder, and imprinted delicately on her -forehead a butterfly kiss. Claire said nothing at all. She had become -quite pale, and stood with a face of cold gravity, with her eyes cast -down, while her father talked. - -Bram felt that he should have liked to kick him. Instead of that he -had to give his reluctant hand to the airy Mr. Biron, an act which he -performed with the worst possible grace. - -“You must stay to supper,” said Theodore. “Oh, yes; I want a talk -with you. About this marriage of my young kinsman, Chris Cornthwaite. -Frankly, I think the match a most ill-chosen one. He would have done -much better to marry my little girl here----” - -“Papa!” cried Claire angrily, impatiently. - -“Only, unfortunately for _him_, she didn’t care enough about him.” - -Claire drew a long breath. Bram looked up. Theodore, in his hurry to -secure for his daughter another eligible suitor whom he saw to be well -disposed for the position, was showing his hand a trifle too plainly. -Bram grew restless. Claire said sharply that they could not ask Mr. -Elshaw to supper, as she had nothing to offer him. She was almost rude; -but Bram, whose heart ached for the poor child, gave her a glance which -was forgiveness, tenderness itself. He said he could not stay, and -explained that he had been out all day on an errand, which had tired -him. To fill up a pause, he told the story of his eccentric kinsman. - -“And he means to leave me all his money, whatever it is,” went on Bram. -“He showed me the box he keeps it in, and told me in so many words that -it would be mine within a few days. And all because he thinks I’ve got -on. If I’d been still a hand at the works down there, and hard up for -the price of a pair of boots, I shouldn’t have had a penny.” - -“Ah, well, it will be none the less welcome when it comes,” said -Mr. Biron brightly. “What is the amount of your fortune? Something -handsome, I hope.” - -“I don’t know yet, Mr. Biron. Not enough to call a fortune, I expect.” - -“Well, you must come and tell us about it when it’s all settled. -There’s nobody who takes more interest in you and your affairs than my -daughter and I--eh, Claire?” - -But Claire affected to be too busy to hear; she was engaged in making -the fire burn up, and at the first opportunity she stole out of the -room, unseen by her father. So that Bram, who soon after took his -departure, did not see her again. - -He went back to his lodging in a fever. This new turn of affairs, -this anxiety of Theodore’s to make him come forward in the place of -Christian, filled him with dismay. On the very first signs of this -disposition in her father Claire had shrunk back into herself and had -refused to give him so much as another look. But then that was only the -natural resentment of a modest girl; it proved, it disproved nothing -but that she refused to be thrown at any man’s head. That look she had -given him just before her father’s entrance, on the other hand, had -been eloquent enough to set him on fire with something more definite -than dreamy hope. If it had not betrayed the very love and trust for -which he was longing, it had expressed something very near akin to that -feeling. Bram lived that night in alternate states of fever and frost. - -He dared not, however, for fear of giving pain to Claire, go to the -farm again for the next fortnight. He would linger about the farmyard -gate, and sometimes he would catch sight of Claire. But on these -occasions she turned her back upon him with so cold and decided a snub -that it was impossible for him to advance in face of a repulse so -marked. And even when Theodore lay in wait for him, and tried to induce -him to go home with him, Bram had to refuse for the sake of the very -girl he was longing to see. - -Meanwhile the date of Christian’s marriage with Miss Hibbs was rapidly -approaching. Chris maintained an easy demeanor with Bram, but that -young man was stiff, reserved, and shy, and received the confidences, -real or pretended, of the other without comment or sympathy. When Chris -lamented that he could not make a match to please himself, Bram looked -in front of him, and said nothing. When he made attempts to sound Bram -on the subject of Claire, the young clerk parried his questions with -perfect stolidity. - -The day of the wedding was a holiday at the works, and Bram, who dared -not spend the day at the farm, as he would have liked to do, and who -had refused to take any part in the festivities, paid another visit to -old Abraham Elshaw at East Grindley as an excuse for staying away. - -He returned, however, early in the evening, and was on his way up the -hill by way of the fields, when, to his unbounded amazement, he saw a -side-gate in the wall of the farmhouse garden open quickly, and a man -steal out, and run hurriedly down across the grass in the direction of -the town. - -Bram felt sure that there was something wrong, but he had hardly gone a -few steps with the intention of intercepting the man, when he stopped -short. Something in the man’s walk, even at this distance, struck him. -In another moment, in spite of the fact that the stealthy visitor wore -a travelling cap well over his eyes, Bram recognized Chris Cornthwaite. - -Stupefied with dread, Bram glanced back, and saw Claire standing at the -little gate, watching Chris as he ran. Shading her eyes with her hand, -for the glare of the setting sun came full upon her face, she waited -until he was out of sight behind a stone wall which separated the last -of the fields he crossed from the road. Then she shut the gate, locked -it, and went indoors. - -Bram stared at the farmhouse, the windows of which were shining like -jewels in the setting sun. He felt sick and cold. - -What was the meaning of this secret visit of Chris Cornthwaite to -Claire on his wedding day? - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -AN ILL-MATCHED PAIR. - - -Nobody but simple-hearted Bram Elshaw, perhaps, would have been able -to doubt any longer after what he had seen that there was something -stronger than cousinly affection between Christian Cornthwaite and -Claire. But even this wild visit of Chris to his cousin on his very -wedding day did not create more than a momentary doubt, a flying -suspicion, in the heart of the devoted Bram. - -Had he not looked into her dark eyes not many days before, and read -there every virtue and every quality which can make womanhood sweet and -noble and dear? - -Unluckily, Chris had been seen on this mysterious visit by others -besides Bram. - -It was not long after the wedding day that Josiah Cornthwaite found -occasion, when Bram was alone with him in his office, to break out into -invective against the girl who, so he said, was trying to destroy every -chance of happiness for his son. Bram, who could not help knowing to -what girl he referred, made no comment, but waited stolidly for the -information which he saw that Mr. Cornthwaite was anxious to impart. - -“I think even you, Elshaw, who advocated this young woman so warmly a -little while ago, will have to alter your opinion now.” As Bram still -looked blank, he went on impatiently--“Don’t pretend to misunderstand. -You know very well whom I mean--Claire Biron, of Duke’s Farm. - -“It has come to my ears that my son had a meeting with her on his -wedding day----” - -Bram’s countenance looked more blank than ever. Mr. Cornthwaite went -on-- - -“I know what I am talking about, and I speak from the fullest -information. She sent him a note that very morning; everybody knows -about it; my daughter heard her say it was to be given to Mr. Christian -at once, and that it was from his cousin Miss Biron. Is that evidence -enough for you?” - -Bram trembled. - -“There must be some other explanation than the one you have put upon -it, sir,” said he quietly but decidedly. “Miss Biron often had to write -notes on behalf of her father,” he suggested respectfully. - -“Pshaw! Would any message of that sort, a mere begging letter, an -attempt to borrow money, have induced my son to take the singular, the -unprecedented action that he did? Surprising, nay, insulting, his wife -before she had been his wife two hours.” - -Bram heard the story with tingling ears and downcast eyes. That -there was some truth in it no one knew better than he. Had he not -the confirmatory evidence of his own eyes? Yet still he persisted in -doggedly doubting the inference Mr. Cornthwaite would have forced upon -him. His employer was waiting in stony silence for some answer, some -comment. So at last he looked up, and spoke out bravely the thoughts -that were in his mind. - -“Sir,” said he steadily, “the one thing this visit of Mr. Christian’s -proves beyond any doubt is that he was in love with her at the time you -made him marry another woman. It doesn’t prove anything against Miss -Biron, until you have heard a great deal more than you have done so -far, at least. You must excuse me, sir, for speaking so frankly, but -you insisted on my telling you what I thought.” - -Mr. Cornthwaite was displeased. But as he had, indeed, forced the young -man to speak, he could not very well reproach him for obeying. Besides, -he was used to Bram’s uncompromising bluntness, and was prepared to -hear what he really thought from his lips. - -“I can’t understand the young men of the present generation,” he said -crossly, with a wave of the hand to intimate to Bram that he had done -with him. “When I was between twenty and thirty, I looked for good -looks in a girl, for a pair of fine eyes, for a fine figure, for a pair -of rosy cheeks. Now it seems that women can dispense with all those -attributes, and bowl the men over like ninepins with nothing but a -little thread of a lisping voice and a trick of casting down a pair of -eyes which are anything but what I should call fine. But I suppose I am -old-fashioned.” - -Bram retired respectfully without offering any suggestion as to the -reason of this surprising change of taste. - -He was in a tumult of secret anxiety. He felt that he could no longer -keep away from the farm, that he must risk everything to try to get an -explanation from Claire. If she would trust him with the truth, and -he believed her confidence in himself to be great enough for this, he -could, he thought, clear her name in the eyes of the angry Josiah. It -was intolerable to him that the girl he worshipped as devotedly as ever -should lie under a foul suspicion. - -So that very evening, as soon as he had left the office, he went -straight to the farm. It was his last day before starting on the -mission with which he was to be intrusted in the place of Chris, who -was on his honeymoon. This was an excellent excuse for a visit, which -might not, he feared, be well received. - -He was more struck than ever as he approached the farmyard gate with a -fact which had been patent to all eyes of late. The tenants of Duke’s -Farm had fallen on evil days. Everything about the place betrayed the -fact that a guiding hand was wanting; while Bram had kept an eye on the -farm bailiff things had gone pretty smoothly, fences had been repaired, -the stock had been well looked after. Now there were signs of neglect -upon everything. The wheat was still unstacked; the thatch at one end -of the big barn was broken and defective; a couple of pigs had strayed -from the farmyard into the garden, and were rooting up whatever took -their fancy. - -Bram leaned on the gate, and looked sorrowfully around. - -Was it by chance that the back door opened, and Joan, the good-humored -Yorkshire servant, peeped out? She looked at him for a few minutes very -steadily, and then she beckoned him with a brawny arm. He came across -the yard at once. - -“Look here, mister,” said she in her broadly familiar manner, “what -have ye been away so long for? Do ye think there’s nought to be done -here now? Or have ye grown too grand for us poor folks?” - -He laughed rather bitterly. - -“No, Joan, I’ve only kept away because I’m not wanted.” - -“Hark to him!” she cried ironically, as she planted her hands on her -hips, and glanced up at him with a shrewd look in her gray-green clever -eyes. “He wants to be pressed now, when he used to be glad enoof to -sneak in and take his chance of a welcome! Well, Ah could tell a tale -if Ah liked, and put the poor, modest fellow at his ease, that Ah -could!” - -Bram’s face flushed. - -“Do you mean she wants me?” he asked so simply that Joan burst into a -good-humored laugh. - -“Go ye in and see,” said she with a stupendous nod. “And if ye get the -chuck aht, blame it on to me!” - -Bram took the hint, and went in. Joan followed, and pointed to a chair -by the table, where Claire sat bending over some work by the light of -a candle. The evening was a gray one, and the light was already dim in -the big farm kitchen. - -“Here’s a friend coom to see ye who doan’t coom so often as he might,” -cried Joan, following close on the visitor’s heels. Claire was looking -up with eyes in which Bram, with a pang, noted a new look of fear and -dismay. For the first time within his recent memory she did not seem -glad to see him. He stopped. - -“I’ve only come, Miss Claire,” said he in a very modest voice, “to tell -you I’m going to London to-morrow on business for the firm. I shall -be away ten days or a fortnight; and I came to know whether there was -anything I could do for you, either before I go or while I’m there. But -if there’s nothing, or if I’m in the way----” - -“You’re never in anybody’s way, Mr. Elshaw,” said she quite cordially, -but without the hearty ring there used to be in her welcome. “Please, -sit down.” - -She offered him a chair, and he took it, while Joan, round about whose -wide mouth a malicious smile was playing, disappeared into her own -precincts of scullery and back-kitchen. - -For some minutes there was dead silence, not the happy silence of two -friends so secure in their friendship that they need not talk--the -old-time silence which they had both loved, but a constrained, -uncomfortable taciturnity, a leaden, speechless pause, during which -Bram watched with feverish eyes the little face as it bent over her -work, and noted that the outline of her cheek had grown sharper. - -He tried to speak, to break the horrid silence which weighed upon them -both. But he could not. It seemed to him that there was something -different about this meeting from any they had ever had, that the air -was heavy with impending disaster. - -He spoke suddenly at last in a husky voice. - -“Miss Claire, I want you to tell me something.” - -She looked up quickly, with anxiety in her eyes. But she said nothing. - -“I want you to tell me,” he went on, assuming a tone which was almost -bullying in his excitement, “why Mr. Christian came to see you the day -he was married?” - -To his horror she stood up, pushing back her chair, moving as if with -no other object than to hide the frantic emotion she was seized with -at these words. There passed over her face a look of anguish which he -never forgot as she answered in a low, breathless voice. - -“Hush, I cannot tell you. You must not ask. You must never ask. And you -must never speak about it again, never, never!” - -Bram leaned over the table, and looked straight into her eyes. In every -line of her face he read the truth. - -“He asked you to--to go away with him!” he growled, hardly above his -breath. - -“Hush!” cried she. “Hush! I don’t know how you know; I hope, oh, I pray -that nobody else knows. I want to forget it! I will forget it! If I had -to go through it again it would kill me!” - -And, dry-eyed, she fell into a violent fit of shuddering, and sank down -in her chair with her head in her hands. - -“The scoundrel!” said Bram in a terrible whisper. - -And there came into his face that look, that fierce peep out of the -primitive north country savage, which had startled Chris himself one -memorable night. - -Claire saw it, and she grew white as the dead. - -“Bram,” cried she hoarsely, “don’t look like that; don’t speak like -that. You frighten me!” - -But he looked at her with eyes which did not see. This fulfilment of -his fears, of his doubts of Chris, was a shock she could not understand. - -There was a pause before he was able to speak. Then he repeated -vaguely-- - -“Frightened you, Miss Claire! I didn’t mean to do that!” - -But the look on his face had not changed. Claire leaned across the -table, touched his sleeve impatiently, timidly. - -“Bram,” said she in a shrill voice, sharpened by alarm, “you are to -forget it too! Do you hear?” - -He turned upon her suddenly. - -“No,” said he, “you can’t make me do that!” - -“But I say you must, you shall. Oh, Bram, if you had been here, if you -had heard him, you would have been sorry for him, you would have pitied -him, as I did!” - -Bram leaped up from his chair. All the fury in his eyes seemed now to -be concentrated upon her. - -“You pitied him! You were sorry for him! For a black-hearted rascal -like that!” - -“Oh, Bram, Bram, don’t you know that those are only words! When you see -a man you’ve always liked, been fond of, who has always been happy and -bright, and full of fun and liveliness, quite suddenly changed, and -broken down, and wretched, you don’t stop to ask yourself whether he’s -a good man or a bad one. Now, do you, Bram?” - -“You ought to!” rejoined Bram in fierce Puritanism militant. “You ought -to have used your chance of showing him what a wicked thing he was -doing to his poor wife as well as you!” - -“Oh, Bram, I did. I said what I could!” - -“Not half enough, I’ll warrant!” retorted he, clenching his fist. “You -didn’t tell him he was a blackguard who ought to be kicked from one end -of the county to the other! And that you’d never speak to him again as -long as you lived!” - -“No, I certainly didn’t.” - -“Then,” almost shouted Bram, bringing his fist down on the table with -a threatening, sounding thump, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself! -You good women do as much harm as the bad ones, for you are just as -tender and sweet to men when they do wrong as when they do right. You -encourage them in their wicked ways, when you should be stand-off and -proud. I do believe, God forgive me for saying so, you care more for -Mr. Chris now than you did before!” - -Claire, who was very white, waited a moment when he had come to the end -of his accusation. Then she said in a weak, timid, little voice, but -with steadiness-- - -“It is true, I believe, that I like him better than I did before. You -are too hard, Bram; you make no allowance for anything.” - -“There are some things no allowance should be made for.” - -“Well, there’s one thing you forget, and that is that I’ve not been -used to good people, so that I am not so hard as you are. I’ve never -known a good man except you, Bram, but then I’ve never known one so -severe upon others either.” - -“You shouldn’t say that, Miss Claire; I’m not hard.” - -“Oh!” - -“Or if I am, it’s only so as I shouldn’t be too soft!” cried he, -suddenly breaking down into gentleness, and forgetting his grammar at -the same time. “It’s only because you’ve got nobody to take care of -you, nobody to keep harm away from you, that I want you to be harder -yourself!” - -There was a pause. Claire was evidently touched by his solicitude. -Presently she spoke, persuasively, affectionately, but with caution. - -“Bram, if I promise to be hard, very hard, will you give me a promise -back?” - -“What’s that?” - -“Will you promise me that you will forget”--Bram shook his head, -and at once began a fierce, angry protest--“well, that you will say -nothing about this. Come, you are bound in honor, because I told you in -confidence----” - -“No, you didn’t; I found out!” - -“You can’t deny that I have told you some things in confidence. Now, -listen. You can do no good, and you may do harm by speaking about this. -You must behave to Christian as if you knew nothing. It is of no use -for you to shake your head. I insist. And remember, it is the only way -you have of proving to me that you are not hard. Why, what about the -poor wife you pretended to be so anxious about just now? Isn’t it for -her advantage as well as mine that this awful, dreadful mistake should -be forgotten?” - -There was no denying this. Bram hung his head. At last he looked up, -and said shortly-- - -“If I promise to behave as if I hadn’t heard will you promise me not to -see Mr. Christian again?” - -Claire flushed proudly. But when she answered it was in a gentle, kind -voice. - -“You won’t trust me, Bram?” - -“I think it will be better for the wife, for you, for him, for -everybody, if you promise.” - -“Very well. I promise to do my best not to see him again.” - -She was looking very grave. Bram stared at her anxiously. She got up -suddenly, and looked at him as if in dismissal. He held out his hand. - -“Good-bye, Miss Claire. You forgive my rough manners, don’t you? If -only you had somebody better than me to take care of you, I wouldn’t be -so meddlesome. Good-bye. God bless you!” - -He wanted to say a great deal more; he wanted to know a great deal -more; but he dared not risk another word. Giving her hand a quick, firm -pressure, which she returned without looking up, and with a restraint -and reserve which warned him to be careful, he hurried out of the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -THE DELUGE. - - -Bram was away much longer than the ten days he had expected. -Difficulties arose in the transaction of the affair which had called -him to London; he had to take a trip to Brussels, to return to London, -and then to visit Brussels again. It was two months after his departure -from Sheffield before he came back. - -In the meantime old Abraham Elshaw, his namesake, had died. A letter -was forwarded to Bram informing him of the fact, and also that by the -direction of the deceased the precious box in which the old man had -kept his property had been sent to Bram’s address at Hessel. - -Bram acknowledged the letter, and sent directions to his landlady for -the safe keeping of the box containing his legacy. - -When he got back home to his lodging, one cold night at the end of -November, Bram received the box, and set about examining its contents. -It was a strong oak miniature chest, hinged and padlocked. As there was -no key, Bram had to force the padlock. The contents were varied and -curious. On the top was a Post Office Savings Bank book, proving the -depositor to have had two hundred and thirty-five pounds to his credit. -Next came a packet of papers relating to old Elshaw’s transactions -with a building society, by the failure of which he appeared to have -lost some ninety-six pounds. Then there were some gas shares and some -deeds which proved him to have been the owner of certain small house -property in the village where he had lived. Next came a silver teapot, -containing nothing but some scraps of tissue paper and a button. And at -the bottom of the box was a very old-fashioned man’s gold watch, with a -chased case, a large oval brooch containing a woman’s hair arranged in -a pattern on a white ground, and a broken gold sleeve-link. - -Bram, who, from inquiries he had made, considered himself at liberty to -apply all the money to his own uses, the other relations of old Abraham -not being near enough or dear enough to have a right to a share, looked -thoughtfully at the papers, and then put them carefully away. He knew -what the old man had apparently not known, that there were formalities -to be gone through before he could claim the house property. He should -have to consult a solicitor. There was no doubt that his windfall -would prove more valuable than he had expected, and again his thoughts -flew to Claire, and he asked himself whether there was a chance that -he might be able to devote his little fortune to the building of that -palace which his love had already planned--in the air. - -He told himself that he was a fool to be so diffident, but he could -not drive the feeling away. The truth was that there was still at the -bottom of his heart some jealousy left of the lively Chris, some proud -doubt whether Claire’s heart was as free as she had declared it to be. - -But if, on the one hand, she had spoken compassionately of her erring -cousin, there was to be remembered, as a set-off against that, the -delicious moment when she had stood contented in the shelter of Bram’s -own arms on that memorable evening when he had, for the second time, -protected her from the violence of her father. - -On the whole, Bram felt that it was time to make the plunge; now, when -he had money at his command, when he was in a position to take her -right out of her dangers and her difficulties. With Theodore, who was -not without intelligence, a bargain could be made, and Bram could not -doubt that this moment, when the supplies had been cut off at Holme -Park, and the farm was going to ruin, would be a favorable one for his -purpose. - -He resolved to go boldly to Claire the very next day. - -When the morning broke, a bright, clear morning, with a touch of -frost in the air, Bram sprung out of bed with the feeling that there -were great things to be done. The sun was bright on the hill when he -started, though down far below his feet the town lay buried in a smoky -mist. Just before he reached the farmyard gate he paused, looking -eagerly for the figure which was generally to be seen busily engaged -about the place at this hour of the morning. - -But he was disappointed. Claire was nowhere to be seen. - -Reluctantly Bram went on his way down the hill, when the chirpy, light -voice of Theodore Biron, calling to him from the front of the house, -made him stop and turn round. Mr. Biron was in riding costume, with a -hunting crop in his hand. He was very neat, very smart, and far more -prosperous-looking than he had been for some time. He played with his -moustache with one hand, while with the other he jauntily beckoned Bram -to come back. - -“Hallo!” said Bram, returning readily enough on the chance of seeing -Claire. “Where are you off to so early, Mr. Biron? I didn’t think you -ever tried to pick up the worm.” - -“Going to have a day with the hounds,” replied Theodore cheerfully. -“They meet at Clinker’s Cross to-day. I picked up a clever little mare -the other day--bought her for a mere song, and I am going to try her -at a fence or two. Come round and see her. Do you know anything about -hunters, Elshaw?” - -“No,” replied the astonished Bram, who knew that Mr. Biron’s purse had -not lately allowed him to know much about hunters either. - -“Ah!” said Theodore, as he opened the garden gate for Bram to enter, -and led him into the house. “All the better for you. When you’ve once -got to think you know something about horse-flesh, you can’t sit down -quietly without a decent nag or two in your stable.” - -And Mr. Biron, whose every word caused Bram fresh astonishment, flung -back the door of the kitchen with a jaunty hand. - -Bram followed him, but stopped short at the sight which met his eyes. - -Springing up with a low cry from a stool by the fire on Bram’s -entrance, Claire, with a face so white, so drawn that he hardly knew -her, stared at him with a fixed look of horror which seemed to freeze -his blood. - -“Miss Claire!” he said hoarsely. - -She said nothing. With her arms held tightly down by her sides, she -continued to stare at him as if at some creature the sight of whom had -seized her with unspeakable terror. He came forward, much disturbed, -holding out his hand. - -“Come, come, Claire, what’s the matter with you? Aren’t you glad to see -Bram Elshaw back among us?” said Theodore impatiently. - -Still she did not move. Bram, chilled, frightened, did not know what -to do. Mr. Biron left the outer door, by which he stood, and advanced -petulantly towards his daughter. But before he could reach her she -staggered, drew away from him, and with a frightened glance from Bram -to him, fled across the room and disappeared. - -Bram was thrown into the utmost consternation by this behavior. He -had turned to watch the door by which she had made her escape, when -Theodore seized him by the arm, and dragged him impatiently towards the -outer door. - -“Come, come,” said he, “don’t trouble your head about her. She’s not -been well lately; she’s been out of sorts. I’ve talked of leaving the -place, and she doesn’t like the idea. She’ll soon be herself again. -Her cousin Chris has been round two or three times since his return -from his honeymoon trying to cheer her up. But she won’t be cheered; I -suppose she enjoys being miserable sometimes. Most ladies do.” - -Bram, who had followed Mr. Biron with leaden feet across the farmyard -towards the stables, felt that a black cloud had suddenly fallen upon -his horizon. The mention of Chris filled him with poignant mistrust, -with cruel alarm. He felt that calamity was hanging over them all, and -that the terrible look he had seen in Claire’s eyes was prophetic of -coming evil. He hardly saw the mare of which Theodore was so proud; -hardly heard the babble, airily ostentatious, cheerily condescending, -which Claire’s father dinned into his dull ears. He was filled with one -thought. These new extravagances of Theodore’s, the look in Claire’s -face, were all connected with Chris, and with his renewed visits. Bram -felt as if he should go mad. - -When he reached the office he watched for an opportunity to get speech -alone with Christian. But he was unsuccessful. Bram did not even see -him until late in the day. - -Long before that Bram had had an interview with the elder Mr. -Cornthwaite, which only confirmed his fears. He had to give an account -to the head of the firm of the business he had transacted while away. -He had carried it through with great ability, and Mr. Cornthwaite -complimented him highly upon the promptitude, judgment, and energy he -had shown in a rather difficult matter. - -“My son Christian was perfectly right,” Mr. Cornthwaite went on, “in -recommending me to send you away on this affair, Elshaw. You seem to -have an old head upon young shoulders. I only hope he may do half as -well on the mission with which he himself is to be entrusted.” - -Bram looked curious. - -“Is Mr. Christian going away again so soon, sir?” asked he. - -Mr. Cornthwaite, whose face bore traces of some unaccustomed anxiety, -frowned. - -“Yes,” he answered shortly. “I am sorry to say that he and his wife -don’t yet rub on so well as one could wish together. You see I tell you -frankly what the matter is, and you can take what credit you please -to yourself for having predicted it. No doubt they will shake down in -time, but on all accounts I think it is as well, as there happens to be -some business to be done down south, to send him away upon it. He will -only be absent a few weeks, and in the meantime any little irritation -there may be on both sides will have had time to rub off.” - -Bram looked blank indeed. - -He was more anxious than ever for a few words alone with Chris, but -he was unable to obtain them. When his employer’s son appeared at the -office, which was not till late in the day, he carefully avoided the -opportunity Bram sought. After shaking hands with him with a dash -and an effusion which made it impossible for the other to draw back, -even if he had been so inclined, Chris, with a promise of “seeing him -presently,” went straight into his father’s private office, and did not -reappear in the clerks’ office at all. - -In spite of the boisterous warmth of his greeting, Bram had noticed -in Christian two things. The first was a certain underlying coldness -and reserve, which put off, under an assumption of affectionate -familiarity, the confidences which had been the rule between them. The -other was the fact that Christian looked thin and worried. - -Bram lingered about the office till long after his usual hour of -leaving in the hope of catching Christian. And it was at last only by -chance that he learnt that Chris had gone some two hours before, and, -further, that he was to start for London that very evening. - -Now, this discovery worried Bram, and set him thinking. The intercourse -between him and Christian had been of so familiar a kind that this -abrupt departure, without any sort of leave-taking, could only be the -result of some great change in Christian’s feeling towards himself. -So strong, although vague, were his fears that Bram when he left the -office went straight to the new house in a pretty suburb some distance -out of Sheffield, where Christian had settled with his bride. Here, -however, he was met with the information that Mr. Christian had already -started on his journey, and that he had gone, not from his own, but -from his father’s house. - -As Bram left the house he saw the face of young Mrs. Christian -Cornthwaite at one of the windows. She looked pale, drawn, unhappy, and -seemed altogether to have lost the smug look of self-satisfaction which -he had disliked in her face on his first meeting with her. - -Much disturbed, Bram went away, and returned to his lodging, passing -by the farm, where there was no sign of life to induce him to pause. -It was nine o’clock, and as there was no light in any of the windows, -he concluded that Mr. Biron had gone to bed, tired out with his day’s -hunting, and that Claire had followed his example. - -He felt so restless, so uneasy, however, that instead of passing on he -lingered about, walking up and down, watching the blank, dark windows, -almost praying for a flicker of light in any one of them for a sign of -the life inside. - -After an hour of this unprofitable occupation, he took himself to task -for his folly, and went home to bed. - -On the following morning, before he was up, there was a loud knocking -at the outer door of the cottage where he lived. Bram, with a sense of -something wrong, something which concerned himself, ran down himself to -open it. - -In the middle of the little path stood Theodore Biron, with the same -clothes that he had worn on the morning of the previous day, but -without the hunting-crop. - -He was white, with livid lips, and his limbs trembled. - -“What’s the matter?” asked Bram in a muffled voice. - -“Claire, my daughter Claire!” stammered Theodore in a voice which -sounded shrill with real feeling. All the jauntiness, all the vivacity, -had gone out of him. He shivered with something which was keener than -cold. - -“Well?” said Bram, with a horrible chill at his heart. - -“She’s--she’s gone, gone!” said Theodore, reeling back against the -fence of the little garden. “She’s run away. She’s run right away. -She’s left me, left her poor old father! Don’t you understand? She is -gone, man, gone!” - -And Mr. Biron, for once roused to genuine emotion, broke into sobs. - -Bram stood like a stone. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -PARENT AND LOVER. - - -For some minutes after he had made the announcement of his daughter’s -flight Mr. Biron gave himself up openly and without restraint to the -expression of a sorrow which, while it might be selfish, was certainly -profound. - -“My daughter! My daughter!” he sobbed. “My little Claire! My little, -bright-faced darling! Oh, I can’t believe it! It must be a dream, a -nightmare! Do you think, Elshaw,” and he suddenly drew himself up, with -a quick change to bright hope, in the midst of his distress, “that she -can have gone up to the Park to stay at her uncle’s for the night?” - -But Bram shook his head. - -“I don’t think it’s likely,” he said in a hollow voice. “They were none -so kind to her that she should do that.” A pause. “When did you miss -her?” - -“This morning when I got back,” replied Theodore, who looked blue with -cold and misery. “I went out with the hounds yesterday as you know. And -we got such a long way out that I couldn’t get back, and I put up at -an inn for the night. Don’t you think,” and again his face brightened -with one of those volatile changes from misery to hope which made him -seem so womanish, “that she may have been afraid to spend a night in -the house by herself, and that she may have gone down to Joan’s place -to sleep? I’ll go there and see. Will you come? Yes, yes, you’d better -come. I don’t care for Joan; she’s a rough, unfeeling sort of person. I -should like you to come with me.” - -“I’ll come--in a minute,” said Bram shortly. - -He knew very well that there was nothing in Mr. Biron’s idea. He spoke -as if this were the first time that Claire had been left to spend the -night alone in the farmhouse; but, as a matter of fact, Bram knew very -well that it had been Theodore’s frequent custom to spend the night -away from home, and that his daughter was too much used to his vagaries -to trouble herself seriously about his absence. - -He went upstairs, finished dressing, came out of the house, and -rejoined Mr. Biron; and that gentleman noticed no change in him, -thought, indeed, that he was taking the matter with heartless coolness. -Certainly, if behavior which contrasted strongly with that of the -injured father gave proof of heartlessness, then Bram was a very stone. - -All the way down the hill Mr. Biron lamented and moaned, sobbed, and -even snivelled, loudly cursed the wretches at Holme Park who had made -an outcast of his daughter, and, above all, Chris himself, who had -stolen and ruined his daughter. - -But Bram cut him short. - -“Hush, Mr. Biron,” said he sternly. “Don’t say words like that till you -are sure. For her sake hold your tongue. It’s not for you to cast the -first stone at her, or even at him.” - -Even in his most sincere grief Mr. Biron resented being taken to task -like this; and by Bram, of all people, whom he secretly disliked, as -well as feared, although the young man’s strong character attracted him -instinctively when he was in want of help. He drew himself up with all -his old airy arrogance. - -“Do you think I would doubt her for a single moment if I were not -cruelly sure?” cried he indignantly. “My own child, my own darling -little Claire! But I understand it all now. I see how thoroughly I was -deceived in Chris. But he shall smart for it! I’ll thrash him within an -inch of his life! I won’t leave a whole bone in his body! I’ll strangle -him! I’ll tear him limb from limb!” - -And Mr. Biron made a gesture more violent with every threat, until at -last it seemed as if his frantic gesticulations must dislocate the -bones in his own slim and fragile little body. - -As for Bram, he seemed to be past the stage of acute feeling of any -sort. He was benumbed with the great blow that had fallen upon him; -overwhelmed, in spite of the foreshadowings which had of late broken -his peace. With the fall of his ideal there seemed to have crumbled -away all that was best in his life, leaving only a cold automaton to do -his daily work of head and hand. He was astonished himself, if the pale -feeling could be called astonishment, to find that he could laugh at -the antics of his companion; not openly, of course, but with secret and -bitter gibes at the careless, selfish father, and the frantic gestures -by which he sought to impress his companion. - -When Theodore’s energies were exhausted they walked on in silence. And -then Theodore felt hurt at Bram’s blunt, stolid apathy. - -“I thought I should find you more sympathetic, Elshaw,” he said in an -offended tone. “You always pretended to think so much of my daughter!” - -“It wasn’t pretence,” said Bram shortly. “But I’m thinking, Mr. Biron, -though I don’t like to say it now, that she must have been very unhappy -before she went away like that.” - -Quite suddenly his voice broke. Mr. Biron, surprised in the midst -of his theatrical display of emotion into a momentary pang of real -compunction and of real remorse, was for a few moments entirely silent. -Then he said in a quiet voice, more dignified and more touching than -any of his loud outbursts-- - -“It’s true, I’ve not been a good father to her. But she was such a good -girl--I never guessed it would come to this.” - -Bram said nothing. He felt as hard as nails. Theodore was really -suffering now; but it served him right. What had the poor little -creature’s life been but a long and terrible struggle between -temptation on the one side, worry and difficulty on the other? She -had held out long and bravely. She had struggled with a bright face, -bearing her father’s burdens for him, and her own as well. What wonder -that human nature had been too weak to hold out forever? - -Bram’s heart was like a great open sore. He dared not look within -himself, he dared not think, he dared not even feel. He tried to -stupefy himself to the work of the moment, to stifle all sense but that -of sight, and to fix his eyes upon Joan’s cottage, which they were now -approaching, as if upon the mere reaching of it all his hopes depended. - -But if Theodore had found Bram unsympathetic, what must he have thought -of Joan? She heard his inquiries with coldness, and after saying that -Claire had not been with her since she left the farmhouse on the -previous evening, she asked shortly whether she had gone away. - -“I--I am afraid so. Oh, my child, my poor child!” cried Theodore. - -Joan grew very red, and clapping her hands on her hips, nodded with -compressed lips. - -“You’ve got no one but yourself to thank for this, Mr. Biron,” she -said. “T’ poor young lady’s had a cruel time these many months through -yer wicked ways! God help her, poor little lady!” - -And the good woman turned sharply away from him, and slamming the door -in his face, disappeared, sobbing bitterly. - -Theodore was very white; he trembled from head to foot, and was even -for a little while too angry and too much perturbed to speak. - -At last, when Bram had put a hand within his arm to lead him away, he -stammered out-- - -“You heard that, Elshaw! You heard the woman! That’s what these ---- -North country ---- are like; they haven’t a scrap of feeling, even for -the sacred grief of a father! But I don’t care a hang for the whole ----- lot of them! I’ll go up to the Park, and I’ll tell Mr Cornthwaite, -the purse-proud old humbug, who thinks money can buy anything--I’ll -tell him what I think of him and his scoundrel of a son! And then I’ll -go up to town, and I’ll find him out, I’ll hunt out Christian himself, -and I’ll avenge my child.” - -Bram said nothing. - -“And I’ll make him provide for her. I’ll bring out an action against -him, and make him shell out, him and his skinflint of a father. Chris -is nothing but a chip off the old block, and I’ll make them suffer -together, in the only way they can suffer--through the money-bags.” - -Bram was disgusted, sickened. He scented through this new turn of Mr. -Biron’s thoughts that feeling for the main chance which was such a -prominent feature of that gentleman’s character. And quite unexpectedly -he stopped short, and said bluntly-- - -“That may comfort you, Mr. Biron, but it will never do aught for her! -If--if,” he had to clear his throat to make himself heard at all, “if -she--comes back, she’ll never touch their money! Poor, poor child!” - -“You think she’ll come back?” asked Theodore almost wistfully. - -But Bram could not answer. He did not know what to think, what to wish. -He shrugged his shoulders without speaking, and with a gesture of -abrupt farewell turned from his companion, who had now nearly reached -his own door, and walked rapidly back in the direction of his lodging. - -He could not bear to come near the farm, the place which had been -hallowed in his eyes by thoughts of her who had been his idol. - -Theodore called out to him. - -“You’ll give me a look in to-night, won’t you, when you come back from -the office? Think how lonely I shall be.” - -Bram, without turning round, made a gesture of assent. He felt with -surprise to himself that he was half-drawn to this contemptible -creature by the fact that, underneath all his theatrical demonstrations -of regret and grief, there was some very strong and genuine feeling. -It was chiefly a selfish feeling, as Bram knew; indeed, a resentful -feeling, that Claire had treated him shabbily and ungratefully in -leaving him to shift for himself without any warning, after so many -years of patient slavery, of tender care for him. - -But still Bram felt that he had at last some emotion in common with -this man, whom he had so far only despised. Theodore even felt the -disgrace, the moral shame of this awful disaster to his daughter more -keenly than any one would have given him credit for. - -As for Bram himself, he went home, he ate his breakfast, he started for -the town almost in his usual manner. No one who passed him detected any -sign in his look or in his manner of the blow which had fallen upon -him. But, for all that, he was suffering so keenly, so bitterly, that -the very intensity of his pain had a numbing effect, reducing him to -the level of a brute which can see, and hear, and taste, and smell, but -in which all sense of anything higher is dead and cold. - -It was not until he had nearly passed the garden of the farm, keeping -his eyes carefully turned in the opposite direction, that a bend in the -road caught his eye, where not many evenings before he had seen Claire -standing with a letter in her hand, waiting for some one to pass who -would take it to the post for her. - -And his face twitched; from between his closed teeth there came a sort -of strangled sob, the sound which in Theodore had roused his contempt. -He remembered the smile which had come into her eyes when he came by, -the word of thanks with which she had slipped the letter into his hand, -and run indoors. He remembered that a scent of lavender had come to him -as she passed, that he had felt a thrill at the sound, the sight of her -flying skirts as she fled into the house. - -Oh! it was not possible that she could have done this thing, she who -was so proud, so pure, so tender to her friends! - -And Bram stopped in the middle of the road, with an upward bound of the -heart, and told himself that the thing was a lie. - -What a base wretch he was to have harbored such a thought of her! -She was gone; but what proof had they but their own mean and base -suspicions that she had not gone alone? - -And Bram by a strong effort threw off the dark cloud which was pressing -down upon his soul, or at least lifted one corner of it, and strode -down towards the office resolved to trust, to hope, in spite of -everything. - -At the office everything was reassuringly normal in the daily routine. -And, by a great and unceasing effort, Bram had really got himself to -hold his opinions on the one great subject in suspense, when a carriage -drove up to the door, and a few minutes later young Mrs. Christian, -with a face which betrayed that she was suffering from acute distress, -came into the office. - -As soon as she saw Bram, she stopped on her way through. - -“No,” she said quickly to the clerk who was leading her through to the -private office of Mr. Cornthwaite, “it is Mr. Elshaw I want to see. -Please, can I speak to you?” - -Bram felt the heavy weight settling at once on his heart again. He -followed her in silence into the office. Mr. Cornthwaite had not yet -arrived. - -As soon as the door was shut, and they were alone, she broke out in a -tremulous voice, not free from pettishness-- - -“Mr. Elshaw, I wanted to see you because I feel sure you will not -deceive me. And all the rest try to. Mr. and Mrs. Cornthwaite, and my -sister-in-law, and my own people, and everybody. You live near Duke’s -Farm? Tell me, is Miss Claire Biron at home with her father, or--or has -she gone away?” - -“I believe, Mrs. Christian, she has gone away.” - -The young wife did not cry; she frowned. - -“I knew it!” she said sharply. “They pretended they did not know; but -I knew it, I felt sure of it. Mr. Elshaw, she has gone away with my -husband!” - -“Oh, but how can you be sure? How----” - -“Mr. Elshaw, don’t trifle with me. You know the truth as well as I do. -Not one day has passed since our marriage without Christian’s flaunting -this girl and her perfections in my face; not one day has passed since -our return from abroad without his either seeing her or making an -effort to see her. Oh, I daresay you will say it was mean; but I have -had him watched, and he has been at the farm at Hessel every day!” - -“But what of that? He is her cousin, you know. He has always been used -to see a great deal of her and of her father.” - -“Oh, I know all about her father!” snapped Minnie. “And I know how -likely any of the family are to go out to Hessel to see him! Don’t -prevaricate, Mr. Elshaw. I had understood you never did anything of the -kind. Can you pretend to doubt that they have gone away together?” - -Bram was silent. He hung his head as if he had been the guilty person. - -“Of course, you cannot,” went on the lady triumphantly. “Where has she -got to go to? What friends has she to stay with? Who would she leave -her father for except Christian? It seems she has never had the decency -to hide that she was fond of him!” - -“Don’t say that,” protested Bram gently. “Why should she hide it in the -old days before he was married? There was no reason why she should. -They were cousins; they were believed to be engaged. They would have -been married if Mr. Cornthwaite had allowed it. Didn’t you know that?” - -“Not in the way I’ve known it since, of course,” said Minnie bitterly. -“Everything was kept from me. I heard of a boy-and-girl affection; -that was all. The whole family are deceitful and untrustworthy. And -Christian is the worst of them all. He doesn’t care for me a bit; he -never, never did!” - -And here at last she broke down, and began to cry piteously. - -Bram, usually so tender-hearted, felt as if his heart was scorched up -within him. He looked at her; he tried to speak kindly, tried to say -reassuring things, to express a doubt, a hope, which he did not feel. - -But she stopped him imperiously, snappishly. - -“Don’t talk nonsense, Mr. Elshaw, please. And don’t say you are sorry. -For I know you are sorry for nobody but her. Miss Biron is one of those -persons who attract sympathy; I am not. But you can spare yourself the -trouble of pretending.” She drew herself up, and hastily wiped her -eyes. “I know what to do. I shall go back to my father’s house, and -I shall have nothing more to do with him. I am not going to break my -heart over an unprincipled man, or over a creature like this Claire -Biron.” - -Bram offered no remonstrance. He knew that he ought to be sorry for -this poor little woman, whose only and most venial fault had been -a conviction that she possessed the power to “reform” the man she -married. Unhappily, it was true, as she said, that she was not one of -those persons who attract sympathy. Her hard, dry, snappish manner, -the shrewish light in her blue eyes, repelled him as they had repelled -Christian himself. And Bram, though far from excusing or forgiving -Christian, felt that he understood how impossible it would have -been for a man of his easy, genial temperament to be even fairly, -conventionally happy with a nature so antipathetic to his own. - -In silence, in sorrow, he withdrew, with an added burden to bear, the -burden of what was near to absolute certainty, of extinguished hope. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -THE PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE. - - -The farmhouse looked desolate in the dusk of the November evening when -Bram, in fulfilment of his promise to Theodore, crossed the farmyard to -the back door and tapped at it lightly. - -It was opened by Joan, who looked as if she had been interrupted in the -middle of “a good cry.” - -“Ay, coom in, sir,” said she, “coom in. But you’ll find no company here -now.” - -“Isn’t Mr. Biron back yet?” - -“No, sir,” she answered with a sudden change to aggressive sullenness, -“and he’s welcome to stay away, he is! If it hadn’t been for that -miserable auld rascal, poor Miss Claire ’ud never been took away from -us. Ah wouldn’t have on my conscience what yon chap has, no, not for a -kingdom.” - -Bram, sombre and stern, sat down by the fire, staring at the little -wooden stool on which he had so often seen Claire sitting in the -opposite corner, with her sewing in her hand. The big chimney-corner -which they had both loved--how bare it looked without her! Joan, -alone of all the people he had met that day, seemed to understand -what had taken place in him, to realize the sudden death, the total, -irremediable decay, of what had been the joy of his life. She put down -the plate she had been wiping, and she came over to look at him in the -firelight. There was no other light in the room. - -“Poor lad! Poor chap!” she murmured in accents so tender, so motherly, -that her rough voice sounded like most sweet, most touching music in -his dull ears. - -For the first time since the horrible shock he had received that -morning his features quivered, became convulsed, and a look of -desperate anguish came into his calm gray eyes. - -Her strong right hand came down upon his shoulder with a blow which was -meant to be inspiriting in its violent energy. - -“Well, lad, ye must bear oop; ye must forget her! Ay, there’s no two -ways about it. It’s a sad business, an’ Ah’m broken oop abaht it mysen, -but she’s chosen to go, an’ there’s no help for it, an’ no grieving can -mend it! It was only you, an’ her liking for you, that stopped her from -going before, I reckon. Look at yon auld spend-t’-brass and the life -she’s led wi’ him, always having to beg, beg, beg for him from folks -as didn’t pity her as they should!” - -Bram moved impatiently. - -“Yes, that’s what I cannot forgive him!” growled he. - -Joan stared at him in the dusk. - -“Have you heard,” said she, peering mysteriously into his face, “if -anything ’as happened while you were away?” - -Bram shook his head. - -“Well, summat did happen. Mr. Biron got money from some one, an’ began -to spend it loike one o’clock. You must have heard o’ that?” - -Bram nodded, remembering the new hunter and Theodore’s smart appearance. - -“Well,” went on Joan, leaning forward, and dropping her voice, “it was -summat to do wi’ that as broke oop poor Miss Claire. Ay, lad, don’t -shiver an’ start; it’s best you should know all, and forget all if you -can. Well, it was after that, after t’ auld man had gotten t’ brass, -that I saw a change coom over her. She went abaht loike one as warn’t -right, an’ she says to ’im one day--Ah were in t’ kitchen yonder an’ Ah -heard her--‘Papa,’ says she, ‘Ah can never look Bram Elshaw in t’ face -again.’ That’s what she said, my lad; Ah heard her.” - -Bram got up, and began to pace up and down the tiled floor without a -word. Joan went on, quickening her pace, a little anxious to get the -story over and done with. - -“You know his way. But there was summat in her voice told me it were -no laughin’ matter wi’ her. An’,” went on the good woman in a voice -lower still, “when Mr. Christian coom that evening, says she, says -Miss Claire--‘Ah mun see ’im to-neght.’ An’ he came in, an’ they went -in through to the best parlor, and they had a long talk together. That -were t’ day before yesterday. She must have gone last neght, as soon as -Ah left t’ house.” - -Still Bram said nothing, pacing up and down, up and down, on the red -tiles which he had trodden so often with something like ecstasy in his -heart. - -Joan was shrewd enough and sympathetic enough to understand why he did -not speak. She finished her plate-washing, disappeared silently into -the outhouse, and presently returned with her bonnet on. - -“Are ye going to stay here, sir?” she asked, as she laid her hands on -the door to go out. - -“Yes; I promised I’d look in.” - -“Friendly loike? You aren’t going for to do him any hurt?” - -“No, oh, no.” - -“Well,” said Joan, as she turned the handle and took her portly person -slowly round the door, “if so be you had, you might ha’ done it an’ -welcome! Ah wouldn’t have stopped ye. Good-neght, sir.” - -“Good-night, Joan.” - -She went out, and Bram was left alone. The sound of her footsteps died -away, until he felt as if he was the only living thing about the farm. -Even the noises that usually came across from the sheds and the stables -where the animals were kept seemed to be hushed that evening. No sound -reached his ears but the moaning of the rising wind, and the scratching -of the mice in the old wainscotting. - -Never before had he felt so utterly, hopelessly miserable and castdown. -In the old days, when he had lived one of a wretched, poverty-stricken -family in a squalid mean way, ill-kept, half-starved, he had had his -daydreams, his vague ambitions, to gild the sorry present. Now, on the -very high-road to the fulfilment of those ambitions, he was suddenly -left without a ray of hope, without a rag of comfort, to bear the most -unutterable wretchedness, that of shattered ideals. - -Not Claire alone, but Chris also had fallen from the place each had -held in his imagination, in his heart, and Bram, who hid a spirit-world -of his own under a matter-of-fact manner and a blunt directness of -speech, suffered untold anguish. - -While he watched the embers of the fire in profound melancholy, with -his hands on his knees, and his eyes staring dully into the red heart -of the dying fire, he heard something moving outside. He raised his -head, expecting to hear the sound of Mr. Biron’s voice. - -But a shadow passed before the window in the faint daylight that was -left; and with a wild hope Bram sat up, his heart seeming to cease to -beat. - -The shadow, the step were those of a woman. - -The next moment the door was softly, stealthily opened, and away like a -dream went joy and hope again. - -The woman was not Claire. - -He could see that the visitor was tall, broad-shouldered, of -well-developed figure, and that she was of the class that wear shawls -round their heads, and clogs on their feet in the daytime. - -She stood in the room, just inside the door, and seemed to listen. Then -she said in a voice which was coarse and uncultivated, but which was -purposely subdued to a pitch of insincere civility, as Bram instantly -felt sure-- - -“Miss Biron! Is Miss Claire Biron here?” - -Now, Bram had never, as far as he knew, met this girl before; he did -not even know her name. But, with his sense of hearing made sharper, -perhaps, by the darkness, he guessed at once something which was very -near the truth. He knew that this woman came with hostile intent of -some kind or other. - -He at once rose from his seat, and said--“No; Miss Biron is not in.” - -And he put his hand up to the high chimney-piece, found a box of -matches, and lit a candle which was beside it. Meanwhile the visitor -stood motionless, and was so standing when the light had grown bright -enough for him to see her by. She was a handsome girl, black-haired, -blacked-eyed, with cheeks which ought to have been red, but which were -now pale and thin, showing a sharp outline of rather high cheek-bone -and big jaw. Bram recognized her as a girl whom he had often seen -about Hessel, and who lived at a little farm about a mile and a half -away. Her name was Meg Tyzack. She was neatly dressed, without any of -the flaunting, shabby finery which the factory girls usually affect -when they leave their shawl and clogs. Her lips were tightly closed, -and in her eyes there was an expression of ferocious sullenness which -confirmed the idea Bram had conceived at the first sound of her voice. -Her black cloth jacket was buttoned only at the throat, and her right -hand was thrust underneath it as if she was hiding something. - -“Not in, eh?” she asked scoffingly, as she measured Bram from head to -foot with a look of ineffable scorn. Then, with a sudden, sharp change -of tone to one of passionate anxiety, she asked, “Where’s she gone to -then?” - -Bram hesitated. This woman’s appearance at the farm, her look, her -manner, betrayed to him within a few seconds a fact he had not guessed -before, though now a dozen circumstances flashed into his mind to -confirm it. This was one of the many girls with whom Chris had had -relations of a more or less questionable character. Bram had seen her -with him in the lane leading to her home, and on the hill above Holme -Park; had seen her waiting about in the town near the works. But to see -Chris talking to a good-looking girl was too common a thing for Bram to -have given this particular young woman much attention. Now, however, -he divined in an instant that it was jealousy which had brought her to -the farmhouse, and a feeling of sickening repulsion came over him at -the thought of the words which he might have to hear directed by this -virago at Claire. If the idol was broken, it was an idol still. - -As he did not reply at once, Meg Tyzack stepped quickly across the -floor, and glared into his eyes with a look terrible in its fierce -eagerness, its deadly anxiety. - -“Where has she gone? Ye can’t keep t’ truth from me.” Then, as he was -still silent, she burst out with an overwhelming torrent of passion. -“Ah know what they say! Ah know they say he’s taken her away wi’ him, -Mr. Christian of t’ works, Cornthwaite’s works. But it’s a lie. Ah know -it’s a lie. He’d never take her wi’ him; he’d never dare take any one -but me. He care for her? Not enoof for that! She’s here, Ah know she -is; only she’s afraid to coom out, afraid to meet me! But Ah’ll find -her; Ah’ll have her aht. What ’ud you be doin’ here if she wasn’t here? -Oh, Ah know who Christian was jealous of; Ah know she was artful enough -to keep the two of ye on. Ah know it was her fault he used to coom here -and----” Her eyes flashed, and her voice suddenly dropped to a fierce -whisper. “Ah mean to have her aht.” - -As she suddenly swung round and made for the inner door leading into -the hall, Bram saw that she held under her jacket a bottle. There was -mischief in the woman’s eyes, worse mischief even than was boded by her -tongue. For one moment, as he sprang after her, Bram felt glad that -Claire was not there. Meg laughed hoarsely in his face as she eluded -him, and disappeared into the hall, slamming the door. - -Bram did not follow her. Claire being gone, she could do little harm. -He opened the outer door, and went out into the farmyard. In a few -minutes he saw a light flickering in room after room upstairs. Meg -Tyzack was searching, hunting in every nook and every corner, searching -for her rival with savage, despairing eagerness. Bram shivered. It was -a relief to him when he heard footsteps approaching the farm, and a few -moments later the voice of Theodore calling to him. - -“Yes, Mr. Biron, it’s me.” - -“Then who’s that in the house? Is it Joan?” asked Theodore fretfully, -testily. - -He was dispirited, dejected; evidently he had met with neither comfort -nor sympathy at Holme Park. He had been trying to comfort himself -on the way back, as Bram discovered by his unsteady gait and husky -utterance. - -“It’s a girl, Meg Tyzack,” answered Bram. - -Mr. Biron started. - -“That vixen!” cried he. “That horrible virago! Why did you let her get -in?” - -“I couldn’t help it,” replied Bram simply. - -“What is she up to?” - -“She’s looking for Miss Claire,” said Bram in a low voice. - -Theodore made no answer. But he shuddered, and leaning against the wall -of the farmyard began to cry. - -“Come, Mr. Biron,” said Bram impatiently, “it’s no use giving way like -that. It’s just something to be thankful for that this mad woman can’t -get hold of her.” - -Mr. Biron did not answer. A moment later, attracted probably by the -voices, Meg came rushing out of the house like a fury, and made -straight for the two men. - -“Ah!” cried she shrilly, when she made out who the newcomer was, -thrusting her angry face close to his in the gloom. “So it’s you, is -it? You, the father of that----” - -“Hold your tongue.” - -“Hush!” cried Bram, seizing her arm. - -There was a sound so impressive in his voice, short and blunt as his -speech was, that the woman turned upon him sharply, but for a moment -was silent. Then she said with coarse bravado-- - -“And who are you to talk to me? Why, t’ very mon as ought to take my -part, if you had any spirit? But you leave it to me to pay out t’ pair -on ’em. An’ Ah’ll do it. Ah’ll made ’em both smart for it, if Ah swing -for it! Ah’ll show him the price he has to pay for treatin’ a woman -like me the way he’s done. When Ah loved him so! Ay, ten times more’n -than that little hussy could! Oh, my God, my God!” - -Bram, child of the people that he was, was moved in the utmost depths -of his heart by the woman’s mad, passionate despair. He felt for her -as he could never feel for the cool, prim, little wife Christian had -served so ill. He would have comforted her if he could. But as no words -strong enough or suitable enough to the occasion came to his lips, he -just put a gentle hand upon the woman’s shoulder as she bowed herself -down and sobbed. - -But Mr. Biron’s refinement was shocked by this scene. Seeing the -woman less ferocious, now that she was more absorbed in her grief, he -ventured to come a little nearer, and to say snappishly-- - -“But, my good woman, though we may be sorry for you, you have no right -to force yourself into my house. Nor have you any right to speak in -such terms of my daughter.” - -Meg was erect in a moment, her eyes flashing, her nostrils quivering. -With a wild, ironical laugh, she faced about, pointing at his mean -little face a scornful finger. - -“You!” cried she in a very passion of contempt. “You dare to speak to -me! You as would have sold your daughter a dozen times over if t’ price -had been good enoof! Why, mon, your hussy of a daughter’s a pearl to -you! You’re a rat, a cur! Ah could almost forgive her when Ah look at -you! It’s you Ah’ve got to blame for it all, wi’ your black heart an’ -your mean, white face! You more’n her, more’n him!” - -With a sudden impulse of indomitable rage, she stepped back, and -raising her right hand quickly, flung something at his face. - - -[Illustration: “A wedding, Sir?” Bram’s face clouded with perplexity. ---_Page 70._] - - -Mr. Biron uttered a piercing shriek, as shrill as a woman’s. - -“Fiend! She-devil! She’s killed me! Help! Oh, I’m on fire!” - -Bram, who hardly knew what had happened, caught Theodore as the latter -fell shrieking into his arms. Meg, with a wild laugh, picked up the -remains of her broken bottle, and ran out of the farmyard. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -BRAM SPEAKS HIS MIND. - - -Meg Tyzack had hardly left the farmyard before Bram knew what she had -done, and realized the full extent of the danger Claire had escaped. -The bottle Meg had carried, and which she had thrown at the head of -Theodore Biron, had contained vitriol. Luckily for Mr. Biron, he had -moved aside just in time to escape having the bottle broken on his -face, but part of the contents had fallen on his head, on the side of -his face, and on his left hand before the bottle itself was dashed into -two pieces as it fell on the ground. - -Bram wiped Theodore’s face and hands as quickly as he could, but the -effeminate man had so entirely lost his self-control that he could not -keep still; and by his own restlessness he hindered the full effect of -Bram’s good offices. - -The young man saw that his best chance with the hysterical creature was -to get him into the house as quickly as he could. But Theodore objected -to this. He wanted Bram to go in pursuit of the woman, to bring her -back, to have her taken up. And as his cries had by this time caused -a little crowd to assemble from the cottages round about, he began to -harangue them on the subject of his wrongs, and to try to stir them up -to resent the outrage to which he had been subjected. - -It is needless to say that his efforts were ineffectual. Mr. Biron -had succeeded in establishing a thoroughly bad reputation among his -neighbors, who knew all about his selfish treatment of his daughter. -He found not one sympathizer, and at last he was fain to allow himself -to be led indoors by Bram, who was very urgent in his persuasions, -being indeed afraid that Theodore’s curses upon the bystanders for -their supineness would bring upon him some further chastisement. He -prevailed upon a lad in the crowd to go for a doctor, assuring him that -it was the pain from which the gentleman was suffering that made him so -irritable. - -Once inside the house, Bram found that his difficulties with his -unsympathetic patient had only just begun. Mr. Biron was not used to -pain, and had no idea of suffering in silence. He raved and he moaned, -he cursed and he swore, and Bram was amazed and disgusted to find that -this little, well-preserved, middle-aged gentleman was quite as much -concerned by the injury which he should suffer in appearance as by the -pain he had to bear. - -“Do you think, Elshaw, that the marks will ever go away? Oh, good -heavens, I know they won’t,” he cried, as with his uninjured eye he -surveyed himself in the glass over the dining-room sideboard by the -light of a couple of candles. “Oh, oh, the wretch! The hag! I’ll get -her six months for this!” - -And the little man, trembling with rage, shook his fist and gnashed his -teeth, presenting in his anger and disfigurement a hideous spectacle. - -The left side of his face was already one long patch of inflammation. -His left eye was shut up; the hair on that side of his head had already -begun to come away in tufts from the burnt skin. - -Bram was disgusted. Mr. Biron’s grief over the loss of his daughter, -keen as it had been, could not be compared to that which he felt now -at the loss of his remaining good looks. There was a note of absolute -sincerity in his every lament which had been conspicuously lacking in -his grief of the morning. The young man could scarcely listen to him -with patience. He tried, however, out of humanity, to remain silent, -since he could give no comfort. But silence would not do for his -garrulous companion, who insisted on having an answer. - -“Do you think, Elshaw, that I shall be disfigured for life?” he asked -with tremulous anxiety. - -“I’m afraid so,” answered Bram rather gruffly. “But I don’t think I’d -worry about that when you have worse things than that to trouble you.” - -Unluckily, Mr. Biron was so much absorbed in the loss of his own beauty -that he fell into the mistake of being absolutely sincere for once. - -“Worse troubles than that! Worse than to go about like a scarecrow, -a repulsive object, all the years of one’s life! What can be worse?” -groaned he. - -Bram, who was standing solemnly erect, answered at once, in a deep -voice, out of the fulness of his heart-- - -“Well, Mr. Biron, if you don’t know of anything worse, I suppose there -is nothing worse--for you!” - -But Mr. Biron was impervious to sneers. He walked up and down the -room in feverish anxiety until the arrival of the doctor, whom he -interrogated at once with as much solicitude as if he had been a young -beauty on the eve of her first ball. - -The doctor, a stolid, hard-working country practitioner, with a dull -red face and dull black eyes, showed Theodore much less mercy than -Bram had done. He knew his patient well, having been called in to him -on several occasions when that gentleman’s excesses had brought on the -attacks of dyspepsia to which he was subject; and the more he saw of -him the less he liked him. Theodore’s anxiety about his appearance he -treated with cruel bluntness. - -“No, you’ll never be the same man again to look at, Mr. Biron,” he said -quite cheerfully. “And you may be thankful if we can save you the sight -of the left eye.” - -“You think the scar will never go away? Nor the hair grow again?” asked -Theodore piteously. - -“The scar won’t go away certainly. But that’s not much to trouble about -at your time of life, I should think,” returned the doctor bluntly. -“There’s a greater danger than that to concern ourselves with. Unless -you are very careful, you will have erysipelas. You must get that -little daughter of yours to nurse you very carefully. Where is she?” - -Theodore burst out fretfully with a new grievance-- - -“My daughter! She’s not here to nurse me. I’ve no one to nurse me now. -She’s gone away, gone away and left me all by myself!” - -The doctor stared at him with the unpleasant fixity of eyes which have -to look hard before they see much. - -“You told her to go, I suppose?” said he at last, abruptly. - -Taken by surprise, Theodore, to the horror of Bram, who was standing in -the background, confessed-- - -“Well, I told her she could go if she liked; but I never meant her to -take me at my word.” - -Bram was thunderstruck. Such a simple solution of the mystery of the -disappearance of the dutiful daughter had never entered his mind. In a -fit of passion, perhaps of partial intoxication, Theodore had bade his -daughter get out of the house. And the long-suffering girl had taken -him at his word. - -The doctor nodded. - -“I thought so,” said he. “I thought there was no end to what the child -would put up with at your hands. So you have driven her away? Well, -then you’ll have to suffer for it, I’m afraid. I don’t know of anybody -else who would come to nurse you.” - -“I’ll do what I can,” said Bram in a hollow voice from the background. - -It needed an effort on his part to make this offer. He felt that he -loathed the little wretch who had himself driven his daughter into the -arms of her untrustworthy lover. Only the thought that Claire would -wish him to do so enabled him to undertake the distasteful task of -ministering to such a patient. Theodore thanked him in a half-hearted -sort of way, feeling that there was something not altogether grateful -to himself in the spirit in which this offer was made. The doctor was -far more cordial. - -He told Bram he was doing a fine thing. - -“But then,” he added in his rough way, “fine things are what one -expects of you, Mr. Elshaw.” - -And then he went out, leaving Theodore in much perplexity as to what -the fellow could see in Elshaw to make such a fuss about. - -Bram spent the night with him, doing his best to soothe and to comfort -the unfortunate man, whose sufferings, both of mind and body, grew more -acute as the hours wore on. His own worry about himself was the chief -cause of this. Long before morning he had lost sight of the shame of -his daughter’s flight, and looked upon it solely as a wicked freak -which had resulted in his own most cruel misfortune. - -“Why, surely, man,” broke out Bram at last, losing patience at his -long tirades of woe and indignation, “it’s better that you should be -disfigured than her, at any rate.” - -“No, it isn’t,” retorted Theodore sharply. “Claire never cared half as -much about her appearance as I did about mine. And, besides,” he went -on, with a sudden feeling that he had got hold of a strong argument, -“if she had been disfigured, she would have had no temptation to do -wrong!” - -Bram jumped up, clenching his fist. He could bear no more. With a few -jerked-out words to the effect that he would send Joan to get his -breakfast, he rushed out of the house. - -Poor Claire! Poor little Claire! Was this the creature she had wronged -in going away? This shallow, selfish wretch who had turned her out, and -who regretted the ministrations of her gentle hands far more than he -did the shame her desperate act had drawn down upon her! - -Bram went down to the works that morning a different man from what he -had been the day before. He was waking from the dull lethargy of grief -into which the first discovery of Claire’s flight had thrown him. A -smouldering anger against the Cornthwaites, father and son, was taking -the place of sullen misery in his breast. He had gathered from Theodore -that the elder Mr. Cornthwaite had taken his remonstrances not only -coolly, but with something like relief, as if he felt glad of an excuse -for getting rid of the relations whose vicinity had been a continual -annoyance. - -But Bram did not mean to be put off. Josiah, who had not been at the -office at all on the previous day, should see him, and answer his -questions. And Bram, maturing a grave resolution, strode down into the -town with a steady look in his eyes. - -Mr. Cornthwaite saw him as soon as he himself arrived, and, evidently -with the intention of taking the bull by the horns, spoke to him at -once. - -“Ah, Elshaw, good-morning. Come in here a moment, please. I want to -speak to you.” - -Bram followed in silence, and stood within the room with his back to -the door, with a stern expression on his pale face. - -Mr. Cornthwaite broached the unpleasant subject at once. - -“Nice business this, eh? Nice thing Chris has done for himself now! -Brought a hornet’s nest about his ears and mine too! Old Hibbs and his -wife have been down to my house blackguarding me; Minnie herself is -fit for a lunatic asylum, and, to complete the business, the girl’s -rascally father has been to my house, trying to levy blackmail. But -I’ve made up my mind to make short work of the thing! I start for -London to-night; find out Master Chris (luckily he gave his address -to no one but me, or he’d have had his wife’s family about his ears -already), and bring the young man back to his wife’s feet--bring him by -the scruff of the neck if necessary!” - -“And--Claire--Miss Biron?” said Bram hoarsely. - -“Oh, she must shift for herself. She knew what she was doing, running -off with a married man. I’ve no pity for her; not the least. I wash my -hands of the pair of them, father and daughter, now. He must just pack -up his traps and be off after her. What becomes of her is his affair, -not ours!” - -“Mr. Christian can’t get rid of the responsibility like that, sir,” -said Bram, with a note of sombre warning in his voice. - -“I take upon myself the responsibility for him,” retorted Mr. -Cornthwaite coldly. “My son is dependent upon me, and he can do nothing -without my approval. I am certainly going to give him no help towards -the maintenance of a baggage like that. You know what my opinion of her -always has been. Circumstances have confirmed it most amply. A young -man is not much to blame if he gets caught, entangled, by a girl as -artful and as designing as she is.” - -“I don’t think you will find yourself and Mr. Christian in agreement -upon that point, sir,” said Bram steadily. - -“Well, whether he agrees or not, he’ll come back with me to-morrow,” -replied Mr. Cornthwaite hotly. - -“Then, Mr. Cornthwaite, you’ll please take my notice now, and I’ll -be out of this to-day. For,” Bram went on, with a rising spot of deep -color in his cheek, and a bright light in his eye, “I couldn’t trust -myself face to face with such a d----d scoundrel as Mr. Christian is if -he leaves the girl he loves, the girl he’s betrayed, and comes sneaking -back at your heels like a cur, when he ought to stand up for the woman -who loves him!” - -“Upon my word, yours is very singular morality for a young man who goes -in for such correctness of conduct as you do. Where does the wife come -in, the poor, injured wife, in your new-fangled scheme of right and -wrong? Is she to be left out in the cold altogether?” - -“Where else can she be left, poor thing?” cried Bram with deep feeling. -“Do you think if you brought Mr. Christian back ‘by the scruff of the -neck,’ as you say, that you’d ever be able to patch matters up between -’em so as to make ’em live anything but a cat-and-dog’s-life? No, -Mr. Cornthwaite, you couldn’t. The wife won’t come to so much hurt; -she wouldn’t have come to none if you hadn’t forced on this cursed -marriage. Let her get free, and make him free; and let Mr. Christian -put the wrong right as far as he can by marrying the girl he wants, the -girl who knows how to make him happy!” - -Mr. Cornthwaite’s black eyes blazed. He hated even a semblance of -contradiction; and Bram’s determined and dogged attitude irritated him -beyond measure. He rose from his arm-chair, and clasping his hands -behind his back with a loud snap, he assumed towards the young man an -air of bland contempt which he had never used to him before. - -“Your notions are charming in the abstract, Elshaw. I have no doubt, -too, that there are some sections of society where your ideas might be -carried out without much harm to anybody. But not in that in which we -move. If my son were to commit such an unheard-of folly as you suggest -I would let him shift for himself for the rest of his days. And perhaps -you know enough of Christian to tell whether he would find life with -any young woman agreeable under those conditions.” - -Bram remained silent. There was a pause, rather a long one. Then Mr. -Cornthwaite spoke again---- - -“Of course, you are sensible enough to understand that this is my -business, and my son’s; that it is a family matter, a difficulty -in which I have to act for the best. And I hope,” he went on in a -different tone, “for your own sake, more than for mine, that you will -not take any step so rash as leaving this office would be. Without -notice, too!” - -“As to that, sir, you had better let me go--and without notice,” said -Bram with a sullen note in his voice which made Mr. Cornthwaite look -at him with some anxiety, “if it’s true that you’re going to make Mr. -Christian leave Miss Claire in the lurch. For I tell you, sir,” and -again he looked up, with a steely flash in his gray eyes and a look of -stubborn ferocity about his long upper lip and straight mouth, “if I -was to come face to face wi’ him after he’d done that thing I couldn’t -keep my fists off him; Ah couldn’t, sir. That’s what comes of my being -born in a different section of society, sir, I suppose. And so, as -Ah’ve loved Mr. Christian, and as Ah’ve had much to thank you and him -for, sir, you’d best let me go back--to my own section of society, -where a man has to stand by his own deeds, like a man!” - -Mr. Cornthwaite’s attitude, his tone, changed insensibly as he looked -and listened to the man who told him his views so honestly, and stood -by them so firmly. He saw that Bram was in earnest, and he began to -walk up and down the room, thinking, planning, considering. He did -not want to lose this clever young man; he could not afford to do so. -Bram had something like a genius for the details of business, and was -besides as honest as the day; not a too common combination. - -The young man waited, but at last, as Mr. Cornthwaite made no sign of -addressing him, he turned to touch the handle of the door. Then Mr. -Cornthwaite suddenly stopped in his walk, and made a sign to him to -stay. - -“Well, Elshaw,” said he in a more genial tone, “will you, if you must -go, promise me one thing? Will you see Mr. Christian in my presence -first, and hear what he has to say for himself?” - -Bram hesitated. - -“I don’t want to hear anything,” said he sullenly. “I’d rather go, sir.” - -“No doubt you would, but you wouldn’t like to treat us in any way -unfairly, would you, Bram? You acknowledge that we’ve not treated you -badly, you know.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Well, then, you can hardly refuse to hear what the culprit has to say -in his own defence. If, after hearing him, you are not satisfied, you -can have the satisfaction of telling him what you think of him in good -round terms before you go. Now, is that a bargain? You stay here until -I come back from town--at least--with or without (for, of course, you -may be right, and he may not come) my son?” - -Bram hesitated; but he could not well refuse. - -“All right, sir. I’ll stay till you come back,” he answered sullenly. - -And, without another word or another look, he accepted his employer’s -satisfied motion of assent as a dismissal, and left the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -FACE TO FACE. - - -Doggedly, sullenly, with a hard mouth and cold eyes, Bram went about -his day’s work in the office. His fellow-clerks knew that something of -deep import had happened during that half-hour while he was shut up -with Mr. Cornthwaite in the inner room; but so well did they know him -by this time that no one made any attempt to learn from him what it was -that had passed. - -Quietly, unostentatiously, without any apparent effort, Bram had -made himself a unique position, with his office companions as well -as with his employers. Very taciturn, very stolid of manner, never -giving an unasked opinion on any subject, he always seemed to be too -much absorbed in the details of work to have time or inclination for -the discussions, the idle chatter, with which the rest beguiled the -monotonous hours on every opportunity. - -But they had long since ceased to “chaff” him on his attitude, not -through any distaste on his part for this form of attack, but as a -natural result of the respect he inspired, and of the position he held -with “the guv’nor” and his son. There was a feeling that he would be -“boss” himself some day, and a consequent disposition to leave him -alone. - -But when the day’s work was done, and Bram started on the walk back to -Hessel, the look of dogged attention which his face had worn during -office hours relaxed into one of keen anxiety. He had been able, by -force of will, to thrust into the background of his mind the one -subject which was all-important to him. Now that he was again, for -fifteen hours, a free man, his thoughts fastened once more on Claire -and on the question--Would Christian, obedient to his father and to -self-interest, abandon her, or would he not? - -Bram felt a dread of the answer. He would not allow to himself that -he believed Christian capable of what he looked upon as an act of -inconceivable baseness; but down at the bottom of his heart there was a -dumb misgiving, an unacknowledged fear. - -And Bram, his thoughts stretching out beyond the limits he imposed -upon them, asked himself what he should do for the best for the poor -child, if she were left stranded, as Mr. Cornthwaite made no secret of -intending. He had unconsciously assumed to himself, now that the image -of Claire had been deposed from the high pedestal of his ideal, the -attitude of guardian to this most helpless of creatures, taking upon -himself in advance the position which her father ought to have held. - -If she were abandoned by her lover, it was he who would find her out, -and care for her, and settle her in some place of safety. That she -would never come back to the neighborhood of her own accord Bram felt -sure. - -When Bram got back to Hessel, he called at once at the farm, with a -lingering hope that something might have been heard of Claire, that she -might have sent some message, written some letter to her father or to -Joan. - -But she had not. He found Mr. Biron in the care of Joan, whose patience -he tried severely by his fretfulness and irritability. The doctor had -called again, and had expressed a growing fear of erysipelas, which had -only increased the patient’s ill-temper, without making him any more -careful of himself. He was drinking whisky and water when Bram came in, -and Joan reported that he had been doing so all day, and that there was -no reasoning with him or stopping him, even by using the authority of -the doctor. - -Theodore was by this time in a maudlin and tearful condition, bewailing -now the flight of his daughter, and now his own wounds, without ceasing. - -Bram did what he could to cheer him, and to persuade him to a more -reasonable course of conduct, but the effect was hardly more than -momentary. And on the following day his condition had undoubtedly -become worse. Bram, however, was obliged to leave him to go to the -office, where the day passed without incident. Mr. Cornthwaite had gone -up to town on the previous night, and had not returned. Bram began to -hope that Christian had refused to come back. - -Two more days passed, during which Mr. Biron’s symptoms grew worse. -The erysipelas had not only declared itself on the wounded part of the -face, but was spreading rapidly. No attempt had been made to bring -Meg Tyzack to book for the assault, in spite of Mr. Biron’s frenzied -adjurations. Bram could not bear to have the name of Claire dragged -through the mire, as it must be if the jealous woman were brought into -Court; and although Mr. Biron troubled himself less about this than -he did about the revenge he wanted for his own injuries, Joan was so -bluntly outspoken on the subject that even he had to give up the idea. - -“You’d best tak’ it quiet, sir,” said the good woman coolly. “You see -you couldn’t coom into Coort wi’ clean hands yourself, wi’ the Joodge -and everybody knowin’ the life as Miss Claire led with you. Happen ye’d -get told it served you roight!” - -And Bram concurring, though less outspokenly, the indignant Theodore -found himself obliged to wait for his revenge until he could see about -it himself. This period promised to be a long time in coming, as the -erysipelas continued to spread, and threatened to attack the membranes -of the brain. - -In the meantime, on the fourth day after the departure of Mr. Josiah -Cornthwaite for London, Bram learned that father and son had returned -home together. - -Bram’s heart sank. What of Claire? His mind was filled with anxious -thoughts of her, as he awaited the expected summons to meet Christian -face to face. - -But the day passed, and the next. Neither father nor son appeared at -the office at the works; and all that Bram could hear was that Mr. -Christian was not very well. Bram looked upon this as a ruse, a trick. -His sympathies were to be appealed to on behalf of the scoundrel of -whose conduct he had spoken so openly. - -Another day passed, and another. Still the work of the head of the firm -was done by deputy; still the elder Mr. Cornthwaite remained at home, -and his son, so Bram understood, with him. - -So at last Bram, not to be put off any longer, wrote a short note to -Mr. Cornthwaite, senior, reminding him of the latter’s wish that he -should see Christian before leaving the firm. - -The answer to this note, which Bram posted to Holme Park on his way -to the works, reached him by hand the same evening before he left the -office. It contained only these words:-- - - - “Dear Elshaw,--You can come up and see my son at any time you - like.--Yours faithfully, - - “JOSIAH CORNTHWAITE.” - - -Bram started off to Holme Park at once, full of sullen anger against -father and son. That this was the end he felt sure, the abrupt -termination of a connection which had done so much for him, which had -promised so much for his employers. Bram was not ungrateful. It was -the feeling that this act had been committed by the man he loved and -admired above all others, to whom he was indebted for his rise in life, -which made the meeting so hard to him. - -It was the knowledge that it was Christian, who had been so good to -himself, who had ruined the life of the woman he loved, that made Bram -shrink from this interview. He was torn, as he went, between memories -of the pleasant walks he and Christian had had together, of the talks -in which he had always opposed a rigorous and perhaps narrow code of -morals to his companion’s airy philosophy of selfishness, on the one -hand; and thoughts of Claire, brave, friendless, little Claire, on the -other. And the more he thought, the more he shrank from the meeting. - -He knew by heart all Christian’s irresponsible speeches about women and -the impossibility of doing them any harm except by their express desire -and invitation; knew that Christian always spoke of himself as a weak -creature who yielded too readily to temptation, although he avoided -it when he could. He knew every turn of the head, every trick of the -voice, which could be so winning, so caressing, with which Christian -would try to avert his wrath, as he had done many times before. He knew -also that Christian had stronger weapons than these, in appeals to his -affection, to the bond which Christian’s own generosity and discernment -had been the first to forge. - -And knowing all this, Bram, determined to make one last appeal for -justice and mercy for Claire, and if unsuccessful to pour out such -fiery indignation as even Christian should quiver under, steeled -himself and set his teeth, and strode up to the big house at dusk with -an agitated heart. - -In the gloom of the foggy night the lamp in the hall shone with a -yellow light through the evergreens, and the whole place had a -desolate look, which struck Bram as he went up. To his inquiry for Mr. -Cornthwaite the servant who opened the door said, “Yes, sir,” with -an odd, half-alarmed look, and showed him into the study, where Mr. -Cornthwaite sprang up from a chair at the sight of him. - -“Ah, Elshaw,” said he in a troubled voice, without holding out his -hand, “you have come to see Christian. Well, you shall see him.” - -Without another word, without listening to Bram’s renewed -expostulations, he went out of the room, with a gesture of curt -invitation to Bram to follow. - -Up the stairs they went in silence. The fog seemed to have got into the -house, to have shrouded every corner with gloom. On the first floor Mr. -Cornthwaite opened a door, and beckoned Bram to come in. As the young -man entered the room a shriek of wild laughter, in a voice which was -like and yet unlike that of Chris, met his ears. A figure sprang up in -a bed which was opposite the door, and a woman, in the dark gown and -white cap and apron of a sick nurse, stood up beside the bed, trying to -hold the sick man down. Bram stood petrified. There was the man of whom -he was in search, unconscious of his presence, though he stared at him -with bright eyes. - -Christian was raving in the delirium of fever. - -In a moment Bram experienced a revulsion of feeling so strong that he -felt he could scarcely stand. Christian’s follies, faults, vices, all -were forgotten; there lay, dangerously ill, the lovable companion, the -staunch friend. In that moment Bram, staring at the man he knew so -well, who knew him not, felt that he would have laid down his own life -to save that of Christian. - -Suddenly he felt a hand laid gently on his arm. Mr. Cornthwaite, who -had been watching him narrowly, saw the effect the sight had had upon -the young man, and promptly drew him back, and shut the door behind -them. - -“Typhoid,” said he, in answer to an imploring look from Bram. “He must -have been sickening for it when he went away. I brought him back very -ill, and the fever declared itself yesterday.” - -Bram did not ask anything for some minutes. He knew that Christian’s -life was in danger. - -“His wife? She has forgiven him? She is with him?” asked Bram. - -“Thank goodness no,” replied Mr. Cornthwaite energetically. “I begin -to hate the little canting fool. She offered to nurse him, I will say -that; but we thought it better to refuse, and she was content.” - -“And--Claire?” said Bram. - -Mr Cornthwaite grew impatient directly. - -“I know nothing about her,” said he coldly. - -Bram straightened himself, as if at a challenge. - -“You did not see her in London?” he asked. - -“No.” - -“Nor trouble yourself about her?” - -“No. And I sincerely hope, Elshaw, you are going to give up all -thoughts of doing so either.” - -Bram smiled grimly. - -“Not while I have a hand or a foot left, Mr. Cornthwaite.” - -“At any rate, you will not think of marrying her?” - -There was a silence. Then Bram said, in a very low voice, very sadly-- - -“No.” - -He did not know whether he was not cruel, hard, in this decision. But -he could not help himself. The feeling he had for Claire, for his first -love, for his ideal, could never die; but it had changed sadly; greatly -changed. It was love still, but with a difference. - -Mr Cornthwaite, however, was scarcely satisfied. - -“You will not think of leaving us, at least yet?” he said presently. -Then, as he saw a look he did not like in Bram’s face he hastened to -add--“You are bound to wait until my son is better--or worse; until I -am free to go to the office. I cannot be making changes now.” - -“Very well, Mr. Cornthwaite. But I must have a holiday, perhaps a two -or three days’ holiday, to start from to-morrow morning.” - -“All right. Good-night.” - -They were in the hall, and Bram, who had refused to re-enter the study, -had his fingers upon the outer door. - -“Good-night,” said he. - -And he went out. He was full of a new idea, which had suddenly struck -him even while he was talking to Mr. Cornthwaite. He would not go to -London; poor little Claire, abandoned by her lover, or rather by his -father, would not have stayed there. It had flashed into his mind that -there was one spot in the world to which she would direct her wandering -steps if left all alone in the world. It was the little Yorkshire town -of Chelmsley, where her mother lay buried. - -On the following morning, therefore, Bram took train northwards, and, -reaching before noon the pretty country town, went straight from the -station to the big, square, open market-place, which, with the little -irregular old-fashioned dwellings which surrounded it, might be called, -not only the heart, but the whole of the town. - -It was market-day, and at the primitive stalls which were ranged in -neat rows, stood the farmers’ wives and daughters before their tempting -wares. - -It was a cold but not unpleasant day, and the sight was a pretty one. -But Bram had no eyes, no heart for any sight but one. He went to the -principal inn, ordered some bread and cheese, and asked if there were -any persons living in the town bearing the name of Cornthwaite; this he -knew to have been the maiden name of Claire’s mother. - -The innkeeper knew of none. There had been a family of that name living -at a big house outside the town; but that was years before. - -Still Bram did not give up hope. It was something stronger than -instinct which told him that to this, the spot where her mother’s -childhood had been passed, Claire would make her way. Disappointed in -his inquiries, Bram set about what was almost a house-to-house search. - -And towards the evening, when the lights began to appear in the houses, -he was successful. He was searching the cottages on the outskirts of -the town, and in one of them, crouching before the fire in a tiny room, -where geraniums in pots formed a screen before the window, he saw -Claire. - -He stared at her for some seconds, until the tears welled up into his -eyes. - -Then he tapped at the window-pane, and she started up with a low cry. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -SANCTUARY. - - -With his heart in his mouth Bram waited. Would she come out to him? She -stood up, with the firelight shining on her figure, but leaving her -face in shadow, so that he could not tell what expression she wore. - -He wondered whether she knew him. After waiting for a few moments he -tapped again at the window, advancing his face as close as possible to -the glass. Then, as she still did not move, he stepped back, and was -going towards the door, when by a quick gesture she checked him, and -seemed to intimate that he was to wait for her to come out to him. - -At the same moment she left the room. - -Bram waited. - -When some minutes had passed, and still she did not come out, he began -to feel alarmed, to wonder whether she had given him the slip. He -walked round to the back, and saw that the cottage, which was one of a -row of three, had a good garden behind it, and that there was a path -which led from the garden across the fields. - -Presently he went round to the front again, and knocked at the door. It -was opened after the second knock, by a very respectable-looking old -woman, with a kindly, pleasant face. - -“Is Miss Biron staying here?” asked Bram, wondering whether Claire was -using her own name or passing under another. - -But the answer put to flight any doubts. - -“Yes, sir,” said the woman at once. “She is staying here, but she isn’t -in at present. She’s just this minute gone out.” - -Bram felt his blood run cold. Claire was avoiding him then! The woman -seemed to know of no reason for this sudden disappearance, and went on -to ask-- - -“You are a friend of hers, sir?” - -“Oh, yes, a very old friend of hers and her father’s.” - -“And do you come from her father, sir?” - -“Yes, I saw him this morning.” - -“Ah,” cried she sharply. “And I hope he’s ashamed of himself by this -time for turning his daughter, his own daughter, out of his house!” - -Bram said nothing. He did not know how much this woman knew, nor who -she was, nor anything about her. - -“I suppose he wants her back again?” she went on in the same tone. - -“He does indeed. He’s very ill. He has erysipelas all over his face -and one of his hands, and is even in danger of his life. It has led to -serious inflammation internally. He wants a great deal of care, such -care as only his daughter can give him.” - -“Dear me! Dear me! Well, we must hope it’ll soften his hard heart!” -said the woman, coming out a step to listen. “He was always a -light-minded, careless sort of a man. But I never thought he’d turn -out so bad as he has done--never. He was a taking sort of a gentleman -in the old days when he came courting Miss Clara, and married her and -carried her off.” - -A light broke in upon Bram. This was some old servant of the family -of Claire’s mother, who had lived out her years of service, settled -down, and “found religion” within sight of the old house, within the -walls of which her girlhood had been passed. He had seen from the -outside, as he looked in through the window at Claire, the framed texts -of Scripture which hung on the walls, the harmonium in the corner, -with a large hymn-book open upon it--the usual interior of the English -self-respecting cottager. - -“You lived in the family,” said Bram, “did you not?” - -“Why, yes, sir. I was under housemaid, and right through -upper-housemaid to housekeeper with them in the old gentleman’s and -lady’s time. Mr. Biron’s told you about me, no doubt, sir,” she added, -with complacent belief that she was still fresh in that gentleman’s -mind. “And I don’t suppose he had many a good word for me. I never did -like the idea of his being half-French. I was always afraid it would -turn out badly, always. I suppose he thought of me at once when he -wanted his daughter back, sir?” - -Bram thought this suggestion would do very well as an explanation of -his own appearance at the cottage, so he did not contradict her. He -asked if she knew where Claire had gone to. - -“Well, no, sir, I don’t. She ran upstairs, and put on her things all in -a hurry, and went out at the back. I suppose she remembered something -she’d forgotten this morning when she went out to do my little bit -of marketing for me. And yet--no--she’d have gone out the front -way for that.” The old woman stared at the young man with wakening -intelligence. She perceived some signs of agitation in him. “Maybe she -saw you through the window, sir, and didn’t want to speak to you,” she -suggested shrewdly. - -Bram did not contradict her. - -“Where does the path at the back lead to?” he asked, “I must see her. I -think it’s very likely, as you say, that she doesn’t want to; but she -would never forgive herself if her father were to die, would she?” - -“Lord, no, sir. Well, she may have gone out that way and then turned -to the left back into the town. Or she may--though I don’t think it’s -likely--she may have gone on towards Little Scrutton. She’s fond of -a walk to the old abbey, that runs down to the left past Sir Joseph’s -plantation. But I should hardly think she’d go that far so late, and by -herself too!” - -“Thanks. Well, if she’s gone that way I can catch her up, or meet her -as she comes back,” said Bram. “Thank you. Good-evening.” - -He hid as well as he could the anxiety which was in his heart, and set -off, passing, by the woman’s invitation, through the cottage kitchen, -by the footpath across the fields. - -He was half-mad with fear lest Claire, in an access of shame, should -have fled from the shelter she had found under the good woman’s roof, -determined not to return to a hiding-place which had been discovered. -It seemed clear to him that the old woman knew nothing but the fact -that Theodore had sent his daughter away, and for one brief, splendid -moment Bram asked himself whether that were indeed the whole truth, and -the story of her flight with Christian an ugly nightmare, dishonoring -only to the brains which had conceived it. - -But then, like a black pall, there descended on his passionate hopes -the remembrance of Claire’s look when he last saw her at the farm; of -the horror, the shame in her face; of her abrupt flight then; or her -flight now. What other explanation could there be of all this? Was he -not mad to entertain a hope in the face of overwhelming evidence? - -But for all this he did hug to his heart a ray of comfort, of hope, as -he reached the high-road, and quickly making up his mind to try the -way into the country instead of that which led into the town started -along between the bare hedges in the darkness with a quick step and an -anxious heart. - -The road was easy to follow, lying as it did, between hedges all the -way. The plantation of which the old woman had spoken was some two -miles out. Then Bram found a road dipping sharply down to the left, as -she had said; and, after a few moments’ hesitation, he turned into it. -For some distance he went down the steep hill in the shadow of the fir -trees of the plantation. At the bottom he came to a little group of -scattered cottages, and following the now winding road he came suddenly -upon a sight that made him pause. - -The moon, clear, frosty, nearly at the full, shone down on a wide -valley, shut in with gentle, well-wooded slopes, a very garden of -peace and beauty. Close under the nearest hill stood the ruined abbey, -perhaps even more imposing in its majestic decay than it had been -in the old days when a roof hid its lofty arches and tall clustered -pillars from the gaze of the profane. - -Coming upon it suddenly, Bram was struck by its massive beauty, its -solitary grandeur. The walls, far out of the reach of the smoke of -the town, were still of a glaring whiteness; the moon shone through -the pointed clerestory windows, and cast long, black shadows upon the -grass, and the broken white stones which lay strewn about within the -walls. Here and there a mass of ivy, sturdy, thick, and bushy, broke -the hard outline of tall white wall; or a clump of hawthorn, now bare, -half-hid the small, round-headed tower windows of the transepts. - -Bram went forward slowly, fascinated by the sight, and seized strongly -by the conviction that little Claire would have found the stately -old walls as magnetic in their attraction as he did. He came to the -fence which surrounded the ruin, and climbed over it without troubling -himself to look for a gate. - -The ground was rough and uneven, encumbered with loose stones. He -wandered about the transepts and the long choir, which were all that -were left of the church itself, hunting in every corner and in the -deep shadow of every bush. But he found no trace of Claire. Yet still -he was haunted by the thought that it was here, within walls which had -once been held holy, that the little fugitive would have taken shelter, -would have hidden from him. So strongly did this idea possess him that -he at last sat down on a stone in the ruined choir, determined to keep -vigil there all night, and to make a further search when morning broke. - -It was a cold night, and sleep in the circumstances was out of -the question. He walked up and down and sat down to rest upon the -flat stone alternately until dawn came. A long, weary night it was -undoubtedly. Yet through it all he never lost for more than a few -moments at a time the feeling that Claire was near at hand, that when -daylight came he should find her. - -The dwellers in the cottages outside the ruin were early astir, and one -or two perceived Bram, and came up to the railings to look at him. But -as none of them seemed to feel that his intrusion was any business of -theirs he was left alone until the light was strong enough for him to -renew his search. Then, not within the walls of the church itself, but -in the refectory, which was choked up and encumbered with broken stones -and rubbish which had made search difficult in the night, he found her. - -There was a little stone gallery, with a broken stone staircase leading -up to it, at one end of the refectory. And here crouched in a corner, -fast asleep, with her head against the stone wall, was Claire. Her -small face looked pinched and gray with the cold. He took off his -overcoat and covered her with it very gently. But soft as his touch was -she awoke, stared at him for a moment as if she scarcely knew him, and -then sprang to her feet. - -She was so stiff and cramped and chilled that she staggered. Bram -caught her arm, but she wrenched herself away with a sound like a sob, -and in her eyes there came a fear, a shame so deep, so terrible, that -Bram looked away from her, unable to meet it with his own mournful eyes. - -“Why did you run away from me?” asked he, so kindly, with such a brave -affectation of rough cheerfulness that the tears came rushing into the -girl’s eyes. “You might have known I didn’t want to do you any harm, -mightn’t you? I only wish I’d brought you some better news than I do.” - - -[Illustration: He took off his overcoat and covered her with it very -gently.--_Page 156._] - - -He was looking away, through the tall, pointed arches, at the leafless -trees beyond. He heard her draw a long breath. Then she asked, in a -very low voice:-- - -“What news, then?” - -“Your father wants you back. He’s very ill--very ill. He’s had an -accident, and burnt his head and one of his hands badly. You’ve got to -come back and nurse him; he doesn’t mind what anybody says, and he does -foolish and rash things that only you can save him from. You’ll come -back, won’t you?” - -There was a pause. Bram looked at her, and she bowed her head in silent -assent. She would not meet his eyes; she hung her head, and he saw that -she was crying. - -“We’d better make haste and get back to Chelmsley,” said he in a robust -voice. “I forgot to look out a train; or rather I had hoped to have -taken you back last night. But you gave me the slip; I can’t think why. -You’ve got nothing but a cold night and perhaps a bad cough by your -freak.” - -Claire said nothing. She seemed to be petrified with shame, and -scarcely to feel the cold without from the suffering within. It was -pitiful to see her. Bram, long as he had thought over the poor child -and her desolate situation, suffered new agonies on finding how -deep her anguish was. A sense of unspeakable degradation seemed to -possess her, to make every glance of her eyes furtive, every movement -constrained. - -“I will come,” she said humbly, in a voice which was hoarse from -exposure. - -“Of course you will come,” retorted Bram good-humoredly. “And put your -best foot foremost too, for----” - -She interrupted him hastily, coldly. - -“But let me go alone, please. Thank you for coming; it was very good -of you. But I want to go alone. And I want you not to come to see us -at the farm. If you do----” Her voice grew stronger as Bram tried to -protest, and suddenly she raised her head, and looked at him with a -flash of excitement in her eyes. “If you do, I shall kill myself!” - -“Very well,” said Bram quietly. “Good-bye, then.” - -He jumped the stone steps, offering the assistance of his hand, which -she declined. And he crossed the rough ground quickly, and went through -the roofless church on his way back to Chelmsley. - -Perhaps Claire’s heart smote her for her ungraciousness. At any rate, -when he glanced back, after climbing over the fence, he saw that she -must have followed him very quickly, for she was only a few yards away. -There was a look in her eyes, now that she was caught unawares, which -was like a stab to his tender heart. - -He stopped. She stopped also, and made a movement as if to turn back to -run away. He checked her by an imploring gesture. - -“You will come, really come; you’ve promised, haven’t you?” said he. - -She bowed her head. He dared not hazard another word. So, without so -much as another glance from her, he went quickly up the hill on his -return to Chelmsley. - -What a meeting it had been, after so much anxious waiting! Nothing -had been said that might not have been said any day by one casual -acquaintance to another. And yet their hearts were nigh to bursting all -the time. - -Bram went straight to the station, hungry as he was. He thought Claire -would tell the old woman a better story than he could make to account -for her absence all night. And he thought that the sooner he was out of -the place the sooner Claire would follow him back to Hessel. Within an -hour and a half he was in the train, returning to Sheffield. He sent -a message up to the farm on his arrival to prepare Theodore for his -daughter’s return, and then he set his mind to his office work for the -remainder of the day. - -When he returned to Hessel that evening he ventured to tap at the -kitchen window of the farm. Joan came out to him. Yes, Miss Claire had -come, the good woman said, wiping her eyes. And she hoped things might -go right. But Meg Tyzack had been hanging about the place, and Joan was -keeping all the doors locked. - -“Ah’m in a terrible way abaht that woman,” said Joan in a deep whisper. -“Ah haven’t towd her Miss Claire’s coom back, and Ah hope nobody else -will. For Ah don’t think she’s altogether in her roight moind, and Ah -wouldn’t have her in t’ house again for summat!” - -This was grave news. Bram, feeling that there was nothing he could do -for the protection of the threatened household, stared out before him -with trouble in his eyes. - -“What did Mr. Biron say when he saw his daughter?” asked he. - -Joan pursed up her lips. - -“He didn’t dare say mooch,” said she, with a comprehensive nod. -“He didn’t even say how he’d coom by t’ burns! It was me towd Miss -Claire abaht Meg! And she heard me quite solemn, and didn’t ask many -questions. And when Ah towd her abaht Mr. Christian’s having t’ fever -she joost shivered, and said naught.” - -Bram shivered too, and hurried away up the hill to his lodging. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -BY THE FURNACE FIRES. - - -Then there began a strange time of dreary waiting for some crisis which -Bram felt was approaching, although he could hardly foreshadow what the -nature of it would be. - -Things could not go on much longer at Duke’s Farm in the way they had -been doing for some time now. With nobody to look after him, the farm -bailiff grew daily more neglectful of all business but his own. It went -to Bram’s heart to see ruin creeping gradually nearer, while he dared -not put out a helping hand to arrest its approach. He did try. He wrote -a note to Claire, studiously formal, saying that while her father’s -illness continued he should be glad to keep an eye on the management of -the farm, as he had done some months ago. But the answer he got was a -note still more formal than his own, in which Claire thanked him, but -said she thought it better now that affairs had reached their present -stage to let them go on as they were. After this to move a step in the -direction of helping her would have been unwarrantable interference, -which Bram would have undertaken once, when they were friends, but -which he could not venture upon now. - -Still he tried to perform the office of guardian angel, hampered as he -was. - -Joan, who was his good friend still, and who went daily to the farm -to do the housework as usual, kept him fully acquainted with all that -went on there. She told him that Mr. Biron, who was still suffering -from erysipelas, which died away and broke out again, was growing more -irritable every day, so that it was a marvel how his daughter could -treat him with the patience and gentleness she showed. Claire herself, -so Joan said, was altogether changed; and indeed Bram, when he caught -a glimpse of her at the windows, could see the alteration for himself. -She had grown quite white, and the set, hard expression her face wore -made it weird and uncanny. All her youthful prettiness seemed to have -disappeared; she never smiled, she hardly ever talked. No single word, -so far as Joan knew, had passed between father and daughter on the -subject of the latter’s disappearance and return. Theodore was glad to -get his patient nurse back; glad to have some one to bully, to grumble -at, and that seemed to be all. - -Claire never went out, and Joan never encouraged her to do so, for Meg -Tyzack still hung about the place, Joan having encountered her early in -the morning and late in the evening, on her way to and from the farm. -Meg, so Joan said, would slink out of the way with a laugh or a jeering -question about Claire or her father. - -“Ah doan’t believe,” remarked Joan, when she had given Bram the account -of one of these meetings, “as the lass is quite right. Yon young spark -has a deal to answer for!” - -The “young spark” in question, Christian Cornthwaite, was in the -meantime doing something to expiate his misdeeds, for his illness was -both dangerous and tedious. Day after day, week after week, there came -the same bulletin to the many inquirers down at the works--“No change.” -Mr. Cornthwaite lost his grave, harassed look. He consulted Bram daily; -took him, if possible, more into his confidence than before, over -the details of the business; but he never talked about his son. He -seemed, Bram thought, to have given up hope in a singularly complete -manner; he spoke, he looked, as if Christian were already dead. In the -circumstances, Bram found it impossible to bring before the anxious -father the subject of Claire, and the distresses of the household at -Duke’s Farm. - -Bram heard from Joan of the duns whose presence was now daily felt. -Some of these he found out and settled with quietly himself; but he -did not dare to pursue this course very far, lest Claire’s feminine -quickness should find him out. - -The subject of ready money was a more delicate one still. Bram began -by giving Joan small sums to supply the most pressing needs of the -household at the farm, and for a little while she managed to evade -Claire’s curious questions, and even to pretend that it was she, -Joan, who occasionally lent a few shillings for the daily purchase of -necessary food. - -But one evening, when Bram, as his custom was, waylaid her as she came -from the farm, as soon as she was out of sight of the window, Joan -looked at him with eyes full of alarm. - -“Eh, but she’s found me aht, Mr. Elshaw, an’ she’s led me a pretty -dance for what you’ve done, Ah can tell ye.” - -“Why, what’s that, Joan?” - -“That there money! She guessed, bless ye! who ’twas as gave it to me. -‘Joan,’ says she, ‘if ye take money from him again, if it’s to keep us -from starving, Ah’ll go and throw mysen down t’ pit shaft oop top o’ -t’ hill!’ And she means it, she do! Ah doan’t like t’ looks of her. -What between her father and t’other one--” and Joan jerked her head in -the direction of the works down in the town--“she’s losing her wits -too, Mr Elshaw, that’s what she’s doing!” - -Bram was silent for some minutes. - -“Well, it can’t go on like this,” said he at last. “The creditors will -get too clamorous to be put off. If I could see Mr. Biron I should -advise him to----” - -But Joan cut him short with an emphatic gesture. - -“Doan’t you try it on, Mr. Elshaw!” cried she earnestly. “Doan’t you -try to get at Mr. Biron. That’s joost what he wants, to get hold of -you. Time after time he says to Miss Claire, ‘If Ah could see young -Elshaw,’ says he, ‘Ah could settle summat.’ But she won’t have it. It’s -t’ one thing she won’t let him have his way abaht. ‘If he cooms in t’ -house,’ says she, ‘Ah’ll go aht o’ ’t.’ So now you know how she feels, -Mr. Elshaw, and bless her poor little heart, Ah like her t’ better for -’t!” - -Bram did not say what he felt about it. He listened to all she had -to say, and then with a husky “Good-night, Joan,” he left her and -went home. He too liked the spirit Claire showed in avoiding him, in -refusing help from the one friend whose hand was always held out to -her. But, on the other hand, the impossibility of doing her any good, -of even seeing her to exchange the warm handclasp of an old friend, -gnawed at his heart, and made him sore and sick. - -A dozen times he found himself starting for the farm with the intention -of forcing himself upon her, of insisting on being seen by her, so that -he might offer the help, the comfort, with which heart and hand were -overflowing. But each time he remembered that, brave as he felt before -seeing her, in her presence he would be constrained and helpless, -easily repelled by the coldness which she knew how to assume, by the -look of suffering, only too genuine, he could see in her drawn face. - -And so the days grew into weeks, until one day, not long before -Christmas, he was crossing from one room to another down at the works -with a sheaf of letters in his hand, when he came face to face with -Christian. - -Bram stopped, almost fell back; but he did not utter a word. - -Christian, who was looking pale and very delicate, held out his hand -with a smile. - -“Well, Bram, glad or sorry to see me back again?” - -“Glad, very glad indeed, Mr. Christian,” said Bram. - -He wanted to speak rather coldly, but he could not. The sight of his -friend, so lately recovered from a dangerous illness, and even now -evidently suffering from its effects, was too much for him. Every word -of that short speech seemed to bubble up from his heart. Christian, -perhaps even more touched than he, and certainly, by reason of his -recent illness, less able to conceal his feelings, broke into a sob. - -“They told me--my father told me, you wouldn’t be,” said he, trying to -laugh. “Said you came up to the house with the intention of punching -my head, but that you relented, and consented to put off the gentle -chastisement until I was on my feet again. Oh, Bram, Bram, for shame! -When you knew I was always a _mauvais sujet_ too, and never pretended -to be anything else!” - -“But, Mr. Christian,” began Bram, who felt that he was choking, that -the passions of love for Claire and loyalty to the friend to whom -he owed his rise in life were tearing at his heartstrings, “when a -woman----” Chris interrupted him, placing one rather tremulous hand -lightly on his shoulder. - -“My dear boy, d---- the women! Oh, don’t look shocked when I say d---- -the women, because I speak from conviction, and a man’s convictions -should be respected, especially when he speaks, as I do, from actual -experience. I say d---- the women; and, moreover, I say that until you -can say d---- the women too, you are incapable of any friendship that -is worthy of the name. There! Now, go home, and ponder those words; for -they are words of wisdom!” - -And Chris, giving him a familiar, affectionate push towards the door of -the room he had been about to enter, passed on. - -The news of Christian’s return to the office spread quickly, and was -received with great personal satisfaction throughout the works, where -the easy, pleasant manners of the “guv’nor’s” son had made him a -universal favorite. The tidings flew beyond the works, too, for Joan -told Bram that Mr. Biron and his daughter had heard of Christian’s -return, and added that the mention of his name had been received by -Claire in dead, blank silence. - -“Poor lass! She looked that queer when she heard it,” said Joan. - -Bram, as usual, said nothing. The conflict between his feeling towards -Claire and his feeling towards Christian grew hourly more acute. - -“She wouldn’t hear what Mr. Biron had to say,” pursued Joan. “But she -joost oop and went to her room, and Ah saw no more of her till Ah coom -away. But she were that white! Ah wished she’d talk more, or else cry -more; Ah doan’t like them pains as you doan’t hear nothing abaht. They -gnaw, they do! It’d be better for her to go abaht calling folks names, -like Meg!” - -But this reference to Meg Tyzack in the same breath with Claire -wounded Bram, who turned away quickly. Surely the life of patient -self-sacrifice she was leading in constant attendance upon her selfish -father was ample atonement for the error into which she had been driven. - -It was a great shock to him when, on the afternoon of the following -day, just before the clerks left the office, he heard a rumor that Miss -Biron had come down to the works, and was asking to see Mr. Christian. -Bram at first refused to believe the report. He went downstairs on -purpose to find out the truth for himself, and saw in the yard, to his -dismay, the figure of Claire in an angle of the wall. Well as he knew -the little figure, he would not even then believe the evidence of his -own eyes without further proof. He crossed the yard towards her. Claire -ran out, passing close to him, so that he was able to look into her -face. It was indeed she, but her face was so much changed, wore an -expression so wild, so desperate, that Bram felt his heart stand still. - -He called to her, but she only ran the faster. She disappeared into the -building which contained the offices, and quickly as Bram followed he -could not track her. When he reached the bottom of the staircase, he -could neither see nor hear anything of her. - -While he was wondering what would happen, whether she would present -herself in the office of old Mr. Cornthwaite himself, and be treated -by him with the brutal cynicism he always expressed while speaking of -her, or whether she would find her way straight to Christian, he heard -footsteps in the corridor above, and a moment later Chris himself, -singing softly to himself, and swinging his umbrella as if he had not a -care in the world, appeared at the top of the stair. - -“Hallo, Bram!” cried he, catching sight of the young fellow, and -laughing at him over the iron balustrade. “You look as solemn as a -whole bench of judges. What’s the matter?” - -Bram hesitated. He did not know whether to tell Christian that Claire -was about, or whether to hold his tongue. Doubt was cut short in a -couple of seconds, however, when Christian reached the bottom of the -staircase. For he came face to face with Claire, who had appeared as -quickly and as silently as she had previously disappeared from one of -the doors which opened on the ground floor. - -Both stared at each other without a word for the space of half a -minute. Both were pale as the dead; but while he shook from head to -foot she was outwardly quite calm. - -“I want--to speak to you,” she said at last. - -Her voice sounded hard, unlike her usual tones. There was something in -them which sounded in Bram’s ears like a menace. - -Christian looked around, as if afraid of being seen. - -“Not here,” said he quickly. “In the works. I will go first.” - -He disappeared at once, and Claire followed him out through the door -and across the first of the yards, where the work was slackening off, -and where swarms of dusky, grimy figures, their eyes gleaming white in -their smoke and dust-begrimed faces, were hustling each other in their -eagerness to be out. Like a flash of lightning there passed through -Bram’s mind, brought there by the sudden contact with this black, -toiling world from which Christian had rescued him, by the strong -well-remembered smell of mingled sweat, coal-dust, and fustian, an -overwhelming sense of love and gratitude for Chris, mingled with fear. - -Yet what was he afraid of? What made him struggle through the crowd -with a white face and laboring breath, in mad anxiety to keep close to -the footsteps of the man and the woman? He could not tell. For surely -he had no fear of poor, little, helpless Claire, however wild her look -might be, however desperate the straits in which she found herself! - -He had lost sight of both of them within a few steps of the office -doors. They had been swallowed up in the stream of workmen who were -pressing out as they went in. - -Bram could only go at a venture in one direction through yards and past -workshops, without much idea whether he was on the right track or not. -He had a fancy that he might perhaps come up with them near the spot -where he had first seen them together on that hot August afternoon -eighteen months before, when Christian had picked him out for notice to -his father, and so laid the foundation of his fortunes. - -But when Bram got there, and stood where, rod in hand, he had stood -that day, just outside one of the great rolling sheds, wiping the -sweat from his forehead, he found the place deserted. The noise of the -day had ceased; the steam hammers stood in their places like a row of -closed jaws after an infernal meal. A huge iron plate, glowing red -under its dusky gray surface in the darkness lay on the ground near -Bram’s feet--fiery relic of the labors of the day. - -Bram passed on, peering into the sheds, where the machinery was still, -and where the great leather bands hung resting on the grinding wheels. -Past the huge presses he went, where the glowing plates of steel are -curled into shape like wax under the slow descending, crushing weight -of iron. Through the great room where the great armor-plates are shaved -down, the steel shavings curling up like yards upon yards of silver -ribbon under the slow, steady advance of the huge machine. - -At last Bram fancied that he caught the sound of voices: the one shrill -and vehement, the other deeper, lower, the voice of a man. He hurried -on. - -Through the heart of the works, which stretched for hundreds of acres -on either side of it, ran the railway, at this point a wide network of -lines, crossing and recrossing each other, carrying the goods traffic -of the busy city. Bram came out upon it as he heard the voices, and -looked anxiously, about him. - -And at once he discerned, on the other side of the railway line, two -figures engaged not merely in the wordy conflict which had already come -to his ears, but in an actual physical struggle, the girl clinging, -dragging; the man trying to push her off. - -Bram’s heart seemed to stand still. For, with a thrill of horror, he -saw that a train had suddenly come out from under the bridge on his -left, and was rapidly approaching the spot where the two struggling, -swaying figures stood. He shouted, and dashed forward across the broad -network of lines. Caution was always necessary when these were crossed, -but he did not look either to the right or to the left; he could see -only those struggling figures and the train bearing down upon them. - -But his effort was made in vain. Before he could reach them the train -had overtaken them, there was a wild, horrible shriek, and then a -deep groan. Bram stood back shaking in every limb, until the train -had passed by. Then, sick, blinded, he stared down at the line with a -terrible sound in his ears. - -On the ground before him lay a bleeding, mangled heap, writhing in -agony, uttering the horrible groans and sobs of a man dying in fearful -pain. - -It was Christian Cornthwaite. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -THE FIRE GOES OUT. - - -A great sob burst from Bram’s lips as he threw himself down beside -Christian, whose moans were terrible to hear. He had been caught by -the train, the wheels of the engine having passed over both his legs, -crushing and mangling them in the most horrible manner. Bram saw at a -glance that there was not the slightest hope of saving his friend’s -life, and that there was only the faintest chance of prolonging it for -a little while. - -Fortunately, help was at hand. A man, one of the hands employed at the -works, ran out from the sheds which bordered the railway. He was in a -panic of terror, and was at first almost incapable of listening to the -directions Bram gave him. - -Such first aid as it was possible to give Bram was already giving. But -Christian himself shook his head feebly, and made a faint gesture to -stop him. - -“It’s all of no use, Bram,” said he, in a broken voice. “She’s done for -me; she’s had her revenge now. You may just as well leave me alone, and -then the next passing train will put me out of my pain. Oh, I would be -thankful--thankful----” - -Another moan broke from his lips, and his head, which was wet with -great beads of agony, fell like lead in Bram’s arms. - -“Come, come, we can’t leave you lying here,” said Bram, in a deep, -vibrating voice, as he hugged the dying head to his breast. - -He had succeeded in getting the poor, wounded, mangled body from the -line itself to the comparative safety of the space between that row of -metals and the next. More than this he dared not attempt until further -help came. He sent the workman to the office with directions that he -should send in search of a surgeon the first person he met on the way. -He was then to break the news, not to Mr. Cornthwaite himself, if he -were still there, but to one of the managers or to one of the older -clerks. - -The man went away, and Christian, who had lain so still for some -seconds that Bram feared he was past help already, opened his eyes. - -“Hallo, Bram,” said he, in a very weak, faint, and broken voice, but -with something like his old cheerfulness of manner. “It’s odd that I -should peg out here, in the very thick of the smoke and the grime I’ve -always hated so much, isn’t it?” - -Bram could not speak for a minute. When he did, it was in a ferocious -growl. - -“Don’t talk of pegging out, Mr. Christian,” said he. “You don’t want to -give in yet, eh?” - -He spoke like this, not that he had the slightest hope left, but -because he wished to keep in the flicker of life as long as he could, -at least until the father could exchange one last hand-clasp with his -dying son. And Bram judged that hope was the best stimulant he could -administer. But Chris only smiled ever so faintly. - -“Oh, Bram, you don’t really think it would be worth while to rig me up -with a pair of wooden legs, do you? I shouldn’t be much like myself, -should I? And the guv’nor wouldn’t have to complain of my running after -the girls any more, would he?” - -Bram shivered. These light words had a terrible import now, and they -sent his thoughts back from the sufferer to the author of the outrage. -He glanced round instinctively, and an involuntary sound escaped his -lips as he saw, standing on the edge of the network of lines, only a -few feet from himself and Chris, the figure of Claire. - -With head bent and hands clasped, she stood, neither moving nor -uttering a sound, but watching the two men with wild eyes, and with a -look of unspeakable, stony, horror on her gray white face. - -Chris looked up, caught sight of her, and uttered a cry. - -“Claire! Claire!” he called, in a voice hoarse and unlike his own. - -She did not move, did not seem to hear him. - -Then Bram called to her. - -“Come. He wants you to come.” - -At the sound of Bram’s voice she looked up suddenly, shivered, and came -slowly nearer. - -“Look out! Take care! Come here between the lines!” said Bram. - -She obeyed his directions mechanically, stumbling as she came. When she -found herself beside the two men, she fell to trembling violently, but -without shedding a single tear. - -Chris tried to raise himself, and Bram lifted him up so that he could -meet her eyes. - -“Claire!” said the dying man in a whisper, “come here. Don’t look down. -Look at my face--my face.” - -But her eyes had seen enough of the nature of the injuries he had -received to render her for a few moments absolutely powerless to move. -She seemed not even to hear his voice, but stood beside him without -uttering a sound, possessed by a horror unspeakable, indescribable. -Christian tried to speak in a louder voice to distract her attention -from his injuries, to draw it upon himself. - -“Claire,” said he, “remember I haven’t much time. Stoop down, kneel -down; listen to what I have to say.” - -There was a short silence. At last her eyes moved; she drew a long -breath. She looked at his face, and the tears began to stream down her -cheeks. - -“Oh, Chris, Chris!” she sobbed out in a voice almost inaudible. “It is -too awful, too horrible! Oh, won’t you, can’t you--get well?” - -“No, no,” said he impatiently. “Surely you can’t wish it! I want to -speak to you, Claire; you can’t prevent my saying what I like now, can -you?” - -She only answered by a sob, as she sank down on her knees beside him. -Bram, in an agony of uneasiness--for the space between the lines where -they all three were was a narrow one, and another train might pass at -any minute, and shake the little life there was remaining in Christian -out of his maimed body--kept watch a few feet away. He was afraid of -some rash movement on the part of the miserable, grief-stricken girl, -whom he believed to be suffering such agonies of remorse as to be -incapable of controlling herself if an emergency should arise. He could -hear the voice of Christian as he whispered into Claire’s ear; he even -caught the sense of what he said, with a terrible sense of gnawing -sorrow for the wasted life that was ebbing so fast away. - -“I’ve been a fool, Claire, the biggest fool in the world,” said -Christian, still in the old easy tones, though his voice was no longer -that which had raised the spirits of his friends by the very sound of -it. “If I hadn’t been a fool, I should have taken Bram’s advice and -married you. I know you didn’t want me; I believe you liked old Bram -better; but that wouldn’t have mattered. You’d have had to marry me if -I’d made up my mind you should.” - -“Oh, Chris, don’t tell me. It’s too horrible!” - -“No, it isn’t horrible to talk about it, to me, at least. And you -have to let a fellow be selfish when he’s only got a few minutes to -live. If I’d married you, I should have been happy, even if you hadn’t -been. You’re the only girl I ever really cared about. Claire--yes, -you can’t stop me, and it’s no use talking about my wife, because the -only consolation I have in this business is the knowledge that I can’t -ever see her again! I loathe her! I know I ought to have found it out -sooner, but I’ve been punished for that mistake with the rest.” - -He stopped, his voice having gradually grown weaker and weaker. Bram -turned quickly, and came down to him. But the moment Claire put her -hand under his head he raised it again, and a faint tinge of color came -into his cheeks. - -“Kiss me, Claire,” said he. - -For a moment, to the surprise and indignation of Bram, she seemed to -hesitate. Then she obeyed, putting her lips to Christian’s forehead, -after a vain attempt to check her tears. Then there was a silence. They -heard the voices of Mr. Cornthwaite and another man asking--“Where? -Where is he?” And Christian opened his eyes. - -“Bram,” said he, in a voice which betrayed agitation, “take her away. -Don’t let my father see her. Take her away. Never mind leaving me. -Quick.” - -But there was no time. Mr. Cornthwaite was already close to the group. -He touched Claire, and shrank back with an exclamation of horror and -disgust. Bram seized her arm, and almost lifted her from the spot where -she stood, dazed and incapable of movement. She, however, was evidently -unconscious both of Mr. Cornthwaite’s touch and of his utterance. -She was like a bewildered child in Bram’s hands, and she allowed him -to lead her across the lines, obeying his smallest injunction with -perfect, unresisting docility. - -When he had brought her to a place of safety within the works, he -turned to her. - -“I want to go back to him,” he said. “It will only be for a moment, I’m -afraid. Then I’ll come back and take you home. Will you wait for me?” - -“Yes,” she answered in the same obedient manner, as if his wish were a -command. - -He looked searchingly into her face. In mercy, it seemed to Bram, -a cloud had settled on her mind; the terrible events of the past -half-hour had become a blank to her. The little creature, who had been -a passionate fury such a short time ago, had changed into the most -helpless, the most docile, of living things. Did she understand what it -was that she had done? Did she realize that it was her own act which -had killed her cousin? Bram could not believe it. He gave one more look -into her white face, hardly daring to tell himself what the outcome of -this terrible scene would be for her, and then he left her, and went -back across the rails to the spot where he had quitted his friend. - -They had raised him from the ground in spite of his protests, and were -bearing him by his father’s orders into the shelter of the works. When -they stopped, and laid him down on a couch which had been hastily made -with coats and sacks, he was so much exhausted that it was not until -they had forced a few drops of brandy down his throat that he was able -to speak again. Then he only uttered one word-- - -“Bram!” - -“Elshaw, he wants you!” cried Mr. Cornthwaite, who was leaning over his -son, with haggard eyes. - -Bram came forward. Christian put out his right hand very feebly, let -it rest for a moment in Bram’s, which he faintly tried to press, and -looked into his face with glazing eyes. Bram, holding the hand firmly -in a warm, strong grip, knew when the life went out of it. Even before -the hand fell back, and the eyes closed, he knew that the fingers he -held were those of a dead man. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -CLAIRE’S CONFESSION. - - -Bram held the hand of his dead friend for some minutes, not daring to -tell the father that all was over. But Mr. Cornthwaite suddenly became -aware of the truth. He started to his feet with a cry, beckoning to -the doctor, who had stepped back a few paces, knowing that he could do -nothing more. - -“He has fainted again!” cried Mr. Cornthwaite. But Bram knew that the -unhappy man was only trying to deceive himself. The doctor’s look, as -he knelt down once more by the body of Christian, made Mr. Cornthwaite -turn abruptly away. Bram, who had stepped back in his turn, carried -that scene in his eyes for weeks afterwards--the shed where they all -stood, the silent machinery making odd shapes in the background. The -dead body of Christian on the ground, with his face upturned, the crowd -of figures around, all very still, very silent, the only two whose -movements broke up the picture being Mr. Cornthwaite and the doctor. A -flaring gas jet above their heads showed up the white face of the dead -man, the grave and anxious countenances of the rest. - -Quite suddenly there appeared in the group another figure--that of -Claire. They all stared at her in silence. She seemed, Bram thought, to -be absolutely unconscious of what had happened until she caught sight -of the body of her cousin. Then, with a low cry, like a long sob, she -put her hands to her face, covering her eyes, turned quickly, and ran -away. - -Mr. Cornthwaite, however, had seen her, and, his face darkening with -terrible anger, he followed her rapidly with an oath. Anxious and -alarmed, Bram followed in his turn. The girl had not much of a start, -and although she was fleet of foot, Mr. Cornthwaite, with his superior -knowledge of the works, gained upon her rapidly, and would have seized -her roughly by the arm if Bram had not interposed his own person -between them, giving the girl an opportunity of escape, of which she -availed herself with great adroitness. - -“Elshaw!” cried Mr. Cornthwaite in astonishment. A moment later he went -on in a transport of anger--“How dare you stop me? You have let her -get away, you have helped her, the vile wretch who has killed my son! -But don’t think that she shall escape punishment. You can’t save her; -nobody shall. She has murdered my son, and----” - -“Not murdered, sir,” cried Bram quickly. “It was an accident--a ghastly -accident. The girl is dazed with what has happened. She hardly knows -herself. Pray, don’t speak to her now. It is inhuman--inhuman. She -is suffering more than even you can do. Give her a chance to recover -herself before you speak to her.” - -Mr. Cornthwaite freed himself with a jerk from Bram’s restraining hand. -But Claire had disappeared. - -“Well, she’s got away this time, but your interference won’t save her -much longer. My son--to be killed--by a jade like that! My God! My God!” - -He had broken down quite suddenly, overcome by an overwhelming sense -of his loss. Although he had never been a very tender or a very -indulgent father, he had loved his son more than he himself knew. He -recognized, now that Christian lay dead, what hopes, what ambitions had -been bound up in him. Even the works, the true darling of his heart, -seemed suddenly to become a mere worthless toy when he realized that -with himself would die the interest of his family in the enterprise he -had founded. He had imagined that he should see his descendants sitting -in his own place in the office, carrying on the work he had begun. Now, -in one short hour, his hopes and dreams were demolished. Nothing was -left to him but revenge upon the woman who had taken the color out of -his life by killing his son. - -Bram was awed by the depth of his so suddenly manifested despair. He -felt with a most true instinct that there were no words in the human -tongue which could do any good to the miserable man. He could only -stand by, in solemn silence, while Mr. Cornthwaite put his head down -between his hands, drawing long sobbing breaths of grief and despair. - -But presently the doctor, who was an old friend of Mr. Cornthwaite’s, -came in search of him, and put his hand through his arm. Then Bram -stole quietly away, and went in search of poor Claire. - -He had not to go far. He had not, indeed, walked twenty paces, when, -turning a corner among the innumerable buildings which formed the great -works, he came upon her, standing, like a lost child, with her arms -down at her sides, and her head bent a little downwards. As soon as he -appeared she turned to accompany him without a word, much as a dog does -that has been waiting for its master. - -This change in the spirited girl to such a helpless, docile creature, -frightened Bram even more than it touched him. He felt that some great, -some awful change, must have taken place in the girl who was too proud -to allow him to enter her father’s house. Was it the feeling of the -awful thing she had done, of the vengeance she had drawn down upon -herself which had brought about the change? - -He could not see her face. She walked beside him in silence till they -came to the gate of the works, and there she stopped for a moment to -look through the door by which Christian had come out with her an hour -before. And then in the gaslight Bram saw her face at last, read the -very thoughts which were passing in her mind--remembrance, remorse--the -horror of it all. But she uttered no word, no cry. With a shudder she -passed out, putting her hands up to her eyes as if to shut out the -terrible pictures her brain conjured up. - -Bram followed her, at first without speaking. She did not seem to know -that he was beside her; at least she never looked at him, never spoke -to him. He, on his side, while longing to say some kindly word, was -afraid of waking her old pride, of being told to go about his business, -if he broke the spell of silence which hung over them both. - -So, as silent as the dead, they walked on side by side through the -crowded streets, with the groups of rough factory hands, of grinders, -of lassies with shawls round their heads, extending far over the road. -A drizzling rain had begun to fall, and the stones of the streets were -slimy, slippery and black. Claire went straight on through the crowds, -threading her way deftly enough, but mechanically, and without turning -her head. Bram following always. A vivid remembrance flashed into his -mind of the previous occasion on which he had followed her, when Mr. -Cornthwaite had told him to see her home from Holme Park, and she -had dashed out of the house like an arrow to escape the infliction. -Unconscious of his proximity she had been then; unconscious she seemed -to be now. - -When she reached the hill near the summit of which the farmhouse stood, -however, her strength seemed suddenly to desert her; the slight, -over-taxed frame became momentarily unequal to its task, and she -staggered against the stone wall which fenced the field she had to -pass through. Then Bram came up, and, after standing beside her a few -moments without speaking, and without eliciting a word from her, he -drew her hand through his arm, and led her onwards up the hill. - -It was now dark, with the pitchy blackness of a wet, moonless night. -The ground was slippery with rain, and the ascent would have been -toilsome in the extreme to the girl’s weary little body but for Bram’s -timely help. So tired was she that before they reached the farmhouse -gates Bram put his arm round her waist, and more than half-carried her -without a word of protest. - -There was no light in the front of the farmhouse; but when they got -to the gate of the farmyard, through which it was Claire’s custom to -enter, they saw a light in the kitchen window; and when they opened the -door Joan jumped up from a seat near the big deal table. - -“Eh, Miss Claire, but Ah thowt ye was lost!” cried she. Then at once -realizing that something untoward had happened, she glanced at Bram, -who shook his head to intimate that she had better ask no questions. - -“Where’s my father?” asked Claire at once, drawing her arm away from -that of Bram, and stopping short in the middle of the floor at the same -time. - -“He’s gone oop to t’ Park,” said Joan, with a look at Bram as much as -to say there was no help for it, and the truth must come out. - -Claire, sinking on the nearest chair, uttered a short, hollow laugh. - -Joan, who had been waiting with her bonnet on for Claire’s return, -hardly knew what to do. She saw that the young girl was ill and -desperately tired, and, on the other hand, she was anxious to get back -to her own good-man and to her little ones. In her perplexity she -looked at Bram, the faithful friend, whom she was heartily glad to see -admitted again. - -“Ah doan’t suppose Mr. Biron’ll be long coming back,” she said. “If Ah -was to make ye both a coop o’ tea, Mr. Elshaw, and then run back to my -home for an hour, would you stay here till Ah coom back? Ah’d give a -look in to see all was reght. She doan’t look as if she ought to spend -t’ neght by herself.” - -This was said in a low voice to Bram, whom she had beckoned to the door -of the back kitchen, while Claire remained in the same attitude of -deep depression at the table. - -“No,” said he at once. “She mustn’t be left alone to-night. I’ll stay -till you come back, whether her father comes back before then or not. -She’s had a great shock--an awful shock. But,” and he glanced back at -the motionless girl, “I won’t tell you about it now. And you can go -now. You needn’t trouble about the tea; I’ll make it.” - -Joan looked at him, and then at Claire with round, apprehensive eyes. - -“Will she let ye stay?” she asked, in a dubious whisper. - -“Poor child, yes. She’s almost forgotten who I am.” - -But Claire had lifted up her head, and was rising to come towards them. -Bram dismissed Joan by a look, and she slipped out by the back way, and -left the two together. - -Claire followed Joan with dull eyes as the good woman, with a series of -affectionate little smiles and nods, went out, shutting the door behind -her. Then she remained staring at the closed door, while Bram, without -taking any notice of her, went quietly across to the cupboard where the -tea was kept, took out the tea-caddy, and put the kettle on the fire to -boil. She did not interrupt him, and when he glanced at her again he -saw that she had sunk down again in her chair, and had dropped her head -heavily upon her hands, leaning on the table drowsily. - -Presently she made a little moaning noise, and began to move her head -restlessly from side to side. Bram put a cup of tea down in front of -her, and said gently-- - -“Got a headache, Miss Claire?” - -She raised her head as if it was a weight too heavy for her to lift -without difficulty. - -“Oh, Bram, it’s so bad, worse than I’ve ever had before,” said she -plaintively. - -In her eyes there was no longer any grief; only a dull sense of great -physical pain. She seemed to have forgotten everything but that -burning, leaden weight at her own temples. - -“Will you drink this, and then lie down for a little while?” asked he. - -With the same absolute docility that she had shown to him all the -evening, she took the cup from his hands, and tried to drink. But she -seemed unable to swallow, and in a few moments he had to take it from -her, lest her trembling hands should let it drop on the floor. - -“Now, you had better lie down,” said he. “Come into the drawing-room; -there’s a fire there. I saw it flickering as we came along. If you lie -down on the sofa till Joan comes back, she’ll take you upstairs and put -you to bed.” - -He saw that she had no strength left to do anything for herself. She -got up as obediently as ever; but when she reached the door a fit of -shivering seized her. She staggered, fell back, and whispered as Bram -caught her-- - -“No. Don’t make me go in there. Let me stay here.” - -There was an old broken-down horsehair covered sofa against the wall -in the big kitchen, and Bram hastened to make it as comfortable as -he could by bringing the cushions from the drawing-room. Before he -had finished his preparations she complained of feeling giddy; and no -longer doubting that she was on the verge of being seriously ill, Bram -led her to the sofa, and going quickly to the outer door looked out -in hope of finding some one whom he could send for the doctor. He was -unsuccessful, however; the rain was coming down more heavily than ever, -and there was not a living creature in sight. The farm hands lived in -the cottages at the top of the hill, and Bram did not dare to leave -Claire by herself now that the torpor in which she had come home was -beginning to give place to a feverish restlessness. So he shut the -door, and seeing that Claire’s eyes were closed, he began to hope that -she had fallen asleep, and crossed the floor with very soft steps to -his old place by the fire. - -A strange vigil this! By the side of the woman who had been so much -to him, who, even now that she had lost the lofty place she had once -held in his imagination, seemed to have crept in so doing even closer -into his heart. So, at least, the chivalrous man felt now that, by an -act of mad, inconceivable folly and rashness, Claire had endangered -her own liberty, and perhaps even her life. For that Mr. Cornthwaite -would press his conviction that the act was murder Bram could not -doubt. Hating the very sound of the girl’s name as he had long done, -believing that Christian’s attachment for her had been the cause of his -estrangement from his wife, of his entire ruin, it was not likely that -he, a hard man naturally, would flinch in his pursuit of the woman to -whom he imputed so much evil. - -And Bram hardly blamed him for it. He would not have had him feel the -loss of his son one whit less than he did; he knew what pangs those -must be which pierced the heart of the bereaved father. Bram himself -felt for both of them; for Mr. Cornthwaite and for Claire. Her he -excused in the full belief that her sufferings had brought on an attack -of frenzy in which she was wholly unaccountable for her actions. How -else was it possible to explain the bewildered horror of her look and -attitude when called to Christian’s side by the dying man himself? And -had not Chris, in his words, in his manner to her, absolved her from -all blame? Not one word of reproach had he uttered, even while he lay -dying a fearful death as the result of her frenzied attack! Surely -there was exoneration of her in this fact? Bram felt that this was the -point he must press upon the aggrieved father. - -As this thought passed through his mind, and instantly became a -resolve, Bram raised his head quickly, and was struck with something -like horror to find that Claire was sitting up, resting her whole body -on her arms, and staring at him with glittering eyes. - -As these met his own astonished look, she smiled at him with a strange -sweetness which made him suddenly want to spring up and take her in his -arms. Instead of that, he rose slowly, and advancing towards the sofa -with a hesitating, creeping step, asked gently if she wanted anything. - -She shook her head, smiling still; and then she put out one hand to -him. He took it; the skin was hot and dry. Her lips, he now perceived, -looked dry and parched. - -“Bram,” she said in her old voice, bright and soft and clear, “I -forget. What day is it we are to be married?” - -Bram stood beside her, holding her hand, such a terrible rush of -mingled feelings thronging, surging into his heart that he was as -incapable of speech as if he had been a dumb man. She looked at him -with the same gentle smile, inquiringly. Presently, as he still kept -silence, she said-- - -“It seems a strange thing to have forgotten. But was it Tuesday?” - -Bram nodded slowly, as if the head he bent had been weighted with lead. -Then she drew her hand out of his with a contented sigh, and fell back -on the couch. Again she closed her eyes, and again Bram, who was in a -tumult of feelings he could not have described, of which the dominant -was pain, cruel, inextinguishable pain, hoped that she was asleep. He -sat down on a chair near her, and watched her face. It was perfectly -calm, peaceful, and sweet for some minutes. Then a slight look of -trouble came over it, and she opened her eyes again. - -“Bram,” she called out in a voice of alarm. Then perceiving him close -to her, she drew a breath of relief, and stretched out her hand to him. -“It’s so strange,” she went on, with glittering eyes. “Whenever I shut -my eyes I have horrible dreams of papa, always papa! Where is he? Is he -here? Is he safe?” - -Bram patted her hot, twitching hand reassuringly. - -“He is quite safe, I’ve no doubt,” he said. “He’s gone out, and he -hasn’t come back yet.” - -Claire stared at him inquiringly, and frowned as if in perplexity. - -“But what has happened?” she asked. “Why does everything seem so -strange? Your voice, and the ticking of the clock, and my own voice -too--they sound quite different! And my head--oh, it aches so! Have I -been ill? Where’s Joan?” - -She wandered on thus so quickly from one subject to another that Bram -was saved the trouble of finding answers to any of her questions except -the last. - -“Joan will be back in a little while,” said he. “She’s gone home to see -to her children. But she won’t be long.” - -“Is she coming back to-night? Why is she coming back to-night?” - -“Well, to look after you.” - -“Then I have been ill?” - -“You’re not very well now,” said Bram gently. - -“Why not? Something has happened? Won’t you tell me what it is?” - -There was a pause. Then she gave his hand an affectionate, clinging -pressure. - -“Never mind, Bram. You needn’t tell me unless you like. I don’t mind -anything when you’re here. You won’t go away, will you?” - -The loving tone, the caressing manner, stirred his heart to the -depths. Surely this tender trust was her own real feeling for him, -suddenly revealed, free from all restraints of prudence, of necessary -coldness. What did it mean? Was this the woman who had ruined her -life for another man, this girl who looked at him with innocent eyes -full of love, who seemed to be thrilled with pleasure at the touch -of his fingers? Was this the woman who had struggled with Christian -in the shadow of the great works two hours before, whose mad passion -of hate and revenge had given her fragile limbs power to fling him -down on the railway line? Bram sat in a state of wild revolt from -the terrible ideas, which had, indeed, till that moment seemed real, -inevitable enough. What was the miracle that had happened? What was the -explanation of it all? While he still asked himself those questions, -with his head on fire, his heart nigh to bursting, the soft, girlish -voice spoke again. - -“Bram, what was the difficulty? There was a difficulty, wasn’t there? -Only I can’t remember what it was. Why was it that you stayed away? -That you didn’t come here as you used to? You don’t know what a long -time it seemed, and how I used to long for you to come back again! -Why, I used to watch for you when I knew it was time for you to go -past, and I used to kiss my hand to you behind the curtains, so that -you couldn’t see me! But why--why didn’t I want you to see me, Bram? I -can’t remember.” - -“Oh, my darling!” burst from Bram’s lips in spite of himself. - -That one word was answer enough for her. She smiled happily up into his -face, and closed her eyes, as if it hurt her to keep them open, the -lids falling heavily. Bram wished--he almost prayed--that they could -both die that moment; that neither might ever have to live through -the terrible time which was in store for them. The delirium which had -so mercifully descended upon her overwrought mind had shut out the -horrible secrets of the past from Claire. - -As Bram sat, as still as a statue lest he should disturb her by a -movement, he heard the sound of footsteps outside, and a moment later -the door was burst open, and Mr. Biron, pale, haggard, dripping with -rain, begrimed with mud, a horrible spectacle of fear and terror, stole -into the room, and shutting the door, bolted it, and then sank in a -heap on the floor, with his eyes turned in a ghastly panic of alarm -towards the window. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -FATHER AND DAUGHTER. - - -Bram was struck by the entire change which had taken place in Theodore -Biron, a change which had, indeed, been creeping over him ever since -Meg’s attack, and his consequent disfigurement, but which seemed to -have culminated to-night in what was almost a transformation. - -As he crouched on the floor, and looked anxiously up at the window, -there was no trace in the cowering, shrivelled figure, in the scarred, -inflamed face, out of which the bloodshot eyes peered in terror, of the -gay, easy-mannered country gentleman _en amateur_, who had impressed -Bram so strongly with his airy lightness of heart only sixteen months -before. - -“Lock the door, Bram,” said he, presently, in a hoarse voice when he -suddenly became conscious of the young man’s presence. “Lock the door!” - -Bram hastened to do so. He wanted to open it first to look out and see -who it was that had inspired Mr. Biron with so much alarm. But Theodore -restrained him by a violent gesture. - -“Lock it, lock it!” repeated he, as, evidently relieved to find a -man in the house, he got up from the floor, and went with shivering -limbs and chattering teeth towards the fire. “And now bolt the -shutters--quick--and then on the other side!” - -He indicated with a nod the front of the house, but when Bram walked -towards the door he shuffled after him, as if afraid of being left -alone. Bram turned to cast a glance at the sofa and its occupant before -leaving the room. Theodore, in a state of nervous alarm which made him -watch every look, glanced back also. On seeing his daughter lying back -with closed eyes on the cushions, he uttered a cry. - -“Claire, oh, oh, what will become of her? What will become of me?” - -And, utterly broken down, he covered his face with his shivering hands, -and sobbed loudly. - -Bram wondered if he had heard all. - -“Come, come, be a man, Mr. Biron,” said he. “What is it you’re afraid -of?” - -“That sh--she--devil who--who half-blinded me, who threw that stuff -over me!” sobbed Theodore. “She’s followed me--from Holme Park--I -managed to dodge her among the trees of the park; but she knows where I -live. She’ll come here, I know she will.” Suddenly he drew himself up, -in another spasm of fear. “See that the door is locked in the front, -and the windows--see to them!” cried he, with a burst of energy. - -“All right,” said Bram. “I’ll see to that. You stay here with her,” and -he indicated Claire with a movement of the head. - -But Mr. Biron shrank into himself, and tried to follow Bram out. - -“I’m afraid of her! She’s gone mad; I know she has,” whispered he. -“Haven’t you heard what she did to-night--down at the works?” - -And Theodore, whose face had in a moment gone ashy white, all but the -inflamed patch on the left side, which had become a livid blue, crept -closer still to Bram. But the young man’s face as he again looked -towards the unconscious girl wore nothing but infinite pity, infinite -tenderness. - -“You’re right, Mr. Biron. The poor child is mad, I believe,” he said -gravely. “And, thank God, she hasn’t come to herself yet. One could -almost wish,” he added, more to himself than to his companion, “that -she never may.” - -Mr. Biron shuddered. - -“Do you mean that she is ill?” he asked querulously. - -“Yes, she’s very ill--delirious.” - -Mr. Biron shot right out of the room into the hall with all his old -agility. He was evidently as much afraid of his unhappy daughter as he -was of Meg herself. - -“Oh, these women, these women! They never can keep their heads!” moaned -he. “And just when I’m as ill as I can be myself! I’ve been shivering -all the way home, I have, indeed, Elshaw.” - -Bram, who had left the door of the kitchen open so that he might be -within hearing of a possible call or cry from Claire, was locking the -front door and barring the shutters of the windows in deference to Mr. -Biron’s wish. - -He was too much used to Theodore’s utter selfishness to feel more than -a momentary pang of disgust at this most recent manifestation of it. He -was sorry for the poor wretch, whose prospects were certainly now as -gloomy as he deserved. He recommended him to go upstairs and change his -wet things, promising to come up and see him as soon as Joan arrived. -And Mr. Biron, though at first exceedingly reluctant to move a step by -himself, ended by preferring this alternative to returning to the room -where his unconscious daughter lay. - -He detained Bram for a few moments, however, to tell him of his -adventures at Holme Park. - -“When I got there, Bram, I was told that my brother-in-law was out. But -as I had very particular business with him, I said I would wait. Well, -you may hardly believe it, but they didn’t want even to let me do that. -But I insisted; a desperate man will do much, and I made such a noise -that Hester came out, and told the wretched creature who was refusing -me admittance that I was to be let in. Well, I was wet through then, -and they left me in a room with hardly any fire. And, would you believe -it, the wretched man had the impudence to lock up my brother-in-law’s -desk before my eyes! It was an intentional insult, Elshaw, inflicted -upon me just because I am not able to keep up a big establishment -of useless, insolent creatures like himself! But these people never -will understand that there is anything in the world to be respected -except money! And, after all, can one blame them when their masters -and mistresses are no better? It’s all money, money, with Josiah -Cornthwaite!” - -Bram, who was anxious to get back to the kitchen that he might keep -watch over Claire, cut him short. - -“Well, and Mr. Cornthwaite? He arrived at last?” - -Theodore’s face fell at the remembrance. - -“Ye-es, and I shall never forget what he did, what he said. He came -into the room with glaring eyes--’pon my soul, I thought he had been -bitten by a mad dog, Elshaw! He flew at me, showing his teeth. He shook -me till my teeth chattered; he called me all the names he could think -of that had anything brutal and opprobrious in the sound. He told me my -daughter had killed his son, murdered him; and he said that he would -get her penal servitude if they didn’t bring it in what it was--murder! -What do you think of that? What do you think of that? And I, in my weak -state, to hear it! I give you my word, Elshaw, I never thought I should -get home alive!” - -There was a pause. Mr. Biron wiped his face. His hands were shaking; -his voice was tremulous and hoarse. He looked as pitiful a wretch as it -was possible to imagine. - -“Did he tell you--how it happened?” asked Bram in a low voice. - -He was hoping, always hoping against hope, that some new fact would -come to light which would shift the blame of the awful catastrophe from -Claire’s poor little shoulders. But Mr. Biron had no comfort for him. - -“Yes,” sobbed he. “He told me she had gone down to the works to see her -cousin----” - -“Ah, if she had only not done that! Not been forced to do that,” broke -from Bram’s lips. - -Theodore grew suddenly quiet, and stared at him apprehensively. - -“How was she forced to do it?” he asked querulously. - -But Bram did not answer. - -“Well, yes. What else did Mr. Cornthwaite say?” asked he. - -“And that they quarrelled close to the railway line. And that -she--she--’pon my soul, I can’t see how it’s possible--a little bit of -a girl like that! He says she dragged Christian down, and flung him in -front of a train that was coming along! Of course, we know that woman -is an incomprehensible creature; but how one of only five feet high -could throw down a young man of stoutish build like Christian is more -than even I, with all my experience of the sex, can understand!” - -Bram was frowning, deep in thought. Again he did not make any answer. - -“That’s all I heard. Have you learnt any more particulars yourself, -Elshaw?” - -“I was there,” replied Bram simply. - -This gave Mr. Biron a great shock. He began to shiver again, and -subsided from the buoyant manner he had begun to assume into the -terror-stricken attitude of a few minutes before. He turned to clutch -the banisters to help him upstairs. - -“Well,” said he in a complaining voice, as he began to drag himself up, -“if she did it, that’s no reason why everybody should be down upon me! -Meg Tyzack, too! A fury like that! What right has she to follow me, to -persecute me?” - -“The poor creature’s had her brain turned, I think, by--by the -treatment she’s received,” said Bram. - -“But I had no hand in the treatment! She has no right to visit -Christian’s follies and vices upon me! _Me!_ And yet, when I came out -of the house at Holme Park, and I came upon her on her way up to it, -she turned out of her way to go shrieking after me! There’s no reason -in such behavior, even if she is off her head!” - -“Well, there’s just this, Mr. Biron, that she knows you used to -encourage Christian to come to your house, and to urge Claire to go and -meet him,” said Bram sturdily, disgusted with the airs of martyrdom -which the worst of fathers was assuming. “And there’s enough of a -thread of reason in that, especially for one whose mind is not at its -best.” - -To Bram’s great surprise, these words had such an effect upon Theodore -that he said nothing in reply, but with an unintelligible murmur -shuffled upstairs at once. - -Bram felt rather remorseful when he saw how the little man took his -words to heart, and wondered whether he was less easy in his mind than -he affected to be. He returned to the kitchen, where Claire was sitting -up on the sofa listening intently. - -“Who’s that?” she said in a husky voice of alarm. - -Bram, who had heard nothing, listened too. And then he found that her -ears were keener than his own, for in another moment there came Joan’s -heavy rap-tap-tap on the door. - -He let her in, and saw at once that she had heard something of the -occurrences of the evening. Her good-natured face was pale and alarmed; -she looked at Claire with eloquent eyes. - -“Oh, sir, do you think it’s true?” she asked in an agitated whisper. -“That she did it, that our poor, little Miss Claire killed him, killed -Mr. Chris?” - -“Don’t let us think about it,” said he quickly. “It was nothing but a -shocking accident, if she did; of that you may be sure.” - -“But will they be able to prove that?” asked the good woman anxiously. - -“We’ll hope they may,” said he gravely. “In the meantime she’s so ill -that she can tell us nothing; she’s forgotten all about it. You must -get her upstairs.” - -Joan set about this task with only the delay caused by the necessity -of lighting a fire in the invalid’s bedroom. Claire meanwhile remained -silent, keeping her eyes fixed upon Bram with an intent gaze which -touched him by its pathetic lack of meaning. - -Not until Joan came back and put strong arms round the little creature -to carry her upstairs did some ray of intelligence flash out from the -black eyes. - -“No, don’t take me away,” she said. “I want to stay here to talk to -Bram.” - -And she stretched out feebly over Joan’s shoulder two little hands -towards him. - -He took them in his, and pressed upon each of them a long, passionate -kiss. - -“No, dear. It will be better for you,” he said simply. - -And then, with a sudden return to the extreme docility she had shown to -him all the evening, she smiled, and let her hands and her head fall as -Joan started with her burden on the way upstairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -MR. BIRON’S REPENTANCE. - - -Then Bram went upstairs also, and knocked at Mr. Biron’s door. - -“I’m going for the doctor now, Mr. Biron,” he called out without -entering. “I’ve come up to ask if there’s anything I can get for you -before I go.” - -“Come in, Elshaw, come in!” cried Theodore, in a voice full of -tremulous eagerness. “I want to speak to you.” - -Bram obeyed the summons, and found himself for the first time in Mr. -Biron’s bedroom, which was the most luxurious room in the house. A -bright fire burned in the grate, this being a luxury Theodore always -indulged in during the winter; the bed and the windows were hung with -handsome tapestry, and there were book-shelves, tables, arm-chairs, -everything that a profound study of the art of making oneself -comfortable could suggest to the fastidious Theodore. - -He himself was sitting, wrapped in a cozy dressing-gown, with his feet -on a hassock by the fire. But he looked even more wretched than he had -done in his drenched clothes downstairs. There was an unhealthy flush -in his face, a feverish glitter in his eyes. - -Bram saw something in his face which he had never seen there before, -something which suggested that the man had discovered a conscience, and -that it was giving him uneasiness. - -“Sit down,” said he, pointing to a seat on the other side of the -fireplace. Bram wanted to go for the doctor, but the little man was so -peremptory that he thought it best to obey. “Elshaw, I think I’m going -to die.” - -He uttered the words, as was natural in such a man, as if the whole -world must be struck into awe by the news. Bram inclined his head in -respectful attention, clasping his hands and looking at the fire. -He could not make light of this presentiment, which, indeed, he saw -reason to think was a well-founded one. Mr. Biron’s never robust frame -had been shaken sorely by his own excesses in the first place, by -erysipelas and consequent complications, and it was evident that the -experiences of this night had tried him very severely. He was still -shivering in a sort of ague: his eyes were glassy, his skin was dry. He -stood as much in need of a doctor’s aid as did his daughter. - -But still Bram waited, struck by the man’s manner, and feeling that at -such a moment there was something portentous in his wish to speak. Mr. -Biron had something on his mind, on his conscience, of which he wanted -to unburden himself. - -“Elshaw,” he went on after a long pause, “I’ve been to blame over -this--this matter of Claire and--and her cousin Chris.” He stared into -Bram’s face as if the young man had been his confessor, and rubbed his -little white hands quickly the one over the other while he spoke. “I -did it for the best, as I’m sure you will believe; I thought he was -an honorable man, who would marry her and make her happy. You believe -that, don’t you?” - -Up to this moment Bram had believed this of Theodore; now for the first -time it flashed through his mind that it was not true. However, he made -a vague motion of the head which Theodore took for assent, and the -latter went on. He seemed to have become suddenly possessed by a spirit -of self-abasement, to feel the need of opening his heart. - -“There was no harm in my sending her to meet him--until--last night,” -pursued the conscience-stricken man. “I know I did wrong in letting her -go then!” - -Bram sat up in his chair with horror in his eyes. - -“You sent her? Begging, of course, as usual?” - -The words were harsh enough, brutal, perhaps, in the circumstances. -But Bram’s feeling was too strong for him to be able to choose -the expression of it. That this father, knowing what he did know, -suspecting what he did suspect, should have sent his daughter to -ask Christian for money was so shocking to his feelings that he was -perforce frank to the utmost. - -“What could I do? How could I help it? One has got to live, Claire -as well as I!” muttered Theodore, avoiding Bram’s eyes, and looking -at the fire. “Besides, we don’t know anything. We may be doing her -wrong in suspecting--what--what we did suspect,” said he earnestly, -persuasively. “She never told me that she went away with him, never! I -believe it’s a libel to say she did, the mere malicious invention of -evilly-disposed persons to harm my child.” - -Bram was silent. These words chimed in so well with the hopes he would -fain have cherished that, even from the lips of Mr. Biron, they pleased -him in spite of his own judgment. Encouraged by the attitude which he -was acute enough to perceive in his companion, Theodore went on-- - -“No, you may blame me as much as you like. You have more to blame me -for than you know. I’m going to tell you all about it--yes, all about -it.” And he began to play nervously with his handkerchief, and to dart -at Bram a succession of quick, restless glances. “But I will hear -nothing against my child. It’s not her fault that she’s the daughter of -her father, is it? But she’s not a chip of the old block, as you know, -Elshaw.” - -Bram, who was getting anxious about leaving Claire so long without -medical attention, got up from his chair. He did not feel inclined to -encourage the evident desire of Mr. Biron for the luxury of confession, -of self-abasement. Like most vain persons, Theodore was almost as -willing to excite attention by the record of his misdeeds as by any -other way. And in the same way, when he felt inclined to write himself -down a sinner, nothing would content him but to be the greatest sinner -of them all. So he put up an imploring hand to detain Bram. - -“Wait,” he said petulantly. “Didn’t I say I had something to tell you? -It’s something that concerns Claire, too.” - -At the mention of this name Bram, who had moved towards the door, -stopped, although he was inclined to think that all this was a mere -excuse on the part of Theodore to detain him, and put off the moment -when he should be left by himself. - -“You remember that a box was sent to you--a chest, by the man at East -Grindley who left you his money?” - -Bram nodded. His attention was altogether arrested now. Even before Mr. -Biron uttered his next words it was clear that he had a real confession -to make this time, that he was not merely filling up the time with idle -self-accusations. - -“I went to your lodging the day it came, just to see that it was safe. -Your landlady had sent to ask me if I could take care of it for you, as -it was something of value. But I preferred to leave the responsibility -with her. In--in fact, Claire thought it best too.” - -Bram read between the lines here, knowing what strong reasons poor -Claire would have for taking this view. Mr. Biron went on-- - -“There was a key sent with it.” - -Bram looked up. He had found no key, and had been obliged to force the -padlock. - -“The key was in a piece of paper. I found it on the mantelpiece. -I--I--well, of course, I had no right to do it; but I thought it would -be better for me to look over the contents of the chest to make sure -they were not tampered with in your absence.” - -Bram was attentive enough now. - -“So I unlocked the box, and I just glanced through the things it -contained. You know what I found; with the exception of this, that -there was some loose cash----” - -Bram’s face grew red with sudden perception. But he made no remark. - -“I forget exactly what it was, something between two and three hundred -pounds. Now, I know that in strict propriety,” went on Mr. Biron, -in whom the instinct of confession became suddenly tempered with a -desire to prove himself to have acted well in the matter, “I ought to -have left the money alone. But it was strongly borne in upon me at -the moment that my dear daughter was worried because of unpaid bills; -and--and that, in short, it would be just what you would wish me to do -if you had been here, for me to borrow the loose sovereigns, and apply -them to our pressing necessities. I argued with myself that you would -even prefer, in your delicacy, that I should not have to ask for them. -And--in short, I may have been wrong, but I--borrowed them.” - -A strange light had broken on Bram’s face. - -“Did Miss Claire know?” he asked suddenly in a ringing voice. - -“Well--er--yes, in point of fact she did. She came to look for me, and -she, well, she saw me take them. She--in fact--wished me to put them -back; and I could not convince her that I was doing what you would have -wished.” - -Bram’s brain was bursting. His heart was beating fast. He came quickly -towards Mr. Biron, and seized him by the wrist. There was no anger in -his eyes, nothing but a fierce, hungry hope. For he could not despise -Theodore more than he had done before, while the fact of Claire’s shame -on meeting himself might now bear a less awful significance then it had -seemed to do. - -“She knew you had taken it? And you forced her to say nothing?” cried -he in passionate eagerness. - -Mr. Biron was disconcerted. - -“Well, er--I thought that--that perhaps, until I could see my way to -paying it back, it would be better----” - -But Bram did not wait for more explanations. Indeed, he needed no -more. He saw in a flash what the shame was which he had seen in -Claire’s eyes when she met him after his return. It was the knowledge -that her father was a thief, that he had robbed Bram himself, and that -she could neither make restitution nor confession for him. - -And with this knowledge there flashed upon him the question--Was this -the only shame she had to conceal? He was ready, passionately anxious, -to believe that it was. - -Mr. Biron was quick to take advantage of this disposition in Bram. His -mood of self-abasement seemed to have passed away as rapidly as it had -come. Not attempting to draw his hand away from Bram’s grasp, he said -buoyantly-- - -“But I could not let the matter rest. I felt that you might suspect -her, my child, of what her father, from mistaken motives perhaps, had -done----” - -Bram cut him short. - -“Oh, no, I shouldn’t have done that, Mr. Biron,” he said rather dryly. -“But you were very welcome to the money. And I am glad to think you -enjoyed yourself while it lasted.” - -This thrust, caused by a sudden remembrance of the hunter and the new -clothes in which Theodore had been so smart at his expense, was all the -vengeance Bram took. He tore himself away as speedily as possible, and -ran off for the doctor with a lighter heart than he had borne for many -a day. Might not miracles happen? Might they not? Bram asked himself -something like this as he ran through the rain over the sodden ground. - -When he returned to the farmhouse with the doctor, Bram received a -great shock. For, on entering the kitchen, he found Mr. Cornthwaite -himself pacing up and down the room, while Joan watched him with -anxious eyes from the scullery doorway. - -Josiah stopped short in his walk when the two men entered. He nodded to -Bram, and wished the doctor good-evening as the latter passed through, -and went upstairs, followed by Joan. - -“Will you come through, sir?” said Bram. “There’s a fire in the -drawing-room.” - -Mr. Cornthwaite, over whom there had passed some great change, followed -him with only a curt assent. Bram supposed that even he had been -touched to learn that the woman of whom he had come in search was -so ill as to be past understanding that her persecution had already -begun. He stood in front of the fire, with his hat in one hand and his -umbrella in the other, with his back to Bram, in dead silence for some -minutes. - -Then he turned abruptly, and asked in a stern, cold voice, without -looking up from the floor, on which he was following the pattern of the -carpet with the point of his umbrella-- - -“Did that scoundrel Biron get back home all right?” - -“He’s got home, sir, but he’s very ill. He’s caught cold, I think.” - -“He was not molested, attacked again, by the woman, the woman Tyzack, -who threw the vitriol over him before?” - -“No, sir. She followed him, but he lost sight of her before he got -here.” - -Mr. Cornthwaite nodded, and was again silent for some time. Bram was -much puzzled. Instead of the fierce resentment, the savage anger which -had possessed the bereaved father immediately after the loss of his -son there now hung over him a gloomy sadness tempered by an uneasiness -and irresolution, which were new attributes in the business-like, -strong-natured man. - -The silence had lasted some minutes again, when he spoke as sharply as -before. - -“I came to see the daughter, Claire Biron. But I’m told--the woman -tells me--that she is ill, and can’t see any one. Is that true?” - -“Yes, sir. She is delirious.” - -Mr. Cornthwaite turned away impatiently, and again there was a pause. -At last he said in the same sharp tone-- - -“You brought her back home, I suppose?” - -“Yes. At least I followed her, and when she grew too tired to walk -alone I caught her up, and helped her along.” - -Mr. Cornthwaite looked at him curiously. The little room was -ill-lighted, by two candles only and the red glow of the fire. He could -see Bram’s face pretty well, but the young man could not see his. - -“Still infatuated, I see?” said Josiah in a hard, ironical voice. - -Bram made no answer. - -“You intend to marry her, I suppose?” went on Mr. Cornthwaite in a -harder tone than ever. - -Bram stared. But he could see nothing of Mr. Cornthwaite’s features, -only the black outline of his figure against the dim candle-light. - -“No, sir,” said he steadily. “I only hope to be able to save her life.” - -“And how do you propose to do that?” - -“Sir, you know best.” - -His voice shook, and he stopped. There was silence between them till -they heard the footsteps of the doctor and Joan coming down the stairs. -Mr. Cornthwaite opened the door. - -“Well, Doctor,” said he, “what of the patients?” - -There was more impatience than solicitude in his tone. - -“They’re both very ill,” answered the doctor. “They ought each to have -a nurse, really.” - -“Very well. Can you engage them, Doctor? I’ll undertake to pay all the -expenses of their illness.” - -The doctor was impressed by this generosity; so was Bram, but in a -different way. What was the reason of this sudden consideration, this -unexpected liberality to the poor relations whom he detested, and to -whom he imputed the death of his son? - -“What’s the matter with them?” went on Mr. Cornthwaite in the same -hard, perfunctory, if not slightly suspicious tone. - -“Pneumonia in Mr. Biron’s case, brought on by exposure to wet and cold, -no doubt. He has just had a severe shivering fit, and his pulse is -up to a hundred and four. We must do the best we can, but he’s a bad -subject for pneumonia, very.” - -“And the daughter?” - -“Acute congestion of the brain. She’s delirious.” - -“Ah!” - -Mr. Cornthwaite seemed satisfied now that he had the doctor’s assurance -that the illness was genuine. He made no more inquiries, but he -followed the medical man into the hall and to the front door. The -doctor perceived that it was locked and bolted at the top and bottom. - -“All right,” said he, “I’ll go through the other way.” - -And he made his way to the kitchen, followed by Mr. Cornthwaite and -Bram. - -As he opened the door which led into the kitchen, the wind blew -strongly in his face from the outer door, which was wide open. The rain -was sweeping in, and the tablecloth was blown off into his face as he -entered. At the same moment Joan, who had gone into the back kitchen to -prepare something the doctor had ordered, made her appearance at the -door between the two rooms. - -“I shouldn’t leave this door open,” said the doctor as he crossed the -room to shut it. “The wind blows through the whole house.” - -Joan stared. - -“Ah didn’t leave it open, sir,” said she. “Ah’ve only just coom through -here, and it were shut then. Some one’s been and opened it.” - -Bram gave a glance round the room, and then opened the door through -which he and the others had just come to examine the hall. - -“What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Cornthwaite sharply. He had bidden the -doctor a hasty good-bye, afraid of the condolences which he saw were on -the tip of his tongue. - -Bram, with a candle in his hand, was peering into the dark corners. - -“I was just thinking, sir, that perhaps Meg Tyzack had got in while we -were talking in the drawing-room,” said he. “Mr. Biron made me bolt the -doors to keep her from getting in. He seemed to be afraid she would -follow him into the house.” - -The words were hardly uttered, when from the floor above there came a -piercing scream, a woman’s scream. - -“Claire!” shouted Bram, springing on the stairs. - -But before he could mount half a dozen steps a wild figure came out of -Claire’s room, and rushed to the head of the staircase in answer to his -call. But it was not Claire. It was, as Bram had feared, Meg Tyzack, -recognizable only by her deep voice, by her loud, hoarse laugh, for the -figure itself looked scarcely human. - -Standing at the top of the stairs, with her arms outstretched as if to -prevent any one’s passing her on the way up, the gaunt creature seemed -to be of gigantic height, and looked, with her loose, disordered hair -and the rags which hung down from her arms instead of sleeves, like a -witch in the throes of prophecy. - -“Stand back! Stand back! Leave her alone!” she cried furiously, as Bram -rushed up the stairs, and struggled to get past her. She flung her arms -round him, laughing discordantly, and clinging so tightly that without -hurting her he would have found it impossible to disengage himself. - -“What has she done? What has she done?” asked Mr. Cornthwaite in a -loud, hard, angry voice as he came to Bram’s assistance. - -At the first sound of Mr. Cornthwaite’s voice, Meg’s rage seemed -suddenly to disappear, to give place to a fit of strange gloom, quite -as wild, and still more terrible to see. Releasing Bram, who ran past -her, she leaned over the banisters, and looked straight into Mr. -Cornthwaite’s haggard face. - -“What has she done? What have I done?” said she in a horrible whisper. -“Why, I’ve done the best night’s work that’s ever been done on this -earth, that’s what I’ve done. I’ve sent the man and the woman I hated -both to----. Ha! ha! ha!” - -With a shrieking laugh she leapt past him to the bottom of the stairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -MEG. - - -Bram Elshaw heard Meg’s wild words as he rushed along the corridor -towards the room out of which she had just come--Claire’s room, as he -guessed, with a sob of terror rising in his throat. - -The door was open. On the floor, just inside, lay what Bram at first -thought to be Claire’s lifeless body. Meg had dragged her off the bed, -and flung her down in an ecstasy of mad rage. - -But even as he raised her in his arms, before the frightened Joan had -run up to his aid, Bram was reassured. The girl was unconscious, but -she was still breathing. Joan wanted to send him away. - -“Leave her to me, sir, leave her to me. You can goa and fetch t’ doctor -back,” cried she, as she tried jealously to take Claire out of his arms. - -But Bram did not seem to hear her. He was staring into the unconscious -face as if this was his last look on earth. He hung over her with all -the agony of his long, faithful, unhappy love softening his own rugged -face, and shining in his gray eyes. - -“Oh, Claire, Claire, my little Claire, my darling, are you going away? -Are you going to die?” - -The words broke from his lips, hoarse, low, forced up from his heart. -He did not know that he had uttered them; did not know that he was not -alone with the sick girl. Joan, whose tears were running down her own -face, suddenly broke into a loud sob, and shook him roughly by the -shoulder. - -“Put her down; do ee put her down,” she said peremptorily. “Do ye go -for to think as your calling to her will do her any good? Goa ee for t’ -doctor. And God forgive me for speaking harsh to ye, sir.” - - -[Illustration: “Oh Claire, Claire, my little Claire, are you going to -die?”--_Page 200._] - - -And the good woman, seeing the strange alteration which came over -Bram’s face as he raised his eyes from the girl’s face to hers as if he -had come back from another world, changed her rough touch to a gentle -pat of his shoulder, and turned away sobbing. - -Bram lifted Claire from the floor with the easy strength of which his -spare, lean frame gave no promise, and placed her tenderly on the bed. -Then he held one of her hands for a moment, leaned over her, and kissed -her forehead with the lingering but calm tenderness of a mother to her -babe. - -“A’ reght,” muttered he to Joan, falling once more into the broad -Yorkshire he had dropped for so long, “Ah’m going.” - -At the foot of the stairs he was brought suddenly to full remembrance -of the hard, matter-of-fact world of every day. Mr. Cornthwaite was -standing, cold and grave, buttoning up his coat, ready to go. - -“Where are you going?” asked he shortly. - -“For the doctor again, sir. Meg has nearly done for her, for Miss -Claire.” - -Mr. Cornthwaite uttered a short exclamation, which might have been -meant to express compassion, but which was more like indifference, or -even satisfaction. So Bram felt, in a sudden transport of anger. - -“And the old man--Mr. Biron, what did she do to him?” - -Bram was silent. He remembered Meg’s ferocious words, her triumphant -cry that she had killed both the woman and the man she hated; and as -the remembrance came back he turned quickly, and went in the direction -of Theodore’s room. But Mr. Biron was lying quietly in bed, apparently -unaware that anything extraordinary had happened. For when he saw Bram -he only asked if he were going to stay with him. Bram excused himself, -and left the room. - -“Mr. Biron’s all right, sir,” he said to Mr. Cornthwaite, who had by -this time reached the door, impatient to get away. - -The only answer he got was a nod as Mr. Cornthwaite went out of the -house. - -Bram had not to go far before he found some one to run his errand for -him, so that he was able to return to the house. His mind was full of a -strange new thought, one so startling that it took time to assimilate -it. He sat for a long time by the kitchen fire, turning the idea over -in his mind, until the doctor returned, and went away again, after -reporting that Claire was not so much injured by the woman’s violence -as might have been feared. - -It was very late when a nurse, the only one to be got on the spur of -the moment, arrived at the farmhouse. Bram was still sitting by the -kitchen fire. When she had been installed upstairs Joan came down for a -little while. - -“What, you here still, Mr. Elshaw?” cried she. - -“Well, you might have known I should be,” he answered with a faint -smile. “I’m here till I’m turned out, day and night now!” - -“Why, sir, ye’d best goa whoam,” said Joan kindly. “Ye can do no good, -and Ah won’t leave her, ye may be sure. Ah’ve sent word whoam as they -mun do wi’out me till t’ mornin’.” - -“Ah, but I’ve something to say to you, Joan. Look here; doesn’t it seem -very strange that Mr. Cornthwaite when he is half-mad with grief at his -son’s death, should come all the way out here to see his niece? And -that he should say nothing more about--about the death of his son? And -that he should give orders for a nurse to come, and undertake to pay -all the expenses of her illness? Doesn’t it look as if----” - -Joan interrupted him with a profound nod. - -“Lawk-a-murcy, ay, sir. Ah’ve thowt o’ that too,” said she in an eager -whisper. “And don’t ye think, sir, as it’s a deal more likely that that -poor, wild body Meg killed Master Christian wi’ her strong arms and her -mad freaks than that our poor little lass oop yonder did it?” - -Bram sprang up. - -“Joan, that’s what I’ve been thinking myself ever since the woman -rushed out from here. She said she’d sent to h---- the woman and the -man she hated, didn’t she? Well, if Claire was the woman, surely Mr. -Christian must have been the man!” - -They stared each into the face of the other, full of strong excitement, -each deriving fresh hope from the hope each saw in the wide eyes of the -other. At last Joan seized his hand, and wrung it in her own strong -fingers with a pressure which brought the water to his eyes. - -“You’ve got it, Mr. Bram, you’ve got it, Ah believe!” cried she in a -tumult of feeling. “Oh, for sure that’s reght; and our poor little lass -is as innocent of it as t’ new-born babe!” - -Full of this idea, Bram conceived the thought of making inquiries at -Meg’s own home, and he started at once with this object. - -It was now very late, past eleven o’clock; but his uneasiness was -too great to allow him to leave the matter till the morning. So, at -the risk of reaching the farmhouse, where Meg’s parents lived, when -everybody was in bed, he took a short cut across the wet, muddy fields, -and arrived at his destination within an hour. - -The rain had ceased by this time, and the moon peeped out from time -to time, and from behind a mass of straggling clouds. The little farm -lay in a nook between two hills, and as Bram drew near he saw that a -light was still burning within. In getting over a gate he made a little -noise, and the next moment he saw a woman’s figure come quickly out of -the farmhouse. - -“Meg, is that you, Meg?” asked a woman’s voice anxiously. - -“No,” said Bram, “it isn’t Meg, ma’am. It’s me, from Hessel, come to -ask if she’d got safe home.” - -She came nearer, and peered into his face. - -“And who be you?” - -“My name’s Bram Elshaw. I’m a friend of the Birons at Duke’s Farm.” - -“Ah!” - -There was a world of sorrow, of significance, in the exclamation. After -a pause, she said, not angrily, but despondently-- - -“Then maybe you know all about it? Maybe you can tell me more than I -know myself? Have you seen anything of Meg--she’s my daughter--this -evening?” - -Bram hesitated. The woman went on-- - -“Oh, don’t be afraid to speak out, sir, if it’s bad news. We’ve been -used to that of late; ever since our girl took up with t’ gentleman -that has treated her so bad. It’s no use for to try to hide it; t’ poor -lass herself has spread t’ news about. She’s gone right out of her -mind, I do believe, sir. She wanders about, so I often have to sit up -half t’ night for her, and she never gives me a hand now with t’ farm -work. And as neat a hand in t’ dairy as she used to be! Well, sir, what -is it? Has she made away with herself?” - -“She came to Duke’s Farm to-night, and attacked Miss Biron,” said Bram. - -“Well, she was jealous,” said Meg’s mother, who seemed to be less -afflicted with sentiment concerning her daughter than with vexation at -the loss of her services. “The lass found it hard she should lose her -character, and then t’ young gentleman care more for his cousin all t’ -time. Not but what Meg was to blame. She used to meet him when she knew -he was going to Duke’s Farm, up in t’ ruined cottages on top of t’ hill -at Hessel. So I’ve learnt since. Folks tell you these things when it’s -too late to stop them!” - -Bram remembered the night on which he had heard the voices in the -dismantled cottages, and he remembered also with shame that he had -conceived the idea that Christian’s companion might be his cousin. - -“Did she tell you where she was going when she went out to-night?” -asked Bram. - -“She hasn’t been home since this afternoon,” replied Meg’s mother. “She -went out before tea, muttering in her usual way threats against him -and her,--always him and her. She never says any different. I’ve got -used to her ravings; I don’t think she’d do any real harm unless to -herself, poor lass!” - -“I’m afraid she has this time,” said Bram gravely. “I don’t know -anything more than I’ve told you; but I’m afraid you must be prepared -for worse news in the morning.” - -Startled, the woman pressed for an explanation. Bram, having really -nothing but suspicion to go upon, could tell her nothing definite. -But his suspicion was so strong that he felt no diffidence about -preparing Meg’s mother for a dreadful shock. On the other hand, he was -able to assure her that, whatever she might have done, her manifestly -disordered state of mind would be considered in the view taken of her -actions. - -Then he returned to Hessel, tried the door of Duke’s Farm, and found it -locked for the night. He went round to the front, looked up at the dim -light burning in Claire’s room with a fervent prayer on his lips, and -then climbed the hill to his own lodging. - -On inquiry at the farm next morning on his way to his work Bram learnt -from the nurse, who was the only person he could see, that while -Mr. Biron had had a very bad night, Claire was as well as could be -expected. No decided improvement could be reported as yet, nor could it -indeed be expected. But she was quieter, and her temperature had gone -down, temporarily at least. - -He went on his way feeling a little more hopeful, after impressing upon -the nurse to keep the doors locked for fear of any further incursions -from poor, crazy Meg Tyzack. - -On arriving at the works, he saw, as was to be expected after the -tragedy of the preceding evening, an unusual stir among the workmen, -who were standing about the entrance, talking in eager and excited -tones. One of the workmen saluted Bram, and asked him if he had “heard -t’ fresh news.” - -“What’s that?” asked Bram. - -“Coom this weay, sir; Ah’ll show ye.” - -Bram, with a sick terror at his heart, asking himself what new horror -he should be called upon to witness, followed the man through the -works. The rain had come on again, a drizzling, light rain, which was -already turning the morning’s dust into a thick, black paste. They -passed across the yards and through the sheds, until again they reached -the spot where the railway divided the works into two parts. - -An exclamation broke from Bram’s lips. - -“Not another--accident--here?” - -For there was quite a large throng of workmen scattered over the lines -on the opposite side, and culminating in one dense group not far from -the spot where he had found Christian on the previous night. - -“Ay, sir, it’s a woman this time.” And his voice suddenly fell to a -hoarse whisper. “T’ woman as killed Mr. Christian! T’ poor creature was -crazed, for sure! She got in here, nobody knows how, this morning; an’ -she must ha’ throwed herself down on t’ line pretty nigh t’ place where -she throwed him down last neght. She must ha’ waited for t’ mornin’ oop -train. Anyway, we fahnd her lyin’ there this mornin’, poor lass!” - -Bram had reached the group. He forced his way through, and looked down -at the burden the men were carrying towards the very shed under the -roof of which Chris had died. - -The mutilated body, which had been decapitated by the heavy wheels of -the train, was only recognizable by the torn and stained clothing as -that of Meg Tyzack. - -Bram staggered away, with his hand over his eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -THE GOAL REACHED. - - -No sooner had Bram recovered himself, and gone to the office without -another question to any one, avoiding the group and the sickening sight -they surrounded, than he found one of the servants from Holme Park with -a letter from Mr. Cornthwaite, asking him to come up to the house at -once. - -He found his employer sitting in the study alone, in the very seat, -the very attitude, he had seen him in so often. While outside the -house looked mournful in the extreme with its drawn blinds; while the -servants moved about with silent step and scared faces, the master sat, -apparently as unchanged as a rock after a storm. - -It was not until a change of position on the part of Mr. Cornthwaite -suddenly revealed to Bram the fact that the lines in his face had -deepened, the white patches in his hair grown wider, that the young -man recognized that the tragedy had left its outward mark on him also. -He had summoned Bram to talk about business. And this he did with as -clear a head, as deep an apparent interest as ever. Even the necessary -reference to his lost son he made with scarcely a break in his voice. - -“I shall only have the works shut on one day, the day of the funeral, -Elshaw,” said he. “But in the meantime I shan’t be down there myself. -I--I----” At last his voice faltered. “I should like to be at work -again myself--to give me something to think about, instead of thinking -always on the same unhappy subject. But I couldn’t go down there so -soon after--after what I saw there.” - -Bram could not answer. The remembrance was too fresh in his own mind. - -“So I want you to take my place as far as you can. You can telephone -through to me if you want to know anything. You have to fill your own -place now, you know Elshaw, and--another’s.” - -Bram bowed his head, deeply touched. - -“Now you can go. If you want to see--him, one of the servants will take -you up. And the ladies, poor things, are sure to be about. They bear up -beautifully, beautifully. His wife bears up a little too well for my -taste. But--perhaps--we must forgive her!” - -He shook Bram by the hand, and the young man went out. - -In the death-chamber upstairs he found Mrs. Christian, dry-eyed, -on her knees beside the bed. She sprang up on Bram’s entrance, and -remained beside him, without speaking a word, while he looked long -and earnestly at the placid face, looking handsomer in death than it -had ever looked in life, the waxen mask, refined and delicate beyond -expression, the long golden moustache, the fair hair, silkier, smoother -than Bram had ever seen them. - -And presently a mist came before his eyes, and he went hastily out. - -He found Mrs. Christian still beside him. She was very pale, but quite -calm. - -“I am glad you are come. You were poor Christian’s great friend, were -you not?” said she. - -“Yes, madam,” said Bram rather stiffly. - -Her little chirping voice irritated him. Although he understood that -the neglected, unloved wife could not be expected to feel Christian’s -death as those did who had loved and been loved by him, he wished she -would not bear up quite so well, just as Mr. Cornthwaite had done. - -But she insisted on following him downstairs, and then she opened the -door of the morning-room, and asked him to come in. She would take no -excuses; she would not keep him a moment. - -“I wish to ask you about Miss Biron,” said she, to Bram’s great -surprise, when she had shut the door of the room, and found herself -alone with him. “Oh, yes,” she went on with a little nod, as she -noticed his astonished look, “I bear her no malice because my husband -loved her better than he did me. I only wish he had married her! I do -sincerely hope and pray that I nourish no unchristian feelings against -anybody, even the poor, mad girl who killed him, and who has since made -away with herself in such a dreadful manner!” - -She had heard of it already then! Bram was appalled by the manner in -which she dismissed such an awful occurrence in a few rapid words. - -“And, of course,” she went on, “I cannot feel that I have any right -to blame Miss Biron, since we know that she did not run away with -Christian, as we had supposed.” - -Bram was overwhelmed with relief unspeakable. This was the first time -he had heard anything more than doubt expressed as to Claire’s guilt -in this matter. He had, indeed, entertained hopes, especially since -last night, that Claire had been wrongfully accused. But what was the -strongest hope compared with this authoritative confirmation of it? He -was shrewd enough, strongly moved though he was, to control the emotion -he felt, and to put this question-- - -“Did Mr. Cornthwaite--did his father--did Mr. Cornthwaite know that he -had done his son and Miss Biron--an injustice, thinking what he did?” - -“Why, of course he knew,” replied Mrs. Christian promptly. “When he -found Christian in London he accused him at once, and, of course, -Christian told him--indeed, he could see for himself--he was wrong. -Christian knew no more where his cousin had gone to than anybody else -did.” - -Bram was silent. He resented Mr. Cornthwaite’s behavior in leaving him -in ignorance of such a fact. But his resentment was swallowed up in -ineffable joy. - -“What I wanted to learn was whether Miss Biron has all the nursing she -wants,” chirped in little Mrs. Christian, “because I should be quite -glad to do anything I could for her out of Christian charity. I have -done a good deal of sick nursing, and I like it,” pursued the poor, -little woman. “And I should be really glad of something to occupy my -thoughts now in this dreadful time. I have been living with my parents, -you know, since this misunderstanding first came about. His father -brought Christian here, and when he got well he showed no wish to come -back. But when I heard late last night of what had happened, of course -I came here at once. And you will ask Miss Biron if she will have me, -won’t you? I would nurse her well. And, indeed, they are not very kind -to me here.” - -Over the round, pale, freckled face there passed a quiver of feeling -which awoke Bram’s sympathy at last. The unattractive little woman -had been rather cruelly treated from first to last in this affair of -Christian’s marriage. The Cornthwaites, one and all, had thought much -of him and little of her from the beginning to the end of the matter. -And the offer to tend the girl Christian had loved so much better than -herself had in it something touching, even noble, in Bram’s eyes. - -He stammered out that he would ask; that she was very good; that he -thanked her heartily. Then, exchanging with her a hand-pressure which -was warm on both sides, he left her, and went out of the gloomy house. - -Of course, Joan would not hear of accepting the kindly-offered services -of poor Mrs. Christian. But when she heard of the welcome information -which Bram had obtained from her she went half-mad with a delight which -found expression in clumsy leaps and twirls and hand-clappings, and -even tears. - -“And so it’s all reght, all reght, as we might ha’ knowed from t’ -first. Oh, we ought to die o’ shame to think as we ever thowt anything -different! Oh, sir, an’ now ye can marry her reght off, an’ we can all -be happy as long as we live! Oh, sir, this is a happy day!” - -Bram tried to silence her, tried at least to check this confident -expression of her hopes for the future. Not that his own heart did not -beat high: if she was happy in this newly-acquired knowledge, he was -happier still. The idol was restored to its pedestal. It was he now, -and not she, who had a shameful secret--the secret of his past doubts -of her. - -Bram could not forgive himself for these, could not now conceive that -they had been natural, justifiable. He had doubted her, the purest of -creatures, as she was the noblest, the sweetest. He felt almost that he -had sinned beyond forgiveness, that he should never dare to meet her -frank eyes again. - -In the meantime, as day after day passed slowly by, the news he got of -her grew better, while that he received of her father grew worse. - -At last, two days after the funeral of Christian, he learnt, when he -made his usual morning inquiry at the farm on his way down to the -works, that Mr. Biron had passed away quietly during the night. - -His last words, uttered at half-past two in the morning, had been a -characteristic request that somebody would go up immediately to Holme -Park with a note to Mr. Cornthwaite. - -Bram heard from Joan that they tried to keep the intelligence of her -father’s death from Claire, who was now much better, but who was still -by the doctor’s orders kept very quiet. But she guessed something from -the looks and sounds she heard, and before the day was over she had -learnt the fact they tried to conceal; and then she spent the rest of -the day in tears. - -Mrs. Cornthwaite and Hester visited her on the following day, and -begged her to come back with them. But Claire refused very courteously, -but without being quite able to hide her feeling that their offers of -kindness and of sympathy came too late. - -As, however, the farm and everything Mr. Biron had left were to be -sold, it was necessary that she should go somewhere. So, on the -day after the funeral, Claire returned to the cottage of the old -housekeeper at Chelmsley, who had written inviting her most warmly to -return. - -Bram, who had not dared to ask to see her, feeling more diffidence in -approaching her than he had ever done before, felt a pang whenever he -passed the desolate farmhouse on his way to and from his work. All the -news he got of Claire was through Joan, who received from the grateful -and affectionate girl letters which she could not answer without great -difficulty and many appeals to her children, who had had the advantage -of the School Board. - -Joan gradually became sceptical as the time went on as to the -fulfilment of her old wish that Bram should marry Claire. Winter -melted into spring, and yet he made no effort to see her; he sent her -no messages, and she, on her side, said very little about him in her -letters. Indeed, as the leaves began to peep out on the trees, there -cropped up occasional references in those same letters of hers to the -kindness of a curate, who was teaching her to sketch, and encouraging -her to take such simple pleasures as came in her way. - -Joan spelt out one of the letters which referred to these occupations -to Bram on the next occasion of their meeting. Then she looked up with -a broad smile, and gave him a huge nod. - -“Ye’ll get left in the lurch, Mr. Elshaw, that’ll be t’ end of it!” she -said, with great emphasis. - -“Well,” said Bram with apparent composure, “if she takes him, it will -be because she likes him. And if she likes him, why shouldn’t she have -him?” - -But he was ill-pleased for all that. The vague hopes he had long ago -cherished had become stronger, more definite of late; he had forced -himself to be patient, to wait, telling himself that it would be -indelicate to intrude upon the grief, the horror of the awful shock -from which she must still be suffering. - -He had long since heard all the particulars of the terrible death of -Chris, and of the manner in which the mistake between Meg and Claire -had come to be made. A workman had seen Christian and Claire in earnest -conversation not far from the railway line; had seen her give him the -note from her father which had brought her down. Christian had spoken -kindly to her, had bent over her as if with the intention of kissing -her, when suddenly the stalwart figure of Meg, who had followed them -from some corner where she had concealed herself in the works, rushed -between them, threatening them both with wild words. Claire had crept -away in alarm, and Meg had gradually dragged Chris, talking, volubly -gesticulating all the time, out upon the railway lines. She must have -calculated to a nicety the hour at which the next train might be -expected, so the general opinion afterwards ran. At any rate, it was -she who was with Christian when the train came by; and as every one -believed, as, in fact, poor Chris himself had said, she had flung him -of malice prepense down on the line just as the train came up to them. - -The workingman who gave Bram most of these details was the person who -disabused Mr. Cornthwaite of his idea that the murderess was Claire. He -had given his information at the very time that Bram was on his way to -Hessel in the company of poor little Claire. - -Although Claire herself had not witnessed the catastrophe, she had -had the awful shock of coming suddenly, a few minutes later, upon the -mangled body of her dying cousin. And Bram felt that he could not in -decency approach her with his own hopes on his lips until she had in -some measure recovered, not only from that shock, but from her father’s -death, and the loss of her beloved home. - -The farm now looked dreary in the extreme. April came, and it was still -unlet. The grass in the garden had grown high, the crocuses were over, -and there was no one to tie up their long, thin, straggling leaves. The -tulips were drooping their petals, and the hyacinths were dying. There -was nobody now to sow the seeds for the summer. - -Bram was on his way back home early one Saturday afternoon, when the -sun was shining brightly, showing up the shabby condition of the house -and grounds, the absence of paint on doors and shutters, the weeds -which were shooting up in the midst of the rubbish with which the -farmyard was blocked up. - -As he leaned over the garden gate and looked ruefully in, with painful -thoughts about the little girl who was forgetting him in the society of -the curate, he fancied he heard a slight noise coming from the house -itself. - -He listened, he looked. Then he started erect. He grew red; his heart -began to beat at express speed. - -There was some one in the house, stealing from room to room, not making -much noise. And from the glimpse he caught of a disappearing figure in -its flight from one room to another Bram knew that the intruder was -Claire. - -He stole round to the back of the house with his heart on fire. - -The door was locked; she had not got in that way. Bram had never given -up the workman’s habit of carrying a few handy tools in a huge knife -in his pocket, and in a few seconds he had taken one of the outside -kitchen shutters off its hinges, and shot back the window-catch. - -The next moment he was in the room. - -But what a different room! The deal table where he had so often done -odd jobs of carpentering for Claire; the old sofa on which she had lain -on the night of Christian’s death while she uttered those precious -words of love for himself, which he had treasured in his heart all -through the dark winter; the three-legged stool on which she used to -sit by the fire; the square, high one he used to occupy on the other -side--all these things were gone, and there was nothing in the bare and -dirty apartment but some odds and ends of sacking and a broken packing -case. - -Suddenly Bram conceived an idea. He dragged the packing case over the -floor, taking care not to make much noise, put it in the place of his -old stool, and sat down on it, bending over the dusty ashes which had -been left in the fireplace just as he used to do over the fire on a -cold evening. - -And presently the door opened softly, and Claire came in. - -He did not look round. He was satisfied to know that she was there, -there, almost within reach of his arm. And still he bent over the ashes. - -A slight sob at last made him look up. - -Oh, what a sight for him! The little girl, looking smaller than ever in -her black frock and bonnet, was standing in the full sunlight, smiling -through her tears; smiling with such unspeakable peace and happiness in -her eyes, such a glint of joy illuminating her whole face, that as he -got up he staggered back, and cried-- - -“Eh, Miss Claire, you’re more like a sunbeam than ever!” - -She did not answer at first. She only clasped her small hands and -stared at him, with her lips parted, and the tears springing to her -eyes. But then she saw something in his face which brought the blood to -hers; and she turned quickly away, and pretended to find a difficulty -in making her way through the rubbish on the floor. - -“Miss Claire!” said he. “Oh, Miss Claire!” - -That was the sum and substance of the eloquence he had been teaching -himself; of the elaborate and carefully-chosen words which he had so -often prepared to meet her with, words which should be respectful and -yet affectionate, sufficiently distant, yet not too cold. It had all -resolved itself into this hapless, helpless exclamation-- - -“Miss Claire! Oh, Miss Claire!” - -“I’m not surprised to find you here, Bram,” said she with a little -touch of growing reserve. “When I heard a noise in here I knew I should -find you--just the same.” - -There was a very short pause. Then Bram said breathlessly-- - -“Yes, Miss Claire, you’ll always find me just the same.” - -The words, the tone, summed up all the kindness he had ever shown her; -all the patient tenderness, the unspeakable, modest goodness she knew -so well. Claire’s face quivered all over. Then she burst into a torrent -of tears. Bram watched her for a minute in dead silence. Then, not -daring so much as to come a step nearer, he whispered hoarsely-- - -“May I comfort you, Miss Claire, may I dare?” - -“Oh, Bram--dear Bram--if you don’t--I shall die!” - -Which, when you come to think of it, was a very pretty invitation. - -And Bram accepted it. - -And they were married, and they _were_ happy ever afterwards, though, -in these despondent days, it hardly does to say so. - - -THE END. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FORGE AND FURNACE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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