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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f212f1e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69885 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69885) diff --git a/old/69885-0.txt b/old/69885-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5bdafff..0000000 --- a/old/69885-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11556 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The extraordinary confessions of Diana -Please, by Bernard Capes - -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: The extraordinary confessions of Diana Please - -Author: Bernard Capes - -Release Date: January 27, 2023 [eBook #69885] - -Language: English - -Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EXTRAORDINARY CONFESSIONS -OF DIANA PLEASE *** - - - - - - - THE EXTRAORDINARY - CONFESSIONS OF - DIANA PLEASE - - HERE “ENGLISHED” FROM THE ORIGINAL - SHORTHAND NOTES, IN FRENCH, OF M. LE - MARQUIS DE C----, A FRIEND TO WHOM - SHE DICTATED THEM, - - BY - BERNARD CAPES - AUTHOR OF - “THE LAKE OF WINE,” “PLOTS” ETC. ETC. - - - METHUEN & CO. - 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. - LONDON - 1904 - - - - - CONTENTS - - INTRODUCTORY - I. I MAKE MY DÉBUT - II. I AM ABDUCTED - III. I ESCAPE - IV. I FALL INTO THE HANDS OF A COLLECTOR - V. I AM CARRIED AWAY AS A SPECIMEN - VI. I AM “PINNED OUT” - VII. I AM PUT AWAY IN CAMPHOR - VIII. I MEET MR. NOEL DE CRESPIGNY - IX. I AM COMMITTED TO THE ---- - X. I BEWITCH A MONSTER - XI. I ADD THE LAST TOUCH TO A PORTRAIT - XII. I AM INFAMOUSLY RETALIATED ON - XIII. I AM WOOED TO SELF-DESTRUCTION - XIV. I AM RESCUED BY MY MONSTER - XV. I BECOME AN INMATE OF “RUPERT’S FOLLY” - XVI. I PUT AN END TO ONE FOLLY - XVII. I AM CONSIGNED TO A GREEN GRAVE - XVIII. I BEGIN ANOTHER FOLLY - XIX. I AM MAID MARIAN - XX. I PUT AN END TO FOLLY NUMBER TWO - XXI. I AM METAMORPHOSED - XXII. I RUN ACROSS AN OLD FRIEND - XXIII. I AM MADE FORTUNE’S MISTRESS - XXIV. I FIND A FRIEND IN NEED - XXV. I DECLARE FOR THE KING - XXVI. I RENEW AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE - XXVII. I KNOW HOW TO WAIT - XXVIII. I RETURN TO NAPLES - XXIX. I STILL KNOW HOW TO WAIT - XXX. I AM JUSTIFIED IN MY POLICY - XXXI. I KNOW MY OWN HEART - - - - - INTRODUCTORY - - “_I am convinced she rivalled, at fifty, the exquisite Diane de - Poitiers herself, in the brightness of her wit and the perfection of - her form, and might have passed as triumphantly a like test of the - marble._” - - The Marquis de C---- in his “Foreword.” - -If the public seeks any apology for this introduction to it, at a -late date, of the extraordinary woman whose self-dictated Memoirs form -the staple of the following pages, it must look for it in the -references of her contemporaries; it will be far from gathering it -from her own autobiography. - -Diane Rosemonde de St. Croix (to give her her proper mother-title) -considered that she owed to Romance, in a glowing age, what, in a -practical one, is conceded by a thousand dull and petty vanities to a -vulgar curiosity--her personal reminiscences. She had at least the -justification of her qualities, and the good fortune to find, in her -latter-day friend, the Marquis de C----, an enthusiastic historian of -them. In the question of their appeal, one way or the other, to the -English reader, the present transcriber (from the original French -notes) must hold himself responsible both for choice and style. - -Madame de St. Croix was a “passionist,” as the French called Casanova; -and, indeed, she had many points in common with that redoubtable -adventurer: an unappeasable vagabondism; a love of letters; an ardent -imagination; an incorruptible self-love; and, lastly, what we may term -an exotic orthodoxy. If, subscribing to the universal creed which -makes man’s soul his fetish, she worshipped an exacting god, she was -at least always ready to sacrifice the world to gratify it, and now, -no doubt, very logically sings among the angels. - -In the matter of her more notorious characteristics, M. de C----, lest -her part on earth should suffer misconstruction by the censorious, is -so good as to speak with some show of finality. “I deny,” he says, -“the title adventuress to my charming and accomplished friend. It is -nothing if not misleading. Every day we venture something, for love, -for hunger, for ambition. He who deviates from rice and barley-water, -venturing on spiced dishes, makes every time an assault on his -epigastrium. He who is not content with an ignoble mediocrity, though -he do no more than take pains with a letter, is a candidate for fame. -And as for love, it does not exist on the highway. Why should it imply -distinction to call a man an adventurer, and be invidious to style a -woman adventuress? Ulysses dallying in Ææa is surely no more -honourable a sight than Godiva traversing Coventry in an adorable -deshabille. To have the wide outlook, the catholic sympathy--is that -to merit defamation? No, it is to be heroically human. Better sin like -an angel, I say, than be a sick devil and virtuous.” - -It remains only to mention that the present transcript conducts no -further than to the finish of a dramatic period of Madame de St. -Croix’s story; and to that, even, at the expense of a considerable -lacuna (referred to in its place), which no research has hitherto been -successful in filling. It is hoped, however, that, in what is given, -enough will be found to interest. - - B. C. - -[_Note_.--An ingenious etymologist supplies a likely derivation for -the “duck-stone,” so often mentioned in the text, from the Slavic -_dook_ or _duk_, signifying to spirit away. Accepting this genesis, -the duck-stone, given to Mrs. Please by the gypsy, becomes the _dook_, -or _bewitching_-stone, and is imbued with whatever virtues our faith -or our credulity may suggest.] - - - - - THE EXTRAORDINARY - CONFESSIONS OF DIANA PLEASE[1] - - I. - I MAKE MY DÉBUT - -At my friend M. de C----’s instigation I sit down in the noon of my -life to talk of its morning. - -I look first to your gallantry, my dear Alcide, to see that this -statement is not misconstrued. That I have a past argues nothing of my -remoteness from it. In comparison with the immortality which is surely -to be mine, everything on this side is youth. I am seventeen, or -thirty-seven, or whatever I choose; and I intend that Heaven, whenever -it calls me, shall find me irresistible. Possessing all the ages, it -cannot grudge me my arbitrary disposition of my own little term. - -Now, tell your friends, my dear Alcide, that to succeed in life one -must never ask a woman her age or a man his intentions; and so we -shall all be comfortable. - - -I owe my mother the most whimsical of grudges, my existence. I will -nickname her the Comtesse de l’Ombre, and so shall abuse no -confidences in relating of my debt to her, and to “Lovelace,” her -collaborator in the romance of which I am the heroine. She was very -beautiful; and he, an English cadet of distinction, was an -aristocratic paragon. - -At the age of sixteen, convinced of the hollowness of life, she had -taken the veil, and become the Sister Agnès of the Communauté de -Madelonnettes, Notre Dame de la Charité, in Paris, whence a year -later she was transferred to an English branch of the house. Hence and -from her duty my father, whom she had approached upon a begging -mission, succeeded unhappily in inveigling her. - -To the day of her death my mother bore the disfiguring sign of a -little cross on her breast. It has succeeded to me, but in a faint -reflection, a _grain de beauté_, only. I will tell you, in a word, -the story of my inheritance. - -The ladies of les Madelonnettes had, in inviting all the feminine -vices to their inauguration ceremony, with the object to pension them -off handsomely, overlooked the bad fairy Jealousy. Thou knowest, -Alcide, the meanness of this witch. To revenge herself, she cast -Lovelace into their midst, as Eris cast the apple of discord upon the -nuptial board of Thetis; and poor de l’Ombre was made the consequent -scapegoat. Driven forth in ignominy from the fold, she could not -suffer so much but that one, over zealous or jealous, must strike her -an envious blow across the bosom, on which she always wore a little -crucifix, the gift of her father. The ebony cut in and left an -indelible scar, to which I was to succeed in pathetic earnest of my -origin. It has never ceased to be a symbol to me of the vanity of -self-renunciation. How can we deny our_selves_, and not deny One after -whose image we are made? - -I was born in a lodging at Brighthelmston, whither my father had -conveyed my mother. The town, which has always possessed an attraction -for me, was at that time a very paltry affair of scattered houses, to -which the mumpish or melancholic came periodically to salt their -spleens against a fresh course of dissipations. Locality has never, -however, influenced my temper. The perfume of contentment breathes -from within, and is not to be affected by soil or surroundings. Let us -who have good constitutions continue, as the way is, to accept them -for virtues, and to abhor the dyspeptic as unclean. Let us have the -discretion to ask no questions of our neighbours about what we don’t -understand in this entertaining comedy of life. So shall we justify -ourselves to ourselves, and avoid being made uncomfortable. Is it not -so, my friend? - -My mother had never, I do believe, had a doll till I came. She was -very young, even then, and could not tire of playing with me in our -pretty cottage near the Steine. And I responded in all endearing -gaiety and innocence, with the very trustfulness of which she must, I -fear, have come to reproach her apostasy. - -Maybe she did, for, as time went on, I can recall a cloud settling -upon her brow--the shadow, perhaps, of the yoke under which she was -passing from girlhood to womanhood. I was already four _when she came -of age_. O, _mon chéri_! think of the tragedy of those italics! And -think of me, a child of a precocious observation, and little ears as -pinkly susceptible to murmurs as the inside of a shell, doomed to -wake--wake to some misty understanding of the unusual in our -relations! - -By and by I even confided my suspicions to my father, whom I adored, -and who visited us occasionally, coming down from town very elegant -and _mondain_ and in great company. He laughed, and then frowned over -at mamma, who returned his look steadily. - -“Dear sir,” she said only, “the child is growing very critical. Do not -encourage her, and make this cross harder than I can bear.” - -“But I too have a cross,” I said; “only it is little and faint, and -not blushing like _maman’s_.” - -My papa laughed again, and again frowned, saying, “It is a fact, and -hard on the infant, who has done nothing to deserve it.” - -Then he pushed me from him, and rose, and, going to the door, turned -at it with a peevish face. - -“I weary of these heroics,” said he. “If you persist in them, remember -that you are qualified, more than ever, for les Madelonnettes.” - -He went; and she cried out, as if over some dreadful awakening. But -thenceforth, for some reason, our confidences grew estranged. I loved -my poor mamma so well, that I think she should not have responded by -striving to make heir to her melancholy the innocent cause of it. At -the root of all our moral revolt is a sense of the injustice of -original sin. I, at least, had done nothing to make me unhappy. - -Presently I was given a governess, my dear careless father’s nominee. -She was French, a _ci-devant maîtresse de pension_, very lazy and -self-indulgent, and, if not sleeping, she was always ogling for -unattached beaux. Vicious and insolent, she delighted in prompting me -to reflections on my mother’s self-reserve, and “honour” was as much -in her mouth as false teeth. I learned nothing from her but indecorum -and innuendo. - -One day--for the moral to her teaching (it was when I was ten years -old)--I was playing truant on the downs, when I saw a small smutty -baby crawl from under a bush into the road at the very moment that a -carriage, wildly driven, was approaching. I had just time to notice -the gilded splendour of the equipage, and, perhaps,--let us be frank, -my friend,--to be inspired to heroism by the sight, before I leapt and -snatched up the child from under the very feet of the galloping -horses. As the chariot thundered by, an elegantly groomed head thrust -itself from the window, and a ruffled hand, waving to me standing -there unhurt but bewildered, flung back a gold coin into the dust. I -turned my back immediately, disillusioned, by the insolence of the -acknowledgment, as to the disinterested quality of my deed, and the -more so as the baby was, _parler franchement_, decidedly unpleasant. I -put the imp down, and began to re-order my little ruffled plumes. -Wouldst thou hear what they were, my Alcide? I can recall them at this -hour: A dainty gipsy hat knotted to a blue ribbon; a stomacher laced -over with silver twist, and a skirt to the ankles, both of flowered -lustring; three pair of ruffles at my bare elbows; a black solitaire -at my neck, and black shoes with red heels and the prettiest of paste -buckles. - -Alas! how better than our sins of yesterday do we remember the -stockings we wore to sin in! Let me, for penance, concede to history -these my failings. I was, in fact, colourless in complexion, like -tinted porcelain, with what my detractors used to call spun-glass -hair, and the eyes of a Dresden shepherdess. And I was not at that -time light on my feet, with which my volatile spirits were always at -odds. - -Now, as I smoothed my skirt, I was aware of a mad gipsy woman hurrying -from the bank towards me, and crying and gesticulating as she came. -She caught up the infant, and, finding it unharmed, put it down again, -and fawned upon me inarticulate. Then she broke off to curse the -distant carriage up hill and down, and finally went to pick up the -coin from the very spot where she had not failed to mark its fall. - -“It is yours,” she said, striding back to me. “Take it!” - -“You can keep it,” I answered, with my little nose in the air. “A lady -does not want for money.” - -She slipped it into her pocket, and fell on her knees before me. - -“Nor beauty, nor love, nor silken raiment,” she cried; “and yet they -are not all. Think, my darling! There be no need so wild but the poor -grateful gipsy may show a way to gratify it.” - -I laughed, half annoyed and half frightened; and then, suddenly and -oddly, there came into my head the thought of the stocking needle the -_gouvernante_ was wont to stick into my bosom at meals, to prevent me -stooping and rounding my back. Must I confess, my Alcide, that there -was ever a time when thy Diane was a little less or more than a sylph? - -“Make me light,” I said, “so that I can dance without feeling the -ground.” - -She looked at me strangely a moment, then all about her in a stealthy -way, while she slipped her hand into her pocket. - -“Hush!” she said. “For none other but you. Only tell not of it.” And -she brought up a little greasy packet, of parchment writ round with -characters, like a Hebrew phylactery. - -“Have you ever heard tell of the duck-stone?” she whispered. - -I shook my head, full of curiosity. - -“No,” she said, “nor any of thine. It fell from the sky, from another -world, deary, that’s strange to ours, and the gipsies found it in the -wild places of the woods. There was a smell came from it like the -sugar of all flowers, and it was as light as foam and as hard as the -beaten rocks.” - -She undid the packet while she spoke, and I saw a number of tiny grey -cubes, like frothy pumice-stone, one of which she detached, and gave -to me. - -“It wrought upon them even to madness,” she said, “so that they took -and broke it with their mattocks. And, lo! the nameless thing was -found in its scattered parts a virtue, even like the poisons which, -taken in little, heal. Smell to it when the world is dark, and your -brain shall flash into light, like an inn to the tired traveller. -Smell to it when your feet go sick and heavy, and you shall feel them -like the birds’ whose bones are full of wind. But tell not of the gift -or giver, lest I die!” - -Involuntarily, as she spoke, I had raised the stone to my nostrils. A -faint scent as of menthene intoxicated my brain. The downs and the sky -swam before me in one luminous mist. Lightness and delight took all my -soul and body with rapture.... - -A shout brought me to myself. I was sitting on the grass, with the -duck-stone still tight in my clutch. The gipsy was gone, how long I -could not tell, and up the road was coming a second cortège, more -brilliant than the former. A dozen young fellows, all volunteer -runners and dressed in white, preceded a coach in which sat a -rich-apparelled lady, very bold and handsome, and escorted by a -splendid cavalcade of gentlemen. It was the Duchess of Cumberland, who -followed her husband to the seaside, as I was to learn by and by; for -while I was collecting my drowsy young wits to look, a wonderful thing -happened. A horseman drew up with a cry, dismounted, seized and bore -me to his saddle, and rode away with me after the carriage. It was my -father, flushed and jovial, the pink and Corinthian of his company, as -he always was. - -He showed no curiosity over the encounter, nor scruple in taking me -with him. He was in wild spirits, laughing and teasing, and sometimes -he reeled in his saddle in a way to endanger my balance. But the rush -of air restored me to myself, and I had the wit, for all my -excitement, to slip my charm, which I still held, into a pocket. - -So we raced for the town, and presently drew up at the Castle Tavern, -where His Royal Highness and his wife, the late Mrs. Horton, were -quartering themselves. - -The time which followed is confused in my remembrance. I was put in -charge of a chambermaid, given a dish of tea and cake, and presently -fell fast asleep, to awake smiling and rosy to the summons of my -pleasant Clarinda. A lackey in a magnificent scarlet livery awaited me -at the door, received me into his arms, and carried me downstairs to a -long room blazing with waxlights, where, at a white table spilt all -over with a profusion of fruit and crystal, sat a gorgeous company of -gentlemen and ladies. Such silks and laces, such feathers and -diamonds, I had never in my young day encountered. It was like the -most beautiful fair I had ever seen, and the red faces of the company -were the coloured bladders bobbing in the stalls. Still, I had not -lost my self-possession, when my father reeled round in his chair, and -catching me away from the servant, set me on my feet on the table -itself. - -I was a little confused by the tumult which greeted my exaltation. - -“Diane,” whispered my father in my ear, “go and tell the duke in a -pretty speech that I send my love to him.” - -I flicked up my skirts, and went off immediately among the fruit and -decanters. My progress was a triumph. The women clapped in artificial -enthusiasm, and the men stopped me to kiss my little shoes. And -presently down that long lane I saw the duke’s smiling face awaiting -me. It was not a temperate face, it is true; its thirty-four years -were traced upon it in very crooked hieroglyphics. But then--_c’est la -dernière touche qu’informe_--the royal star of the garter glittering -on the apricot coat beneath made everything handsome. By his side sat -the lady his duchess, _née_ Luttrell, as brand-new as I to her -exaltation. But it was the difference between Hebe and Thais. For all -my innocence I felt that, and did not fear her rivalry. I dropped a -little curtsey amongst the grapes and melons. - -“Monsieur,” I said, “my papa wishes to make you a pretty gift, and -sends you his love.” - -He applauded, laughing, as did all the table, and lifted me down to -his lap. - -“What price for the love?” he cried. “See, I return him a dozen -kisses.” - -He kept me, however, plying me with bonbons, while madam tittered and -fanned herself vexedly. - -“You will make the little ape sick, Enrico,” she said. “Put her down; -for shame!” - -“I know where to stop,” I retorted; and “By God, you do!” said the -duke, with a great laugh, and held me tight. - -I had a thimbleful of liqueur from his hand by and by, which made me -think of the duck-stone. I was the little queen of the evening, and a -delight to my father and all. - -“Faith!” said a merry Irish _rapparee_, a bit of a courtier captain, -“man has been vainly trying to fit woman into the moral scheme ever -since she made herself out of his ninth rib, and the fashions out of a -fig-leaf; and here, in the eighteenth century Anno Domini, is the -result.” - -I was carried on to the Steine presently by my father, my little brain -whirling. The whole of the Castle Tavern, and every house and shop -adjacent, were illuminated; and the lights and crowds of people quite -intoxicated me. There were sports enacting on all sides, and I -screamed with laughter to see a jingling match, played for a laced -coat and hat, in which the jingler, hung with bells, dodged and eluded -and dropped between the legs of the blindfolded who sought to capture -him. Then there was a foot-race, run by young women for a Holland -smock; and I jeered at their self-conscious antics with all my little -might, as they went giggling into place, coy and hobbledehoy, and -pushed and quarrelled secretly, and stopped the starter to do up their -greasy tresses, and then, all but the winner, snivelled over the -result, pronouncing it unfair. - -Presently I was taken to see an ox roasted whole; and it was here, -while we were looking on at the lurid tumult, occurred a rencontre -which was to alter the whole current of my life. A fat, drunken sweep -in his war-paint jostled my father, who, himself in the fury of wine, -turned and felled the beast to the ground. We were isolated from our -friends at the moment, and a ring was immediately formed, and the -sweep called upon to stand up and pay his interest like a man. He -rose, nothing loth, it seemed, and faced my father, who was forced to -engage. - -“My little ’orse and cart to a red-un that I whop ye!” cried the -sweep. - -“Done!” answered my father, and they fell to. - -I was sure of the result, and stood by quite self-possessed and eager -while they fought. A round or two settled it, and there sat the sweep, -unable to rise again, with a white tooth dropped on his coat-front. - -When my father came away, I clung to him and kissed him in ecstasy. He -was quite cool, and only a little breathed; and when, for the honour -of sport, he had settled for the sweep’s trap to be driven round to -his door in the morning, intending to put it up to auction, he -shouldered me laughing, and carried me away amidst cheers. - -It was near midnight by then, and, happening upon a royal servant, he -gave me into the man’s charge, and, in spite of my remonstrances, bade -him convey me home. I sulked all the way, and was in no mood, after my -excitement, to sympathise with my mother’s agitated reception of her -truant. She had been near distracted all these hours, thinking me -drowned or kidnapped, and could not control a gust of temper upon -hearing how I had been employed. - -“O, my _maman_,” I said saucily, “you must understand I have never -been in a convent, and so know how to take care of myself.” - -It was wicked; but it was my governess speaking, not I. - - - - - II. - I AM ABDUCTED - -My mamma questioned me again in the morning about my adventures. She -was very hollow-eyed and nervous, which offended me; for for her to -appear ill in body or ill at ease in mind seemed to make my own young -sanity something that it was wrong or selfish in me to enjoy. I was -inconsiderate, no doubt; yet tell me, my Alcide, is it, on the other -hand, considerate of dyspepsia to be always wet-blanketing health and -contentment? Is not the human the only animal permitted of right to -inflict his sickness on his fellows, while in every other community -the invalid is “out of the law” of nature? It is thus, undoubtedly, -that deterioration is provided against. To be attracted to the sweet -and wholesome, and repelled by distemper, is _that_ selfishness? If it -is not, then am I content to be misunderstood by all others, so long -as Heaven will recognise the real love of humankind which inspires my -wish to secure its untainted image in myself. There must be a divine -virtue in health, seeing how disease is the heir of sin. Is not to -sympathise, then, with depression, to condone evil? - -I leave the answer to profounder moralists than I, content, in -default, to admit that the misery which now befell me was the direct -consequence of my wickedness. - -“Papa,” said I, tossing my head, “gave me to the beautiful duke, and -he took me in pledge of the love papa bears him. Will he come and -fetch me, do you think, mamma? I shall be glad to belong to one who -does not have headaches whenever the sun shines.” - -She went quite white, and broke into a torrent of French invective. - -“I do not understand these hard words,” I said. “Is it so they pray in -les Madelonnettes?” - -My sauciness took her completely aback. She stared at me for some -moments in silence, and then cried out suddenly, “God forgive you, -Diane, and the vile creature who has instructed you to this, and your -father, who I am going at once to ask that she may be removed!” - -And she went out, unconsciously consigning me to my fate; and I never -saw her again, may Heaven pardon her! - -I was a little frightened, though still defiant; and I loitered about -the house, singing in my small voice, which, though never an “organ,” -has always been attractive, so people say. - -Presently I remembered my duck-stone, and thought I would seek a case -for it. I was alone in the house, for our one maid was gone marketing, -and the governess not yet arrived. I went upstairs, and rummaged in my -mother’s bureaux, and by and by found a tiny silver vinaigrette into -which the stone fitted beautifully. Then I went and sat in our little -front garden which overlooked the road running to the downs, and there -rocked and mused amongst the flowers in a recovered temper. I hoped my -father would fetch me again; I expected he would; and so, smiling and -dreaming, put up the vinaigrette half-consciously, and sniffed at it. -In a moment all sense of my surroundings went from me, and sky and -flowers and the grey downs were blended in a rapture of unreality. - -I came to myself amidst an impression of jolting. I thought it was -night, and that I was suffocating in my bedclothes. I threw something -from my face, saw daylight, and cried out incoherently. - -Immediately the jerky motion ceased, and a horrible mask looked over -and down at me. It was fat and sooty, with a handkerchief, startlingly -white by contrast, going obliquely across its forehead. - -“Stow that, my pigeon!” it said hoarsely and shortly. But at the first -sound of its voice, black inspiration had come upon me in a flood. It -was the sweep of my last night’s adventure, and he was bearing me away -captive in the very little cart he had lost to my father. Whether he -had driven that up, sportingly, to time, or was merely escaping in it, -I never learned. Anyhow, temptation had come to him recognising me -lying there, senseless and unprotected, in the garden, and moved, -perhaps, by some sentiment between cupidity and revenge, he had seized -the opportunity to kidnap me. - -He swung his fat legs over the sitting board, and lifted me up from -the midst of the empty bags where he had concealed me. We were in the -thick of a little wood, and the pony was quietly cropping at the -trackside grass. The sense of loss and isolation, the filth of my -condition, the terror of this startled awakening from happy dreams, -wrought a desperation in me that was near madness. I screamed and -reviled and fought. The man opposed to my struggles just his two -hands; but their large persuasive strength, unctuous as they were with -soot, was more deadly than any violence. Alas! how the star that lit -last night’s heaven may be found fallen in the mud to-day, my Alcide! - -When I was quiet, he put me up between his knees, and smacked my face -twice, deliberately, on either side--not hard, but in a lustful, -proprietary way. - -“Blow for blow,” says he, and lifted the bandage a little from his -eye. It was horribly swollen and discoloured. - -“Knew how to handle his morleys,” he said. “D’ee see’t? Now it be my -turn.” - -“What are you going to do with me?” I sobbed. - -“Make ’ee my climbing boy,” he answered promptly, and with a hideous -grin. “You’re my luck. D’ee see? Say you’re a gurl, and I’ll”-- He -hissed in his breath, and looked at me like a beast of prey. - -“There,” he ended; “get under, and so much’s sniff at your peril!” - -Some distant sound, perhaps, startled him. He stuffed me into my -former position, and, covering me again with the bags, turned and -clicked up his pony. I lay in a half faint, scarce daring to breathe, -so utterly had this monster succeeded in subduing me. I cried, -incessantly but quietly, hearing hour by hour the wheels grind under -my ear, till the sound and physical exhaustion induced in me a sort of -delirium. All this time, the hope of pursuit and rescue never occurred -to me, I believe. Did they occur to Proserpine having once felt the -inhumanity of her sooty abductor? - -But now all of a sudden the anguish grew unendurable. I must move or -die. And at the moment I became conscious of the vinaigrette still -clutched convulsively in my little fist. - -Sure never death offered a sweeter release. Very softly I raised it, -and found oblivion. I might have sought to use it on my enemy, and -escape; but, alas! the unsophisticated mind of the child could compass -no such artifice. - -We went on all day, as I realised during the intervals of my waking, -by the unfrequented roads, jolting, loitering, sometimes in lonely -places halting to rest the pony. The moral force my master (as I must -now call him) put upon himself to avoid the wayside taverns, is the -most convincing proof of his tenacity. - -At last, a thicker darkness descended upon me, lying there in hopeless -apathy, and night and sleep stretched their shroud over my miseries. - -I awoke to rough movement and the sound of voices. My master was -carrying me into a little ill-lighted cottage, which stood solitary -upon the edge of a common. Sharp and brilliant, at no great distance, -in a soughing night, sparkled the first lamps of a town. - -I was borne into a tiny room, where something, covered with a cloth, -lay stretched upon a rickety table. My master put me to the ground, -and stood back to regard me. Another man, an expressionless sweep like -himself, but gaunt and bent-shouldered, joined silent issue in this -scrutiny. - -“Well,” said the latter at length, “they’ll fit right enow; but damn -the exchange!” - -He stopped to cough rendingly; then went on-- - -“If you mean a deal, I’m game for half a bull, and there’s my word on -it. But burn them duds, Johnny! I won’t take the risk on ’em.” - -My master considered. - -“Mayhap you’re right,” said he. “Call it done.” - -The words were hardly out of his mouth before the other had jerked the -cloth from the table. And there underneath lay the dead stiff body of -a little sooty boy. His hands were griped at his chest, as if in agony -of its œdematous swelling, and his bared eyeballs and teeth were as -white as porcelain. - -I could not cry out, or do anything but stare in horror, while the -gaunt man, with some show of persuasion, began to strip the little -body of its coat and vest and trousers--all its poor harness. Then, in -a sickness beyond words, I comprehended. I was to be made exchange, -for these foul vestments, my own pretty silken toilet. - -“Come along, Georgy,” wheedled his late master. “You wouldn’t be so -unhandsome as to deny a lady, and she doing you honour to accept of -them.” - -He rolled the body gently from side to side, so coaxingly forceful and -intent, that someone, bursting in upon him at the moment, took him -completely by surprise. - -It was a wretchedly clad woman, with resinous blots of eyes in a -hungry face, and a little black moustache over a toothless -mouth--strange contrast!--that was never more still than a crab’s. - -“So he’s dead, you dog!” she cried, seeming to feed on the words; “and -you druv him to his death; and may God wither you!” - -The bent man jumped, like a vulture, from the body, and hopped and -dodged, keeping it between him and the woman. - -“You took the odds!” he cried, coughing, and kneading his cracking -knuckles together, “you took the odds, and you mustn’t cry out like a -woman if they gone agen ye. I did no more’n my duty, as the Lord hears -me!” - -“Both on us,” said the woman. “Well, speak out!” - -“He stuck,” said the sweep. “He stuck beyond reason. It were a good -ten-inch square, for all it were a draw-in bend. I were forced to -smoke him; but his lungs were that crowded, there was no loosening the -pore critter till they bust and let him down. He were a good boy, and -worth a deal to me.” - -“That’s true,” put in my master. “A man, though he _be_ a flue-faker, -don’t cut off his nose to spite his face, missus.” - -She made no answer, staring fixedly at the corpse. - -“He were my seventh,” she said. “He made no cry when you come and took -him away from me--a yellow-haired devil. Did he cry for his mammy, -chokin’ up in the dark there?” - -“No,” said the man--“an unnat’ral son!” - -She threw up her hands with a frightful gesture. - -“I could have borne it if he had--I could have borne it, and cut my -throat. What were you doing with him?” - -The sweep hesitated; but my master took the word from him. - -“It’s a question of his slops, missus.” (He jerked a thumb over his -shoulder at me, where I stood in the background paralysed with -terror.) “Half a bull or nothing, and you and him to share.” - -The woman put her arms akimbo. - -“Ho, indeed!” she said. “And where does _he_ come in?” - -“It’s my own smalls,” swore the man, excited and truculent at once. “I -won’t bate an inch of ’em, if I’m to die for it.” - -They were facing each other across the body like tom cats, when my -master pulled his friend aside, and whispered in his ear. - -“Amongst ladies and gentlemen,” said he, and waited, smiling and oily, -while the other fetched a black bottle from a cupboard. The woman -visibly relaxed at the sight of this. Its owner uncorked it, and -putting it to his mouth, gurgled, and smacked his black lips. - -“The deal passes!” cried my master; and he snatched the bottle, and -handed it to the woman with an ingratiatory smile. - -It was the psychologic moment, which loosened and harmonised their -tongues. They waxed confiding and genial. Presently the woman, -commissioned politely to effect my transformation, swaggered across to -me with devil-daring eyes, and began roughly to pull off my clothes. - -“Damn you!” she said, with such a heat and violence of hate that my -very sobs were withered in my throat. “Come up, you young limb! What -the deuce! We’ll cry quits for my Georgy when the black smoke finishes -your ladyship.” - -She never had had a doubt of the meaning of my presence in that vile -den, but my beauty and refinement and helplessness were only so many -goads to her implacability. Her fingers were like rakes in my tender -flesh. She would have torn me with her teeth, I believe, if any had -been left to her. And I could only shrink and shiver under her hands, -terrified if they wrung so much as a gasp from me. - -When I was stripped, she seized a blunt dinner knife, and sawed off -all my golden hair close to my head, a horrible experience. The tears -gushed silent down my cheeks. They might have moved the heart of a -wolf. - -“There!” she said, when finished; “chuck us the duds!” and as she -received them, scrubbed my face with the filthy tatters before she -vested me in them. - -I had hoped, perhaps, until thus hopelessly transformed; and then, at -once, I hoped no more. _Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’ entrate_--I -was behind the bars; I wore the devil’s livery. O, my Alcide! Pity -this poor little Proserpine so ravished from her Plains of Enna. - - - - - III. - I ESCAPE - -Hast thou the nerve to follow me, my friend? My martyrdom was -severe, but, after all, brief. Comfort thyself with the thought of the -brilliant moth which is to emerge from this sad chrysalis. - -My master was an itinerant sweep. He jogged from town to village and -from village to town in his little cart, an untaxed Bohemian, and -carried me always with him. I had wild weepings at first, and frantic -schemes of escape, and fits of sullen rebellion; but they were all -persuaded out of me presently by his thick black hand. Then, as the -past grew obscured behind me in ever-densifying clouds of soot, I came -by degrees provisionally reconciled to my destiny, and even--canst -thou believe it?--to some enjoyment of its compensations. - -These were its changefulness, its irresponsibility, its little -adventures, that always had our bodily solace for their end. We -pilfered orchards, snatched an occasional fat duckling from a pond, -smoked hives at night and carried away the dripping comb to eat under -warm ricks in the moonlight. And I had little to complain of -ill-treatment, except when engaged professionally. My master’s ample -receptivities laughed and grew fat on self-indulgence. Liquor made -him, to my good fortune, beatifically helpless; rich meats, paternally -benevolent, and even poetical. It was only in business that he -chastised, with a large and incorruptible immorality. - -I learned the jargon more readily than I did the practice of my -abominable trade. My first ascent of a chimney was a hideous -experience--an ascent into hell, reversing all geographical orthodoxy. -But my particular devil was a Moloch, who would either be served by -exaltation or vindicate his majesty in smoke and fire. He was -diplomatic to put me through my first paces, so to speak, in a -dismantled vicarage that was in preparation for a new tenant. He -simply thrust an iron scraper into my hand, and, with the briefest -directions, drove me up. I was refractory, of course; and at that, -without wordy persuasion, he lit a brand of tow and applied it to my -bare ankles. The pain made me scream and writhe, as he had -philosophically counted upon its doing. Involuntarily I found myself -ascending the flue, as an awn of barley travels up inside one’s -sleeve. The very ease of it made me rebel, and I stopped. Immediately -the brand below, flaring at the end of a stick, was lifted to spur me. -Frenzied and sobbing, I felt its hot rowel, and struggled on. The -soot, with which the chimney was choked, began to fall upon me, half -stifling, and filling my pockets. Then self-preservation, the great -mother, recalled to me my directions. I looked up, and saw a far eye -of light denoting freedom, and I began desperately to scrape clear my -passage towards it, letting always the black raff descend between my -knees before I rose to take its place. The eye enlarged, and with it -grew the dawn of a strange new enthusiasm. I rose to it, like a fish -to the angle, as my master had calculated I should. These fiends bait -their hooks with heaven. - -Suddenly, the last feet were conquered, and I emerged, and saw below -me a beautiful village prospect of trees and homesteads. - -Did I then sit there and weep? On the contrary, I was radiant. Account -for it, thou _fripon_, as thou wilt. Thou knowest, Better the devil to -applaud us than none at all. I swear to thee that, for the moment, I -coveted nothing but my master’s admiring praise. Breathless as I was, -I bent and uttered down the chimney the shrill cry “All up!” as he had -bidden me. A little strained laugh came back, and, with an oath of -distant approval, a command to descend. But at that, oddly enough, the -horror came. I could not stomach the evil pit, with its reeling return -into a night from which I had mounted to heaven. My knees trembled -beneath me. I sat crying and shivering, while my master stormed thin -gusty blasphemy up the flue. At length I remembered my duck-stone. It -was in my trousers pocket, safe in its silver case, which, having -dropped in the cart, I had found again to my delight lying -undiscovered amongst the soot bags. I took it out, let myself down -gingerly to the arm-pits, clutched it tightly in my hand, and sniffed, -but not vigorously. I awoke to find myself sitting on the hearth, and -smiling foolishly into the frightened face of my master. He recovered -himself at the moment I did, and was the implacable martinet again and -at once. - -“Why, you cust little back-slummer!” he said, “to let loose and think -to take a chalk of me like that! I’ll larn your nerves!” - -And he pulled me to my feet, with his hand raised, but thought better -of it, and gave me another chance. Chimney after chimney I must mount, -till, fagged and heart-broken, I stood rebellious against his -extremest persuasion, and he was obliged, with at least a few healing -words of commendation, to postpone the finish of his job. - -So began this terror of my new life, and so fortunately ended within a -period that was not stretched beyond my endurance. - -In this phase of it, after the first, there were no compensations, but -only degrees of misery. If my master had ever thought to make capital -out of my restoration, he soon abandoned the idea as impracticable, -and devoted all his persuasion to turning me, after the inhuman -methods of his class, to his best profit. Once I stuck tight in one of -those clogged “draw-in bends” which had been fatal to my predecessor. -I could move no way, and in my struggles, a little crossed stay of -iron, fixed in the chimney, so pressed upon my breast as almost to -stop my heart. I was in a dreadful condition of terror and suffering, -and in the midst he lit some damp straw on the hearth to smoke me -down. The fumes took away my senses, and so, perhaps flattening the -resistance of my lungs, released me. But I was in a sort of conscious -delirium for days afterwards. Sometimes, where he had got the worst of -a housewife’s bargaining, he would shout to me, working two-thirds up, -“Pike the lew, boy!” which, in sweep’s jargon, meant, Leave the job -unfinished, to spite the old slut! And then I would descend at once. -Sometimes, where a cluster of flues ran into one shaft, I would come -down into the wrong room, causing consternation amongst its inmates. -But, through all, the idea of escape was very early a dead passion in -me, so utterly in soot and sexlessness was I lost to any sense of -self-identity. - -So, always homeless, always enslaved, always wandering, I was one day, -some nine months after my abduction, come with my master into the -neighbourhood of Streatham, which is a little rural suburb of London, -reclaimed, with other contiguous hamlets, from the thick woods and -gipsy-haunted commons of that part of the country. For some days past -we had moved, unhurriedly as was our wont, through an atmosphere -charged with a curious nervous excitement. Housewives, avoiding -contact with us, as with possibly compromising emissaries of ill-omen, -had vanished into their cottages as we came near; tavern cronies, -grouped at tap-doors, were to be seen looking citywards, until dark, -tramping up the long white roads, drove them within with unreasonable -frights of shapeless things approaching. Then, sure enough, the night -horizon grew patched with flaring cressets, and we learned that London -was in the hands of a No-Popery mob. - -Its area of destruction spreading like an unchecked ink-blot, and we -moving to meet it, brought us presently involved in the fringe of the -disorder. Protestant Dulwich had sent its contingent to help petition -Parliament against the legalising of the poor harried Catholics, and -had got its warrant, as it chose to consider, for an anti-Romish -crusade. And for that, whether right or wrong, I, at least, owe it -gratitude. - -We were rolling one afternoon along a certain Knight’s Hill or road -which skirted a stretch of common, when we came upon a great inn, -called The Horns, where was a considerable concourse of people -assembled, all in blue cockades, and buzzing like a hive about to -swarm. The word most in the mouths of this draff was Pope, which at -first we took to mean the Vicar of Rome, but soon understood for the -name of a young Jesuit who was lately come as chaplain to a Catholic -family of the neighbourhood. Now, such insolent defiance of the penal -laws was not to be tolerated, and so the loyal Protestant burghers of -Dulwich were going, with no disrespect to the family, to cast down its -graven images, and hang up its chaplain for a scarecrow to all -propagandists who should venture out of the Holy See into our tight -little island. And here they were gathered to organise themselves, the -process taking good account of malt liquors; and hence, when they -moved off, we, to cut the story short, accompanied them walking, -foreseeing some prospect of “swag” in the crusade. - -Going in a pretty compact body, with a great deal of howling and -hymning, such as that with which all conscripts, either of the cross -or guillotine, are accustomed to stimulate one another’s courage and -vanity, we crossed a Croksted Lane, and again a sweep of wild heath, -that spread towards the dense forests called Northwood, which fill all -that shallow valley from Sydenham Wells on the north to Penge Common -on the south. And presently coming to the trees, and entering a wide, -elegant clearing amidst them, where the woods were banked behind, and -the ground dropped towards us in terraces, on the highest we saw the -house standing, a great sunny block of brick and stone, but shuttered -now, and apparently lifeless. - -The mob at first knocked on the door with a diffidence inspired of its -varnished and portly exclusiveness; but, provoking no response, -presently grew bolder and more clamorous. Still, I believe, its -fervour would ultimately have wasted itself on this inflexible -barrier, had not my master, with some disgusted expressions of -contempt, come to the front and taunted it on to a violence the more -vicious because it was shamefaced. Under his stimulus, then, the -panels were beginning to crack, when in a moment the bolts flew, and -there stood in the opening a little sinister fellow in grey, who asked -us, curt and ironic, our business. - -All but my master fell back before him, though there were some broken -cries touching the Scarlet Woman, which the sweep took up. - -The little man wrinkled his little acrid nose. He was nobody, it -turned out, but the Scotch steward, holding staunch to his post; but -he was cut and coloured like steel. - -“D’ye ask here for your doxy?” he said. “Go back, man, and look where -you left her in the tavern.” - -The sweep, only half understanding, spat out a mouthful of oaths. - -“We want that there Pope!” he roared. “Bring us to the black devil, -you.” - -“After you, sir,” answered the other politely. - -My master, looking horribly ugly, repeated his demand. - -“Well,” said the steward, “this is fair humours, Newcastle asking for -coals!” - -The words were hardly out of him, when my master smote him down, and -pushed into the house. He gave a little quiver, like unstrung wire, -and lay senseless, the red running from his nostrils. - -_Mon chéri_, hast thou ever seen a pack of mongrels snarl aloof, -fearful and agitated, about a dog-fight, and in a moment break in with -coward teeth upon the conquered? So over the body of the steward -trampled this rabble, blooded now at another’s expense, and reckless -in its consciousness of self-irresponsibility. They had found a -champion to take the onus of this, and all worse that might happen, -off their shoulders. - -But they were destined to discover no further chestnuts for their -catspaw. The Jesuit had fled, it appeared, with the rest of the -family; and so they must content themselves with wrecking the private -chapel, where the household was wont to practise its treasonable -rites. - -Now, my master, who was eager after spoil, sweating and toiling in the -thick of the press, left me unguardedly to my own devices; and -suddenly I found myself quite alone in a closet hung with vestments, -where there was a fireplace with an open bricked hearth, having no -signs of usage, which immediately, from habit, caught my attention. -And straight, at last, God, pitiful to His poor little derelict, -touched the cross on my breast, and quickened inspiration in that -where I had supposed all was dead. I slid into the chimney, and went -up, up, like an eel in a well rising for air. The sounds of -destruction grew attenuated beneath me; I smelt life and freedom, and -swarmed faster in my agony to attain them. The chimney, clean as at -its building, let down no token of my passage by it, and in a few -moments I emerged from the summit, and, tumbling into the cleft of a -long double roof--found myself face to face with a man who was there -before me. - - - - - IV. - I FALL INTO THE HANDS OF A COLLECTOR - -At least I call him a man; but O, my Alcide, he was a marionnette! -His joints creaked. All the bran in his body seemed to have been -shaken down into his calves. His hat supported itself on his ears and -the top of his coat collar. His sleeves were sacks. His nose was -nothing but a wen, and being no better adapted to the burden of some -enormous spectacles he wore, had led his fingers to an incessant trick -of adjusting those in their place. He carried under his arm an immense -folio, with which, as I appeared, he aimed an agitated blow at me, -only to miss and fall forward on his face on the roof. - -I instantly dodged past him, and stood panting while he collected -himself. His glasses, without which he was helpless, had flown off, -and I saw his eyes, which before had seemed to fill the whole field of -the great lenses, mere swollen slits, like a pig’s. He groped about in -the utmost consternation as he knelt, pawing the tiles for his lost -property. - -“Who are you? Wait! I’ll be with you,” he ejaculated excitedly, as his -bony hands swept the roof. - -I backed out of their reach without replying. - -At last he found what he sought, and fitting the rims to his nose, -rose to his feet and stared at me. - -“Hey, what!” he said--“a sweep! Well!”--and blew out a rumbling grunt, -which he checked suddenly, as if he had turned a cock on it. - -A moment after, he put his hand into his pocket, and fetching out a -dirty fragment of biscuit, held it to me persuasively, as one might -lure a colt. Seeing, however, that I still held away from him, he -threw the biscuit down in a pet, and stood to canvass me in a baleful -manner. - -“What do you want?” he snapped out suddenly. “How did you find your -way here?” - -Still with my eyes on him, I answered, in a husky whisper-- - -“Don’t you know? Up the closet chimney.” - -“Ay,” he said, dropping his own voice in tacit response to the warning -in mine, “but not to sweep it?” - -“No,” I said; “to escape by it.” - -His hand went up to his glasses. He glared at me through their -restored focus. - -Watchful of him, lest, before I could explain, he should silence me -provisionally with some stunning blow, I ventured to approach him a -little nearer. - -“There’s killing,” I whispered, “going on down there--a poor old man -in a grey coat.” - -He started violently, and pulling his jaw down, uttered a sort of -mechanical crow, and let it go again. - -“Grey!” he muttered. “It’s the steward, then. He didn’t give _me_ -away, did he?” - -I shook my head dumbly. He was readjusting his glasses to meet the -answer. - -“Ay,” he gulped, swallowing with relief, “poor Mackenzie! And to think -that for all his loyalty he must burn!” - -I whispered, “Why must he?” - -“Because,” he said, “he wasn’t of the faith.” - -This uncouth creature was getting horrible to me. I suppose he read my -repulsion in my face, for his own suddenly grew agitated and menacing. - -“Are you thinking of betraying me?” he said. - -I retreated before him, working my foolish young arms. - -“Keep away!” I cried; “I don’t even know who you are.” - -“O!” he said, and stopped, and was at his spectacles again. Then -suddenly he held up his hand. - -“Hark!” he said. - -I listened. Far and faint below, through the hubbub of destruction -came wafted at intervals the name of the chaplain--Pope--the cynosure -of all this iconoclastic zeal. - -“Yes, it’s you they want,” I said. - -“And you,” he retorted fiercely, “are pointing the way, you little”-- - -“It’s a lie!” I cried vehemently. “I came up here to escape from them, -like you.” - -He looked at me doubtfully. - -“You said you didn’t know who I was.” - -“No more I did,” I protested, “till you told me.” - -“_I_ told you!” he cried. “Humph!” And he glared at me sourly. “Sit -down, then,” he said, “and hold your tongue till I speak to you -again.” - -It was the wise policy, certainly. He squatted himself between me and -the chimney, and we dwelt in silence, while the mob wreaked its blind -vengeance below. I was in a dreadful fright all the time. Every moment -I expected to hear my master’s voice boom up the flue by way of which -I had climbed; and, desperate as I was, I devised the naughty -expedient to curry favour, if necessary, by claiming the credit of -having run this fugitive to bay. It was a base thought, perhaps, -though natural under the stress of the occasion. Chiefly, however, I -regret it because it was uncalled for, and it is aggravating to burden -one’s conscience with unprofitable frailties. The monster I had run -from was never, in point of fact, to cross my path again. Probably, -thinking I had fled from the house, he went hunting counter, and so -put ever a wider interval between us. - -It was not, after all, so very long before the racket of despoliation -down below died away, and we heard the mob clatter from the house, and -go streaming and singing across the common in its retreat. I believe -that, either realising how in my master it had evoked a demon to its -own legal discomfiture, or perhaps frightened by the bugbear of some -reported troop of militia assembling in the neighbourhood, it was -suddenly decided to temper Protestantism with prudence, and so -dissipating itself with great speed and piety, left the building to a -solitude more dense by contrast than before. - -It was not, however, until every whisper and echo had long ceased that -I durst let myself be persuaded of the reality of my reprieve; and -when at last I did, the joy that grew minutely in my heart came near -to upsetting my reason. - -My excitement hungered for something on which to flesh itself. I rose -and went up and down, quickly and softly, in the space left me, -seeking the means to some larger action. Then I saw the great folio -lying discarded on the roof where the chaplain had dropped it, and all -of a sudden felt itching to know what it could contain to tempt this -man to burden himself with its care in so anxious a situation. - -He sat with his face in his hands--or cuffs, rather. He appeared to be -in a sort of uncouth trance. I stole very noiseless by him, and, -unobserved as I supposed, had actually lifted the book, when he -started awake in a moment. - -“Hey!” he cried. “That’s mine!” - -“I was going to bring it to you,” I said. - -He scuttled towards me on his hands and toes, and snatching the book -from me, squatted down, hugging it, and glaring at me in a sort of -dumb malevolence. - -I had no retort for such rudeness. I stood crimsoning under my black a -moment, then, in default of a better answer, began to cry. - -He was not the least moved, the ill-conditioned boor, but he was -disturbed by the noise. - -“Ur-rh!” he bullied. “That’ll do. Do you hear?” - -Indignation gave me decision. I turned my back on him. - -“Where are you going?” he cried. - -I stalked on without a word. - -“No, you don’t!” he said, scrambling up; and he followed and caught -hold of my jacket. - -“Let me go!” I cried, struggling. “My master will be looking for me.” - -“O!” he said, quite suddenly agitated. “Come here and I’ll show you a -picture.” - -I let myself be drawn reluctant. - -“Is it of the Scarlet Woman?” I said. - -He started, and roared, “The Scarlet--!” then, conscious of his -mistake, dropped his voice to a panic whisper. - -“There’s no such moth,” said he. “If you mean _heraclia dominula_, the -scarlet tiger, come and I’ll show you one.” - -He persuaded me to sit by him on the roof slope, and gingerly opened -the book away from me. - -“Don’t touch,” he said. “It’s called _Fasti Sanctorum Naturæ -Cultoribus Proprii_.” - -“Is that Latin?” I asked. - -“Yes,” he growled; but he looked at me rather curiously. “It means The -Naturalist’s Calendar of the Saints. How did you know?” - -“O, I know,” I said. - -He turned some leaves, while scanning me covertly and sourly; and I -exclaimed becomingly over their contents. On each was a picture of a -saint, hastily illuminated, and of many insects most beautifully -coloured after nature. The saints, it is true, were pigmies, and the -moths life size; but it was through the former that this uncivilised -Churchman justified himself in a secular hobby. He was, as I came to -learn presently, a crazy collector of the small game of fields and -hedges, and had only drifted into the Church after a particularly fine -specimen of the Painted Lady, or some such immoral creature. - -I tried to appreciate in order to conciliate him; but I could see that -my flattery was not expert, or perhaps fulsome enough for his taste. -Presently, on the score that my mere neighbourhood threatened the -lustre of his illuminations, he shut the book, and placed it -discontentedly by his side. - -“Did you do it all by yourself?” I asked. - -“Ay,” he grunted. - -“And why did you bring it up here, when”-- - -He smacked his great hand on his knee, interrupting me-- - -“If you haven’t the intelligence to see--sooner part with my blood to -those Vandals! There; let the book alone, and tell me what brought you -here.” - -“I’ve said already--I was escaping from my master.” - -“A master sweep?” - -“Yes.” - -“Now,” he said, “how did you know this was Latin?” - -I hung my head. - -“Come,” he threatened, “you’d best tell me.” - -I was considering what I should do. I reddened excited under my mask, -and rose to my feet again. After all these months of obliteration, a -wonderful thought was beginning to dawn in me--the thought of my sex -as a possible factor in my redemption. For how long, my dear friend, -had I not lost the art to play it for the value of so much as a -sugar-plum? And what was there now to prevent me from reassuming that -charming confidence in men which so disarms them? Alas! it was a vain -recovery here--a waste of art on a material no more responsive to it -than a pulpit hassock. - -“How did you know?” he repeated angrily. - -“Because,” I whispered, blushing, and lingering over the sensation I -felt I was about to produce--“because--Father--I am a little daughter -of the Church.” - -He had been gnawing his knuckles, as he bent his morose brows on me; -and at my words stopped suddenly, his great teeth bared, like a dog -looking up from a bone. - -“I am the child of a great gentleman. I was stolen from my parents,” I -said, and clasped my hands to him. “I am not a boy at all, but a -girl.” - -He leapt up as if I had struck him. - -“How dare you!” he shouted; then, choking, in another hoarse reaction -to panic, “How dare you try to impose upon me!” - -“I’m not!” I cried, in a childish fury of chagrin over his -insensibility. “It’s true, every word. My mother was a Sister of les -Madelonnettes, and I was stolen from her, and I want to be sent back.” - -I did not in truth, save in so far as that way only lay my chance of -restoration to my darling father. But the point was inessential. - -The priest’s eyes, dilated monstrosities, devoured me through their -lenses. - -“Les Madelonnettes--the Magdalens!” he muttered, amazed and frowning. -His hand, caressing his chin, grated on the stubble of it. “Come,” he -said brutally, “I’m an old bird to be caught by chaff. Confess to me, -if you’re a Catholic, you wretched little sinner.” - -I wanted nothing better. This sacrament of penance must convince and -win him. In a moment my young elastic soul had leapt the dark -interlude which divided me from my past, and my little feet were -tripping once more in fancy down the royal prince’s table. I fell on -my knees. - -“Say your Confiteor,” he commanded harshly. - -I repeated it without a mistake. - -“Humph!” said he. “What are you waiting for?” - -I told him my whole story. He listened to it, after the first, -abstractedly, with one eye caressing his abominable book. At the end -he gave me absolution, canvassing me distastefully as he pondered the -penance. Presently he spoke. - -“I order you,” he said, “twenty Ave Marias, and to return to your -master.” - -I jumped to my feet. - -“My master--the sweep!” I cried. - -“Certainly,” he replied stubbornly. “You were obviously the foundling -of Providence, which has elected this honest tradesman to be your -foster-father.” - -“But, my mother?” I choked. - -“It is her judgment,” he said, “to remain and mingle her weeping with -the ashes of this sacrifice, in the hospital of which her crimes have -made her an inmate.” - -He had listened with his elbows, as I supposed. I recognised the -hopelessness of my task. - -“Very well,” I said. “I daresay he has finished with the steward by -now. I will go and tell him what you say”--and I made for the chimney. - -He was after me in a moment, at a gallop. - -“Stop!” he cried. “What do you mean? That your master was one of this -rabble?” - -“One? The worst of them all,” I answered. “It was he knocked down the -poor grey gentleman; and the last I heard of him was crying for you.” - -He released me, to throw up his hands. - -“The intolerance of these heretics!” he cried. “Stop! Don’t go. I -withdraw my pronouncement. You shall name your own penance.” - -I breathed quickly, standing before him. - -“Father, that is soon done. I will go with you.” - -“With me--with me?” he complained, stamping distracted. “Where to?” - -“Anywhere from here,” I pleaded. “You can’t stop. The whole country’s -up, and a second time, if they come, you’ll be caught.” - -Snorting with agitation, he took off his spectacles to wipe them. - -“It’s quite impossible,” he said. “I know of only one asylum beyond, -and that”-- - -With a quick little snatch I ravished the glasses from his hand, and, -running away with them, hid behind a chimney. For a minute or two he -raved round, stumbling, and grabbing at the air, and finally tripped -over his book and subsided, quite prostrate, upon the roof. - -“Little sweep!” he panted, in a trembling voice. “My daughter--child -of Magdalen--where are you?” - -I held my breath; and he went on, in broken sentences-- - -“Come back--give me my glasses--where are you?--I believe all you -say--What! will you give me up, and the Calendar unfinished?” - -Then, as I still did not answer, “Holy saints! The little devil has -hobbled me, and I shall be caught and martyred.”--A longish -pause--“_In manus tuas, Domine, com_-- I wonder if in Paradise--the -scarce copper--h’m!” - -He began to gnaw his knuckles, with a sort of pleased abstraction over -the thought. It would never do. I came out of my hiding. - -“Will you take me with you?” I repeated. - -“O, it’s you?” he cried, with a start. “Where are my glasses?” - -“In my hand.” - -“Will you return them to me?” - -“Will you let me go with you?” - -“Scandalous!” - -“I will carry the book.” - -“Pooh!” - -“I will walk behind.” - -“Pish!” - -“If anything happens to me, then”-- - -“Fah!” he interposed; and then added, “What could happen to you?” - -“Do you suppose I shall stay in these clothes?” I said. “I shall -return to be a girl; and what am I to do then, without someone to -protect and help me back to my parents?” - -“That’s nothing to me,” he said. - -“Good-bye,” said I. - -He scrambled to his feet with a roar: “Give me back my glasses!” - -I stood quite still, making no sound. He thought I had really gone -this time, and began taking little strides hither and thither, and -throwing his arms about. Suddenly he stopped, sweating with agitation. - -“Are you there?” he said. - -I did not answer. He hopped from leg to leg, pulling with one hand at -the other, as if at a tight glove. - -“Child!” he cried, “you’re a good child--a perfect little sweep. You -shall come--do you hear?--if we ever get off this roof. We’ll escape -by the woods--nobody will see us there together--and I can catch some -arguses (_lasiommata ægeria_) that will be in season.” - - - - - V. - I AM CARRIED AWAY AS A SPECIMEN - -The very rudeness of the creature nominated by Fate to be my warden -gave me a feeling of confidence. Here was a shepherd’s dog ugly enough -to frighten away the wolf himself, should he cross us in the shape of -my master. I thrilled to have secured his promise, which, for all his -boorishness, and perhaps because of it, I had faith in. The dark pit -was already half bridged in my foolish young imagination, and I -dreamed of alighting on the farther side--to what? Not, indeed, to the -old melancholy life of the cottage near the Steine. For all my sad -experience, I never entertained that prospect for one moment. I was -but now in my eleventh year, yet some instinct informed me that the -dead--amongst whom, surely, I must be written--should not return if -they would avoid the mortification of home truths; that broken threads -cannot be made one again, and leave no scar. Perhaps the spirit of -vagabondage even had entered a little into my blood. In any case, it -was the breezy security of my father’s, not my mother’s, protection to -which I hurried in thought, with this reverent cur for escort. - -As for him, accounting for his presence on the roof, he growled out to -me once after this, in order to still my inquisitive importunity, -while I still held the spectacles in pledge, that he had indeed taken -the alarm that morning, with the rest of the family to whom he was -spiritual director; but that, remembering his book left behind, he had -insisted upon quitting the general flight and returning for it--with -what awkward results for the steward had appeared, though, as a fact, -I believe the poor man recovered later. Now, I was to understand, he -had the intention, if he could make good his escape, to seek asylum, -while the storm blew over, with a lady, a co-religionist and -connection of his patrons, who lived distant a two days’ journey on -foot. And so, having grudgingly informed me, he subsided into his -unsavoury self, and would speak no more. - -I did not much care, once being put in possession of the facts and the -chances they afforded me. No one, it was evident, guessed at our -retreat; and, for the rest, I was content to bide my time, and the -opportunity I foresaw of impressing even this dull animal with a -revelation of the pretty romance he had undertaken to squire. - -Evening fell, and we were still sitting there. Not a footstep sounded -in the house beneath us; not a voice but the birds’ came from the -garden. Presently, emboldened by the quiet, I went softly climbing and -investigating, finding the trap-door by way of which the chaplain had -ascended, and peeping between the gables and over the roof ridges. So -far as I could see, nothing human was stirring in all the placid -demesne. The sundial on the lawn, the arbour in the corner, the brook -embroidering the low trees, like a ribbon run through lace, were -things inanimate in a painted picture. But there was something in -their voiceless watchfulness that made me long to open the door, as it -were, and run into the air. I was not born, like my mother, for -cloisteral seclusions. - -I was passing my companion once soft-footed, when he startled me by -demanding, suddenly and savagely, “What’s your name?” - -“Diana, please,” I answered, in a flutter. - -“_Diana--Please!_” he protested crossly. “Fah! Diana Please don’t -please”--and he subsided into himself again. - -But he had christened me. I had gone lacking nothing but a name of my -own hitherto and here was one given me, apt and pat. From that moment -I became Diana Please. - -The very sense of its possession made me forward. - -“Aren’t we safe now?” I said, “or are you going to stop here all -night?” - -He looked up at me hurriedly, and, scowling, motioned me away from -him. Then, without a word, he snatched his book, rose, and striding to -the trap-door, began to descend. I followed him closely. The way led -by a flight of steps in the walls to a cupboard under the main stairs -where they rose from the hall. We emerged from darkness into a wide -echoing twilight. For the first time the thought of my master secreted -somewhere, watchful and waiting for me, sent my spirits reeling. I -slunk against the wall. - -“Where was it?” demanded my companion brusquely. - -I stared at him. He stamped his foot, so that the noise resounded -horribly through the empty house. - -“The steward!” he cried. “Where did they leave him?” - -“By the door,” I whispered, trembling--“out there.” - -It was still ajar. He hurried to it, looked out, went out, returned -after a minute or two, and slammed the oak thunderously. - -“There are trails of blood down the steps. He has been removed, or has -removed himself,” he said, and began immediately to ascend the stairs. - -“O, where are you going?” I cried fearfully. - -“To bed,” he snapped. - -“To bed!” - -I clung to his coat-tails. There was a sort of nightmare struggle -between us, up as far as the first landing. There he rent himself -away, and, leaving me sprawling, banged and locked himself into a -room. I crouched on the mat outside, sobbing and imploring. “What am I -to do? Where am I to go?” - -He answered not a word to my pleading. Presently I heard him snoring, -and--would you believe it?--the gross carnival of sound was heavenly -music in my ears. In all that vast loneliness it was my only human -stay and comfort. O, my Alcide! To think of thy Diane owing her reason -to the grunting of a hog. - -It was a terrible night. I dared not move--scarcely breathe. But fear -and exhaustion at last overcame me, and I slept. - -I awoke to sweet, soundless daylight. The look and smell of sunshine -restored me in a moment to myself. I had not been disturbed. The house -was utterly abandoned. I arose, resolved at once to put into effect -the plan I had formed. A little memory of something I had noticed -yesterday was urging me. I fled softly upstairs. Signs of the raid met -me at every turn: broken crucifixes, torn vestments, scattered -Hosts--up and down they lay, trodden into dirty rubbish by the -swarming footsteps. There had been, I believe, no secular looting, -unless, as was probable, by my master, who would be sure, on that -account, to have withdrawn himself remote from consequences. I had -nothing to fear from him. I looked for a room where I had seen some -children’s clothes scattered, and finding it still undisturbed, -quickly selected from among the litter the simplest outfit I could -adapt in mind to my figure. - -A common watch lay ticking on a table. I examined it--scarce five -o’clock--lingered, hesitated, and left it where it was. I had not yet -come to thieve, even had it been less bulky for my juvenile fob. -Hastily I snatched soap and towels from a washing-stand, and holding -the clothes so as not to soil them against my own, stole out. There -was not water enough in all the house for my cleansing. My spirit -rushed to the little river I had seen gleaming under the trees. - -At the back of the hall I found a low window, unlatched it, and -dropped into the garden. A light fog was spread abroad, which, -dripping from the trees, alarmed me with a thought of unseen things -moving near. But presently a bird piped close above my head, with a -note of reassurance, and I slipped on and made my way stealthily -towards the river until I heard it gurgling; and in a moment later I -came upon it. - -There, with only the wild things in the grass to scare my modesty, I -made my bath. The ecstasy of it, as all that foul husk slipped off, -and was carried from me down the stream! The joy to recover my -near-forgotten self, the thing of pink and pearl, from its long -mourning! The wonder, and the strangeness of that reincarnation to a -maturer estate! I was not, like the Sleeping Beauty, to renew my old, -but to awake to a newer self--a different from the Diana from whom I -had departed nine months before. It seemed incredible; and still when -I was washed as white as a lamb, I must sluice, and relather, and -sluice again, to convince myself that no stain of my horrible livery -remained. Then, at last, I came out, and dried and dressed myself -hurriedly; and so, being secure, sat awhile on the bank to let my hair -sun. It had never been but roughly clipped since that first cruel -shearing, and now was down to my collar, thick and golden. I could see -it in the water glass, when I bent over, reflected like a dim glory, -and I nodded and laughed to the picture in my delight, and was only -sorry presently to bind it about gipsy fashion with the silk -handkerchief I had brought down with me for the purpose. But time was -moving, and so must I be. I rose, and returned to the house. - -I heard a shuffling on the stairs as I re-entered by the window, and -in a moment, tripping lightly, came upon Father Pope descending. He -had his great book under his arm, and he tiptoed with a sort of scared -effort to hush the creaking of his tell-tale shoes. He gave a guilty -start on seeing me standing smiling before him, and stumbled and -caught himself erect by the banisters, frowning at me. - -I did not speak. I stood dumbly to let him canvass the transformation; -but the creature had no nerve of sentiment in all his dull anatomy. - -“What do you want?” he said; “who are you?” - -I could see he only fenced with the truth to recover himself. I -dropped him a pretty little curtsey. - -“Diana, please,” I said. - -I was in trepidation that he would deny me, as I was convinced he had -designed to give me the slip; and, though for policy’s sake I must -propitiate him, I hated the creature for his treachery. But, despite -his being a Jesuit, he was too crude a wit for the double part. - -“Humph!” he growled. “I was wondering what had become of you,”--which, -no doubt, was true enough. - -He glowered at me dislikingly; then bidding me wait for him, stalked -off into the gloom of passages, from which he presently re-emerged -with a bagful of bread and biscuit ends which he had collected. - -“I have no money,” he said. “You must manage with your share of these -or nothing. If you look for better, it must be out of my company.” - -“What does for you, will do for me, Father,” I said meekly; but -nothing would disarm his churlishness. - -“That’s a matter of opinion,” said he. “I could do very well without -you, to begin with.” - -I dropped my eyes. - -“Now, then, bestir yourself,” he bullied. “If you’re to come at all, -come before the world’s awake.” - -He strode off, and I followed, through shuttered glooms, and along -silent corridors to a distant part of the building, emerging from a -door in which we found ourselves in a close shrubbery-walk going up -towards woods. Very soon the comforting screen of trees was about us, -and the peril of watchful enemies surpassed. We pushed on without rest -or pause. My spirit and my feet danced together. It was all so free -and fragrant, and the rapture of my new emancipation was like a second -sight. Fays and sweet things seemed to melt before me round green -corners, or overhead among the branches, leaving a scent of the -unknown world in their footsteps. I sang low, I laughed to the birds, -I seemed incapable of weariness. And, indeed, my late training served -me in good stead, for this clerical Caliban had no mercy on my tender -limbs. He desired only the least excuse to shake me off, and I would -not gratify him with one. - -All day he led me south by wood and common, avoiding the living places -where men were like to be alert on the new Crusade. We hardly -exchanged a word, as he swung on with the gait of a camel; but in the -end it was he who succumbed first. The weight of his great folio -crushed him--that is the truth. He called a halt in an unfrequented -copse, and flung himself exhausted on the grass. - -“Go, find yourself a lodging,” he said. “I will sleep here.” - -I did not dare cross him. I crept away; but only so far as a low thorn -tree, mounting into which I could easily hold him in view. But I need -not have feared. The poor wretch was sunk in fatigue, and incapable of -further effort. He had an odious night, I am sure, while I, from my -late habits, slept as securely as in an arm-chair. - -Early next morning we were afoot again. My companion, mouldy-cheeked -and limping, greeted me with a scowl. - -“What have I not suffered of humiliation as a priest,” he said, “to -have thee breathing in the same wood!” - -The world must have been an insufficient dormitory to this misogynist. - -At noon, having wandered for hours through forest so green, so -profound, that its deer-haunted vistas seemed the very byways to the -infinite, we came out suddenly, when half faint with toil and hunger, -upon the foot of a low hill, on whose summit was a queer octagonal -stone tower, crowned with a dome like a pepper-box. My companion -sputtered anathema upon seeing it, and stood stock still. - -“What is it, Father?” I whispered, creeping up to him. - -“We’ve overshot the mark, that’s all,” he growled, conceding a point -to civility. “Here’s Shole beyond; and I aimed at no farther than -Wellcot-Herring. Well, we must go over as the shortest way,” and he -began to mount the slope. - -I followed him, emboldened to ask, “What’s this we’re coming to?” - -“Rupert’s Folly,” he answered viciously. “Old Lousy’s spy-house.” - -“What’s he?” I asked. - -He gave a rude laugh. - -“He’s an itch on the skin of my lord that he can’t scratch away;” and, -with these coarse, enigmatic words, he motioned me to fall behind. - -The tower sprouted clean from the grass. Reaching and skirting it, I -had occasion barely to notice a figure seated under a low door against -its farther angle, before the liveliest prospect below engaged all my -attention. The hill went down on this side into a wide valley, in the -midst of whose trees and pastures, dominating a tiny village with -forge and tavern, stood a great old house of grey stone. On the green -before, as we could see, was a merry-making: sports, and dancing, and -long tables spread, and a vast broaching of casks. And the villagers -in their ribbons were all there, so that my eyes and my heart danced -to see them. - -But my companion stood looking down with a most venomous expression. - -“Fah! A nest of heretics!” he muttered. “What golden calf are they met -to worship?” - -“The red herring’s spawn, good sir,” said the voice of the creature -behind us. I turned and stared at him for the first time. He sat -sucking at a long pipe at the open door of the tower--the filthiest -little scrub you could imagine. His face was like old crumpled -parchment, his crafty eyes floated in rheum, and he scratched a dusty -tag of beard down upon his breast as he leered at us. - -“What! Lousy John,” said the priest. “Is it our heir of all the -Herrings come of age?” - -“Ay,” said the old wretch. “Nephew Salted. You know him? Ay, ay. You -should be the man Pope, of course, by your rudeness? Go down to your -whore of Babylon, sir. She mingles with yonder company.” - -“You’d have me into the range of your burning-glass, hey?” said the -priest, with a snort between laughter and contempt. - -The other smoked on unperturbed. - -“All in good time, priest,” he said. “I’m not for anticipatin’ the -devil. Is that his scriptures you’re a-carryin’ to propagate?” - -My companion uttered a furious exclamation, and, hugging his book, -shuffled out of range. Most like a woman, he could not bear to have -his spiteful humour returned upon him. - -I understood nothing of all this, of course, and was standing -bewildered, when the old obscenity beckoned me. - -“See,” he said, taking his pipe from his mouth and pointing with the -scarlet tongue of it: “a beautiful landscape, ain’t it?” - -“Yes,” I faltered. - -“Ah!” said he. “I’ll tell you--just you, mind. I don’t take a-many -into my confidence. It’s the beauty of pain, child; a local -inflammation in the system.” - -I murmured something, and he chuckled. - -“They call this tower ‘Rupert’s Folly,’” he said privately; “and I -laugh, settin’ up here in my shell. D’ye think they’d laugh too, if -they guessed where the smut came from that blasted of their crops?” - -“From you?” I whispered. - -He bent over, and pointed upwards. For the first time I noticed that -the muzzle of a telescope projected from the little dome on the roof. -While I was gazing, I suddenly felt my wrist in the clutch of his -apish claw. - -“Hush!” he said. “It’s there I gathers my star-powder, and discharges -it where I will. I’m Briareus, the last of the Uranids, left behind to -rack the world to all eternity for its presumption.” - -He let me go, squinting and nodding at me. I backed from him in -horror. Nothing was plain to me but that here was one of those -astrologic demons who delight to bring heaven close that they may -measure our remoteness from it, and to cast away poor souls amidst the -eternal silences. That he seemed to rave was nothing. Such inhumanity -is in itself a madness. - -“Ay,” he chuckled, hugging himself in a secret way, “you didn’t expect -that, did you? You must be a god to lust in pain. Why, lord, child! -the earth would be drab all over but for its galls and breakings. See -where I’ve set a withered crop among the green; see where I’ve teased -the soil to scarlet--a blazing core of fever. I know the World, the -wanton. So long as she can cover her cancer with a ribbon, she’ll -smile. By and by I shall set a spark to the west, and burn up the -day’s rubbish. Look when the sun drops, and you’ll see it a little -point of white, and afterwards a bonfire.” - -I backed still farther. - -“Lord!” he cried, doubling with laughter, “what headaches I’ve -projected into their beer-barrels down there! What poison laid on the -lasses’ lips! I shall have some fine incense of sufferin’ risin’ to me -to-morrow! What, you’re goin’, are you? Down into the fire, hey? A -pretty little faggot to mend its blazin’!” And he kneaded his hands -rapturously between his knees. - -I saw the priest had disappeared over the crest, and, half crying, -pursued him. He turned on me angrily as I came up. - -“Now,” said he, adjusting his spectacles to glare through them, “if -that old carrion speaks truth, I come to an end with you.” He gripped -my shoulder. “Hold your tongue, d’you hear? Not a word of us till we -find out how the land lies.” - -He dropped his hold, on a sudden thought, to my elbow, and, with a -muttered menace, marched me down the hill. - -At the bottom, in a little lane, with hedges to screen it from the -view beyond, we came unexpectedly upon a lady gathering wild flowers. -She started violently upon observing my companion, and dropped her -nosegay. He accosted her, with a manner of gruff civility, and here it -was somehow that, as they broke into talk of an urgent nature, we got -separated. - - - - - VI. - I AM “PINNED OUT” - -The festivities were to celebrate the majority of the Viscount -Salted, only son to Hardrough, fourth Earl of Herring, Baron Rowe of -Shole and Wellcot-Herring, Warden of the Cinque Ports, and official -Verderer of the Forest of Down. The Lady Sophia Rowe, aunt to the -young gentleman, had driven over from Wellcot--her estate in tail -female, and distant from Shole by road seven miles--to lend her -saintly countenance to the gathering, and it was she whom Father Pope, -steering his course erroneously for Shole instead of Wellcot-Herring, -had fortuitously encountered culling wild flowers in her brother’s -lordlier demesne. - -The Lady Sophia was, unlike her orthodox kinsman, a convert to the -Catholic from the Established Church, and within her limits, and -because of them, a zealous fanatic. In her one saw acutely -demonstrated the denaturalising power of creed. Gentle as a dove by -temperament, there was no crime but self-destruction which she would -not have gloried in to justify hers. She would have thought the world -well lost to save her own soul, colourless as that dear little article -was. Though she was modesty incarnate, her self-importance in this -respect was amazing. She schemed through all the virtues for the -apotheosis of Lady Sophia, and she called her scheming the vindication -of truth, which she held to be a Romish monopoly. She would have made -me a nun, as part of it, and taken all the credit with Heaven. I can -hardly regret that she was foiled. I love truth as well as any woman, -only, being a woman, _à contre-cœur_, and not a saint, for me it -must be coloured, and in the newest shades. To ask me to love it for -its own sake is to ask me to be a dowd; and, for all my respect for -Lady Sophia, I have never fancied a heaven of dowds. - -When we alighted on her, she was by great good chance withdrawn from -her company, and communing with Nature for relaxation. Flowers, to -her, were sanctified of the altar, so bringing her faith and her -inclinations into line. She was terribly agitated over her encounter -with Father Pope, whom she knew, and over his peril, which she -exaggerated. The shock of intolerance was hardly extended to Shole; -but she had heard, by private despatch, of her Dulwich kinsfolk’s -flight, and of the chaplain’s eccentric desertion, and all the day had -tormented herself with fears of the fate which he had invited to -befall him. Now, while they were engaged in earnest discussion, -eschewing for the moment all thought of me, I was driven by curiosity -to steal down the lane, till, through a gap in the hedge, I was able -to observe at close hand the lively scene that was enacting on the -green below. - -It had certainly looked prettier from the hill. I saw links of -red-faced oafs sway roaring across the turf, and whip themselves in -mere drunken impulse about any mock-bashful hoyden who stood, feigning -unconsciousness, in their path. I saw blowzed, over-fed women, -dragging squalling babies, struggle vainly to be included in the -amorous capture, and when they failed or were ignored, vindicate their -outraged respectability in coarse recriminations. I saw farmers, -seated under trees, weep fuddled tears because they could hold no -more, and stuffed children, crying for nothing so much as breath. I -had been drawn, as was natural to me, by the bait of gaiety and life, -and this was my reward. The ground between the booths was strewed with -trampled fragments of bread and meat, and sodden with rejected ale. It -was a fair, with all the licence of a day gathered into an hour. - -I don’t know how long I had been standing, absorbed in contemplation -of this Gehenna, and of the stately mansion across the green, on whose -terraces a gay company, gathered to see the beasts feed, was clearly -distinguishable, when a sound of hoofs coming up the lane behind me -brought me to myself; and almost immediately three horsemen, with very -flushed faces, rode into view, and, perceiving me, halted. One was a -fox-featured gentleman, in fulvous cloth; one, good-humoured and -quiet, wore a grey coat; and the third was resplendent all over, and -as drunk as Chloe. He, at the first sight of me, tumbled rather than -dismounted from his horse, and, forsaking the reins, which the grey -gentleman caught, came staggering upon me. - -“Hey, my vitals!” he lisped, “whom the devil have we here?” - -He was quite young, and like a pretty toy, with a spangled coat in the -Maccaroni Club style, a great bow at his neck, and ribbons to his -knees. But he frightened me with the stare in his glazed eyes; and as -he advanced, I backed into the hedge. - -“I was only looking,” I fluttered. “I didn’t mean any harm. Please let -me go.” - -“Harm!” he exclaimed, with a tipsy crow. “O, but you’re trespassing, -missy, and must give an hic-count of yourself. Come ’long, now, before -my lord.” - -I saw the eldest of the three regarding us from his saddle with a sort -of mordant humour, and the sudden recognition of his state made my -heart leap. Red, and lank-jawed, and vicious, he sat watching us as a -fox might watch his cub negotiating the helpless struggles of a lamb. -He always had a fine appetite for such occasions, and could sin very -sweetly by proxy, could Hardrough. - -“Wounds, my lord!” cried the boy, “is this a larsh surprise for me -you’ve ’ranged? Besh preshent of all the day. Come cock-horse, child, -and we’ll kiss a-riding.” - -He put an arm about me. For all my distress, the musky contact of him, -so precious after my long degradation, seemed half to drug me from -resistance. I struggled feebly to push him away. - -“Get on with your gallophic,” said he, addressing his companions -knowingly. “I’ll follerer by-m-by.” - -“Come, Salted,” cried the grey gentleman suddenly, in a laughing, -half-vexed way. “Remember what’s due to your guests, child, now and to -be. Come along and ride yourself sober, as you engaged.” - -“Shober, nunky! shober, you cake!” sputtered the fool. “Shober ’nough -yourself to wa’t me go on and break my neck--hey, my lord?” - -He leered tipsily to the earl his father, who grinned, and blinked his -red eyes. - -“Let him be, George,” said the nobleman. “Damme, the boy’s not fit to -ride a broomstick. You’re precious anxious for the gipsy, brother. I’d -as lief you was concerned for your nephew.” - -“And so I am,” says the other hotly. “’Tis foul so to take advantage -of a stranger and a child. Call your cub off, sir,” says he, “if I’m -not to take a whip to him.” - -He gathered his reins in, and twitched his heels. He was bronzed and -comely, a man of thirty or so, younger by ten years than the earl. He, -the latter, had turned quite white. A frost seemed to have pinched his -cheeks. In another moment, I believe, he would have drawn his -riding-switch across the handsome face, but in that moment I was aware -of a lady hurrying up, and I broke from my captor, and fled to meet -her. - -“Help me!” I cried. “Don’t let him hurt me!” - -She received me very kindly. She was a tall and colourless figure, -gentle in mien but with a bad complexion--the lady, in short, in whose -company I had left Father Pope. - -“Hardwick! George!” she whispered, in an outraged voice. - -The earl pushed up to her, with a snigger. - -“There, Sophy,” said he. “What are you doin’ here? But I’m glad you’ve -come. Is this here your protégée? Well, take the little baggage -away, that was near bringing us to words about her.” - -“Words!” she said. “This child!” - -“O,” he exclaimed, “that’s all one! Come, boy!” - -She detained him some minutes, murmuring to him as he bent down. At -the end he rose, grinning at me. - -“What!” says he--“the sly old crow! Be sure the little sweep wasn’t -fathered by a black cassock before you adopt her.” - -She started back, flushing scarlet. - -“Hardrough!” she said; “I ask you to go on.” - -“Well, I will,” said he, with a little breathless laugh, “and carry -your secret, sister, safe in my keepin’.” - -He half wheeled, and in an ironic voice summoned the young viscount. -The boy got to his horse as sulky as sin. In another minute the three -gentlemen were ridden out of sight. - -The moment they had disappeared the lady turned to me. - -“Why didn’t you keep by your friend?” she asked, rather sharply. “From -what he tells me, you are in need of one.” - -I hung my head and broke into sobs. She was softened immediately. - -“There,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be harsh; but discretion was so -necessary. Will you come with me--I am the Lady Sophia Rowe--and we -can discuss your case in safety at home? But every instant means -peril, and we must hasten.” - -I suffered her to hurry me up the lane. Her gait took no grace from -urgency, being awkward as with most over-tall women, and the worse to -view because she was reckless how she raised her skirts. In a little -we came round a curve that swept beyond the limits of the green; and -here, under some trees, we found her coach, which had been ordered -round earlier, with the priest and his great folio ensconced glowering -in it. In a moment we were in, and rolling along quiet country roads. -The noise of the fairing died behind us. The world of new peace and -beatitude lay before. For seven miles we sped soberly on, deeper and -deeper into the pleasant hush, that was broken only by the incessant -confidential murmuring of my companions. - -At last, taking a road high above a little village bowered in trees, -we turned between beautiful scrolled gates into a drive that seemed to -me to pierce gardens as enchanting as the hanging ones of Babylon. -There were soft lawns and placid groves of timber, with lofty -rookeries. There were vivid parterres, and terraces stooping to blue -depths, wheredown a little silver brook bubbled through mists of -foliage. There were rose bowers, and great jars, like Plenty’s horn, -brimming petunias. There was a mossy fountain, with lilies and -goldfish, and a baby Triton in the midst spurting a jet to heaven. -There were grassy walks, and beyond their vistas the eternal solace of -distance. And, dominating all, there was the house. - -At least it seemed less to command than to partake of the serenity of -which it was the habitable nucleus--the human nest in the garden. It -stood before us, not suddenly, but in quiet revelation, a simple old -structure of red brick, unlaboured with ornament, unweighted of stone, -a pleasant home for happiness set on a wide level platform of grass -and gravel. My eyes had hardly accepted it before my heart. - -We alighted into a fragrant hall, and madam led me at once into a -large low room with windows bent upon a heavenly prospect of woods and -meadows; and there, bidding me await her until she could come and talk -with me, shut me in, and withdrew. - -I had not stood many minutes, in a silent dream of wonder and -expectation, when the door opened softly again, and a little girl -stole in. She was about my own age, or somewhat older, and very dark -and pretty, but with foolish large eyes like a dog’s. For some moments -she stared at me, wondering, without a smile, then came and touched my -hand. - -“Madam sent me,” she said. “I live here. I am her adoption child. Are -you come to stay?” - -I shook my head, bewildered. - -“O,” she whispered, “I hope so. I have no little friend at all, and -you are so pretty.” - -“I have golden hair,” I said. “We can’t all be the same. But yours at -least is very curly. What is your name?” - -“Patience Grant,” she said. “My mother died in the convent, and I have -no father. I am not allowed to play with the village children. What is -_your_ name?” - -I told her “Diana Please.” - -“It is a nice name,” she said. “Did _your_ mother too die in the -convent? I am very happy here, but I shall be happier if you come.” - -Lady Sophia had entered softly while she spoke. - -“Hush, Patty!” said she, with a smile. “And run away now.” - -The child went, looking wistfully back. _Ah, mignonnette, ma petite à -jamais mémorable, toi que j’aime sans discontinuer!_ How wert thou to -me from the first the most attached of little dogs! - -Madam drew me into a window, and looked earnestly into my eyes. As she -held me, Father Pope entered and stood near, my morose and baleful -inquisitor. - -“Do you like my home?” she said, in her level, toneless voice. The -labour of lifting it seemed always constitutionally beyond her. - -I clasped my hands. “O, madam,” I said, “I could be a very good -Catholic here!” - -She smiled, in a surprised way, then looked grave. I waited in a fever -of expectation for her to speak again. I had already decided that I -would wish to be adopted like Patience, in whom I seemed to foresee a -little adoring vassal, so welcome after my own long slavery, and that -I must be adroit to gain my point. Brighthelmston, with its -questionable potentialities, had darkened in contrast with this -paradise. I felt even that it would not be good for me to return -there; that I was destined for a virtuous, if not a devout life. It is -no contradiction that I had not thought so an hour before. Our moral -development is intermittent. Its phases of growth are inspirations of -adaptation to circumstance. A fever made of Francis of Assisi a saint -out of a profligate. These high lawns had revealed to me the pit from -which I had escaped. - -Lady Sophia looked very sweet and grave. - -“Or anywhere, I hope,” she said. “Faith is not a question of -surroundings.” - -I was not so sure of that; but I held my tongue, hanging my head. - -“Let me see your face,” she insisted, and put her thin hand under my -chin. - -“It is a pretty and an innocent one,” she declared. “How came you, -child, in the position in which Father Pope found you?” - -I told her how I had been stolen by the sweep, and had escaped from -him rather than seem to concur in the violence offered to my religion. - -“It was an ingenious and a courageous act,” she said, gently kindling; -“was it not, Father?” - -The bear snorted, dissent or commendation--it was all one. - -“Ask her about her mother,” he growled. - -“True,” said the lady, with a gesture of involuntary repulsion, for -which she the moment after atoned with a caress. - -“She had been a Sister in the Hospital of St. Magdalen, Father Pope -tells me,” she said very low. “She had returned there to expiate -her--her”-- - -“No,” I broke in. - -“You told me so,” roared the priest. - -“I didn’t,” I said, half crying. “You were looking at your book all -the time I confessed.” - -Madame Sophia could not restrain a smile. - -“Fie, Father!” she said. “I admit it does not sound the least probable -part of the child’s experiences.” - -But she sobered again in a moment. - -“She did not return?” she asked. “Then”-- - -“She is dead,” I whispered. - -After all, I believed it was true; that she could not have survived -the wreck of all things which my abduction must have meant to her. The -gentlewoman gave a gasp of pity and self-rebuke, and enfolded me in -her arms. - -“Forgive me!” she cried. “O, I was cruel! The poor lost lamb! So -white, so helpless, so delivered to the wolves! But”--she bethought -herself--“where was this?-- And your unhappy father?” - -“He had taken me to Brighthelmston,” I stammered; “he was not of our -religion--of any. He made me dance before the pretty prince, and would -have given me to him, but that the sweep whom he fought stole me out -of revenge first.” - -The priest and the lady exchanged looks. - -“Am I justified?” she asked. “The peril, the iniquity! O, surely, -Father--surely!” - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -“Write to the Magdalens first,” said he, “and verify it.” - -She thought a little, then addressed me again. - -“And if I do, would you like to make your home here in the meantime, -Diana?” - -The strain had been very severe. I fell on my knees before her, -weeping. I knew, from what my governess had once told me, that les -Madelonnettes must confirm the worst of my story. - -“O, madam,” I cried, “if you would train me in goodness and piety!” - -She kissed me, then looked up, her immobile face quite transfigured. - -“Perhaps,” she thrilled, “some day, perhaps some day to fill the place -and vindicate the vows of the poor weak apostate who gave you life!” - -“Write to the Magdalens,” growled Father Pope. - - - - - VII. - I AM PUT AWAY IN CAMPHOR - -I cannot hold Lady Sophia altogether irresponsible for the loss to -the Calendar of a very promising saint. I entered Wellcot enthusiastic -to devote the rest of my days to the practices of piety and -self-renunciation, and I was moved to this resolve not least by the -example my benefactress seemed to offer me of the most perfect -detachment from the world. Alas! I was too soon to realise how the -chaste aloofness of a mind may mean only a vanity so sensitive, and an -irritability so nervous, as for ever to be on their defence against -unwarranted approaches. I had thought her serenely above the -littlenesses of life; and all the time she only sat on a level with -them, but apart, in alarm lest her moral distinction should be held to -justify familiarities with her social. The folded wings of piety may -be used to conceal some uncelestial humours. I had supposed, at least, -that passion was the remotest from her temperament; and there even I -was wrong, as you shall learn. - -She wrote, in accordance with Father Pope’s advice, to the Superioress -of the sisterhood to which my mother had belonged. I confess, for all -my confidence, I awaited the answer in some trepidation. It fulfilled, -however, when it came, my best expectations. The charitable Mother -confirmed the story of her former postulant’s recreancy and flight -with a profligate man of fashion--whither, she had never concerned -herself to inquire. The woman, in leaving the convent gates, she said, -had died to her--to all, save the lord of hell, who, she was rejoiced -now to hear, had so soon claimed and secured his own. She would -command a Magnificat that night in praise of the eternal chastity; and -there her interest in the matter ended. She wrote in French, with much -Pharisaic unction, which betrayed, nevertheless, its underlying gall. -Madam quoted to me only so much (I found an opportunity later to read -the whole) as appeared to justify her in the course upon which she was -resolved--my present adoption, that was to say, by her, for the sake -of my soul. I was becomingly meek and grateful in placing myself -unreservedly in her hands; and in this manner began my -self-obliterating martyrdom of five long years in the placid nunnery -of Wellcot. - -For a time I was very happy, until a ripening intelligence revealed to -me by degrees the limitations of my moral and material surroundings. I -have no intention to detail the processes of that growth. I can -hardly, indeed, claim an independent life until detached from its dull -experiences. It is enough here briefly to review them. - -My first warning disillusionment was the knowledge, to my infinite -disgust, that Father Pope was to remain a permanency in the asylum to -which accident had translated him. Whether his former patrons seized -this opportunity--in the first reactionary days after riot--to rid -themselves of an ungainly incubus, or whether--which is more -probable--he himself manœuvred for transference to new -hunting-grounds, not of souls, but grubs, I do not know. Anyhow, his -baggage being his book, the change was easy, and at Wellcot he -remained, titular chaplain to the Lady Sophia, but positive to a -community of nuns across the valley, who were her most cherished -protégées, and to whose ranks I, in the first blind fervour of my -redemption, unprovisionally dedicated myself. - -I had not been long settled before, speculating on the relationship -between Shole and Wellcot-Herring, I began to wonder if I was destined -ever to see again the young gentleman who had so insulted me. Perhaps, -I thought, I might help by my example, and even persuasion, to wean -him from his evil courses. However, the opportunity was not to be -given me, as it appeared he was not sufficiently in love with his -aunt’s ways to pay her even the periodic courtesy of a visit. But his -father the earl came occasionally, and from him I was bent upon -discovering whether or not my image was entirely effaced from the -son’s remembrance. - -Happening to meet him alone in the gardens one day, I was actually -emboldened to beg him to convey a message from me to the viscount that -I forgave him. - -He stopped, and looked at me with admiration; then took my chin in his -hand. - -“I shall do nothing of the sort, Miss Presumption,” he said, in his -thin, ironic voice. “But I’m not so particular for myself. You shall -give me all of your confidences that you like.” - -“Thank you,” I said saucily; “I will choose a handsomer to fill the -place of my papa.” - -“Was he so handsome?” says he, grinning. - -“He was the most beautiful man in the world,” I answered. - -“Well, I can believe it,” he said. “But not so handsome as my brother -George, hey?” - -“Fifty thousand times,” I said. - -“And fifty thousand times better?” - -“I don’t know. He was good enough for me.” - -“That I can well believe,” he chuckled; then took a turn or two and -came back. - -“Harkee, missy,” says he, “I’m not going to peach on you, whatever you -say, so you can be as free as air with me. Only promise not to make me -jealous of my own son, and we’ll be fast friends some day.” And with a -laugh, he left me. - -I hated him instinctively, and longed for the time when I could set my -wits to discompose him. He was a widower, and socially and politically -a man of bad character; and it should have been madam’s duty to see -that we were not brought into contact. But she could conceive no evil -of the head of her house. - -The brother, the good one, came near us no more than the viscount; -which, nevertheless, did not trouble me, because I owed him a debt, -and he was too poor in purse and reputation to expect me to liquidate -it. Little Patty, after her manner, loved this unfortunate, whom she -had seen often in former days, before his character went over some -racing transaction, which ruined him and made him shy of his -familiars. Her loyalty was proof against the worst. Where she was -pledged, she never dropped away, and her heart had the truest instinct -for finding and attaching itself to what was lovable in another. She -adored nobility of mind, and was always my most faithful little -adherent. I came early to discover that her origin was none of the -most select, and on this account, perhaps, condescended to her more -than I should. She repaid me with a blind devotion and admiration -which were sometimes more affecting than diplomatic; and, before I had -been at Wellcot a year, would have followed me at a word to shame or -death, in very despite of her duty to her patroness. But by then, I -think, she was coming with me to recognise certain flaws in the -character of her former divinity. - -It was from her in the first instance that I learned all that she knew -of the family history: How my lord was a brute and libertine, who had -done his wife to death, and was hated and feared of all, unless, -perhaps, by the old dirty astrologer on the hill, who was his kinsman -and Naboth and defier in one, holding the “Folly” in fee simple, as he -did, from a scientific ancestor, and persistently refusing to be -coaxed or bought out of it. How my lady, as pious as her brother was -worldly, had embraced the Romish doctrine many years before, and had -not scrupled, on the Jesuit principle, to procure herself through his -most questionable political relations a virtual exemption from the -penalties which attached to the open exercise of her religion. How, -trading on this connection, she had planted in Wellcot-Herring a -community of the “Sisters of Perpetual Invocation,” whose munificent -patroness and dupe (Heaven forgive me! They were certainly very -plausible little sybarites) she had constituted herself. How the -honourable Mr. Rowe, his lordship’s younger brother, was suspected of -royal blood in his veins, and was only spared the scandal of proof so -long as his nephew, the Viscount Salted, kept him out of the -succession. How, in fine,--and this was where my interest was most -intimately engaged,--her ladyship had once had an _affaire de cœur_ -with a Mr. de Crespigny, an artist, who came to paint her portrait, -and who left it on the canvas half finished, being given, it was -whispered, his congé in reluctant return for his insensibility to the -proselytising advances of his sitter. - -From little Patty I extracted all this _chronique scandaleuse_, and if -she enlightened me in her own inimitable bashful way, blundering -prettily on the truth out of innocence, I was not so backward even -then as to be imposed upon by half-revelations, or to refrain from -construing them on my own account into the language of experience. - -And so I entered on my new life, having, to endear its strangeness, -and soon, alas! its monotony to me, the most loving, simple-minded -little comrade one might imagine. From the first my position, like my -friend’s, was undefined. We were not adopted daughters, or servants, -or companions to madam, but a sort of pious pensioners on her bounty. -She claimed some personal menial duties of us, which might be likened -to those exacted of ladies of a royal bed-chamber. As was befitting -with so great a princess, we might approach and handle her, but -reverently as one might uncover a reliquary of sanctified bones. And, -indeed, she was little else. For myself, I did not much care. My eyes -and ears served me for all her case, howsoever little of her intimacy -was vouchsafed me. - -I often put her to bed after supper and prayers, when she would love -to engage me in little drony dialectics on faith. We had amicable -contests of wit, God save me! on the qualities which endeared our -favourite saints to us. I observed that the male beatitudes were her -choice. Her room was hung with as many “Fathers” as a fribble’s is -with Madonnas of the opera-house. The ways of piety are strange. I was -no _dévote_, alas! like madam, yet I should have been abashed to go -to bed in such company. - -But, indeed, there was no disputing with her principles. Faith was her -covering argument in everything. She wore it like a garment, -high-necked and impenetrable; only, to my taste, it was none the more -becoming for being fitted over broken stay-bones. Then, too, she moved -so stately by faith, that I had often speculated why her heels should -be trodden over, until I discovered that she had bandy legs. Truly -faith, like charity, covers a multitude of sins. I attribute it to her -that mine came so soon to be in myself. I have never had reason to be -ashamed of anything it hid; only instinct tells me to be more -particular about my garters than my scapular. If the Lady Susannah -Rowe had found herself being spied upon by the Elders, she would have -snatched and donned the latter, and had complete faith in its shelter. -That may be grace, but it is not graceful, I think. Since the first -mother started the fashions, there has been every obligation on us to -consult appearances; and I at least, though never more worldly than -the most, have persistently declined to let Faith make an ostrich of -me. - -She used often to send me to the convent across the valley with -messages to the nuns; and I was early in discovering that I was the -more welcomed by them when a little offering of fowls or hothouse -grapes accompanied me. Then I could gain indulgences as many as I -wanted for my peccadilloes--up to twenty at least for a couple of fat -gallinas--and perhaps rather presumed upon my purgatory in -consequence. - -This community was a praying order and eternally vowed from washing, -as a personal indelicacy; or from stepping beyond its convent gates, -as a first _faux pas_ into the world; or from ministering to any needs -but its own; or, in short, from being of any practical use on the -earth whatever, save as an authorised agency for the distribution of -“indulgences.” A natural consequence of all of which was that it grew -to be a very pot-bellied little community, as tight-skinned and ruddy -as the pears on its own south wall, and, through its Superioress, as -knowing a judge as any of old port and early asparagus. The bell that -prostrated it on its fat little knees to Angelus was the same that -rang it to dinner. The throat of the thing was hoarse with the steam -of rich pasties and salmis of game that rose from the convent kitchen -hard by. It had mushroom pits and a peach-hung pleasaunce, and, -indeed, by the help of my lady, was altogether as epicurean a little -company for saints’ feast days as could be gathered. The devil, it is -certain, sets up his tent in an empty stomach. He would have found -close quarters, as was proper, in the Convent of Perpetual Invocation. -I will say for the Sisters that I never heard a cross word among them. - -Now, to have the command of indulgences, for feast days, and for -dispensations from fast, in such a neat little paradise as theirs, -seemed to me at the first a very desirable thing. Only I hoped that by -the time I was ripe for the novitiate, the chaplain would have been -replaced by one more personable. The Mother had, in common decency, to -undertake to instruct me and Patty by and by in the articles of our -creed, and Father Pope, complete gentleman, to conduct our secular -finishing. We never saw any other man, except village chawbacons and, -at rare intervals, the foxy earl. It was a deadly life. I could not -have endured it but for the society of my sweet little _adoratrice_. -She grew up the dearest thing, with the face of a Christian -shepherdess. One saw lambs, not babies, in her eyes. Holding her -little kind hand in memory, I pass over four years of this -self-obliteration, until I awaken to find myself in my seventeenth -year. - - - - - VIII. - I MEET MR. NOEL DE CRESPIGNY - -Life without the male element is worse than being limited to shop -windows for the fashions. We can read with patience in a nunnery of -the modes, but not of marrying and giving in marriage. Still, I will -ask any candid critic to judge if an utmost desperation could have -induced me to a conduct, with an accusation of which madam inaugurated -the series of misunderstandings which came to arise between us--an -attempted corruption of Father Pope, to wit! The whole truth of this -fantastic invention is as follows. - -When I was near fifteen I had begun to grow troubled in my conscience -as to my Confirmation. How could I face the cloister, an uncertified -soldier of my creed? The chaplain had seemed kinder to me of late; or -perhaps it would be truer to say, less bearishly unapproachable. To be -sure, he could not always be adamant to the natural graces it was his -business to help adorn. And, in proportion as he relaxed, I was moved -to conciliate him with fifty little winning attentions, to which he -could not be altogether insensible. I found plausible excuses for his -confounding entomology with theology, citing the “little Bedesman of -Christ” in vindication of the Nature God. I learned to rear clammy -grubs in pots of earth, that I might surprise him with the -results--beautiful winged creatures which I likened to the souls -emancipated under his tutelage. I discovered, or invented, a hundred -symbols for his hagiology. I sewed buttons on his coat, and brushed -his great hat, with actual reverence for the moth which had settled in -it from the brain below. Was it my fault if the ridiculous creature -misconstrued all these little wistful _égards_? I sought my way only -by him, as one might propitiate a surly but indispensable guide, and -in my utter innocence took his morose silences, and the scowling -suspicion which grew in his eyes, for some late dawn of sympathy, some -increased consideration, if not tenderness, towards the pupil whom he -was conscious of his heart having maligned. How cruelly my trust was -abused, will show in an interview to which madam unexpectedly summoned -me. - -“Diana,” she said--she was seated knitting a comforter for the monster -himself, and her lips, as she bent over her work, had a mechanical but -rather shaky smile on them--“have you a daughter’s regard for our good -chaplain?” - -“O yes, madam!” I answered, wondering what was to come. - -“Yet it is not a daughter’s part to indite love sonnets to her -Father,” she said steadily, without looking up. - -I stared, and flushed, and burst into tears. She also reddened, and -produced a paper from her pocket. - -“Is this yours?” she demanded. “He found it slipped into his breviary. -It appears to me to bear only one construction.” - -“And what is that, madam?” I asked coldly. My little outbreak had been -mastered as soon as vented. My heart blazed with anger over this -outrageous Cymon in a cassock. - -“I put the question to you,” she said, her thin bosom heaving a -little. “If it is as I suspect, I should blush to name it.” - -“Blush rather for yourself,” I said, in the same chill tone, “to plant -the slander in a young girl’s soul. I will be a Catholic no more.” - -She rose, pale and agitated. - -“Do you know what you say?” she breathed in fear. “_You!_ -self-dedicated to the cloister!” - -“I renounce the pledge!” I cried, in a sudden burst of passion. “I -will no longer believe what Father Pope believes, or confess again to -him anything but lies, since those are what he likes to trade in.” - -“Hush!” she said, aghast at my fury. Her hands trembled, fluttering -the paper. “Hush! Be calm! You say things you cannot mean. God forgive -you the threat of such apostasy!” - -“And you,” I cried, still stormily, “such a witness against a poor -child’s character.” - -“No, no,” she entreated, almost abjectly, “I wish only the truth. -Father Pope wishes only the truth. Tell me frankly, do you recognise -these lines?” - -With a great effort I subdued my emotion, and took the paper frigidly -from her hand. It was folded at the following verse, which I had to -bite my lips, pretending to read:-- - - “Thrice happy she who from thy kindling eye - Shall draw some spark to illuminate her breast, - A wistful wanderer between earth and sky, - With doubts of love’s true haven sore oppressed.” - -“Do you recognise them?” she repeated. - -“Yes, madam,” I acknowledged, looking up between reserve and defiance. - -“You do?” she murmured, taken aback. “And it is your hand?” - -“No, madam,” I answered quietly. “It is Miss Grant’s, but disguised.” - -She echoed the word, at once incredulous, and fearful of exciting -another outbreak by appearing so. - -“Disguised! For what purpose? And to whom addressed?” - -“To me,” I answered. “It was part of a game between us; but we will -play it no more.” - -She echoed in amazement, “A game!” Then asked faintly, “What game?” - -“I was the Hermit of the Rocks,” I said, “and Miss Grant the Princess -Camilla, who wrote to consult me as to her vocation, whether for the -cloister or for marriage with a pious young gentleman.” - -It was an inspiration, which I had no sooner uttered than I feared for -my rashness. But I need not have. Madam, as her slow perceptives -kindled, grew one shine of happy intelligence. - -“A game!” she repeated, smiling holy-motherly over the decorous -innocence of our inventions. “Well, I will say it was a very proper -one, though a little ambiguous in the articles of love to be addressed -to a hermit. But how came it in the chaplain’s book, child?” - -I confessed that I had had the curiosity to read in the Father’s -breviary, and must unwittingly have left the paper there for a marker. -She kissed me then, and, while deprecating my inquisitiveness in -matters which did not concern me, apologised very handsomely, I will -say, for having so traduced me on a shred of evidence. - -“It shall be a lesson to me, and a penance,” she said. “But, child, go -now and retract your wicked recantation, before perhaps the devil -shall claim you to your sin.” - -“It was very hard, madam,” I said, still rebellious. “Why, being -disguised, should Father Pope have decided as of course that the -verses were mine?” - -“Ah!” she said, blushing and embarrassed. “That I do not know--I -think; but little Patty is no genius.” - -The moment I was free, I hurried palpitating to my friend, and -confessed all, and implored her, by the love between us, to play her -part in the little innocent deception I had practised. She gazed at me -with her sweet shocked eyes, as if I were inviting her to murder. - -“You really meant them for him, for Father Pope?” she whispered, half -choking. “O, Diana! It was blasphemy!” - -“It was,” I said, “to waste the Princess Camilla on such a block.” - -Then, as my friend still cried out, I knelt, and took her waist -prisoner in my arms, and begged to her. - -“I am not like you, darling. I pine and pinch in this cold air. If it -was not for you, you little warm thing, I should run away with Giles, -the handsome stable-boy.” - -“Don’t,” she wept. “You don’t mean it. Say you only intended it for a -joke!” - -“Of course I only meant it for a joke,” I said, urging her; “though -it’s true I believed the creature was expecting it of me. But ’tis a -joke that will cost me dear if you don’t back me.” - -“O!” she cried, despairing, “I do, I will. But how can I ever pretend -to have wrote them, when that cat rhymes with lap is the best I know -of verse.” - -“You little dear,” I said, laughing in sheer love of her artlessness. -“Pretend nothing, but hold your tongue.” - -That she would have done for me, I think, though they racked her to -confess; and all might yet have gone well, had not the Lady Sophia, -meddlesome like most self-righteous consciences, sent for her to -question if, after all, her simple verses might not have been the -instinctive expression of _her_ leaning towards the cloister. My poor -transparent angel managed to articulate a panic denial of any such -tendency; though, indeed, there was no need to, to any but a -blindworm. If ever little maid was built for loving, or to lay her -pretty hair in a puddle for some rogue to reach heaven by, it was she. -The sense of guilt would confound her, however; and, what between her -duty to madam and her loyalty to me, she must have answered her -examination so ambiguously as to raise some new doubts and suspicions -in the minds of her inquisitors. - -She flew back to me with very red eyes, and a fresh horror of the -imposition she was forced to practise. - -“I will never, never tell,” she sobbed, “though they tear me to -pieces. But O, Diana! I don’t want to be a nun.” - -I comforted her, though furious with the others for their Jesuitical -practices on her innocence. - -“Wait,” I cried, “and I will pay them both out! What right had they, -after what I said, to try and torture a lie out of you? Don’t fear for -the convent, child. I pledge my word you shall have a husband and -fifty children, nun or no nun.” - -“I want no husband,” she answered, blushing and clinging to me, “and -no lover but you.” - -I have taken pains to record her fond little reply, in view of an -odious charge, once concocted to my injury, of my having traded upon -my friend’s faith in me to rob her heart of its dearest possession. -That, indeed, was, then and always, no less than her loved Diana, of -whom none was ever permitted by her to take precedence. Any sacrifice -which was designed to maintain those mutual relations she thought too -cheap for discussion. - -One result, however, of her “questioning” was that madam’s attitude -towards me was thenceforth marked by a reserve and jealousy which, -inasmuch as I was unconscious of having done anything to merit it, -served only to prejudice me against a religion which could be used for -a cloak to so much hypocrisy. I grew quickly disenamoured of my -supposed vocation, and decided that faith, which seemed largely a -matter of digestion, could be better realised through independence. In -short, in the world I could reach beatitude through twenty -self-indulgences to one in the convent; and, such being the case, and -my constitution perfect, it seemed folly to take the short way. - -Madam seized an early opportunity after this to inquire into my plans -for retiring from the world and taking the veil. I confessed to her, -in reply, that her late suspicions had engendered in me thoughts, a -sense of grievance, inimical to my right contemplation of so momentous -a sacrifice. She was very much shocked and troubled, and recommended -me a stricter observance of all those self-obliterating virtues which -are such a comfort to those who don’t practise them. She rebuked my -pride; she prescribed fasting and discipline and maceration--tortures -which would have killed a dray-man--in order to lower and submit my -system to its final severance from the world. She would have had me at -her mercy before she drove in the knife; only, unluckily for her, my -constitution was impregnable. It flourished equally whether on bread -and water or _vol au vent_; and, finally, she surrendered to it. I -rather liked a little pious game we played, called the Moral Lotto, in -which the discs were sins, and those left uncovered at the end -entailed an obligation on the losers to maintain a particular guard -against the temptations they expressed. Though we all, in the end, -must have been warned through the calendar, from simony to -powder-puffs, I believe the contest was so sanctified to her by -intention that she read a design of Heaven in every missing counter; -and the fact that I generally won, did more than many assurances to -convince her that I was perhaps after all not so black as she had -painted me. - -But, between me and Father Pope, after that little _malentendu_, there -was no quarter asked or given. He treated me with a persistent coarse -rudeness, and I retaliated with all the interest of wit I dared. I -dropped blobs of wax on his spectacles; left his Hagiology open under -a drip from the ceiling; put crumbs of cheese in his cabinets of moth -to tempt the mice in; and confessed his own most obvious sins to him -as mine, for which I accepted furious penances as meekly as a lamb. He -hated me, and I contrived at least to give him a substantial reason -for such an abuse of his cloth. - -Now, I will mention one only other little incident before I pass on to -the subject of this chapter. I was playing in Wellcot attics on a -certain wet afternoon with Patty, when I discovered a locked Bluebeard -chamber. - -“What is it?” I said; but she did not know. I tried the handle; I -peered vainly into the keyhole; finally, I took a pin from my hair, -and contrived a little pick of it. - -“O, what are you going to do?” whispered the child, quite scared. - -“Get in, if I can,” said I. - -“Don’t!” she said, horrified. “If we are shut out, ’tis for a reason.” - -“Of course,” I answered. “And it’s no good looking for it on this side -of the door.” - -She clasped her hands in a little paralysis of curiosity while I -worked. It was a simple lock, and I was successful. As the door swung -open, we saw before us a sky-lit room, wedged under the slope of the -roof, and quite empty save for a framed picture, which leaned to the -wall back outwards. Patty uttered a tiny cry-- - -“O, Diana! It’s the portrait!” - -In a moment, all excitement, we stole in a-tiptoe. The place was very -still and ghostly. Only on the dusty canvas itself lay a melancholy -grid of light. Palpitating in our sense of guilt, we turned the frame -round, let it drop softly back again; and there, before our eyes, -bloomed a smiling, wistful face. The light, which had saddened it in -reverse, was quickened now to an illuminating glory. It greeted and -dimpled to us--the face of a dead woman risen. - -A dead woman. Had she ever lived? I could not believe it, thinking of -that unsympathetic _dévote_ downstairs. - -“Was she _ever_ like that?” I whispered. - -“She was beautiful,” murmured Patty fervently. “I remember him -painting this.” - -“And going away, and leaving it unfinished?” said I: for, indeed, the -portrait was but sketched in, though masterly in its promise. - -“Yes,” said the little girl, gulping. “And I never supposed what had -become of it till now.” - -It seemed incredible, the change that but a few envious years had -wrought. Had love done this thing before me? Or could love forsaken so -warp the loveliness which Love himself had created? It gave me a new -little thrill of respect for the humanised Sophia; because, whatever -the truth of her face, a man had been found to see this beauty in it. - -“She was St. Cecilia,” whispered Patty. “There is the harp in her -lap.” - -It was without strings--an unborn music. Perhaps the Christian lady -had declined to accept a pagan Muse for midwife, and had temporised -with her would-be deliverer, hoping to convert him. If so, she had -played her cards badly. I wondered if the man had been a -fortune-hunter. But in that event Madame Sophia would certainly be -Madame de Crespigny. - -Whatever the case, however, the picture made a deep impression on me, -and from my first moment of seeing it I was haunted by the desire to -become myself the subject of such a master’s devotion. _Ma vue et mes -minauderies firent tout-à-coup tourner la girouette._ For the first -time I felt myself a woman, encumbered with the heavy responsibilities -of her sex. - -One day--it was some eighteen months later--returning from a -commission to the convent, I walked straight into the presence of the -original of the picture and its painter. Yes, that is the truth. He -had run faith at last to earth, it seemed, and, armed with it, was -returned to add the strings to the abortive harp, and perfect the -ancient harmony. I could have thought that, to do so, he had need of -faith indeed; until, looking at madam, I started in sheer wonder. She -was transfigured--rejuvenated. The happiest light--bashful, coy, -defiant, and surrendering its defiance--was in her eyes. She was more -like a wife in the first wonder of motherhood than the starved -_religieuse_ of yesterday. - -And the cause! Ah, my Alcide! The creature rose upon my entrance, and -I could have laughed in the face of my own befooled ideal. I had -thought of Raphael and the Fornarina; and, behold! a slack, -half-drowned-looking figure, with an expression, and conduct of its -limbs, as if it were just risen gasping from a pond--there he stood, -no sort of natural fowl at all, but a freak of genius like a -five-legged calf at a fair. - -“He! he!” giggled he, and held himself as if he were waiting to be -told what to do next. - -He was tall, it is true; and there was a good deal of him, mostly -gnarled bone, if that counted to his credit. His forehead, streaked -with dark hair turning grey, was strong and ample, and in itself -something of a feature; but, mercy! the loose indetermination of his -lower lip, and the way it overhung, foolish and disproportionate as an -elephant’s, the little folded chin! As I stared, too mortified for -manners, he returned my gaze, suddenly startled, it seemed, into a -speechlessness so stertorous that little Patty, who had entered with -and stood behind me, fell back a step in confusion. - -“Ah!” he exclaimed at that, chuckling, “and is hee-ar the little girl -I knew?” - -He spoke, when he did at last, drawlingly, and ended, as was his way, -by wrinkling his thin hooked nose and hee-hawing a little laugh -through it. - -“She is grown, is she not?” said madam, answering for Patty, to whom -he had referred, though indeed his eyes were all the time on me. Her -voice was so changed and soft, I hardly recognised it. - -“She is grown,” he said. “She is become, it appears, a double cherry.” - -“No,” said madam seriously, “the other is a second little foundling of -my care, and destined to God’s--_our_ God’s” (she added -coyly)--“service, de Crespigny.” - -She had no sense of humour, the dear creature. The next moment, -noticing the direction of his gaze, with a little frown she bade us -begone to our books. - -We fled, and, once remote, I turned, with a tragi-hysteric stamp, upon -my companion. - -“Patience! And is that donkey _him_?” - -“It is Mr. Noel de Crespigny,” she said, amazed. “He is not-- O, -Diana, do you really think him”-- - -“Hee-haw!” I broke in, with a little passion of laughter; and then -fury overcame me. - -“How dared she,” I stormed, “how dared she tell him that lie about -me?” - -“What lie?” said poor Patty. - -“Why, to claim me to her worship of a golden ass,” I cried. - -“It was a calf,” said my friend, bewildered. - -I screamed with laughter. - -“O, don’t!” Patty implored. “It really was, Diana.” - -“You dear!” I gasped. “I daresay it was. But he was so badly made, I -couldn’t tell.” - -She followed me upstairs, utterly bewildered. On the landing above we -encountered a strange sight. The picture--_the_ picture--was already -on its way down from the attics. A groom and maid bore it, and the -oddest creature stood above, superintending its resurrection. - -“Gogo!” whispered Patty; “it’s Gogo!” - -I could well believe it of such a monster. - -He was a man, and a huge one, down to his mid-thighs; and there he -ended in a couple of wooden stumps. His face, lapped in a very mask of -red bristle, was as savage as sin; and he growled and rumbled like an -interdicted volcano. - -“Ay,” he thundered, “I’m Gogo, the Dutch tumbler. Who calls me by my -name?” - -Holding with one hand by the banisters, he struck with the strong -stick he carried at the stairs, missed the tread, and was within an -inch of falling. The stick rattled down, and he swung and clung with -both hands to the rail. In an instant, some whimsical impulse sent me -tripping lightly up to help him. - -“Take my arm,” I said, “down to the landing.” - -The giggling servants paused in their task to stare up; but the -monster himself laboured round, with quite a stunned look. - -“To help--_me_,” he whispered hoarsely; “the little scented rush to -prop the oak!” - -I was in love with his changed voice at once. It was something to meet -only two-thirds of a man. - -“No, no,” he said, touching my arm as if it were a relic. “I’m Gogo, -the colour-grinder, the bottle-washer--not worthy to latch your -ladyship’s little shoe. I’ll go down--I’ll go down. Ho-ho! it’s easy. -I’ve done it all my life.” - -While he spoke, the odd creature had descended unaided, and, -recovering his stick, struck his wooden limbs fiercely with it. - -“Do you see?” he cried. “A stiff-kneed dog as ever limped after -Fortune!” - -He flounced upon the servants, and roared them into care of their -charge; then turned again to me, where I stood with my friend, who had -run trembling to my shelter. - -“’Tis our market, ladies,” he said in apology. “I must be particular -in its custody. We deal in new lamps for old; in”-- - -He descended a few steps, then turned again. - -“Ah!” he groaned, tragic and comical in one. “Pity the poor genii who -has to serve; pity him--pity him.” - -He heaved a sigh that would have turned a windmill, and followed the -picture, and disappeared. - -“Patty!” I whispered, when he was gone--“Patty! Lord, Patty! who _is_ -the creature?” - -“I’m terrified of him,” she gulped. “He’s Mr. de Crespigny’s dog, he -calls himself, and follows his master everywhere, loving and growling -at him. He used to say there was no such painter in the world, if he -could be kept to it; but he always frightened me dreadfully. I do hope -they won’t stop long.” - -“H’m!” I said. “And is that queer name all he’s got?” - -“I never heard of another,” she answered. “But anyhow, it suits him.” - -“Yes,” I said--and sighed--“_if_ he only had legs!” - - - - - IX. - I AM COMMITTED TO THE ---- - -I learned, as you shall understand, to readjust my first impression -of de Crespigny. It is certain one must not judge the quality of the -wine by the vessel. He was a great artist, who ran quickly to waste in -the passions evoked of his own conceptions. From the mouth downwards -he was a sensualist, and not fit to trust himself with a fair model. -Shut into a monastery, he would have been a Fra Angelico. - -At the first he captured me, when once I was familiarised with the -ungainly exterior of the creature. To see him work--ardent, engrossed, -unerring in the early enthusiasm of a subject--was a revelation. He -stood so slack, he ran so to moral exhaustion when delivered of his -inspiration, it was impossible to recognise the master of a moment ago -in this invertebrate body with the loose wrists and silly laugh. If he -could only have been kept always at the high pressure of his -conceptions! Sometimes I wondered if it was in me to make him great -and hold him. It would have been splendid to be the Hamilton to this -Romney. Yet in the end I found the game not worth the candle. He was -soft wax, indeed, for seven-eighths of his length, and the littlest -puff from red lips could blow all the flame out of his head. - -Still, while it lasted, his influence over me was an education. His -portfolios were the very minutes of inspiration--suggestions, -impressions of loveliness, caught and recorded and passed by for -others. He finished little, and perhaps would have been a lesser -artist and a stronger man if he could have laboured to consolidate his -dreams. He taught me that not facts, but shadows of facts--the -reflections, most moving, most intimate which they cast--are the real -appeals to the emotions; that there is no landscape so beautiful as -its reflection in a mirror, no chord so pathetic as its silent -vibration in one’s heart. Perhaps the heavens are an eternity of -echoes, of spectral perfumes, of dreams derived from experience, and -we the authors of our own immortality. If so, we should live -passionately who would dream well. - -What this man lacked in nerve and backbone, his strange servant and -comrade supplied, and many times over. He was the oddest -monstrosity--savage in criticism, caustic in humour, a Caliban -bellowing grief and tenderness through hairy lungs. How he could ever -have come to attach himself, and passionately, to so flaccid a -bear-leader, was a problem pure for psychology. Now, at least, the two -were inseparable as-- Ah, my friend! I was on the point of saying as -Valentine and Proteus, but the analogy, I protest, is too poignant; -for have not I too been cruelly declared the Sylvia who divided them? - -The portrait, on that first afternoon, was carried down to a -convenient closet on the ground floor; and there de Crespigny worked -on it, always alone, or in the sole company of his henchman. When -finished for the day, he would invariably lock the canvas into a -press, and none, not even I (there is virtue in that parenthesis), was -permitted to see it. The room was held sacred to him; and madam -herself refrained so religiously from intruding on its privacy as to -evoke, in her guileless trust of the singleness of his conversion, the -very hypocrisy which to her faith was inconceivable. For, indeed, he -converted this closet--which stood safely remote and approached by a -back-stair way--into a sanctuary for deceit. Often, to confess the -whole truth, when she supposed me engrossed in books or the -construction of celestial samplers, was I closeted with de Crespigny -and Gogo, learning to handle a brush, or inspire one, while Patty, -with a code of signals, kept panic watch on the stairs. - -Madam’s exclusion, no doubt, cost her many a patient sigh. She -wondered over the idiosyncrasies of genius, which preferred, or -professed to prefer, to labour its mental impressions rather than toil -to record the living and mechanical pose. Still, it was true, the -Sophia of to-day, however rejuvenated, was scarcely the model of that -older time; and that he could finish that beautiful inspiration from -her staider personality was what it was folly, perhaps, in her to -expect. - -Poor woman! Though I had my grudge, and no taste or reason to -commiserate such vanity, I suffered some qualms of remorse for the -part I was led to play. It is natural, after all, for the sex to see -itself never so immortal as through the eyes of love; and, when a man -has once praised its complexion, to claim for itself an eternity of -roses. - -Father Pope, the old spiritual curmudgeon, never quite credited, I -think, the genuineness of this late conversion. I daresay, from his -experience in the confessional box, he knew his man pretty well, and -the value of such emotional abjurations. The sick devil turned monk -was not to his taste; and, if he ventured to intimate as much, the -coldness which certainly befell between madam and him at this time was -easily to be accounted for. It all amused me hugely; and I felt -delightfully wicked while the fun lasted. But retribution, my friend, -was to overtake your naughty little Diana. - -One day, stealing into the studio, I found Gogo alone, grinding -colours into a little mortar. - -“God ye good e’en, little serpent,” said he. “You can sit and beguile -me for practice till my master comes.” - -“Gogo,” I said, shocked. “Why do you call me by such a name?” - -“Because you are as like Eve as two peas,” growled he. - -“Eve was not a serpent, but a beautiful woman,” I answered, pouting. - -“And so was Lamia; and yet she was a serpent,” he grunted. - -“I don’t know what you mean. You said Eve.” - -“Well, why not?” he replied, turning his red, morose-looking eyes on -me. “Eve accused the serpent of beguilement, didn’t she? and Adam Eve? -But Eve was made out of the man, therefore Adam accused himself. But -Eve accused the serpent; therefore Adam accused the serpent. Yet he -accused Eve; therefore Eve was the serpent, which is what she would, -and will, never understand. O, God bless her! God bless her! Which, if -He would do, blessing the serpent, might unriddle this sinful problem -of life!” - -He set to pounding vigorously with his pestle, and for a minute I -watched him in a bewildered silence. There was always something in -this shorn Cyclops which oddly attracted me. - -“Gogo,” I said quite softly. - -He threw down his pestle at once, and faced round, writhing his hands -together, and glaring at me. - -“Who spoke?” he said, in hoarse, trembling tones. “A voice from the -garden making me in love with my own clown name. O, always so, always -so, thou spirit of Eve; and, though it lost the world to God, I’d take -the apple from thy hand.” - -I laughed a little tremulously, as he stumped across the floor and -stood close before me. The vision of this great storm of a creature, -condemned to play the “comic relief” in the tragedy of his own -manhood, came as near my heart as anything. - -“Look!” he cried, his rugged chest heaving; “I can’t kneel to you, and -I’m your slave. I walk open-eyed, hating and adoring you, into the -toils you spread for our feet. Feet!” he groaned, looking down, with a -despairing gesture. “Perhaps--who knows?--having them, I might have -escaped.” - -“How did you lose them, poor Gogo?” I said. - -“Hating and adoring,” he groaned, unheeding my question, “hating and -adoring. Look, little serpent: I could crush your slender throat for -what you do, and hold on, and sob my soul away to see you die. Why -have you come between us? United, we were strong, he and I. I drove -his genius on, and loved the poor ape for its spark of divinity, and -propped the weak spirit while it wrought. You knock the prop away, you -knock the prop away, and we both fall; and where is _my_ compensation -for the injury?” He clasped his great hands to me: “Give me back my -genius,” he cried in pain, “and let us go.” - -I rose to my feet, half moved and half resentful. - -“It is not I who take him or want him. I will not come here again.” - -As I turned, he barred my way. - -“No,” he said, near sobbing, “I lied. Do what you will with us: make -us angels or swine--I am content, so long as I may serve you.” - -As he spoke, the door opened, and de Crespigny entered. He greeted me -with a rather shifty look, I thought, and his manner seemed too -distraught to affect any particular notice of his servant’s obvious -emotion. - -“O, well, _ma bella_ Unanina,” said he; “but a little sitting for this -afternoon, please.” - -I flushed, and was about to refuse to remain at all, when an imploring -scowl from Gogo softened me. With plenty of hauteur, I stalked into a -little curtained-off alcove which was consecrated to me for -tiring-room, and there dressed for model. When I emerged again, my -feet and arms were bare, my hair loose in a golden fillet, and, for -the rest, I wore a kind of seraph smock, in which _les convenances_ -had been constrained to clothe me for the peerless Una. - -For as Una I was being painted. Looking one day through de Crespigny’s -portfolios, I had come upon some “impressions,” royal, strenuous, of -lions in the Tower menagerie, and was admiring the lithe, strong -darlings, when his voice breathed behind me, with that little eternal -foolish giggle. - -“Have you decided, naughty?” - -“Yes,” I whispered. “I will be the fairy lady whom the lion came to -devour, and remained to serve and protect, because she was so pure and -innocent.” - -He did not know who I meant; so I found him the book and place. - -“Ah, to be sure!” said he, reading eagerly. “She laid her stole aside, -did she? Yes, it is an inspiration. It will suit me, if it does you.” - -So I was painted wonderfully as Una, making my own “stole” from one of -Patty’s bedgowns, and glorying, out of my very shamefacedness, to feed -the inspiration, while it lasted, of this impassioned art. Now, for -days it had wrought without slackening, so that it was an offence to -me to find it suddenly become, it seemed, without apparent cause or -reason, out of tune with its subject. He worked fitfully, dully, -almost, as it were, disregarding my presence, and drawling -commonplaces the while to Gogo, who had returned to his pestle and -mortar, and was grinding away sullenly. - -“Gogo,” he yawned presently, after an idle, preoccupied silence, -“which would you rather marry, a woman of wit or virtue?” - -“Neither, you blattering genius!” cried the other, turning round with -such an instant roar that I was almost frightened off my perch. - -The master, accustomed to his strange fellow’s moods, only laughed, -and leaned back indolent. - -“Why, you old dear?” said he. - -Gogo thundered. - -“She’s a rotten fish at best, shining the more the more corrupt she -is.” - -“But if she don’t shine?” said de Crespigny coolly. - -“Then she’s a dull fish,” said Gogo, “but a fish still.” - -The other mused, and sniggered. - -“--Who’s for ever playing to be caught,” added Gogo, grumbling. “She -loves the angle. Play her what you like, man, only throw her back when -hooked.” - -“Mr. Gogo!” I exclaimed. - -“Ay, Mistress Una,” said he, “you’re all pretty players, from miss to -my lady dowager. Don’t tell me. You all love to excite the emotions -you don’t understand, and then off with you from the stage, sweet -ethereals, to the suppers of steak and porter which you do, while Jack -and my lord are wetting their pillows with tears over your -sensibility.” - -“Thank you,” I said, rising, highly offended. “As I, for one, am not -playing to be hooked, I’ll take your warning in time.” - -I had expected de Crespigny to strike in, in angry protest over his -servant’s insolence; but, to my astonishment, he did not move or -interfere. A little pregnant silence ensued, and the tears were -already rising to my eyes, when, to my horror, I heard madam’s voice -at the door. - -“De Crespigny,” she said, “may I come in for once?” - -He stumbled to his feet, and stood paralysed a moment, before he -answered-- - -“A minute. You know the conditions: I must hide it away, and then”-- - -When she entered a little later, there was he standing to receive her -with a spasmodic grin; his easel was empty, Gogo pounded at his -mortar, and I--I was shrunk behind the curtain, peeping in a very -shiver of terror. - -She looked at him with a little shaky propitiating smile. Her eyes -were red, as if she had been crying. She tried to speak, and could -not. He understood so far, the poor clown, and bade his servant -withdraw. When they were alone, she turned upon him with a little -appealing motion of her hands. - -“Am I never to be allowed to see it?” she asked. - -He frowned, and bit his trembling lip. - -“No, no,” she said, “I know the sensitiveness of your beautiful art. -Only, O, Noel! I cannot rest where we ended just now. Believe me, it -was so far from my wish to offend or alarm you. But time goes on, and -the pledge this finished picture was to redeem is withheld, until I am -at a loss how to explain.” - -“To whom?” he muttered sullenly, “to that priest? O, I know. What -right has he, a grudging Churchman, and you a saint?” - -“O, indeed, I am but a weak woman!” she said, with a faint smile, “and -he an anointed Father. He does right--dear, he does--to be jealous for -his daughter. It is only that he would ask you, that I would ask you, -what period”-- - -“Art is not to be forced,” he interrupted her peevishly. “I made the -finishing of this picture, as it was begun--as it was begun, mind--the -condition of my being received into your Church. Didn’t I, now?” - -“Yes,” she sighed; “but there are some vows better broken.” - -“A bad recommendation to what you call the truth,” he sneered. - -“But, Noel, it _is_ the truth,” she cried. “O, say you are convinced -that it is!” - -“Well, I don’t know,” he answered, “since you bid me to a lie.” - -“I will take the burden,” she cried, her eyes streaming, “to save the -soul I love.” - -She hardly breathed the final word. For a wonder, the poor creature -she entreated found enough in it to move him. - -“There,” he said, “don’t distress yourself, Sophia. I’ll work -hot-handed on the picture to-morrow. There, I promise I will.” - -“Thank you, Noel,” she whispered, so kindling, so grateful, that de -Crespigny shrunk before her. “I--I won’t interrupt you any longer. It -was like you, kind and considerate, not to blame me for breaking your -rule.” - -The room remained so still after her going that I thought he too had -followed, until, stealing out presently in a panic, I found him seated -in a corner, biting his nails. - -“I had better go now, hadn’t I?” I whispered, half choking. - -“Yes,” he growled, “to the devil!” - - - - - X. - I BEWITCH A MONSTER - -On the following morning, going indifferently by the studio, where -was a back way into the grounds, I encountered Gogo. - -“He’s at work on the portrait,” he said, standing moodily against the -room door. “He’ll be at it all day. It’s no good your coming.” - -I tossed my head, vouchsafing no reply, and, singing to myself, passed -on and out. - -The day after, descending the stairs, I observed that the studio door -was left ajar. I laughed, taking no other notice, and went my way into -the garden. - -On the third day, seeing de Crespigny walk out with his Sophia, I -borrowed the opportunity to slip down and investigate. The truth was, -I was devoured with curiosity to learn how madam’s little explosion -had stimulated the artistic verve, and to obtain a glimpse of the -portrait, even, if necessary, by bending myself to the corruption of -my poor infatuated Gogo. But I was to be disappointed, for the room -was empty, and the canvas locked into its press. - -Peering here and there, considerably chagrined, in the hope of -discovering the key, I came, in the alcove, upon the full-sleeved -waistcoat in which the artist usually worked, and, diving eagerly into -the pockets thereof, found, not the key indeed, but some scraps of -paper, much scribbled over, which instantly aroused my curiosity, and, -presently, my amusement. - -“Ho-ho!” thought I, “you are inspired in other than the pictured arts, -are you, my gentleman? A poet, and fainting in the perfume of some -little naughty Mignonette!” - -So he had fancy-named the subject of his agonised Muse; and, indeed, -why should I prevaricate to myself about the application? I blushed a -little, making myself merry over these suffering scrawls and -scratches, of which, I was sure, my own poor little person must be the -victim. I had a face, it seemed, the calendar of innocence; _une bonne -poitrine_; a sweetest little double chin, like a robin’s throat -swelled with song. I put my hand to my neck. I could not but admit -that the poor man had taken a poetic licence; but, in truth, it was a -very example of the licence that was wont to drug his art. The flesh -held his fine imagination in thrall, and laboured his first spiritual -conceptions into Parisian models. He was divine only in his -sketches--impressions. When he wrought to improve upon them, he became -transubstantiated. - -So this was his repentance! He had spent the brief period of it in -painting me in verse, since he was debarred my presence in actuality. -I smiled, reading-- - - “Mignonette, Mignonette, - Of all flowers the pet.” - -and “Indeed!” thought I, tossing my head; “but not _yours_ as yet, -sir!” - -While I studied to disentangle the scribble, I heard breathing near -me, and started to find Gogo regarding me with a cynical, -half-diverted scowl. The creature walked like a cat on carpet. He had -no creaking leather to betray him. - -“So-ho!” growled he; “you can yet blush to be found out by your dog?” - -I laughed, vexed, and a little embarrassed. - -“O,” said he, “never mind! I am honoured in even that little rose of -shame. You won’t grow it long.” - -“Gogo,” I said, “how dare you?” - -“Why,” said he, “as dogs dare, who love without respect, and see no -more harm to serve a thief than a prince.” - -I looked at him a moment, between tears and defiance. - -“You are very unkind,” I said. “What is the good of my confessing -anything to you, if you so distrust me?” - -“Confessing?” said he, “the good? Why, because I have no legs to run -away, and a man’s better judgment is always in his legs. My foolish -heart is nearer the ground than most. Tread on it, thou Circe; and -prove me less than half Ulysses. Confess to me--confess; and I will -stay, and smile--and believe.” - -“No,” I said, recovering my confidence. “I swear not to, unless you -confess first. I asked you the other day how--how you came to lose -them; and you put my question by, sir, and were dreadfully rude into -the bargain. Very well, I am waiting to have you atone by answering -it.” - -I dropped into a chair, and he followed me, and squatted himself on -the floor, a very abortion of passion, yet moving somehow in his -grotesqueness. I kicked off my slippers, and put my feet into his -hands-- - -“There,” I said, “they are tired, Gogo. Soothe them while you talk.” - -He caressed the weariness from them, as gentle as a woman. - -“I am at odds,” he said, in a low great voice, full of emotion, “I am -at odds with what remains of myself. How can I reconcile this with my -loyalty to the poor inspired ape I serve, and love through serving?” - -“How did you come to serve him?” I whispered, half drugged by the -creature’s touch. “You are cleverer than he, better educated, and all -that.” - -“I love,” he groaned, “I have always loved, to find romantic excuses -for the material uglinesses of life; to get a little salt out of its -offences. Who are those who say the visible form is but an expression -of the individual spirit--an internal autocracy shaping itself on the -surface? Poor atomists who cannot feel the pressure of all eternity -moulding them from without! Amidst sordid functions they go groping -for the essence, turning blank faces to the sweet air, the sun in the -trees, the far-drawn winds, the song of birds and scent of flowers, -all the spirit influences which really shape us. The soul ceases at -the portals of the senses. The dross it carries with it alone goes on -and in. _We_ are but so many obstructions in the vast harmony--foreign -bodies which it is for ever striving to penetrate and decompose. It -focuses its burning light upon us; it takes the swimming heavens for -its lens; and we die and are dissolved into it. Only in rare instances -does the process wring from us a fine frenzy, or melt us into song; -and then we see genius--genius, which fools call self-issuing, but -which is really spirit reflected, like heat cast back from a wall.” - -“You odd creature,” I murmured. “You may go on, though I don’t -understand you a bit. Has Mr. de Crespigny been half melted into song? -I shouldn’t be surprised, by his appearance.” - -“Nor do _I_ understand,” he said. “I can find romance in everything -external to man, but I can’t pursue it into his organic tissues. Can -_you_ be so penetrated by it, and yet not perish, or even show one -scar? I think you are immortal, woman; unless it is the genius of -human beauty which you reflect, and which will presently destroy and -annihilate you. Why, then, I would give my own soul to keep you -soulless, you wretched, adorable child.” - -“Gogo!” I protested, too languid to be resentful. - -“Ay!” he said, his voice hoarse with miserable passion. “Let me speak. -It is all the licence I ask. I know my place, if I have grown confused -about my service. What I don’t know is why I, a free spirit, who have -never before truckled to the flesh, should suddenly find myself bound -to it, soul and honour.” - -He bent and kissed the foot he was caressing; then quickly sat up, and -set his strong teeth. - -“You ask me how I came by my hurts,” he said. “Well, listen to the -story of this most laughable butt of Fortune. It is soon told.” - -He passed his hand across his forehead. - -“It has been my doom to serve Nature; to worship her through those -visible concentrations of her light upon individuals whom we call -geniuses. How I discovered too late that her preferences were -arbitrary, fanciful, often unworthy; that her signal gifts could be -used to stultify her own creed of natural faith, natural justice, -natural order, let these witness and call me fool.” - -He jerked up his poor stumps so comically that I could not help -laughing. - -“Ay,” he said, “a tragic prolegomena to the history of a Dutch -tumbler, isn’t it? Well, for the text. It was at Oxford that I met and -worshipped my first genius. He was a man of great family, an inspired -naturalist, an unerring shot and rare sportsman. In those early days -we had already planned an expedition together to the unexplored North -Western ‘Rockies,’ for the purpose of making such a collection of -their flora and fauna as should bring us wealth and reputation. Though -the world of Nature seemed even too cramped a stage for my boundless -lust of life, the prospect of those unspeakable teeming solitudes, -inviting all that was most strenuous in me to conquer, was a certain -solace in itself. My soul sought territory; it seeks it still; and, -though I be what I am, the stars, this poor earth once subdued, still -enter into my plan of campaign. - -“I was not rich. When the time came, I had to realise all my capital -to sail with my friend. We reached, after considerable hardships, the -Athabasca territory, and thence started on our exploration westwards. -I soon found that my comrade, though a genius in comparative analysis -and definition, lacked the physique necessary to the task we had set -ourselves. He was often ailing and querulous, and the gathering of the -specimens practically devolved upon me. Still, we had garnered and -classified a considerable harvest in one of the little settlements of -the Fur Company, before the accident befell which was to deprive me -for ever of the fruits of my devotion. We were one day duck-shooting -over a lake, when the ice broke and my friend was plunged in frozen -water to the knees. His frantic cries brought me hurriedly to his -assistance. By the greatest good fortune a little gravelly shallow had -received us; but, inasmuch as this shelved away acutely on every side, -our desperate scrambles to escape only let us into deeper water. There -was nothing for it but to stay where we were till rescue could reach -us from the shore, and so we set ourselves to endure. Not long, on my -companion’s part. He soon complained that he must die unless relieved. -He was frail and spare, and I only something less than a giant. I took -him first into my arms, then upon my shoulders, designing to hold him -so until succour came. It reached us in the shape of some Indians from -the shore, who pushed a canoe towards us over the ice. But by then I -was stark frozen, and my legs to the knees insensible. By chance there -was an ex-medical student in the settlement, who turned what rough -knowledge of surgery was his to the best account he was able. One of -my legs was mortified beyond recovery; and this he amputated. The -other, after incredible suffering, was saved to me. For weeks, -however, I was kept knocking at death’s door; and, when at length I -could creep from under the shadow, it was to the knowledge of an -anguish more cruel than the other. This man, this genius, whom I had -given so much to save, had deserted me while I lay stricken, and, -carrying with him all the rare accumulations of our enterprise, had -gone south to Vancouver. There was no message left, no consideration -for me in all his vile philosophy of self-interest. It was just a case -of treacherous abandonment. - -“When I was sufficiently recovered, I pursued him by tedious -heart-breaking stages, long months in their accomplishment. I will not -weary you, you thing of thoughtless life, with their particulars. I -was sustained, and only sustained, through all by the thought of -wresting from this scientific egoist an acknowledgment of my share in -the practical success of our expedition. At last, poor, friendless, -crippled, I ran him to earth in London. I found him there, his name -writ famous in the annals of the Royal Society; himself the honoured -recipient of its gold medal; his collection--_our_ collection--already -on view in the hallowed precincts of Crane Street. - -“I faced, and upbraided him with his treachery. He retorted coldly -that he had never considered me but as the servant of his enterprise, -useless to it when once, through my own folly, disabled. I found a -friend, and the affair made a little stir. To my accusations he -answered that he had employed, but had been forced to discard me, -through the irregularity of my habits. Outraged beyond words, I -challenged him; he accepted, and we met at Richmond. His first shot, -aimed with diabolical ingenuity, shattered the bones of my sound knee; -and, in the result, the limb had to be amputated above. When I was -discharged from the hospital, it was to find the exhibition closed, -the town empty, and myself thrust upon it, a helpless, destitute hulk. - -“The friend I have mentioned, humorous and good-natured, came to my -assistance. He commanded some pale interest at Court. By means of it, -he procured me, as an expert naturalist, the post of Royal Ratcatcher, -in succession to a Mr. Gower, who had lately filled the office at a -yearly salary of one hundred pounds. The royal economy, however, -docked me, as only two-thirds of a man, of a third of the sum. I wore -a uniform of scarlet and yellow worsted, with emblematic figures of -rats destroying wheat-sheaves embroidered on it; and in this I stood, -the laughing-stock of the maids of honour, for three years. - -“At the end of that time, having had the misfortune to overlook a rat -which had made its nest in a pair of the Duke of Cumberland’s state -breeches, I was dismissed without a character. Again I applied to my -friend, and was recommended by him, for my scientific attainments, to -a French nobleman, who was troubled by the croaking of frogs in his -ponds, and employed me to whip the water all night with a long wand of -willow that his rest might be undisturbed. But the constant immersion -rotting my stumps, and he refusing to supply me with others, I was -obliged to resign my post, and returned to England. - -“In the meantime, my friend had died of a humour, and I was stranded -entirely without resources. For some time I earned a precarious -livelihood, in my naturalist character, by worming dogs; and again, -one still more precarious, by cleansing ladies’ _toupées_ of the -vermin which long usage engendered in them. It was here, while serving -my master, a wig-maker, that chance brought me acquainted with my -present manner of service. - -“During all this time, I will say, I had never ceased to regard soul -as external to form, or to scout that introspection which is the real -unhappiness. What did it concern me, if I was destroying rats, or -picking fleas out of a poodle? In any case, I was helping Nature to -its freer manifestations on matter, and, in my constant communion with -it, prepared to welcome such rare accidents of genius as might come my -way. My master’s business brought him into frequent relations with the -theatre; and it was thus that I first encountered de Crespigny, who -was at the time acting scene-painter to the new house at Sadler’s -Wells. I had no sooner had the chance to see his work than I -recognised genius, glaring and manifest. He did wonders in a few -touches, that he might idle for an hour. My opportunity was come, and -I entreated him to employ me, in however menial a capacity. He was -touched by my enthusiasm; flattered, perhaps, by my admiration; -persuaded by my strength. He engaged me, first as his assistant; soon -as his nurse and mentor. For years I have helped to direct his career, -have goaded his inspirations, cossetted his weaknesses. Ah, child! He -is _my_ child, made glorious by my faith in him. Do not seduce me from -my allegiance to my child, and for the first time make me out of love -with Nature!” - -He ended with a groan, and flung himself prostrate on the floor, -beating, I think, his forehead against it. - -“Poor Gogo!” I said. “You have confessed; and so will I now. He is my -child too. I adore him, and am so ravished by his art that I could not -rest with thinking what he had made of the portrait. Do you know, -Gogo? I will tell you the truth. I was hunting for the key of the -press when you came in and caught me.” - -He lay, without answering. - -“Won’t you lend it me, Gogo?” I coaxed softly. - -“Thank God,” he muttered, raising his head, “I am tied from the -temptress. It is not in my power, thou Circe. He always carries it -with him.” - - - - - XI. - I ADD THE LAST TOUCH TO A PORTRAIT - -That same night, while undressing, with my room door open for the -heat, I suddenly thought I distinguished an unwonted footstep on the -landing below me, from which Patty’s little chamber led. I listened, -quite still, for some moments; then, the stealthy sounds seeming to -recede into the hall and thence die away, descended cat-footed to the -landing, and, after hearkening an instant, opened her door swiftly and -noiselessly upon my friend. Instantly I knew that the amazed suspicion -which had sprung upon my heart was justified. The child stood before -me, terror in her startled eyes, her dark hair falling upon her -shoulders, a brush in one hand, a paper in the other. - -“Diana!” she gasped, in a whisper. “What do you want?” - -“Has he been with you?” I asked instantly, leaving her no time to -prevaricate. - -“_With_ me!” she exclaimed, so scandalised and incredulous that the -worst of my qualm was laid on the spot. - -Without another word I held out my hand. Without a word she put the -paper into it. I took it, and read-- - - “Mignonette, Mignonette, - Of all flowers the pet,”-- - -(“O, shameful!” I whispered, and set my lips.) - - “O, beautiful, beautiful, sweet Mignonette! - Dear, kind little blossom, - Soft, soft in the bosom, - Who gives to thee, takes from thee, sweet Mignonette? - Was it thou at her ear that shed sweets passing by me? - Is it thou in her shape, or herself that doth fly me? - Is it thou, is it she, Mignonette, Mignonette, - That I follow, must follow, - As the Summer the Spring, - Who hides warm in the wing - Of its darling the swallow? - - As love chases the swallow - To the eaves and the leaves - High up under the roof, - Mignonette, so I follow. - Ah! to whose little chamber, - Sweetheart? - As I clamber, - I trow not, I know not - What dream flew before to the room high aloof. - But my heart pants delight - In the thought, half a fright, - Half delirious sweetness, - That the spirit of the flower, - That the spirit of the hour - Shall reveal love’s completeness.” - -She was as pale as death and trembling all over as I looked up. For -the moment my heart withered to her. The shock, the outrage was -unendurable. - -“Who wrote this?” I demanded, in a hoarse whisper. - -She did not answer. - -“Speak,” I said. “How did it come to you?” - -“I heard it slipped under the door,” she muttered. - -“By him? O, you little traitor and wanton!” - -She fell on her knees, sobbing and clinging to me in a soft anguish of -desperation. - -“O, my dear, don’t look at me so! I’m not untrue to you. I never -imagined it was me--no, not for one moment--till to-night.” - -“And you are shocked, no doubt, to find your precious virtue at fault. -O, you little serpent that I have trusted and warmed in my bosom!” - -“Diana!” she wept, in a very frenzy of despair. “O, what can I say or -do? I thought it was you. It shall be you, Diana!” - -“Yes, it shall be me,” I answered, “but no thanks to you. Don’t think -that this is anything but a passing mood of his, played upon you for -my delectation because I have been cold to him of late.” - -“I think it is, I know it is,” she said, brightening. - -“And you hope it is, I daresay,” I said scornfully. - -“Yes, indeed,” she answered. “There is no love in the world but yours -that I care for, Diana!” - -“Love!” I exclaimed. “Don’t flatter this poor half-breeched makeshift -with the sentiment.” - -But I looked down on her more kindly, with a vexed laugh. My -good-humour was returning to me. It seemed too comical, the way we -three pious spinsters were scrambling for the favour of a -sheep’s-eyes. A pair of small-clothes flung into our nunnery had been -worse than an apple of discord. Skirts were so _de rigueur_ with us, -that I think even Gogo’s wooden legs seemed a little _outrés_. - -“I do believe you were innocent, in everything but your cuddlesome -looks,” I said, relenting. - -“O yes, Diana!” she answered eagerly. “And I can’t help them.” - -“Would you if you could?” I questioned doubtfully. “I don’t know. -There is a good deal of method in artlessness. It can always plead -itself in excuse for enjoying the pleasures which we sinners must take -at the expense of our consciences.” - -She knelt at my feet, silently fondling and kissing my hands. - -“Are you sure you don’t regret giving him up?” I asked. - -“Quite--sure,” she answered, so faintly as to set me off laughing. - -“There, Patty _mia_,” I said; “you are not to be sacrificed to a -self-indulgent vapours. You will see some day how kind I am being to -you; and you shall have a large family yet.” And with that I kissed -and left her, taking the paper with me. - -I will admit that the shock to my vanity was for the moment acute, -until reflection came to convince me that this rickety light-o’-love, -wearying of his one day’s abstinence, and finding me inaccessible, had -only palmed off on my friend the reversion of sentiments inspired by -me. On further reflection, too, I was not the more angry upon -realising that I had acquired a useful weapon for goading him to a -definite decision upon an action long deferred--our flight together, -that is to say, and, when once emancipated from the stunting -influences of Wellcot, the union which, it was understood, was to be -conditional on his satisfying me that his ambitions and mine were -mutually accommodating partners. But now, if for no other reason, I -felt that I owed it to my affection for my poor little friend to -precipitate this step, lest she should be led, through her natural -incapacity for denying anyone, to making herself miserable for life; -and so, armed with my _pièce de conviction_, I ended by sleeping very -soundly and comfortably. - -I did not even hesitate the next morning, but, about noon, singing -very cheerfully to myself, descended to Mr. de Crespigny’s studio. The -door was locked. “Open, please,” I said. - -“Go away,” he answered crossly. “I’m at work on the portrait.” - -“Yes?” I said; “but I want to come in.” - -Perhaps there was something in my tone. Anyhow, after a short -interval, during which I heard him wheeling his easel about, he -unlocked the door himself. I marched straight in, and, quite radiant, -nodded to Gogo, who, busy in a corner, gazed at me with a sort of -gloomy alarm. - -“Mayn’t I look?” I said, smiling. - -“No!” said de Crespigny sharply. - -I went and held the paper under his nose. - -“Didn’t you slip this under the wrong door last night?” I asked -calmly. - -“There!” growled Gogo, and throwing down his tools faced about -furiously. - -De Crespigny’s face went mottled, and he began to shake all over. Then -suddenly he rallied, and flamed on me, stuttering. - -“Wha-what right have you to ask? I may address whom I like, without -requesting your leave. My-my lady shall be informed what spies she’s -got in her house.” - -“You ass!” roared Gogo. - -“From me--yes,” I said. “I’m going straight to tell her.” - -Gogo stumped fiercely, and put himself between me and the door. His -master collapsed like a pricked bladder. - -“You’ll ruin yourself,” he gasped, between tears and bullying. “If you -ruin me, you come down too--don’t forget that.” - -“O, in a noble cause!” I said mockingly: “to open the eyes of my -mistress and my friend.” - -He stamped about in a little impotent frenzy, then came and almost -prostrated himself before me. - -“I--I thought you’d forsaken me,” he cried; “I swear I did, Di; -and--and I was as miserable as a dog, and wanted sympathy, I did, in -this cursed strait-laced nunnery. Don’t tell on me--don’t; and I’ll go -on with your picture here and now.” - -In a fever of trepidation, he hurried from me, calling on me not to -go, and fetched the canvas from the press and brought it to me. - -“See,” he said, “you little injured innocent--yes, you was quite right -to be hurt; but--but it’s you I love, Di--it really is--and”-- - -The canvas fell from his hand. He stood, gaping, as if in the first -shock of a stroke. And I turned; and there was madam standing in our -midst, every atom of colour gone from her face. - -There are some situations, my Alcide, that can only be ended brutally. -I don’t know what deadly instinct drove me to the portrait; but to it -I ran, and turned it with the easel about. Then, I declare, I felt as -if I had committed murder. The wretch, with what fatal purpose I could -not tell, had done nothing less than mutilate his own inspiration. In -place of the lovely roses of yesterday was the worn, haggard woman of -to-day, and the harp in her lap was a tangle of broken strings. - -I felt for her. Looking in her face, I almost repented my part. There -was a dreadful smile on it, as she went very quiet and breathless, and -lifted the “Una” from the ground. - -“It is very pretty,” she said, “but hardly proper to a child of the -Good Shepherd.” - -Then I hated her as I had never done before, and rejoiced in her -downfall. - -“I was looking for you, Diana,” she said, in her straitened tones, -“and heard your voice here. Will you come with me, please?” - -And so she went out, deigning not one look at that insult of her own -face, nor one word to the hangdog perpetrator of it. She went out, as -cold as ice, and I saw Gogo, standing by the door, droop his head as -she passed. Tingling with the joy of battle, I followed her. I knew -that my long martyrdom was nearing its end. - -Outside in the hall she turned to me, quite stiff--I wondered how her -limp corsets could support so much dignity--and bade me retire to my -room till she should send for me. - -“And if it is to find you on your knees,” she said, “why, by so much -will the duty I have to perform be made the easier.” - -Well, to do her justice, I believe that her heart was as near broken -as one can be. - -“Thank you, ma’am,” I answered. “Do you want to flog me? ’Twould -scarce improve your case, I think, with Mr. de Crespigny.” - -I ran up lightly, humming to myself. I heard her give a little gasp, -and then go on her way to the parlour. Nobody came near me while I -waited, until, in a little while, a servant knocked, to summon me. I -went down at once, as jaunty as you please. Father Pope was with her, -I saw, as I entered the room. - -“I wonder how much of the truth she has told him?” I thought. - -She was seated, perfectly colourless, while her companion stood, -lowering and uneasy, by a table hard by. She bent a little forward, -drawing her breath, I fancied, with difficulty, and addressed me at -once. - -“You have asked pardon of God, I hope?” - -I tossed my head. - -“For what, madam? What have I done?” - -She appealed to the priest, with a little momentary helpless gesture; -then bit her thin lips, as if stung by his silent perversity to -resolution. - -“For the deceit you have long practised on us,” she said. - -“O, madam,” I answered, “do you refer to the gentleman’s attentions to -me? I could hardly be so immodest as to confess of them to you, when I -did not even know to what end they were advanced.” - -She held up her hand dully. - -“I allude to your privately sitting to him for--for that--for his -model,” she said. - -“Why, I had my respected example, madam,” said I. “I didn’t know but -what we were expected to accommodate the gentleman, seeing you -yourself gave us the lead.” - -She rose quickly, striking her hand on the table. - -“To make of yourself, pledged to Heaven, a shame and a wanton in his -eyes! O, ’twas infamous!--Not that,” she checked herself hurriedly, “I -blame him--not altogether. Art is a strange creditor, that makes -demands, scarce comprehensible to us, upon those who practise it. But, -_you_”-- - -“Are you blaming _me_, madam,” I cried, “because he has not paid _you_ -to your liking?” - -She turned away, as if quite sick. Father Pope took up the tale. - -“Silence!” he roared, “you little dirty liar and trollop!” - -“O, no doubt!” I piped him back, “because I rejected _your_ -attentions.” - -He took a step forward, his great fist clenched, his glasses blazing. -I don’t know how he might not have forgotten himself, had not Lady -Sophia come quickly between. - -“Hush!” she said. “It is all to end here, Father.” She turned quietly -on me. “Father Pope is, I am sorry to say, justified. You have -deceived us in more things than one, Diana. It is not so long, I must -tell you, since I heard from the Sisters of les Madelonnettes that -your original story of your unhappy mother’s death was false, she -having but a few months ago returned penitent and broken to die in the -very convent she had so shamed and disgraced.” - -I gazed at her, bewildered, for an instant, and then, as the truth -penetrated me, with a horror and passion beyond control. - -“O,” I cried, “this is too much! And I believed her long dead of -grief; and you never told me--never let me see her: and I think you -are the wickedest woman in the world!” - -She stood staring at me, silent, as if stricken. - -“_Cave anguem!_” sneered the priest, with a brutal laugh. - -I turned upon the pale woman with a furious stamp. - -“Why did you never let me know? How dared you keep it from me? I will -go to law about it and have you hanged!” - -“If I could have thought”--she began, in a whisper; “if I have by -chance done wrong”-- - -“Wrong!” I cried violently, “you have done me nothing but wrong since -I came here. You have always misunderstood and disbelieved in me; and -now, it seems, you had no right to adopt me at all.” - -I ended with a torrent of tears. - -“I want to leave you,” I sobbed; “I want to go away into the convent, -and be at peace where no one can hate and slander me.” - -“Ha!” said Father Pope, moving, and hunching his shoulders, “then -there our wishes jump, and no time like the present. So go collect -your duds.” - -“Diana!” whispered madam again, in her stunned way, and made a little -movement towards me. But I shrunk from her, shivering. - -“No, don’t touch me--_please_,” I said. “I’ll go to the Sisters, -who’ll be kind to me. I’ll do anything you want--only not stop here.” - -I saw her put her hand to her heart as I tottered from the room. Then -I ran upstairs, and hurried to put some little properties together. - -I quite acquiesced in the movement--was eager to hasten it, in fact. -The truth is, that, of Wellcot and the convent, the latter appeared to -me by far the less formidable as a present asylum. Any further meeting -here between me and Noel was rendered virtually impossible; nor was it -likely that the outraged spinster would prove so accommodating to our -purposes as the artless little fatties across the valley. One need -have no fear of being buried alive in a dovecot. - -While I was hastily collecting a few necessaries, my sweet girl crept -in, and made a little sweet nuisance of herself, distressing and -impeding me. - -“There, dearest,” I said, as I wrought preoccupied, “you are the best -of loving chickens, and I shall have plenty of use for you by and by. -Only at present--there, don’t pout--I am too jubilant in the prospect -of escape to cling and kiss and cry with you. I’m not going to Land’s -End, only across the way; and mind, no more communications from a -certain gentleman, miss, unless on my behalf.” - -She promised, with new floods of tears. - -“Then,” I said, pushing her playfully away, “find me my vinaigrette, -child. Father Pope is going to convey me in the carriage.” - - - - - XII. - I AM INFAMOUSLY RETALIATED ON - -I remember once dining in Sorrento with the Marquis de P----, a most -exclusive sybarite and dilettante. The table was spread with a flesh -silk damask, whose very touch was a caress. Before each of the -company--a small and appreciative one--was placed one iridescent -Venetian goblet, and a bunch of lavender in a floss silk -napkin--nothing else whatever. The room--vaulted into Moorish -arabesques, and swimming with a slumberous half-penetrable light, in -which the crusted gold of stalactites, high in the groining, alloyed -and confused itself with the stain from purple windows--gave upon a -dusky pillared court, where zithers and the plash of a fountain wedded -in soft music, and the breath of orange blossoms made us a dim -impalpable barrier against the world. The plates were served each -ready charged, and each with a golden spoon only; for knives were not -to be allowed to sever this dream of sensuous rumination. There was -but a single wine--the Château Yquem, which is reserved for the -nobility of its district, and which never goes beyond but in a few -favoured directions. We talked but little and idly, with a mingling of -delicious sighs and happy low laughter. Towards the end the zithers -ceased; the remote fountain tinkled alone; and a girl, a ghost of -loveliness, danced and wreathed herself without in a flood of -moonlight. It was all perfect satisfaction without surfeit. Of such is -the kingdom of heaven. And yet there are times when I wonder if my -host has gone to join Lazarus or Dives. _Mon ami_, I am often full of -such wonders; and then sometimes--when, perhaps, I have not kept the -perfect proportion, and my head aches--I think I will end my days in a -convent, and purify my wicked digestion on lentils and spring water. -Only, where is the convent? I have seen some in my day, and in not one -have they cultivated their little paradise on cabbages. I find myself -standing aghast on that neutral ground between the world and the -Church; and, alas! there are so many other nice people standing there -to keep me company. With such, this desert itself becomes an Eden, and -on either side I cannot escape from it but into another. - -The Convent of Perpetual Invocation received me with open arms from my -morose jailer. It conducted me, in the person of its Mother, to the -sunny parlour, and there sleeked and patted me fondly. - -“You dear,” she said. “I am so glad we have got you at last.” - -Her coif looked as if she had slept in it, and her plump hands were by -no means over clean. She was a stumpy, beaming little woman, moist -with good living. Her skin worked so freely, and in such prosperous -folds, it might have made a dyspeptic sigh with envy. I felt at home -with her directly. - -“There, dear,” she said, “you have brought us many good things in your -time, but none so good as yourself; and now we take you in pledge of -better.” - -It may have been meant as a little sly spiritual reflection, but she -smacked her ripe lips over it as if she already tasted in me, as -madam’s direct protégée, a very plethora of venison and larded -fowls. For many years, I believe, these good little women had been -secretly looking forward to the term of my novitiate as their -gastronomic millennium. I could laugh, I declare, with remorse to -think how the dear pink little pigs were defrauded. - -I had been delivered without directions, but with a surly intimation -that madam would call on the morrow. It was not my business to -enlighten anyone; and so I enjoyed the best of my present favour. - -She trotted me out by and by to see her asparagus and strawberry beds, -fat in promise, though tucked now and slumbering under their autumn -blankets of manure; her hives; her mushroom pits; her stewpond thick -with fat carps stuffed up to the neck and something her own shape; her -pigeon cotes and rabbit hutches. There was an odd family likeness, a -general assimilation to the neckless, apoplectic type amongst them -all--Sisters, animals, and vegetables. Perpetual invocation, it was -evident, had an obliterating effect on the individual. I shifted my -own dimpled shoulders. How long would they be rounding to the contour -of these squat little vessels? I thought with a certain terror of my -admirable digestion, and determined as long as I remained here to live -sparely. What if, like the wolf in the fable, I were to eat so many -fat pancakes that I could not escape through the hole in the wall -again! - -That evening we had a refection of sweet bread and fruit and prayers, -and a delightful supper (alas for my resolution!) and comfortable -droning prayers again. Then we went each to her cosy cell, which was -like a crib for a fat baby, and slept the round of the clock to -prayers and breakfast. My fellow-sisters delighted me. I never saw -such a community of bow-windows, the most comfortable little parlours -one could imagine for the spirit to be entertained in. They had their -scapulars made very large, and of flannel, so as to serve the double -purpose of tokens and liver pads. At meals we were forbidden to -talk--a most fattening proscription, or prescription. Prayer, at all -seasons or out of them, was the single ordinance of the -society--perpetual invocation on behalf of our unenlightened land. We -were safe, perhaps, in not considering the logical result of its -efficacy, or, indeed, the prospect of a second reformation might have -frightened us into heresy. For, our point once gained, our occupation -would be gone, and our creed of self-content be called upon to -vindicate itself very likely in self-denial. However, England as yet -was far from recanting its heresy of prosperity-worship. Our very -fatness was the best argument in the world to it of our right to -survive; so it showed no tendency to do other than keep us eternally -praying for it. - -Madam drove over on the day following my arrival, and was closeted for -a considerable time with the Mother. I was not summoned to her -presence, but I think she did not dare to vent her full heart of -spleen upon me in her report. She could not very well, without -compromising herself. She must have revealed, or intimated, however, -so much as give the poor woman a hopelessly bewildered impression of -my personal contribution to art. For the rest, I think she was -satisfied with having scotched her terrible little snake, and did not -doubt that, having done so, my own sense of final commitment to my -calling would keep me immured out of harm’s way, and hers, to the end -of time. It must have been with a feeling of guilty relief that she -drove back to conclusions with her inamorato. - -The Mother, having sent for me on her withdrawal, looked at me with -the most cherubic doubt and dread, and pressed my hand quite -speechless. - -“Dear,” she whispered, all of a sudden, “so very _décolletée_! and -think of the draughts!” - -“Why more than the angels?” I said, pouting. “They don’t wear -underclothes.” - -“They are symbols,” she answered doubtfully. “Besides, we don’t know.” - -“O, _ma mère_!” I cried. “What’s the good of being an angel, if one -has to?” - -“Hush!” she said. “Anyhow, they may take liberties denied to us. -Besides, this young person was not an angel.” - -“There you are wrong,” I cried. “She was an angel of purity.” - -“Is that so?” she asked a little curiously. “Well, it makes a -difference, of course. But it would have been more becoming of her to -be painted by a woman. There is the respectable Madame Kauffmann, for -instance, who, I am told, depicts religion and the virtues. But there, -dear, we will say no more about it; only pray to the good Father, now -the naughty little episode’s over, that we may be accepted meekly into -His fold.” - -I heard no more from Wellcot after this for a couple of days, and was -beginning already to torment myself with qualms of jealousy of my -sweet little vicegerent there, being at the last almost driven to -break out and precipitate matters, when I was saved by a call from the -darling herself. Our meeting, to which the Mother’s presence gave a -conventual sanction, though fond and cordial, would have been barren -of result had not my friend, with a finesse which delighted me, and -the more because I had thought her incapable of it, rid us of our -incumbrance. - -“Good lud!” said she, after the first embrace, twinkling through her -tears, “if I haven’t left my little basket of cream cheeses for the -Sisters melting outside in the sun!” - -The bait took instant. The Mother, with a little gentle reproof for -her carelessness, waddled out with such a benevolent glare as though -she had heard the last trump. - -“Wait, dears, and I’ll be with you again!” said she. - -The moment she was gone, Patty threw herself upon me. - -“I hid it under some bushes,” she said, “just to keep her hunting, and -where it wouldn’t melt really.” - -Her second reason was characteristic enough. She could never offer the -tiniest hurt from one hand without its remedy from the other. I -foresaw she’d whip her children by and by with a strap of -healing-plaister, the poor little weak creature. - -“O, you _naughty_ little thing!” I giggled; but was serious the next -moment, questioning and urging her. - -“Quick!” I said. “What’s he going to do? Have you a letter?” - -She shook her head. - -“He’ll have a postchaise outside in a night or two, and will let you -know; but for the moment he’s watched, and daren’t move, or commit -himself to paper.” - -“The hero! He’s still there, then, at Wellcot? If it had been me, I’d -have had my servants flog him out of the house.” - -“O, Diana! How can you say such a thing, and you in love with him!” - -“Whom I love I chasten. I’m in love, like Mrs. Sophia, with myself -through him. He’s going to make me great. Now, tell me what’s the -state of things there.” - -She shook her head rather piteously. - -“I don’t know. It’s all very sad and lonely without you. I think she -wants to forgive him; but he’s proud and angry, and holds aloof.” - -I turned up my nose with a sniff. - -“It’s nicer to be a healthy sinner. Her fulsomeness makes me sick. And -how did you get leave to come and see me?” - -“I didn’t get leave at all,” she said. “I daren’t even ask it, feeling -sure she’d refuse. I slipped out without telling, hearing cook had -something to send. I expect she’ll be very angry when she hears.” - -“_If_ she hears,” I corrected her. - -She looked at me with sad, puzzled eyes, the comical dear. - -“How shall I ever bear with it all after you are gone, Diana?” she -said. “You’ll let me come and stay with you sometimes, when you’re -married?” - -“Now, Patty,” I said, “tell me the truth. Is the creature still making -eyes at you?” - -“No,” she answered stoutly; then added, conscience-stricken, “At -least, I don’t know. I never look at him. But--but--O, Diana! I wish -he’d go altogether, and leave us, you and me, as we were.” - -“That’s perhaps not a very kind wish, child,” said I. “But you shall -come and stay with us when once I’ve got him under control, never -fear.” Then, as I heard the step of the Mother returning, “Hush!” I -whispered; “tell him I’ve no idea of being buried alive here: that he -must arrange it very quickly, or I shall return and give everything -away.” - -She answered silently, with a hug and a gush of tears. She looked -haggard and distraught, poor little wretch; yet I had no alternative -but to use her. - -I waited two days longer, in an anxiety that rose to distraction. -Still no message came from him; and at last I made up my mind, and -sent him an upbraiding letter by a misbegotten old beldame, with a -leery eye, who helped in the convent laundry. She brought me back an -answer--that he would be waiting for me, with a postchaise, in the -lane without, at nine o’clock that very night. O, my friend! how -dreadful is the first realisation of perfidy in those whom our -inexperience trusts! This cursed Hecate was all the time in the pay of -the authorities whom my innocence thought to hoodwink. When the time -came, I wondered, indeed, to find Fortune so blind in my interest. So -far seemed there from being the least suggestion of suspicion, of -uneasiness abroad, chance appeared to invite me with open portals. -What Sisters I encountered, even the Mother herself, manœuvred, I -could have thought, to leave me my way unobstructed. Miserable -parasites of power, subordinating their consciences to the lusts of -their abominable little stomachs! To pamper those, they were lending -themselves without scruple to a deed of unutterable darkness--the -consigning of their innocent sister to a living death. - -I found the chaise waiting in a dusk corner beneath trees. A cloaked -and sombre figure, engaging me in the shadow, hurried me within, leapt -after, slammed the door, and gave the word to proceed. In a moment we -were tearing through the night. - -So great was the flurry of my nerves, I had not, until the lamp at the -convent gate flashed upon us and was gone, noticed that we were four -in company. Then, all at once, I started. The man who sat beside me -had removed his hat and was wiping his brow. Two thick-set, motionless -figures sat facing me. - -“Easy done, sir,” said one of these. - -“Ha!” said my companion, “yes.” - -In a sudden terror, I struggled to rise. He restrained me. - -“Mr. de Crespigny!” I exclaimed. - -“Ha!” said my companion again. “You hear that, Willing?” - -“I hear,” responded the second of the others gruffly. - -My companion turned to me suavely. - -“Mr. de Crespigny?” he said. “Yes, and what about him, madam?” - -“You are not he!” I cried wildly. “Let me out! He was to have met me!” - -With a sort of tacit understanding, they all hemmed me in with their -knees, imprisoning and controlling me at once. - -“You make a mistake, madam,” said my captor. “He was not to have met -you. But, be reconciled; time and judicious treatment, I have not the -least doubt, will cure you of this delusion.” - -In an instant the whole horror of this snare, of this most wicked -scheme, opened like a black gulf before my eyes. The convent--to -anticipate an analogy--had been my Elba; now my St. Helena was to be -an asylum. She had discovered; or he, the dastard, had betrayed me; -and, in the result, she had not hesitated, with the connivance of some -sycophant doctor, to stoop to this. - -It was night; the chaise drove on by back ways; I sunk back, sick and -almost senseless, and abandoned myself to despair. - - - - - XIII. - I AM WOOED TO SELF-DESTRUCTION - -Dr. Peel’s Asylum was known generically as “The House,” perhaps in -cynical allusion to its licensed irresponsibility to any laws but its -own. It was conceived on the principle of an eel-pot--the easiest -thing to slip, or be driven, into; the hardest to escape from. It was -not so much an asylum as an oubliette; never so much a house of -correction as of annihilation. There, in addition to the -constitutionally weak-minded, troublesome heirs, irreclaimable -prodigals, jealous wives, importunate creditors, distinguished -blackmailers, chance recipients of deadly secrets--all such, in fact, -as threatened the peace of that grand seigniory which has a -prescriptive monopoly in it--could be immured by _lettre de cachet_ -(it amounted to nothing less) from any accommodating physician, and -afterwards “treated,” or disposed of, by private contract. Its methods -were delicate, tasteful, and exceedingly sure. With rib-breaking, -starvation, strait-waistcoats, all the vulgar apparatus of the -ordinary _médecin de fous_, it had no commerce. Where the removal of -undesirables was in question, it rather killed with kindness; -suffocated, like Heliogabalus, with roses; persuaded to the happy -despatch with a silken cord. It drove its poor Judases to suicide by -putting by, as useless, their moral reparations, and took care to have -at hand the seductive means. If one escaped--a rare occurrence--it -possessed a kennel of highly trained bloodhounds, whose belling warned -the dark nights with menace. It asked no questions, and expected to be -asked none. Its formula was a hint and a cheque. - -The asylum _ménage_ was perfectly refined, and its cuisine lavish. It -entertained none but the nominees of the wealthy. The extensive -grounds of the house were a literal maze of beauty, the shrubberies -being so disposed as to preclude all thought of restraint. It was only -upon piercing them, at any point, that one found oneself opposed by a -high boundary wall, which contained between itself and the estate it -enclosed a waste interval incessantly patrolled, day and night, by the -asylum watch. Then, indeed, one realised the iron hand in the velvet -glove, and started back dismayed from the grin of the nearest sentry -whom one’s movements had called light-footed to the spot. - -“A fine view, mum,” he might say, stepping up between ingratiatory and -insolent. “Was you looking for anything?” - -Whereupon one would do best to retire, and precipitately; because -there was no appeal from any brutality offered, in his own domain, by -any servant of, or partner in, this lawless oligarchy. - -Rising from my little bed, and mattresses full of fragrance and down, -on the morning first after my arrival--rising, fevered and exhausted, -to the full realisation of my awful position, my eyes encountered the -vision of a wholesome, even luxurious, little chamber, and through an -unbarred window a most heavenly prospect. I could hardly believe in -the reality of my fate. This was no prison, but an inn, to escape from -which it seemed only necessary to pay the score, and have the landlord -cry “Bon voyage!” I remembered him the night before--a little tough, -square man, drily courteous in manner, with the head and depressed -forehead of a burglar. He had been already on the steps to receive me, -when we drove up, standing in a patch of light with an expression on -his face as if we had caught him in the act of breaking into his own -premises. Those we had reached, within two hours of my first -kidnapping, by dark and devious roads. They stood, remote from all -other homesteads, a little colony self-contained, some six miles south -of Shole. - -On the way thither I had soon abandoned all thought of resistance, or -of appeal to my captors. They may have heard my sobs and prayers with -a certain emotion: virtuous distress had no chance to prevail with -cupidity. I sunk into a sullen apathy, my heart smouldering with rage, -principally against the craven who had either betrayed me to this -living death, or, at least, had weakly acquiesced in my doom. The -prospect of revenge, though alternating with despair, alone preserved -me from a condition of the last prostration. And in this state I was -driven up to the House, and to it consigned, the sold slave of -madness. - -In the first terror, with staring eyes, a storm in my breast that -would not rise and break, dishevelled hair, and, it may be, a look of -the part I was called upon to play, I shrunk into a corner of the room -into which I was introduced, and stood there panting. Dr. Peel went -into a thin chuckle of laughter, curiously small and inward from so -thick-set a frame. - -“Brava!” said he. “Very well observed, madam! But, if you will look -round, you will see there are no bolts, no bars, no locks here, save -as the ordinary appurtenances of a domestic household.” - -There were not, indeed, to the common view. To most doors, as I came -to discover, the locks were inside; and, where it was otherwise, it -was--mark this!--to insure from any chance insane attack, especially -at night, the lives of those which it was particularly desired should -be preserved. To be given the full freedom of the House was always a -significant privilege, implying, as it did, one of two things: either -that the proprietor had accepted at the outset a round sum down for -one’s perpetual incarceration, or a hint that one’s accidental removal -would be handsomely acknowledged by those interested. - -Now, as I said, waking on that first morning to free prospects, my -spirit experienced a rebound to the most delightful reassurance. -Surely, I thought, no worse harm could be designed me than the -punishment implied in my enforced temporary detention in this charming -home, where, it seemed likely, a nominal deprivation of one’s liberty -was used to convey a gentle moral or adorn a kindly tale of reproval. -I waxed jubilant. If a meek acquiescence in my fate delayed to move my -jailers to liberate me, I was confident that my wits would soon find -me a way to free myself from so indulgent a thraldom. And in the -meantime I would resign myself to the enjoyment of a very novel -experience. - -A loud bell summoned us all to breakfast, _à la table d’hôte_, in a -pleasant refectory. Dr. Peel took the head of the table, and a plenty -of attentive lackeys waited. There was no restriction, nor -interference with one’s individual tastes. I accepted silently the -place assigned me between a gaunt, supernaturally solemn gentleman, -with mended clothes, a wigless head, and prominent fixed eyes, and the -tiniest, most conceited-looking creature with humped shoulders I have -ever seen. An uproarious gabble of conversation, interspersed with -occasional hoots and groans, accompanied the meal throughout. -Occasionally my solemn neighbour would turn to me and remark, -fiercely, as though daring a contradiction, “Enough is as good as a -feast; but more than enough is less than nothing.” - -On the third repetition of this formula, the little man on my other -side addressed me with an ill-tempered chuckle-- - -“Bring him down, ma’am, bring him down, or the creature will scorch -his head in the moon.” - -While I was shrinking back in confusion, Dr. Peel bent to the -solemnity. - -“Captain,” says he, with an ingratiatory grin, “you’re drinking -nothing.” - -“I don’t want anything,” said the other, in a loud, bullying voice. - -“Nonsense,” answered the doctor. “You must keep up your character. -Here, John.” - -He spoke to a lackey, who was ready on the moment with a decanter. To -my amazement, the man filled up the gentleman’s breakfast cup with raw -brandy. - -He shifted, glared, hesitated, and caught up the pungent stuff. - -“Enough is as good as a feast, but more than enough is less than -nothing,” howled he, and swallowed the fire at a draught. - -He had hardly consumed it, when he cast the cup into splinters on the -board, staggered to his feet, and, moaning to himself, left the room. -The conversation died down for a moment, and was instantly resumed -more recklessly than ever. I felt suddenly sick. - -“He-he!” sniggered my little companion. “He’s been long taking his -hint, the fool, and outstaying his welcome. But Peel’s done it at -last, I do believe.” - -I did not ask him what. My spirit felt engulfed in deep waters of -terror. I sat dumb and shivering, till the meal ended, and the company -broke up and dispersed itself about the grounds. Many, rude, curious, -fantastic, came about me to inquire, mockingly or fulsomely, into my -malady. To all their solicitations my little companion, who had -appropriated me, turned a rough shoulder and rougher tongue. - -“The lady has confided her case to me, you pestilent cranks!” he -screamed, and succeeded in extricating and convoying me to a remoter -part of the grounds. On the way we encountered two men, like -gamekeepers, carrying a ghastly sheet-covered burden on a litter. - -“Ho-ho!” said my friend, stopping. “It was arranged for the tower, was -it?” - -“Now, lookee here, Jimmy,” said one of the carriers, while the two -paused for a moment, “you’re too precious fond of poking your nose -where you ain’t wanted, you are. You go along to your games, and leave -your elders to theirs till you’re growed up.” - -“Grown up!” screeched my companion, whose chin, indeed, was thick with -a grey bristle, “grown up, you puppy, you calf, you insolent lout!” - -Crazy in a moment, he danced in the path, screaming and shaking his -fists. The men resumed their way, laughing. Suddenly he caught himself -to a sort of reason, white and shaking. - -“They want to drive me to it,” he said. “They want me to break a -blood-vessel; but I see through them, and I won’t be drawn.” - -He wiped his forehead, and looked anxiously up in my face. - -“You see it, don’t you?” he said. “The fools are envious of my inches. -But you ain’t, are you, being a woman?” - -“No, no,” I said, smiling, in a sort of ghastly spasm, in full -understanding of his mania. “No, no; or should I select you for my -champion in this? Let us go on, _please_. Was that--?” - -“Yes,” he answered, the question that my fainting spirit shrunk from -formulating, “yes, it was the Captain--good riddance to a conceited -ass.” - -He strutted along, pluming himself on my praise. All that I have -stated--the truth about this smiling, damned Gehenna--I drew from him -then or thereafter. I cannot recall it now without a shudder like -death’s. - -Once that morning we came, in a retired corner, upon the prettiest, -greenest graveyard--the sweetest God’s-acre, God pity it! in all the -sad world. It was studded with quiet flowers, screened with fragrant -shrubs, thick with graves, _each a nameless grassy barrow_. What depth -of tragedy in it all! I cannot, I vow, dwell any longer on the -picture, but must cover the details of it at a gallop. - -I was nine weeks, before I found release, in this appalling hell--a -time the most stupendous of my life. I will acquit the Lady Sophia of -intending the worst; I cannot acquit her of implying it. Whether from -jealousy, or a true conviction as to the unpardonable nature of my -recreancy, she failed, at least, to assure the instruments of her -cruelty that my death-sentence was not intimated in the bond. It is -possible she may have been totally ignorant of the real character of -the place to which she condemned me. She is none the less responsible -for the conclusions the Rhadamanthus of that inferno elected to draw -from her dubiety. Anyhow, I am convinced that my destruction was -designed, before I had been there many days. - -In the meantime--O, my Alcide, pity thy Diane! What had she done to -merit this fate, the most awful that could befall a brilliant sanity? -Very, very soon that early buoyancy was like nothing but the memory of -a bright star, that had exploded and scattered as soon as realised. A -sickness, a deadly apprehension, took its place; a sense of some -creeping, circumventing terror, which hemmed me in, stealthy and -pitiless, concentrating my thoughts on a single point in this cursed -paradise. I was inoculated with the disease of the morbid intellects -about me. My reason suffered deliberate contamination by the -remorseless ghoul my keeper. No fewer than three times during my short -sojourn in his inferno did the corpse of a self-destroyer witness to -the success of his methods. They went to swell the bloody tally of -shrouds under the grass in the little graveyard; and, thinking of them -there, their awful waiting testimony, I would look up to find the evil -eye of their murderer fixed upon me in covert, lustful speculation. - -For long I remained incredulous that my wit could be utterly impotent -to devise a means to escape. Gradually, only, the sinister -watchfulness which guarded every outlet of this green prison, and the -fiendish incorruptibility of its warders, was bitten into my brain. -Pleas and graces were accepted for nothing but an encouragement to -unwelcome attentions, indeed. It was not supposed that one could be -insane and modest. Many sold their virtue for a little surcease from -tyranny, bartered their dearer than life for a poor extension of -living. At the same time, and for the same reason, a most rigid -embargo was placed on all communications with the outside world. Worse -than a Russian censorship doomed these utter exiles from hope. - -In the worst of my despair I had written to Patty, to de Crespigny, -begging them to intercede for me with the cruel woman, who yet _could_ -not be aware of the inhuman character of her revenge. Finally, I wrote -to madam herself--an appeal that would have melted a heart of stone. -My cries were uttered into space. They were never allowed, in spite of -all specious pretence, to penetrate the boundaries of my doom. They -recoiled only upon my own fated head, precipitating its calamity, and -the swifter because I was persistent in justifying my birth-name to my -hateful would-be destroyer. - -The little craze they called Jimmy was my sole stay and buckler. He -attached himself to me vigorously, and by his quickness and -waspishness more than made up for his lack of inches. I never knew who -he was, or immured at whose instigation. There was warrant, anyhow, -for his detention; yet not sufficient, it appeared, for his “removal.” -His philosophy of madness was just a counterbuff to that of the -deceased Captain. If, in short, more than enough was less than -nothing, then less than nothing was more than enough; wherefore Jimmy, -twitted with being less than nothing, knew himself really to be -greatly better than most, though he could never get over the envy of -smaller souls in refusing him the credit of his stature. What is -apparently little is relatively great, he often assured me, while -bemoaning his inability to knock the truism into the thin asparagus -heads that shot above his own sturdy one. He spent the most of his -time, and I with him, in what was known as the workshop--a detached -ivy-grown shed, buried amongst trees, very private, and with a deep -well in it, and furnished with all sorts of dangerous tools for cranks -of a mechanical turn. There he wrought incessantly, for he was a -capable carpenter; and there, watching and helping him, I strove to -forget something of my misery. One morning, entering this shed, we -found a little group of employés gathered about the well, talking and -laughing, and fishing with a long grapnel. A partition separated us -from the obscene crew, whose movements, unobserved by them, we -crouched to watch. - -“A thousand to one it’s old Star-jelly,” whispered my companion. -“’Twas plain from the first the creature was booked.” - -They hauled it to the surface while he muttered--a sodden body caught -by its waistband and doubled backwards--and slopped their hideous -burden on the floor. The white sightless face settled backwards, as if -with a sigh of rest, and I could hardly refrain from a scream of -terror. I had known this poor thing for the few days since he had been -admitted--a wreck so torn, so noisome, so straining the remnant of -life through fretted lungs, it should have seemed a mockery to -precipitate its end. I had known, and never, till now seeing it -clothed in the white uniform of death, had recognised it. It was the -mad incubus of “Rupert’s Folly,” caught somehow tripping at last and -consigned to his doom. The red earl had succeeded by long waiting in -curing himself of this itch. He was one of a deadly persistent family. - -That night I could not even cry myself to sleep. - - -I don’t know how it was that I was at last driven to visit the Suicide -Tower. I had caught glimpses, remote in the grounds, of a picturesque, -creeper-hung pagoda set in flowering thickets; but had always, since -that first morning of deadly association with it, turned with loathing -from the sight. Now, somehow, by degrees, the thing began to impress -itself with a certain fascination on me. I felt drawn to it by a -horrible curiosity, none the less morbidly self-indulgent because I -knew that my jailer, a proselyte of the subtle Mesmer, had long been -practising to master my will and get me entirely under his influence. -Snuffing here, nibbling there, as it were, like a heifer approaching -in pretended unconsciousness the stranger in the field, I gradually -lost my power of resistance, the circumference of my orbit slowly -lessened, until, behold! one day the attraction found me helpless to -oppose it, and, with a little cry to myself, I yielded and went -rapidly towards the tower. As I approached the spot, I could hardly -feel my limbs; my soul, penetrated with a sort of exquisite nausea, -seemed already straining to leave the earth; a mist, luminous, vaguely -peopled, eddied before my eyes. Perhaps a confidence derived from the -possession of my duck-stone--which all this time I had been jealous to -preserve, using it even occasionally, in moments of prostration, for a -drug to my nerves--conduced to my undervaluing the force of -temptations to which I owned such a counter-charm. In any case, I made -so little resistance in the end, that the evil thing concealed amongst -the thick bushes by the tower, whence and whither he had drawn me by -his spells, must have chuckled to see me so easily netted. - -The place was perfectly silent and beautiful. A tinkle of water, a -twitter of birds reached my ears from some remote height. The tower -sprang from a circular platform of stone, went up loftily, and broke -at near its top into two or three little tiled flounces. Under the -lowest I could see an opening pierced through a rose trellis; and -right before me the unlatched door of the building was reached by a -shallow flight of steps. - -My heart was fluttering like a netted butterfly as I mounted them. -What sinister design could possibly obtain in this still and fragrant -enclosure? A flight of spiral stairs, going up the interior, was set -in a very bower of plumy palms, and ferns, and clambering rich mosses, -made greener by the light which entered through green _jalousies_. -Here and there tiny rills of water, lowering themselves down miniature -precipices, were fretted into spray that hung in the twinkling emerald -atmosphere and was showered on the leaves. Caged cunningly amidst the -foliage, birds of brilliant plumage chirped and flirted; or red -squirrels sprang and clung, staring at me with glossy eyes; or -lizards, liquid green as the sun through lime leaves, raised their -pulsing throats, and whisked and were gone. Once a snake, raising a -gorgeous enamelled head, lashed its thread of tongue on the glaze of -its little prison, seeming to taste my passing beauty in a wicked -lust. I felt quite secure and happy. Up and up I climbed, and -presently started singing softly, irresistibly, in response to the -growing rapture of my flight. New beauties were revealed with every -step, until in a moment, passing, at an angle, through a very thicket -of blossoms into white daylight, I saw the meaning, and tottered on -the brink of it all. - -I had emerged upon a little ledge, a foot in width, which ringed the -outside of the tower just below the first roof. I was standing there, -suddenly, instantly, with not so much as an inch of parapet between my -feet and the edge. Behind was the wall of the tower; below, a reeling -abyss and the bare, merciless pavement. Dazzled, irresistibly drawn -forward, I longed only to reach the stones and be at rest. But in that -terrible moment my talisman occurred to me. Swaying, half fainting, -fighting for every movement, I succeeded in drawing it from my pocket -and lifting it to my nostrils--and instantly my resistance was -relaxed, and I floated down on the wings of enchantment. - -When I opened my eyes, drugged and smiling, it was to the vision of -Dr. Peel standing before me like an awed and baffled demon. He dressed -his twitching features, and came and cringed. - -“Are--are you much hurt?” he stammered. - -“No, sir,” I murmured. “Not at all, I thank you.” - -“It was your skirts ballooned,” he said. “I could not have thought it -possible.” - -I sat up, reordering my hair. - -“Do you now?” I said quietly. “Such an escape could hardly come within -your calculations, I think.” - -“What do you mean?” he began loudly, and as instantly collapsed again. -“You had no right to be there at all,” he said. - -“Nor should I,” I replied, “but to show you that virtue may have a -familiar as well as vice, and one, too, capable of answering to a -wicked challenge.” - -I got to my feet as I spoke. He stared at me utterly disconcerted, -and, as I withdrew, followed me like a scourged dog. - -From that time he sought rather to preserve than to destroy me, and I -found myself, as one of the elect, locked into my room at night. He -had realised, I suppose, that wickedness could over-reach itself in -the chance entertainment of spirits potent beyond the worst it could -of itself evoke; and, though he still clung to me as a sort of hostage -for his own miserable salvation, made many abject efforts towards my -conciliation, amongst which I had great reason to reckon a relaxation -in the watchfulness which had hitherto dogged my every movement. - - - - - XIV. - I AM RESCUED BY MY MONSTER - -Have you not noticed, my little friend, how the wicked are always -the superstitious? It is because life is to them full of dark corners, -in which the unsuspected hides. The atheist will still be for baiting -a deity whose existence he denies; he will wring a response from a -vacuum, which failing, he fears to canvass emptiness for the reason. - -Dr. Peel knew well the impotence of virtue to conquer. He saw it of -such poor force in the world as to figure of no moment at all in a -contest with vice. He did not fear God, but he feared that the devil -was God, and vindictive where the harming of his protégées--of whom -he had no thought but that I must be one--was concerned. He had been -eye-witness of the, to him unaccountable, foiling of his project; and -it struck him as if he had fallen upon an ambush in one of those dark -corners. He shrunk back terrified, and thenceforth exchanged his -noisome attentions to me for an attitude of propitiation which was as -unwelcome, and even more stultifying, in seeming, to my hopes, -inasmuch as it included an increased jealous concern for my -safeguarding. But there, in the end, his service of his dark master -was made to recoil upon his own head, through his very scepticism of -the more divinely cunning power which works for good. He would lock -me, as I said, into my room at night, thereby securing me not only -from prowling evils, but an asylum in which I might ponder undisturbed -what plans I could of escape. And it was that security from -interruption which enabled me presently to realise on an opportunity -of which I was quite unexpectedly made the mistress. - -It fell early very cold and wintry that November, but the chill in my -heart was colder than any hailstones. Presently such an apathy of -despair found me that I would hardly leave my room all day, but would -sit in a sullen misery gazing, gazing from my unbarred open window -upon the fraction of stiffening world it commanded. It was at a front -angle of the house, pretty high above the ground; and under it the -stony drive went round an elbow of lofty trees to the fatal unseen -gates of the entrance beyond. - -One morning, after breakfast, I was seated there, when a chaise rolled -up to the steps of the door below, and a moment later Dr. Peel entered -and was driven rapidly away, on some fresh marauding devilry, I -conjectured. The vehicle, sped by a heart-whole curse from my lips, -had disappeared scarce a minute, when round the bend of the shrubs it -had taken came striding the oddest figure--an interloper by way of the -open portals, it seemed. Such an event had never, in my knowledge, -happened before. I stared, and roused myself, elate even over this -momentary grotesque vision from the world beyond. It was just a -stilt-walker, a monstrous pierrot, with floured absurd face and -conical cap, his legs, cased in linen trousers, rising an immense -height from the ground. As he came on, ridiculously gyrating, he blew -a pipe, and rattled at a little tabor that hung from his neck. In the -same moment he saw me where I stood, and danced up, rolling and -wallowing--for he was an incomprehensibly great creature for such a -trade--and broke into a mad, jerky little chaunt, half French, half -English, as he approached-- - -“_O-ha, mamselle! Je vous trouve, je vous salue! A la fin çà, çà, -çà!_ - - “‘Be’old the mountaineer, - He sik for edelweiss, - I have found my dear - Very high and very nice--_çà, çà, çà!_’” - -He flicked off his cap--with a grin that showed, though against the -flour, a set of perfect teeth--and in three strides was at the window, -his eyes and huge white face above the level of the sill. Even in the -instant, as if the former were a cypher momentarily isolated for my -reading, I understood, and was stricken to stone. - -“The graveyard!” whispered the pierrot in that instant: “be at the -wall over against it at ten o’clock to-night”--and reeled away, to a -pantomime of grins and pirouettes, as the lodge-keeper came raging -round the corner in pursuit. - -“_O que nenni dà!_” cried the intruder, twisting and turning and -affecting to bend with laughter. “O, madame! O, fie! I am very -honourable z’jentlemans. Wat, I say! I make you good proposals to -marry. I display my parts, _v’là_!” - -He contorted himself, with absurd coquetry. “Wat!” he protested, -pausing; “madame declines of the ravishment? She does not move herself -to fly with me? Vair well”-- He pretended of a sudden to espy his -pursuer, and pressing his cap to his breast, waltzed up to him. - -“Hey, my little fellow,” he cried (the lodge-keeper was at least as -big as Daniel Lambert), “it is for you, then. You know the best wat is -good. I will not abduct madame: I will not marry at all. It is vair -much satisfaction. You see me dance, _hein_? Come on, jolly -_garçon_!-- - - “‘Love miscarries--heh? - When a man marries--heh?’ - -When a man’s single he live at his is--you spik French, but yes?” - -The lodge-keeper hawked up a glair of oaths, and discharged them. He -swore by all his gods that he would cut off the intruder by the legs, -unless he went out, and double quick, the way he had come. Then ensued -a comical scene. The pierrot, affecting to retreat after a brief -altercation, swerved suddenly and seated himself on the branch of a -tree-- - -“O-ho!” he said, as the other came lumbering up, “it is vair well, but -I make up my mind. I refuse madame, it is true. You know to marry, -what it is? Listen, then-- - - “‘At the end of one year one baby: - That is jolly-fun!’” - -The lodge-keeper, cursing, made a snatch at the man’s stilts; but, -incredibly strong, he whipped them up out of reach, and held them so -horizontal. - - “‘At the end of two year two baby-- - How it is a little serious!’” - -he sang. - -The lodge-keeper swore and jumped, till he was running wet for all the -cold; but he was too fat a fox for these grapes. - - “‘At the end of three year three baby-- - But that is the very devil,’” - -bawled the pierrot ferociously, and clashed the stilts like great -castanets. - -Then he settled himself firmly. - -“‘One asks for bread,’” bellowed he; and suddenly flourishing his -right stilt, caught the lodge-keeper a stinging smack across the head -with it-- - -“‘Another for soup,’” he yelled, and gave such a counter blow with his -left, that the lodge-keeper fairly reeled and went rolling over-- - - “‘_L’aut’ qui demande à téter,_ - _Et les seins sont tarie,_’” - -shouted the pierrot, and was up and out of sight in a moment, striding -like Talus. The infuriate lodge-keeper rose, when he had recovered -himself, to pursue; but he was too late. The pierrot had got clean -away. - -Not till all had been vanished many minutes did I awake from the -stunned trance into which I had been thrown by those few whispered -words. Then, still by the window, I sank upon the floor, and, -simultaneously, into a very reel and passion of ecstasy. - -How had he traced me? Whence devised this strange method of procuring -speech? Ah! as to that, there were no doubt experiences in his past -life still unrelated; and, after all, did he not always in a -measure--strictly in a measure--walk on stilts? This was only to -extend his wooden legs indefinitely. But after what secret practices, -and suspicions averted? For I held him still the creature of his -despicable master. My Gogo--for it was he! My Gogo, the great -resourceful, affectionate, crippled giant! It was inexpressibly -touching to me to know myself, the poor persecuted, wistful dupe of -Fate, still the cynosure of this burning soul--not forgotten, schemed -for, held the sacred object of its desire. All the time I had thought -myself abandoned, he had been weaving a ladder for my despair. Good -Gogo! Dear, kind, honest Caliban! He would save me yet--he would save -me; and the tears flowed from my eyes. How was he such an actor? It -was true I had known hitherto only one side of him--the saturnine--the -shadow of the great fallen rock. Ah, he could show a lighter for my -sake--little roguish sparklets twinkling in the sun of his hot -yearning. I loved him at that moment, and my tears fell for him and -myself. - -But, stay! What had he whispered? I must remember. At ten o’clock--the -wall over against the graveyard? Why had he so chosen--so nicely -specified? Did he know nothing of the patrol? Yes, likely; but it was -a desperate expedient, calculated upon a possible superstition, upon a -presumptive avoidance of so haunted a spot. I pressed my hands to my -wet forehead and tangled hair. He had dared and done all he could: the -rest was for me, whom he knew and could trust. I would not be -unworthy. I would answer to him wit for wit. - - -Half an hour later, serene and wicked as he could have wished, I took -my way, singing, into the grounds, and, unaccosted, sought that remote -quarter where the graveyard was situated. Still softly singing, I -pushed between the trees, and came out into the waste interval against -the boundary wall which was devoted to the watch. Stooping here to -pick some chance berries, I had not to wait a minute before the local -sentinel, as I had calculated, was upon me. I dropped my spray, with -an aspect of alarm that struggled into piteousness. - -“O, I am so sorry!” I said. - -The man--he was personable enough to make my task the less -nauseous--eyed me, insolent and masterful. - -“All right,” he said. “Blow me if you ain’t done it now. Why, don’t -you know as this here’s Prisoner’s Base, and you’re out of bounds?” - -I went up to him fearlessly, and taking his hands, muffled in great -hairy gloves, looked up into his face. I saw a spot of deeper colour -come into his cheeks, and he breathed fast. - -“Shall I confess,” I said, low and urgent, and glancing quickly about -me, “that I wanted to be caught?” - -“Ah!” he said, and showed his teeth in a twitching grin. - -“Hush!” I whispered. “I am in great despair. You know perfectly well I -am sane; I shall die if I am detained here longer.” - -“O! will you?” he responded. - -“Listen,” I said, flushing and hanging my head. “I offer you no money, -which I have not got. But there are things--other things--sold here, -which”-- - -I tore my hands away, and, putting them to my face, fell back from -him. - -“Hey!” he said, in a thick whisper, and pursued me. “Why do you pick -_me_ out for your favours, you little beauty?” - -I did not answer. - -“Why?” he insisted. - -“If it has to be,” I muttered from my refuge, “you--O, don’t ask me!” - -“Why?” he said. - -“Well, of twenty evils, choose the best-looking.” - -He gave a low chuckle. - -“Come along, where we can be private,” said he, and put a hand on me; -but I started back, affecting an agony of shame. - -“O! what have I said--what promised? Let me go. Don’t think any more -of it.” - -“Won’t I?” he said; and added threateningly: “You’ve given your -promise, remember.” - -I looked about me, and again upon my twined fingers. - -“To-night, then, at--at ten o’clock.” - -“Where?” - -“In the workshop.” - -“You can get out?” - -“Yes; I have a way.” - -“That you have,” he said, coveting me with his eyes; “and a pretty -one, my darling.” - -I entreated him once more, in a passion of emotion-- - -“If--if I consent, you’ll hold to your part of the bargain?” - -“Eh?” he questioned. - -“Help me to escape?” - -“No fear o’ my forgetting,” he answered. “You may lay to that.” - -I knew he meant to betray me in the double sense, and would have given -more than I feigned to barter at that moment for the leave to beguile -him to me, and slip a knife into his lying throat. But I tasted part -of my revenge in the thought of his freezing alone there by and by, in -the rendezvous to which my wits had decoyed him, while I went to my -other undisturbed. - -He was jealous of me, and suspicious still of so light a surrender. -But the prize was worth the risking; and in the end he let me go, -gloating over my stealthy retreat, as a cruel schoolmaster might watch -the slinking away of a delinquent whom he had ordered up for -punishment later. - -That night fell a harder frost, with glittering stars but no moon. -Early secured in my sanctum, I awaited the great moment in such an -indescribable agony of mind as I have never felt before or since. -Every step near my door was a tread upon a nerve. The stable clock, -when it rang out, clear and sonorous, the last quarter after nine, -seemed to brain me with its every stroke. I stole to the open window, -took intent stock of the quiet, seated myself, poised to spring, on -the sill, and passed my duck-stone at a little distance under my -nostrils. The next instant I had alighted safely on my feet, and -reeling against the wall beneath, stood a minute to recover. The next, -I was round the angle of the house, and sped into the dark -shrubberies, where were safety and concealment. - -Going very softly in my stockinged feet, and careful of my knowledge -not to penetrate the thicket until close upon the appointed place, I -reached my goal upon the stroke of the hour. - -“Well!” whispered a voice from the starlight. “I could trust you.” - -He had been stretched recumbent on the wall top, and now rose -cautiously to my view, no longer the whitened fool, but the true Gogo -of my affections. I looked up at him as from a well; and he swung his -long stilts over, as he sat, so that they rested on the ground -beneath. - -“Quick!” he muttered; “without a moment lost--swarm! I can’t bend.” - -Heaven knows how I did it--with no better show of grace than Lady -Sophia, I fear. But somehow I scrambled up, until he could reach my -hands, and haul me with a mighty power beside him. Then, once more, -swing went his legs, and there was the ladder for my descent on the -other side. - -I clung to him convulsively; I kissed his hands; I could not refrain -from sobbing. - -“O, Gogo!” I said; “what you have saved me from--O, Gogo, what!” - -His breath caught like a wounded lion’s. - -“Not yet,” he whispered. “There is far to go first!” - -“Put me down, then,” I answered, alert in the stress of things. - -“No,” he said. “On my back--quick!” - -“You are going to carry me?” - -“There are bloodhounds,” he replied. “There must be no tracks but the -stilts’--no scent for them to follow.” - -Then I understood the fulness of his plan; but still I lingered, -amazed. - -“I am not a child. What strength, though yours, could bear me so?” - -He showed me a long staff that leaned to him against the outer wall. - -“There is my third prop,” he said. “When I am driven, I can still seat -you upon a branch, and save the scent. The ground is iron, and”--he -struck his chest--“these ribs. Come, and let me wear my heart upon my -sleeve.” - -The next moment we were off. The great creature swayed beneath me like -a tree; but he never staggered or faltered, save periodically to rest -himself and me. The sweet night wind blew upon my face, cold and -colder. I snuggled from it into the vast nape of his neck, which was -like a mat for warmth. I had no idea or care whither he was taking me, -and the knowledge only that it was by roads deserted at this silent -hour. Still he held on, and, when frost and weariness threatened to -numb my brain, could spare a strong hand to imprison both mine lest I -fell. And still the flight endured, and I asked, could ask, no -question, not even when I grew penetrated by a dull consciousness of -ascent--of my comrade straining and toiling beneath me like a stricken -Sisyphus--of the groaning of the giant spirit in him who would not be -subdued. Then, at last, came a pause, and darkness and release; and I -felt myself swung gently down to rest upon a mat of scented leaves, -whose warmth and fragrance wooed me to such a sleep as I had never -known before. - - - - - XV. - I BECOME AN INMATE OF “RUPERT’S FOLLY” - -I awoke, flushed and happy as a dormouse from its winter bed of -leaves. The world was good again, with all its potentialities of love -and freedom; the sun was somewhere seeking me; there was no ache, but -the sweet ache of memory, in my whole heart and body. Locality, I have -said before, has never influenced my temper. I make the only -reservation now of liberty to change it at my will. - -I remained some time, with my hands beneath my head, taking stock -motionlessly of my new surroundings. They were odd enough. I lay near -the wall, it seemed, of a sort of circular ground chamber or cellar, -roofed in at an inexplicable height above me. Twice, at intervals -between, projecting corbels appeared to show the one-time existence of -upper floors, which, having either rotted away or been removed, had -left the chamber of a height quite disproportionate with its ground -dimensions. In lieu of stairs, a make-shift ladder went up into the -roof at a crazy angle, and disappeared through a trap; but it started -from the ground so close to a rude fireplace in the wall, that its -butt was scorched, and more than one of the lower rungs snapped in its -socket. - -Over the floor itself were scattered tokens of some late or present -occupation--a common table, a rush chair or two, battered saucepans, a -greasy gridiron, and, hanging on the walls, a frowzy account of -clothes. A line, stretched across a segment of the room, had once held -suspended a litter of foul-washed clouts; but the string had broken, -and its filthy load been kicked aside or trodden into the floor, half -brick half muck, which paved the apartment. - -There were no windows, but, at irregular intervals, narrow loops such -as one sees in old castles; and the single ground opening was a -doorway, which let in just such a smear of daylight as served to -emphasise the uncleanness. - -Recognising in all this the reverse of familiar, I let my wondering -eyes travel round to the parts more contiguous to my bed, and so gave -a little pleased start and smile. There, like guardian posts to my -slumber, were the long stilts leaned against the wall, their straps -hanging loose; and pendent from a nail close by was the very clown’s -dress of my memory. I could have drawn it to me and kissed it; but, -contenting myself with conceding to it a sigh of affection, I sank -back and closed my eyes. Lying thus deliciously, half-submerged in a -very nest of dry fern, and with a heavy cloak for blanket over me, I -would delay luxuriously the moment of revelation; but it was very -evident, I thought, that Gogo had brought me to some wrecked and -deserted mill. - -Suddenly, unable to rest longer, I peeped. He was going softly about -the hearth, preparing something at a little fire, whose every thicker -waft of smoke he would jealously dissipate with his hands. He still -feared observation, then! Watching him silently, my heart welled up -with a gush of love for the dear, patient, faithful monster. “Gogo!” I -said softly. - -He started, looked across, and came to me at once, stumping over the -floor in a rapture of response. He took a stool, and, sitting on it by -me, gazed eagerly into my face, his own--animal, sinful, and -divine--looking from a very burning bush of stubble. - -Smiling, in a drowsy warmth, I put out a hand, and let him imprison it -in his own. Ah, foolish little bird, so to commit thyself to the snare -of the fowler! I thought he would have killed it, and tore it back -fluttering and wounded. - -“O, how could you?” I cried. “I was so happy; and you have hurt me!” - -He leaned in a hoarse agony to me; his breath groaned in his chest. - -“O, come to me!” he implored, “while I make one mouthful of you!” - -Then, all in an instant, he was sobbing, and tearing at his short -hair, and crying incoherently-- - -“What have I done?--to wound my dear! Ride me, flog me, use me, but -trust me no more. Bitter, bitter are the gods, who make a man -stiff-kneed for their sport! Not love or penance for me, never, never. -Never to kneel--to lie prone only for a show! O, child! it seems a -little thing not to kneel, but--ah, to see others pray and love, -yourself forbidden--what pity, what pity! I am the Olympian fool; I am -the ass and clown. Behold my livery!” - -He pointed to the dress on the wall, and hung his head and arms in a -very grief of despondency. But by now my hurt and little fright were -gone, and my heart touched again to softness. - -“Gogo,” I said, “give it me down, please.” And he looked up wondering, -and stirred and obeyed. - -“This, and this, and this,” I said, “in pledge of our one-day contract -before Jove, or Jehovah, when the maimed shall be made whole.” - -My tears dropped on it, as I kissed it three times and gave it back to -him. He received it wonderingly first, then sadly, and held it -drooping over his knees. - -“Whole!” he muttered. “Ay, I don’t question I shall find my legs in -Avalon; but can even Jove restore the rifled flower its honey?” - -Suddenly he cast himself down beside me, groaning like a bull. - -“O, little maid, little maid! I am a beggar, I am a beggar; but I want -no reversion of a used estate. Though my own goes lame, I am proud. -Give me new-minted money, that no man has worn in his pocket, or none -at all.” - -For a moment the great human urgency of the creature made me falter. I -owed him so much! could the devotion of my life more than repay him? -But, alas! it needed but a little reflection to see the fond -ridiculous picture the caricature it was. Had I the right even to risk -a new generation of Gogos? I saw myself in imagination walking abroad, -the proud convoyer of an uncountable number of little shock-headed -Dutch tumblers. Perhaps if our Sovereign King had received that -Carpenters’ Petition, and brought wooden legs into fashion, I might -have been tempted; but it was still the vogue to walk on one’s own -feet. - -I sat up, my lips twitching perilously near laughter. - -“Dear Gogo,” I said, “I am so thankful to you, and so sorry; and I -would not have said or done what I did, if I had known it would -disturb you so. Won’t you let me get up?” - -He scrambled to his feet--ah, fie upon the unmeant cruelty of the -word!--and stood knotting his great hands, while his breast heaved -stormily. - -“Well, I think I was mad,” he roared suddenly. “Strike me! Stamp on -me! Bind me to a pillar, and let the eternal remorse batten on my -vitals! Whatever the spark at my tail, it started me up like a rocket: -and behold me at the end, a blackened and empty case!” - -He entreated me with his hands-- - -“Ah, the pagan sight of you! Ah, your wild hair, growing from the fern -or melting into it! Ah, your face, the very flowering of a hamadryad! -It wrought a frenzy in my brain. Forgive me, forgive me! And I will -serve you seven times seven years, for the promise only to be -godfather to your last--your Benjamin!” - -He sank down on the stool, and, burying his face in his hands, was -silent. - -I thought a practical rescue of the situation best, and rising from my -bed, went to bestir myself over the fire, which was burning redly. -Moreover, a delectable odour had already reached my nostrils from the -little caldron he had hung there, and whose contents were beginning to -inspire me with a very lively curiosity. - -I turned to the poor sufferer. - -“Gogo, please, it is very sad; but if I am to go on being a hamadryad -I must be fed. Gogo, what is in the pot?” - -He lifted his head, with a sigh. - -“Snipe,” he said, most tragically. - -“Ah! What else?” - -“A hare, a partridge, teal.” - -“O!” - -“Onions, potatoes, carrots.” - -“O--o!” - -“Larks, chestnuts”-- - -“Be quiet, lest I cry. You are the best of creatures, and I am the -hungriest.” - -“Eat what you will. It is my _pot au feu_--nothing finished before the -next is added.” - -“I can wait no longer. You are the hermit of hermits. Who is your -commissariat-general?” - -“Who but the child your little friend.” - -“My”-- - -“Miss Grant.” - -“Patty!” - -He had arisen, and come across to me. - -“She lays it in a hollow tree, twice a week, and twice a week I go -down by night and fetch it.” - -I stood gaping, staring at him. - -“Gogo! Where are we?” - -“In ‘Rupert’s Folly.’” - -“In--!” - -I gave a little cry. He seized me by the wrist, and dragged me towards -the opened door. - -“O, Gogo!” I choked, struggling and resisting, “we shall be seen.” - -“What does it matter if we are,” he said fiercely, “since you loathe -me?” - -I wept and fondled him, in an agony of fear. - -“I don’t loathe you. You are my one stay and comfort. Gogo! Will you -give me back to that terror?” - -He fell squatting at my feet--it was his substitute for kneeling--and -clasped his arms about my skirt. - -“Beast!” he groaned; “I neither meant nor could help it. To play upon -your fears!--To taste love by deputy!--O, forgive me, forgive me!” - -“Yes,” I said quietly, “for the second time and always, because of -what you have done. But I fear for myself now, and shall go on -fearing. Let me go--O, Gogo, let me escape into the woods, and break -my heart on frost and hunger rather than wrong.” - -Still clutching at me, with a look of horror, as if he felt the shadow -of his last hope eluding him, he scrambled erect again. - -“Hunger!” he said. “Think of the snipe and teal! Listen to me, Diana. -Before God, I will not offend again. Base, black coward that I am! -Before God, Diana!” - -I gazed at him intently. - -“Why have you brought me here, Gogo?” - -“Because,” he answered, “there was no nearer and surer refuge.” - -“I don’t understand.” - -“Ah, child! But you have not heard the story.” - -“Well,” I murmured, reassured, though still shy of him, “if you will -keep your promise and be good, you shall tell it me by and by.” - -He gave a great sigh, and, gently disengaging myself, I stole to the -door, while he followed me with his agitated eyes, and peered out. It -was Shole, indeed, and the familiar village green that I saw beneath -me, looking down the long wintry slope. Quiet and deserted in the -chill mists of dawn, no view apparently less tragic, less harmful, -could have greeted me. I returned to my companion, who received me -with a pathetic relief. He was quite pale and trembling. - -“If my arms had the reach of my heart!” he said. “Well, you have come -back; and so--for breakfast.” - -“Patty’s pot,” said I merrily. “The dear shall put new heart into me, -as her wont was.” - -He had bread, and some bottles of wine, a little of which I drank -mixed with water. It was the loveliest, most intoxicating meal; and, -when it was over, full of a new grace I bid Gogo to my side. - -“Now,” said I, “tell me your story.” - -“Well, first,” he said with a grunt, “for your safety here. It was the -astrologer’s, and now is ours. He was carried away in a thunderstorm, -on a red cloud.” - -“What do you mean, Gogo, please?” - -“I repeat the common superstition. Anyhow, he is gone, and the place -is haunted and avoided since. Not a clown but myself will come within -a mile of it; and as for me, I have lived here for a month undisturbed -already.” - -“You? But I know where the poor wretch was taken, and where he died.” - -“In the asylum, eh? It is what I supposed; and the red earl comes to -his own. Tell me about it.” - -“By and by. I want to know first what brought you here.” - -“The wish to lose myself and be lost, where I could devise a plan for -your rescue.” - -“You knew where I had been taken, then?” - -“No perspicacity of mine. It was the common report. You had lost your -head over love unrequited, and it had become necessary to confine you -for a while.” - -“O, indeed! Go on.” - -“I hear your little white teeth clicking. Rest content. You are -avenged: he has married her.” - -I jumped to my feet. - -“He! de Crespigny?” - -“Yes.” - -I burst into a shriek of laughter. - -“They were reconciled, then? O, the dear particular lady! Does he wipe -his boots on her? Did he take his love-potion very strong on the -wedding night?” - -“Very strong, no doubt,” said Gogo. And then suddenly he clasped my -skirt, and buried his face in it. - -“He would; it was his way,” he muttered. “O, girl, spare me and my -unhappiness--my broken dreams! Did you not know? I had always a -struggle to keep him from it. And now he will go down, down.” - -“Yes,” I said, “while she clings to his legs, as fools drown -together.” - -“Would you not have had her try to save him?” - -“Yes, indeed.” - -“Ah! You are vindictive.” - -“Don’t you hear me laughing?” - -“Yes; like the devil.” - -“Is it? I should be mad indeed if I could applaud her. Do you bear in -mind what she has done to me? She is of the sort who make cruelty -their pander--a frowsy, garterless Jezebel. O, how I hate prudery! For -five years I longed to open the windows on it, and let the air in, and -whatever wholesome little devils beside. I declare I loathe myself to -be of her sex. Touch me, Gogo. Am I the same, or different? O, to be -sure! I wish her joy of her bargain--and him.” - -“She will pay. But for Noel, weak child of genius--leave me the sorrow -of my broken hopes, Diana.” - -“And nothing else? Why did he not meet me?” - -“He had not the courage at the last moment.” - -“And so, having cut the ground from under me, he stepped back, and -instigated madam to her little _coup de theâtre_, I suppose, and -helped her to push me over the precipice. And you--you sympathised -with and abetted him?” - -“Ay,” he said sorrowfully: “witness my long exile here, gnawing my -fingers in the hungry moonlight.” - -I sank upon the ground in a passion of tears, and he mingled his grief -with mine. - -“Child, I had loved him; and I had but to learn how he had abandoned -you, to leave him. I cursed him--cursed de Crespigny. Will Jove -forgive me? What matter, if I have saved you?” - -I lifted my drowned eyes and agonised arms. - -“Take me to Patty,” I cried, “and let me weep my soul out on her kind -little heart.” - -He shook his head. - -“What!” I said; “you will not?” - -“She must not even know,” he said. “I could not trust her anxious -love. She must rest as she is, aware of my endless scheming, but not -of its fruits. Some day, perhaps. And in the meanwhile my lady is gone -honeymooning; there is no hope of appeal to her. A breath would -redeliver you to your fate, and perhaps a worse. Come, and tell me all -you have suffered, poor mistress.” - -I crept to his feet, and in broken tones gave him the history of my -misery, to the day, to the hour when he had appeared before me. - -“And you have not told me,” I said, “how that was.” - -“Once,” he answered, “after I had hidden and settled here, I was -spying through the telescope above--(Ay,” he interrupted himself, to -my exclamation, “they could be bold to capture the dying sorcerer, but -to meddle with his tools was beyond their courage)--when I was witness -of a characteristic little _affaire_ on the green below. There were a -stilt-walker and his wench--a couple of the wandering tribe--a -long-legged bird of passage and his little _cocotte_ of bright -plumage. I could see her glitter where I stood--could see her -spangles, and the ribbons float from her tambour as she danced. And -then suddenly my lord viscount was on the scene. He had been sporting, -and carried his gun. He had keepers with him (they were his own; not, -as might have seemed apter to his wits, Dr. Peel’s); and his dogs -‘pointed’ at the gipsy, I suppose. Anyhow, there was an altercation; -and the next I saw was the clown tipped up by his wooden heels, and -lying prone. They carried off the girl--willing or unwilling, it would -have needed a stronger telescope than the astrologer’s to discern--and -presently the poor stunned fool came to his senses and sat up. I could -see him try to gather his wits with his hand, plucking at his brow. He -was alone, who had been in company. Where were the rest--his ravished -mate, and the mob for whom she had tripped and sung? By and by I saw -him, with many starts and delays, unbuckle his stilts, and, having -shouldered them, hobble with slow, painful steps towards the village. -He disappeared, and till night I sat thinking of him, and of the -‘Contrat Social,’ which M. Rousseau wrote for the angels, and which, -therefore, you would not understand, Diana, though, for all my better -sense, I adore you. About dark I descended into the woods at the back -yonder; and there I came upon my stilt-walker seated dying against a -tree. Yes, he was dying. His fall had shattered some ribs, and driven -one into his lung, and death was already thawing the white snow on his -face into patches of blue. I carried him up to the tower, and eased -what I could of his agony, and received his last message to the world. -It is a callous world, this world of ’87; a world of serf and Satan -and Christianity crushed between. But I tell you I would rather give -that message than receive it: would rather be Gogo, the clown and -pariah, than the Viscount Salted with all his prospective acres. Well, -he died, and I took a spade, and buried him at the foot of the tree -where he had rested. Pray God it bears wholesome acorns, for why -should he wish to poison the swine his brothers? Then I inherited his -property; and a thought, an inspiration, occurred to me how I might -use it. Was I not wont to stump the country, like a halting orator? I -could stump it to higher purpose now--the purpose of your redemption. -Sure the spirit of the dead clown would uphold me, for was it not -privilege I fought? So, with no great practice necessary, I became a -stilt-walker; and presently ventured afield, starting by night, -reaping my little harvest of pence in the far villages by day, and -under cover of dark returning. Gradually I contracted my circuit, -hovering about your prison; and so, once upon a time, peering over the -wall in a wintry evening, spied your figure come and go in the light -of a high room. It might be yours! I must dare all, and cast the die. -Well, Fortune favours--the fortunate.” - -He ended, to a little silence. - -“Poor Gogo,” I said softly. “It is true, I do believe, that I am her -spoilt doll.” - -“And I,” he said, “her Dutch tumbler.” - - - - - XVI. - I PUT AN END TO ONE FOLLY - -Hanging and wiving go by Destiny, which must be my excuse for -accepting the silken cord which was weaving for my neck all this time. -I knew no more than patient Griselda about my impending fate; yet -Destiny was not to be gainsaid because I seemed content to resolve -upon Gogo for my present welfare and protection. - -He, good monster, never alluded again, during all the days I was with -him, to his unhappy passion. He was slavish in his loyalty to his -word, and in his attentions to the poor creature so utterly in his -power. And if I could not but understand the significance of his sighs -and oglings and contortions, my feigned ignorance of those -hieroglyphics was undoubtedly the most merciful of all the tortures I -might have inflicted on him. Thinking of this, I find salve for -certain bruises on my conscience, which, nevertheless, were, I am -sure, quite unnecessarily self-inflicted. I acted for the best, and -with great pain to myself. He has admitted this since, though -confessing he was long in forgiving me. - -I was in the tower, in all, but four days, which, nevertheless, might -have been as many weeks for their tediousness. Gogo was an -incomparable slave and henchman, only his devotion necessarily lacked -the relish of publicity. If I could have had but one other to whom to -boast it, I could have endured it longer. But to be Single-heart’s -exclusive fetish, immured in his wigwam and appropriated to his sole -company, was what never appealed to me. Nor do I believe that it does -truthfully to any other. We are omnivorous; we can’t live on -spoon-meat alone; and there is an end of it. - -“Gogo,” I said once, “why are you so attached to me?” - -“Why?” said he, throwing up his hands, after his fashion, with a sort -of protesting groan to the powers that be. “Because I am a creature of -surfaces and impressions; because, drawing my life from the great -external of all, it is my doom to worship externals. We talk of our -inheriting the world. Pooh! we are just an itch on the skin of this -monster, whose dark internals are as remote from us as our own hated -organs. Have we ever a thought of possessing our kingdom? Think with -what terror we contemplate a living burial. We are the dust of contact -between earth and sky; are bandied between space and matter, the dross -of one or the scum of the other. Love itself is but the measure of our -penetration. It is the propagation of superficies: it probes no -farther: and all the time is breathing in the air like a swimmer. Are -my eyes in my feet? Ask me why I hate the dark, and am attached to the -light--to the brightest gnat of an hour flying within it.” - -“Thank you, sir,” said I. “And that is me, I suppose?” - -“That is you,” he said--“dancing on a window-pane, and wondering what -fate keeps you from the garden beyond.” - -“And you,” I said, “are the spider lurking in the window-corner, -_n’est ce pas_, and wondering what fate keeps you from devouring me. -Well, you are very complimentary; but, for my part, I would rather -have an hour’s dancing on the surface than possess all the world -that’s under.” - -“Ay,” he answered, “and that’s why I covet you.” - -Now, was he not an inexplicable creature, and, it must be said, a -depressing? Moreover, for all his advocacy of my cause, I could never -quite reconcile him to my view of madam. - -“Remember the day of the picture,” he would say; “and how she rebuked -us all by her attitude. If I testify to your martyrdom, Diana, I must -testify to hers that preceded it.” - -“She is welcome to the palm,” I cried. “And may she live long to -flaunt her conquest.” - -He did not answer; and so letting his dissent pass by default, put a -bar between us that was never quite surmounted. - -In the meanwhile, day followed day, and the frost held, and I was cold -and _ennuyée_; and still he delayed our flight on the score of peril. -I had come but poorly clad for the test, and I cried and shivered much -in our dismal refuge, where what fire we could afford must be kept low -from dread of the smoke betraying us. Present food we had, and some -wine that helped a little to comfort our dejection; and on the Friday -he was due, tramping fourteen miles thither and back over the hills, -to claim his fresh dole of the tree above Wellcot, where faithful -Patty--who was in his confidence as to his retreat, and the means -towards my salvation he hoped to make of it--was wont to conceal it. -Dear darling! How I longed to convey her a message; but he would not -hear of it. - -“Of all ephemera,” he said, “she is the very transparent-bodied fly, -the secrets of whose own heart she cannot help but reveal.” - -So I had to submit, and hold her sweet image in my arms o’ nights, -when the wind came in at the door and the stars crackled with cold. -But Gogo was right, I had to confess, when once from the deep woods -beyond Shole we heard the clanging of bloodhounds, and knew that my -enemies were vainly seeking the trail which had no existence. Then I -cowered low, and felt a new gush of affection for the resourceful -giant who was so wise in the singleness of his passion. - -Often by day I would climb up the ladder to the loft where the -astrologer’s telescope yet remained, commanding, like a disused -cannon, the house and village he had fancied under its dominion, and -there spend hours spying hungrily for what tokens of life the bitter -season afforded. They were not many or inspiriting; but they served at -least to keep me in touch with that world of my fellows that seemed -eternally lost to me. - -On the Friday I fell at Gogo’s feet. - -“Safe or unsafe,” I cried, “take me away! I can stand this loneliness -no longer.” - -His face was full of a sorrowful ecstasy. - -“And it was a garden to me,” he murmured; “blind that I am!” - -“I shall die,” I cried terribly, “and you will lay me with the dead -clown under the tree.” - -“So would you be for ever mine,” he continued, in a sort of dream. - -I shrunk from him, and seeing my look, he cast himself down on his -face before me. - -“Command me as you will,” he cried; “only never, never bid me from -serving you.” - -“You will go?” I sat back, eagerly canvassing him. “Why should I dream -of parting with you? Are not our fortunes pledged together, even if I -did not owe you the best of all gratitude? You are so wise and brave; -you will find a plan and a direction. Only I can stop here no -longer.--O, I can’t!--Gogo, take me away--to London--anywhere.” - -He raised himself. - -“Spare me this evening to forage,” he said, “so that to-morrow we can -at least start provided.” - -In deep night he left me, to go to the tree. It was the first time I -had been abandoned to my sole self. So long as I could discern his -figure, striding over the fields, like some unearthly goblin, on its -high stilts, I stood by the door gazing into the starlight. Then, when -I could see him no more, I sat down just within, my back to the vast -emptiness, and hugged and cried to myself against the long panic of -waiting. - -Not many minutes had I sat thus, when something--a footstep, a -shadow--seemed to fall upon my heart with a shock that stopped its -beating. Too terrified for look or utterance, I crouched low, hoping -the thing would pass, and leave me unobserved. - -“I have come, madam, to invite you to a safer asylum,” said a low and -musical voice. - -I gave an irresistible cry, suppressing it instinctively, even in its -emission, lest it should call back my faithful squire, from his long -toil across the fields, to a need which these gentle tones were far -from justifying. I struggled to my feet, and made myself as small as -possible against the wall. - -“Who are you?” I whispered. - -“An outcast like yourself,” answered the shadow; “a fellow-sufferer at -the hands of the very family to which you owe your misfortunes.” - -“Who are you?” I could only whisper again. - -“I am George Rowe,” it said. “Do you remember me? We have met once--an -ineffaceable impression to me. I have followed your career since; -unknown to you, have traced you by the flowers in your footsteps--yes, -even to that wicked place, and your flight from it. I have watched you -since from the woods below; have stood at this door at night and -listened to your breathing till I maddened; have sorely bided my time, -seeking to speak to you. I have tracked the honest tracker, your good -servant and saviour; and, while I applaud his devotion, must warn you -against the equivocal position in which your further acceptance of -that devotion may place you.” - -I could not see his face, but only the dusk of a comely form, as it -stood now before me. Well could I recall, indeed, “the good-humoured -gentleman in the grey coat,” who had once so espoused my childish -cause, and earned thereby the hatred of his kinsmen. My confidence was -returning to me with my wits. - -“You are very considerate for us,” I said deridingly. “Do you come as -madam your sister’s emissary, since you are so particular for my -character?” - -“Alas!” he said, “you do well to doubt me, being so related. But I am -an outlaw from all that house’s influence and consideration.” - -“An outlaw--you!” I murmured. - -“Ay,” he answered; “ruined, menaced, and driven forth to nurse my -wrongs in hiding.” - -“Why, where?” I asked. - -“To the woods,” he answered, “like Robin Hood.” - -“O, an attractive asylum, sir, for distressed ladies,” I said. - -He replied, “Maid Marian thought so.” - -“Perhaps she had an attachment there,” said I. “I miss the application -to myself.” - -He laughed softly. - -“Whether we fly from fear, or fly to love, we fly,” he said. “You may -hold your enemies too cheap, not knowing that my lord makes interest -with his sister, and for his own purposes, to subsidise your Dr. Peel. -For the sake of the secrets of the prison-house, he will not leave her -solus to the hue and cry. You have planted two dragon-heads in place -of the one you severed.” - -I shrunk before him. - -“What do you mean? How do you know?” - -“By the token,” he said, “that he destined me to your fate, and I -answered with the better part of valour, which you will be wise to -imitate.” - -“To-morrow,” I muttered; “we had already decided.” - -“That is not all, nor enough,” he urged. “You may be Una, _with_ a -rhinoceros, and that is not enough. My lord rides a thunder-bolt. It -is not enough to flee him; you must vanish--be no more.” - -Now all of a sudden--I know not how--his words seemed to wake me to -the fond illusion of my state. How, indeed, was I situated, with a -legless Caliban to show me how to run? I had been blinded, by Gogo’s -devotion, to the real nature of the presumption it had thought to -justify. What honest right had he to have undertaken so responsible a -deed, save he had provided for it to the last details? I felt suddenly -very naked and forlorn--shiftless and crying, like some poor exposed -child in the night. I clasped my fingers to the shadow, entreating it -in a broken voice-- - -“What am I to do? Advise me, help me!” - -It moved upon me, soft, and swift, and irresistible. I felt my hands -imprisoned--seized as out of the grave into an assurance of human -warmth and sympathy. - -“For what else am I here?” demanded the fervent voice. “Have I not the -prior claim? Have you never thought of me in all these years--of what -you might be now, save for my interference?” - -“Yes,” I whispered. “Indeed, indeed I am not one to forget.” - -“Well,” he said, “I am just a vagabond at last, and desperate in -romance; and you--your reason is forfeit, if not your life. Be under -no delusion about it; nor about the real impotence of this good fellow -to save you. Come with me, then, while there is time, and be my little -sister. I am lonely in the deep woods.” - -I did not move or speak, but I gazed up intently into the white bloom -of his face. The strangest thought was struggling for expression in -me--of some conscious gravitation, through all these years, towards an -affinity which had been shadowed out to me at that first and only -meeting. I felt no shyness, but only a restful confidence in his -company. Was not that strange? To be brother and sister, one and -indivisible in the candid sympathies of Nature. I recognised in a -moment that it was that ideal relationship which had always appealed -to me for the best and purest--that I could never be happy again -divorced from it. - -Suddenly the tears were in my eyes. - -“If I could truly be your little sister,” I said, “and keep house for -you, as Gretel did for the gentle shepherd who had plucked her when a -flower.” - -He heaved a long sigh, full of rapture. - -“Quick, then! let me pluck my flower,” says he, “and run.” - -But now, at that, for some reason, a revulsion of feeling took me. I -sank down upon the ground away from him, and hid my face in my hands. - -“No, no,” I cried--“not yet, not now. O, leave me, _please_!” - -Perhaps he was wise to understand and temporise. Anyhow, he went, -though no farther than the door. - -For a moment I hated myself; for a moment I felt the basest thing on -earth. What use to reflect that reason and kindness were on my side: -that, since I could not cure a poor fond fool, it were no mercy, but -the contrary, to submit him to the continued infection of my presence? -I said so to myself, and saying it, saw his face returning--full of -light and eagerness--to learn the damning truth! To be held accursed -in that great heart! I could not, I could not! Poor Gogo! Had he not -given up everything for me? I would not desert him. Why should he not -come too? But no: I saw in the same instant that that was impossible, -since he himself had no thought, no wish, to be my brother. And -perhaps, if I went, I should never see him again. Well, would not that -be the best for him? Let me nurse my grief eternal, so long as he -found _his_ cure in separation. It were better I should go. Freed of -this incubus, he would have no longer need to crouch and starve. The -world had no reason, so far as I knew, to identify him with my flight. -And now every hour he remained with me was an added peril to his -safety, his very existence! - -Quite wild, I rose to my feet and went panting to the shadow. - -“Take me away,” I said, “before he breaks my heart, returning.” - -He took my hand tight in his, drew me under the starlight, and -together we fled down the hill and into the woods. - - - - - XVII. - I AM CONSIGNED TO A GREEN GRAVE - -To you, my dear Alcide, conscience is, I know, a disease, and virtue -its relapse. I do not, then, ask your sympathy, but only your -commiseration in that long struggle with my better self in which I was -now to engage--a struggle which found me child, and left me woman--a -struggle through whose intermittent deliriums moved ever the sorrowful -figure of my poor lost Gogo. - -Yet I must own that the oasis in which this destiny was to be -fulfilled figured for a period the greenest in all my desert career. -It was a dear time, in truth; a dear, abandoned, wonderful time, until -the inevitable disenchantment came. Alas! to take profit of your own -unselfishnesses is, with a stern Providence, to convert them into the -plainest of worldly transactions! - -No word passed between me and my companion as we hurried, deeper and -deeper, into the fathomless woods. Sure of foot and, it seemed, of -destination, he drew me unresisting by cloudy deeps of foliage, by -starlit alleys, by ways so thronged and massed with trunks as to seem -impenetrable. Often I shrunk before some imaginary charge of shadows; -often cried out in the silent rush of woodland things across our path. -There was no wind that could reach and buffet those packed -desolations; no frost, save where in the clearings it could find space -to bloom. And these, for precaution’s sake, we avoided, lest our -footsteps should betray us. On and on we sped, till my heart was sick -in my breast, and I cried out to rest and die. But he would not let me -stop. - -“Courage, little sister!” he cried; “we are within a cast of home.” - -We mounted, after that, a long and gentle hill, from whose sides the -trees fell away, till, on the summit, there was none. But here, sunk -deep in the crest, was, as I could discern, an ancient gravel pit, -whose slopes were rough with brake and brush to a giddy distance down. - -“Come,” he whispered, and clasped my hand secure. - -We descended by a path, that was no path to me, and, at the bottom, -stooped under a very thicket of bush, and gained once more a sense of -space and movement, but so deadly close-shut that for a little I dared -not stir. - -“Come,” whispered my companion again. “It is nothing but a cleft in -the hill, but so overgrown above that no mortal would guess it there.” - -Still I dared not move. When suddenly I felt his arm about me, and his -lips on mine. Then I started to myself with a shock of anger. - -“Is this to be a brother?” I cried. - -“What else,” he murmured, “to give his little sister confidence.” - -The low laugh with which he said it made my blood fire. I could have -struck him in my fury. - -“Go on!” I said, in a repressed voice. “I have come so far; I must -follow, I suppose.” - -“Will you not let me lead you?” - -“No.” - -“You may stumble in the dark.” - -“Not to the fall you think.” - -“I am sorry.” - -“Very well. Go on.” - -He went before, submissively. The gully cut straight, like a giant -furrow, through the hill. It was narrow and pitch-dark, sodden here -and there with dripping water, and always smelling like a vault. Not -once in its entire length, so far as I could see, did the dense mat of -overgrowth thin to that texture that a star of all the hosts above was -visible. - -At last he stopped so suddenly that I near fell against him. - -“Hush!” he whispered, “we are at the end. Can you see enough to follow -me?” - -“Yes,” I said; “my eyes are opened now.” - -He had hard work, I knew, to suppress a chuckle over my tragic tone. - -“Well, keep them so,” said he; and, elbowing up a great pad of -foliage, beckoned to me to pass. I obeyed, holding my skirts from him, -and in a moment discovered myself in the open once more. - -We had emerged, it seemed, high on the near perpendicular side of -another pit, or cutting. Right beneath us, shouldering the very steep -on which we were perched, was the thatched roof of a cottage, an open -skylight in the midst gaping at us scarce ten feet below. So close did -it invite us, in the bewildering starlight, that I was near springing, -on the thought, to gain its shelter. But my companion restrained me. - -“Wait,” he whispered drily. “A little of your discretion, please.” - -Doubtful of me, he let go his hold reluctantly, and stooping once more -under the curtain of foliage, dragged out a ladder, which was -concealed behind, and which he now, with infinite precaution, lowered -through the skylight till it rested. - -“Now,” he said, “climb down, while I hold it firm.” - -It was the rudest thing; just slats nailed across a pole--a ladder for -bears, not men. But I was young and lithe, and quickly was down and -through, and standing, trembling over this finish to my adventure, on -the floor of a little dark, invisible room. And so, before I had time -to collect myself, the other was descended in my footsteps, and the -ladder hauled in and laid along the wall, and a little silence ensued. - -“Well,” said his voice at length, “you are safe at last, little -sister.” - -Then, I don’t know how it was, the tears would come. - -“Why, don’t you believe it?” he whispered, groping a step nearer. - -“Have you given me reason to?” I answered, shrinking from his touch, -and gulping down my sobs. - -He drew away at once. - -“The best reason in the world,” he said coldly, “since I have placed -my life in your hands--since I leave you here the means to escape, if -you will, and curry favour by betraying me.” - -I could have cried out on his cruelty, but dared not. - -“Understand, this is your sanctuary,” he went on, “prepared against -your coming, and which none, in their turn, will betray. The path to -it is sacred to me. No one will disturb you; you are secure as a bird -in its nest. There is a bed in a corner; rushlight and holder and -tinder-box on a table by. Light, and take possession. I must go and -reassure Portlock.” - -I heard him move softly over the floor; a trap opened somewhere, -letting in a momentary weak film of light, and he was gone. - -For a time I stood motionless, hearing the murmur of voices somewhere -below; then, suddenly panic-struck, groped for the table and tinder, -and shakily struck fire. The wick caught, flamed up and settled, and I -saw my possession. - -It was the tiniest, kindest little room, under a sloping roof, clean -and friendly, with a white bed. I was dazed and weary beyond -speculation. Leaving the light burning, I crept under the coverlet as -I was, and fell into a profound sleep. - - - - - XVIII. - I BEGIN ANOTHER FOLLY - -I opened my eyes to a sense of utter restfulness and peace. A -feeling of green isolation, of a quiet and guarded security, such as -not all Gogo’s watchfulness could accomplish for me in the tower, came -instantly to comfort the first startled shock of my waking. Little -demure clouds drifted over the skylight; I heard a faint twitter of -birds on the hillside; there were woodland berries and flaming leaves -in my room; pictures, too; and a dozen pretty attentions to reassure -me. Sure he must have made very certain of his capture before he -decorated the cage so handsomely. And for how long, pray, had he held -his hand and aloof, biding his opportunity? He must have kept his -secret well, at least, for I had never known a hint of his presence. - -I smiled, and closed my eyes again. It was a most endearing thought, -the thought of that brotherly haunting, while I had been bemoaning my -abandonment by all the world. There was still that in me, then, to -attract admiration, to ensure my affinity with the strong and shapely. -I was sick to death of malformations, mental and bodily. What had -become of him? I had not reached the end of my resentment, but I did -not wish him to think it insurmountable; and I was certainly curious -to learn how far my romantic memory of him was justified. - -And, in the meantime, where was I? in what remote eyrie of the green -forest? For all I could see, I might be imprisoned in a well. - -I rose, and, after making my toilette, had paused undecided, wondering -what was to come next, when I heard his voice, very mock-humble, at -the trap-- - -“Little sister, will you come down to breakfast?” - -The blood thrilled in my temples, but I hardened my heart, and -answered “Yes,” as frigid as a nun. - -He flung up the hatch at once, and for the first time I saw the ladder -going down into candlelight, whence a smell of warm dust and tallow -rose to my nostrils. He descended before me, and I followed, into the -leanest of little cellars, with a rough board on trestles in it and a -stool or two. The rafters were hung with cobwebs; there were a couple -of dismal dips in horn sconces on the walls; a closed door showed -dimly at the farther end, and that was all. - -I turned in amazement upon my companion, to find him regarding me with -a curious expression. But it sobered at once before my gaze. It was -not, indeed, now I came to con him, quite the expression of my memory. -The sweet humour of it had fallen, I could have thought, upon more -mocking times. There was a look in his face as if he had got to love -himself the better, the worse he had been depreciated by others; as if -injustice had somewhat crooked the old lines of chivalry. But for the -rest, he was as bronzed and comely as ever, as lithe and muscular; and -the common woodman’s dress (coarse grogram jacket and leggings to the -hips), which, whether for convenience or disguise, he had adopted, -showed off his fine figure to perfection. - -“Where is it, the breakfast?” I asked. - -“Cooking, by Portlock,” said he. “I’m waiting to pull it through.” - -He stood stooping, indeed, and holding a string in his hand, by what -looked like a black gap at the foot of the wall beyond the table. - -“To pull it through!” I cried out. “Are we to eat it here?” - -He turned his head, as he leaned, to scan me. - -“We can take it up under the skylight, if you like,” said he. - -“My room!” - -A violent retort was on my lips; but something in his face warned me, -and it died unuttered. For all his affected humility, there was a -masterfulness here I had not guessed. I realised on the instant that -I did not know, had never known him. It was not altogether a -disagreeable awakening. - -I sat down, silent, on one of the stools; and he addressed me again -quietly from his place-- - -“Little sister, you have committed yourself to my care--very properly, -I think, and very properly trustful of an elder brother. Do you know -my age? I am thirty-four--just double your seventeen; and at least -worldly-wise enough to direct you.” - -“That is all very well,” I said, half stifled; “but why have you -brought me here?” - -“Have I not told you?” he answered. “To save you from a wolf, who -would have set his teeth in my little white lamb.” - -“No, you have not told me,” I cried; “and I am no more lamb of yours -than his; and anyhow, I had my shepherd already.” - -“A poor shepherd,” he said. “Witness his watchfulness!” - -I bit my lip, and said no more. For a moment I hated myself and -him--his specious reasonings, which had led me to abandon my honest, -good comrade and saviour. While I sat dumb, a low whistle sounded -through the wall; and instantly he turned to me. - -“You do not like your dining-parlour?” he said. “But, believe me, it -has a thousand conveniences of privacy, of which here is not the -least.” - -And, with the word, drawing on the string he held in his hand, he -brought a tray into light. It was packed with comestibles--bread, and -honey, and collops of venison that smelt royally; but, when he -transferred these to the table, I had no stomach for them, and pushed -away the plate he offered me. - -“What! You won’t eat?” he said. - -“I can’t breakfast in a sewer.” - -“Very well.” - -He fell to himself, without further delay, and with plenty of -appetite. I watched him out of the corners of my eyes, half maddened -already by the abstinence I had imposed on myself. He was dressed like -a forester, I have said; and now I observed that he affected the -manners of a forester, consciously, it would seem, effacing in himself -the more gentle observances. It may have been an effort to him; but, -anyhow, he tore his bread and gnawed his bones with the air of one -bred to the soil--with a set of perfect white teeth, too, it must be -conceded. And, while he despatched, throwing his litter on the board, -he continued talking to me fitfully. - -“Yes,” he said, “it is very convenient for such as we, who desire not -only to save our labour, but our lives certainly, and our self-respect -if possible. You don’t ask me where we are?” - -I shook my head in indifference. - -“Well,” he said, “you must know some time, when you might be more -curious; and short explanations suit me best. We are immured, child, -in a wall; and so long as we don’t betray ourselves, nothing can -betray us--not even into an acknowledgment of what one of us may owe -to the other.” - -“I am grateful to you,” I said coldly, and said no more. The truth is, -I was hardly listening to him, so intense had grown my desire that he -would coax me at last into eating something. - -He laughed, and, pushing his plate away, settled his fists on his -hips, and began, like a satisfied man, to troll a soft little song. I -could stand it no longer. - -“Give me a little piece,” I said, “and I will show you how collops -should be eaten.” - -“You mean,” he answered at once, “that you will show me how to behave. -But I have done with all that hypocrisy.” - -He rose with the words, having finished, and, to my anger and -astonishment, cleared the board, piecemeal and deliberately, and, -piling all on the tray, gave the signal for its withdrawal. It -disappeared instantly. Then he returned to his stool, and, pulling out -pipe and tobacco, began to smoke placidly. Fury overcame me. - -“Have you not forgotten to ask my permission?” I cried. - -“Punctilio in a sewer!” he answered, puffing; “that is hardly to be -expected.” - -I rose at once. - -“I wish to be by myself,” I said. - -He took his pipe from his lips. - -“You know the way. If you object to mine, there is the ladder in your -room--and the skylight--and all the forest to choose from”--and he -began to smoke again. - -I left him, without another word, and, ascending to my closet, dropped -the trap with a slam. It was an outrage beyond endurance. I threw -myself upon my bed, and wept tears of rage. What a fool I had been, -what a fool, to commit my destinies to a savage! I had thought romance -had come to find me, walking on two feet in the starlight, and all the -time it had been leaving me, stumping sorrowfully away on its poor -wooden legs. My soul gushed out in fresh mourning for the dear monster -I had wronged. - -More than once I rose, in the full determination to fly and rejoin -him. As often, the hopelessness of my position cast me down again. I -had no idea where I was; I dared not face the prospect of wandering, -lost and alone, in those savage solitudes. The wretch had played his -part well--and for what? Why for me. - -The thought, at last, quieted my grief--brought me to a little reason. -After all, I had been cold with him, something less than grateful. -What had brought him to repudiate the customs of his caste? I fell -into a fit of speculation. Perhaps it was in scorn of an order that -had basely disinherited him. His words had seemed to imply so. Perhaps -he had meant no more than to read me a lesson in feeling. - -I sighed. I was wilful and imperious, I knew, I said to myself. I had -been spoilt a little, perhaps, by admiration, and my better qualities -obscured. It was a wonder he could have seen anything to covet in me. -Was it my part to convince him of his mistake? - -I sighed again, and then rose and walked about. Every detail of the -tiny chamber was witness to the loving expectations he had formed of -me. What was I to do? How climb down and keep my place in my own eyes? - -He meant to leave me to resolve the question for myself, it appeared. -All day I waited and hungered, and not a sound of his footstep -approaching did I hear. At length, when it was dark, quite desperate -I took my candle, and, softly opening the trap, listened a moment, and -descended. The cellar was empty; only the board and stools, and -nothing else. I went swiftly scanning it, holding the light overhead. -I tried the door at the end; it was fast locked. Unless he had gone -out that way, there was no accounting for his disappearance. - -All at once I heard the thin mutter of voices--his and another’s, I -was sure. Seeking to localise them, I came upon the low hole in the -wall through which he had dragged the breakfast tray. I stooped, and -hearing, I thought, the whisper clearer, sunk to my knees and looked -through. Here was a passage, I found to my surprise, wide enough for a -man to creep by; and, beyond, it seemed, a faintly lighted room. As I -bent, I heard the chairs of the talkers drag, as if the two were -rising, and, fearful of discovery, fled on tiptoe to my room once -more, and, noiselessly closing the trap, stood panting and rigid by -it. To what dark mystery was I being made the innocent and unconscious -accessory? I felt suddenly bewildered and terrified. The light in my -hand swayed and leaped, evoking gusty phantoms on the wall. A wind -seemed to boom in my brain. I was really light-headed with hunger, I -think. Presently, from sheer giddiness, I threw myself on my bed once -more, and fell into a sort of waking stupor. - -In the midst, after how long I know not, a voice reached me. He was -summoning me, if I needed it, to supper. If I needed it! What cruelty! -He would not give my pride a chance. Half in fear, half fury, I turned -my face to the wall, and did not answer. - -He wasted no time on me. I heard him withdraw in a moment, whistling. -I had hoped he would think me escaped; would venture in, perhaps, -panic-struck, to encounter the full torrent of my indignation. But he -showed no concern whatever. He felt secure of his wretched little -trapped bird, I supposed. And he was justified--was justified. Then I -cried as I had never cried before. He might have had some patience, -some consideration. At last, quite famished and exhausted, I fell -asleep. - -I awoke, in full day, to find him standing over and regarding me. I -felt weak, and too utterly subdued to resent his presence as it -deserved. There was no pity in his eyes even then. I closed my own, -feeling my throat swell. - -“I thought you might be hungry,” he said. “Are you?” - -At that, for all my efforts, the tears came. - -“Don’t you know?” I said. “But I suppose you think to starve me into -submission.” - -“Submission to what?” said he. “You were offered food, and refused it. -But I have brought you some bread.” - -He held out to me a dry crust. I turned from it in anger. - -“O, very well!” said he, and was returning it to his pocket. - -Then physical need conquered me. I could not face the thought of -another day’s starvation. I sat up, and held out my hands. - -“If you will be so cruel,” I said. “Let me have it, please.” - -He gave it to me at once, stood by with a sort of sombre smile on his -face, while I appeased my ravenous first hunger. - -“That’s right,” he said. “Are you better? There was room for -improvement.” - -I did not answer. - -“Well, are you quite good now?” said he. - -My throat began to swell again. - -“You treat me like a child!” I cried. - -“Yes,” he said, “because it’s only little girls who quarrel with their -bread and butter.” - -“Haven’t you punished me enough already?” I said. - -“I don’t know,” he answered. “But, if more’s wanted, I hope it will be -with less smart to myself.” - -I laughed through my tears. - -“O, I mean nothing sentimental,” said he; “but only that, _my_ room -being next to yours, and the common ladder to both conducting through -_your_ room, I’ve been forced by your wilfulness to sleep all night -below in a chair. But we’ll remedy that somehow with a screen, and so -settle any question of precedence in going to bed.” - -I stared at him, half fearfully. - -“Why have you brought me here?” I whispered. - -“What! again?” he said, shaking a finger at me. - -“It seems, for no reason but to humble and abuse me. I was happy with -poor Gogo.” - -“Damn Gogo!” he said, in such a sudden heat that it brought a cry from -me. Then, all in an instant, to my amazement and distress, he had -fallen on his knees beside the bed. - -“What is Gogo to you, or you to him?” he cried, in a low, intense -voice. “Has he ruined himself for you as I have done? Has he risked -death, destruction, madness? pined for you in dreams, and plotted to -gain you waking, as I have ever since you, a child, took my reason by -storm, and bound it to you by golden chains?” - -His fervour and passion quite overwhelmed me. I could only cower, -trembling, before him. - -“What do you mean?” I whispered. “How have you ruined yourself--for my -sake?” - -He caught at my hands. He was breathing fast and thick. - -“O, child, you don’t know!” he cried--“the peril that has dogged -you--the love that has foreseen and provided--not for a moment the -truth of how my heart bled to hurt you. Now--now! O, will you not come -to me and hear?” - -“No,” I whispered, in a hurry of emotion. “For pity’s sake leave me! I -will come to you presently: I will, indeed.” - -He rose to his feet at once, commanding himself. He was all -changed--softened and transfigured. I felt swimming on the edge of a -whirlpool--fighting giddily against some helpless, rapturous plunge to -which I was being urged. I longed only for breathing time--some little -space to be alone in. - -He went and stood by the trap: “I will wait for you,” he said -hoarsely; and so descended, closed it behind him, and was gone. - -When, in an hour, I rejoined him, he was pacing the cellar like a -caged wolf. He uttered a glad exclamation upon seeing me, and took my -hand and led me to a stool. He was himself again, but with a new -strange wistfulness in his gaiety. - -“You will not mind the ‘sewer’ now?” said he. “And presently you will -ask me everything, and I will tell you.” - -He drew in our breakfast, by the same method as before; and I could at -last enjoy my collops with a free conscience and appetite. Then, our -meal over, he drew his stool beside me, and, without offering to -smoke, started upon his relation. - - - - - XIX. - I AM MAID MARIAN - -“But, first,” said he, kindling, “ask me where you are.” - -“Short explanations suit me best,” I said. “Immured in a wall. Is not -that enough?” - -“Quite, for me,” said he, “since you are here. But whose wall, now?” - -I shook my head. - -“Why, in Ranger Portlock’s cottage,” said he, “buried, out of all -whooping, in the forest. Would you like to be introduced to your -host?” - -“Yes, if you please,” I said. “Will you call him in?” - -He laughed. - -“Mahomet will have to go to the mountain. You will understand why, -when you see it. Well, for this cottage. Did you mark its position in -the dark? Poor little bewildered brain--poor little brain! Harkee!” -(He was fondly touching and smoothing the hair on my temples.) “I -loved this Diana as a little girl. What a phenomenal brother, to be -sure! This cottage you are in, child--did you not observe?--lies -snuggled in the shoulder of the hill, warm as a baby in its mother’s -arm--as warm and as safe too. Its back wall here” (he turned and -tapped the plaster) “is just a windowless buttress, built strong -against any chance falling of the soil beyond. This” (he pointed to -the inner wall) “terminates the kitchen, and not the house itself, as -a body entering the building is meant to suppose. ’Tis a blind, as one -might call it, and not discernible from the outside to any but a -conjurer.” - -“And there?” I said, pointing to the closed door at the end. - -“That, madam,” said he, with some momentary return to dryness, “is -Bluebeard’s Chamber, if you please, and not at present in the articles -of discussion.” - -I was surprised--a little startled, perhaps--but said no more; and he -went on-- - -“Well, now: this same cottage is a half-timbered structure, very -ancient, and as full of odd little compartments as a bureau. Where we -lie is its secret drawers, Diana, a nest of ’em--two below and two -over. And how to reach here, miss? Ay, there’s the master stroke you’d -never guess. No, ’tis no way by the door yonder.” - -“If you please, sir,” says I, “if ’twas left to my innocence to -decide, I should e’en choose the way the tray went.” - -“Well, come and look,” says he, and made me go and stoop to the hole. -To my surprise, it was closed, and black. - -“’Twas not so I saw it last night,” I said, rising. - -“What!” cried he, “you were prowling, were you? Thank you kindly for -the hint”--and he gave a great laugh, but sobered in a moment. - -“Did you listen, then?” said he. - -“I was going to,” I answered; “but the moment I bent, your chairs -moved, and I was frightened, and ran away.” - -“That sounds frank,” said he. He sat musing a little. “You’re a child, -’tis true, mutable and thoughtless; but where could be the harm? If -the secret were mine only-- Well, study for my confidence, and some -day, perhaps”-- - -He broke off with a smile, which I had a difficulty to return. So -there _was_ a mystery in reality. There and then I vowed a Delilah -oath to myself to get the better of it. - -“I don’t know what you mean,” I said; “I had no thought to surprise -any secrets. Is that the way through, indeed?” - -“Yes,” he said; “fairly, it is. ’Tis pierced under the big copper in -the kitchen, which has a detachable grate to be pulled all out in one -piece. God knows the original use of this contrivance--this space in -the wall--unless ’twere always for the purpose that we”--(he checked -himself again). “Anyhow, ’tis utterly inaccessible else, save by way -of the skylight which your ladyship knows; and now you’re acquainted -with your prison, ask me further what you will.” - -“_Ranger_ Portlock, did you say?” - -“Ay, ranger; once my brother’s keeper (not like Cain, unhappily), and -since promoted.” - -“You seem to love your brother.” - -“I have reason.” - -“And this Portlock is still in his service?” - -“Yes.” - -“And in _your_ confidence?” - -“Ay, is he not! I must tell you I am a proper sportsman, madam, and -always more popular with Hardrough’s people than the noble verderer -himself. Well, I have taught them something here and there, and put -money in their pockets, maybe. Have no fear. Not Portlock nor any -other will betray us. I have my merry men of Down, who sink or swim -with me. And now I have my Maid Marian. What more? You shall see this -Portlock. Bear in mind he was once a thread-paper of a man. I have -known him since I was a boy. What else?” - -“Can you ask me?” I said low, hanging my head. “The reason--what you -hinted up there--why you are ruined and in hiding?” - -He ventured to put an arm about me. How could I refuse him, who was my -Bayard? Yet, when he told me, it was not all. He never to the end -acquainted me of what social dereliction of his had originally -delivered him into the earl his brother’s power, and placed him and -his remnant fortunes under the hand of that remorseless nobleman to -use and crush at his will. He never even admitted but indirectly that -stain on his birth, in which a high person was whispered to be -implicated, and which was at the root, perhaps, of all the trouble. - -“He always hated me,” he said of the Lord Herring; “and never more -than when he foresaw my succession in the death of his promising limb, -my nephew.” - -“What, is he dead?” I asked, astonished. - -“No,” he said, “but only rotten. He will never come into the title, -believe me.” - -“And you,” I said, curiously interested. “How will he keep you out, if -the worst should happen to him?” - -“Why,” he said, “he would threaten an inquiry, an exposure; and there -are those who, rather than suffer it, would countenance his quiet -disposal of me--have done so, perhaps, already. And there you come -in.” - -“Me!” I cried. - -“Child,” he responded, “how can I speak it without offence? You have -long been marked down by this man, my brother, for his prey. I have -known it, trust me, and writhed under the knowledge. But you were in -proper hands, and he must bide his opportunity. Believe me, he was no -privy to Sophia’s schemes of husbandry. Had he guessed, he would have -anticipated the end, so far as you was concerned, by carrying you away -by force. When he learned the truth at last, he was mad. But he -recovered his sanity on reflection. It was no bad thing to let you -ripen in that hell for his purposes--to subdue you by that torture to -his will. Then, when reduced, he would exchange your sweet person with -Dr. Peel for mine, would sell me to your place in the madhouse, so -killing his two birds with one wicked stone. But his plan miscarried. -I had a friend in the household--someone, a poor dancer, whom he had -used for a day and thrown aside. She revealed all to me, and I fled, -leaving him only my bitter curse for legacy. And I came here, into -hiding, to mature my plans for revenge--came back to Nature, -renouncing my kindred and all the vile social policies of a world I -had got to loathe. He had beggared me, and I would fleece the -plunderer. He had thought to debauch my love, and I would disappoint -him of even that moiety of his bargain. Have I done so? Judge, if he -loved me before, how he would spare me now, who have baffled his -schemes and stolen his dear! A knowledge of but half the truth has -already, in these few weeks, set him turning every stone to discover -where I lie; but I am well served by my friends. He would burn the -forest if he guessed the whole. As you regard me, as you value -yourself, child, concede nothing to chance--not so much as a peep over -the roof. Ay, I know your activity. But you must lie close as a hare -if you would be safe--through these first days of peril, at least. -Later, when the chase less presses, you may venture out, perhaps, by -the ladder; but always with infinite caution, as you love me. Little -sister, do you agree?” - -I buried my face in my hands. My whole heart cried out on the cruel -tyranny of a code that could let such monsters as this wreak their -passions on the pure and innocent, and yet find absolution. O, that I -could find a way, in the lawful junction of our fortunes, to vindicate -this dear oppressed creature, and establish him in his rights before -the world! I leaned to him, with wet eyes. - -“If you love _me_ so, brother,” I murmured, “what made you behave so -cruel to me?” - -He gave a happy, low laugh, and tightened his hold. - -“Why, dear,” he said, “are not a woman’s extremes of love all for the -man who will beat her, or the man she can cherish and protect? I vow I -chose only my natural part.” - -“Well,” said I, “I’m glad you stopped short of the beating. It would -only have stiffened me, like cream.” - -“Whipt cream is very good with cherries,” said he, and bent to my -lips. - -But I started from him gaily, and leapt to my feet. - -“Come,” I said; “I’m waiting to be introduced to Mr. Portlock.” - -He laughed, and stretched himself, and, rising, stooped to the hole in -the wall and scratched with his finger, like a rat gnawing, on the -iron stop therein. In a little something was withdrawn, and a weak -wash of light flowed through. - -“Now,” said he, “I will go first, and do you follow, little mouse.” - -He dropped on his hands and knees, and crawled in, and disappeared. It -was an attitude that lacked romance, and I was glad there was none -behind to witness my passing. But the journey was so short that I was -hardly in before my head was free on the farther side; and in a moment -George had helped me to my feet, and I saw our host. - -I saw nothing else, indeed. There were, I believe, the open range, and -herb-hung rafters, and settle and dresser of the ordinary cottager’s -kitchen. The huge creature before me absorbed three-fourths of the -field of my vision. I understood at once why Mahomet must come to the -mountain. - -He had an enormous tallowy face, had this person, with an expression -so excessively melting that it might have been said to be no -expression at all. He could have had no more intimacy with his own -skeleton than a hippopotamus. Ages ago he must have left it buried -within himself as useless, and turned his wits to balancing on the -twin globes of fat that were his legs. His eyes were slits, his nose a -wart, his mouth the mere orifice of a blow-pipe. If his neck by any -possibility had been broken, one might have stretched it till his head -touched the ceiling. - -I was conscious of George standing by watching me, and instinctively I -dropped a curtsey. Immediately the mountain rumbled, and dusted a -chair for my reception. It swung in his vast hand like a signboard -from an inn. Relatively, I had some fear of sitting on it; it looked -for a moment so like a doll’s. - -“Mr. Portlock,” I murmured, casting down my eyes, “I--I am your humble -servant, sir.” - -He bowed--bagged, would be the better expression. The whole weight of -his chin was against his recovery; but he managed it, with an effort. - -“You--you are very good to give me shelter,” said I. “I’m afraid -we--we shall crowd you dreadfully, sir.” - -A low gale vibrated in him somewhere. I seemed to be able to detach -certain indistinct utterances from it, of which “welcome: what can do: -Maid Marian” were the clearest. - -I made an effort to respond fitly--struggled, and was dumb. Then, in a -moment--I saw George with his hand to his mouth--the demon exploded in -me. - -“Were you--were you always like that?” I shrieked, and fell across my -chair-back, half hysteric. - -The poor fellow may have laughed himself--there was no guessing what -emotions that curtain of flesh concealed--but he looked, if anything, -more abashed than offended. - -“Hush!” said George, recovering himself, “or I must drag you back, -miss.” - -We shook, facing one another with gleaming eyes and teeth. - -“Didn’t I tell you,” he gasped, “that he was a thread-paper of a man -once?” - -He went and clapped a hand on the mountain’s shoulder. - -“Come, Johnny, no offence,” said he. “None knows better than her -ladyship that your heart’s in the right place.” - -I subdued myself by a vast effort, and rose, and went to conciliate -the poor creature. - -“Haven’t I reason to?” I said. “And--and I put my faith in you, sir; -and--and faith moves mountains”--and I was near off again. - -He shifted, and flushed faintly, and delivered himself once more. - -“’Tis the wittles--have done it.” - -“He means,” said George, “that he’s made up for lost time and -opportunities, since his promotion.” - -“Ay, ’twas the nerves,” went on the oracle--“kep’ me down--once. -Shook, I did--hear thunder. Walk a mile round--avoid row. When the -crows holloa’d--see funeral pass--turned blood water. ’Twas lack -ballast--that was it.” - -“Of course,” said George, “that was it. What a coward you was, Johnny, -in your thin time. D’you remember the day we shot the home covers, -with a great person for company, and the sky came raining cobwebs, so -that we were near stifled with ’em; and you stuck your head in a bush, -till we gave you with our ramrods something better than cobwebs to -roar about?” - -“Ay, I do,” said the mountain, and rumbled again. “Not much -cobweb--’bout me now.” - -Well, I told him that one couldn’t have too much of a good thing; and -very soon we were fast friends. But that morning George haled me back -into shelter before much was said; and afterwards our acquaintance -ripened by fits and starts. The very immobility of the creature was -our and his salvation. There was no conscious expression to betray -itself on that vast desert of a countenance. Periodically, he was -visited by the steward; fitfully, by units of the hunt which his -lordship sought to lay on his vanished brother’s trail. He was never, -so far as I knew, suspected; and with the deepening of winter the -chase slackened. - -And, in the meantime, what was I doing there, buried alive like a -recreant novice in the wall? Wilt thou believe, Alcide, that I, with -all my free aspirations, could have remained at peace in the little -prison for a day? Well, with rare excursions beyond, and those not -till I had been long immured, I lived there for more than a year, and -was near all the time as happy as a swallow under the eaves. It is -love makes the dimensions of our estate. - - - - - XX. - I PUT AN END TO FOLLY NUMBER TWO - -It was not till early in the second spring of my idyll that the -clouds began to darken, and my conscience to stir uneasily in those -gloomy last hours before the final waking. Many things had contributed -to this state, some cardinal, but most, no doubt, indifferent--mere -little tributary streams which had come to swell the volume of my -disenchantment. Misunderstanding, alas! does not walk to challenge us -on the highway. It spies from behind hedges, and listens at keyholes; -and when at length its tally of grievances is made, we wonder at the -weight of the evidence it has accumulated. - -Late in the previous year I had been very ill. During the worst of my -disorder an unconscionable old hag, some withered afreet of the -forest, who was in the secret of our retreat, had been brought in to -attend me. She disappeared soon, thank God, in a whisk of sulphur; and -thereafter George nursed me devotedly. But, strangely enough, as I -grew convalescent I developed an odd impatience of him, which rose by -degrees to a real intolerance and dislike. That feeling abated as I -grew strong, but never to such degree as to make us again quite the -friends we had been. He made some study to propitiate me, even to the -extent of renouncing those ridiculous principles of “Nature,” which he -had affected to exchange for the whole sum of social accommodations. -It was a relief, though an aggravation, to have him refine himself -again out of a savage, since I no longer could find the entertainment -I once had in the dear _poseur_. Orson, in truth, was never so little -attractive as when, for the sake of tired love’s favour, he confessed -his ruggedness a humbug. His recantation, though welcome enough in one -way, only disillusioned me in another. So long as he had been -consistent, he was absolute; now his weakness had made me so. I -remembered the times when I had pleaded with him, and had found him -only more covetable in his inaccessibility to my arguments. - -“We can’t return to Nature, in the sense of rudeness,” I had often -said to him, “any more than we can recover our childhood. We have -grown out of it, and there’s an end. A man playing the child is only -sorry make-believe; or, if it isn’t, the man’s an idiot. Nature -herself, you see, isn’t stationary: she’s always refining on her first -conceptions.” - -“What!” he would protest, grumbling; “is all that hypocrisy of -‘breeding,’ that high _goût_, which is so fastidious in its appetite -for crawling meats, and rotten policies, and bruised virtues, Nature?” - -“Yes, to be sure,” I would answer: “’tis _human_ nature--the fruits of -her desire to hasten her social apotheosis by a union with the sons of -God.” - -“Ay,” would growl my Timon--“the fruits of incontinence.” - -“I don’t see it,” I would cry. “I can’t see but that a knife and fork -are in the right succession to a beak. We may use our fingers, you -will say. Would you wish me, sir, to fondle my love with the same -hands I tear my meat withal? No, you wouldn’t--except for the sake of -argument,--and therefore I protest I am the truer child of that little -liaison. _Vive la Nature!_ say I; the Nature who is my mother, and the -God who is my father. They have taught me between them to study, in -studying myself, to make the gift of prettiness to my neighbours.” - -“And I swear you are a dutiful child,” he would answer, with the -readiness that made me love him. - -“O, believe me, sir!” I would cry; “there is nothing artificial about -the civilisation you have professed to renounce--as if that were -responsible for your downfall. On its main lines it always makes for -beauty”-- - -“Which is truth, I suppose,” he would interrupt with a sneer. - -“Which is truth, as much as anything is,” I would reply. “Truth is -only a cant word for what we don’t understand; and, if we could get -to, there would be an end of all fun in the world.” - -“O, upon my word, you are a very learned minx!” he would crow; but I -would continue, not minding him-- - -“If we had to start again from the beginning, don’t tell me but that -we should develop the very same conventions as now, or at least near -’em. Why, sir, not to lean our elbows on the table, for instance, -while we sup our tea, isn’t a tyrannous edict of society. ’Tis a -natural recognition of the unhandsome; a natural effort to qualify -ourselves for the better company we all look to some day. Don’t we all -feel that we are only rehearsing here for a greater piece? Well, for -my part, I don’t want to be damned in it. But you--you cry, like a -poor actor, ‘Leave me alone to my pipe and beer. I shall be all right -on the night itself!’” - -Then he would laugh bravo; and, pulling out his tobacco, silence me -with a kiss. - -But now--well, he had abdicated, and I ruled, that was the difference. - -There had been a time when I would have consolidated the understanding -between us by taking, on the first dawn of liberty, our friendship to -church. In those days, indeed, I even hinted as much to him, touching -upon the duty he owed me so to establish my innocence with the world. -Then he would fall back upon his cant of Nature; of vows dishonoured -in her sight; of laws that crossed the plainest mandate that ever she -had given to earth. And I must be content at the time, because we were -helpless outcasts together, because he was kind to me, because he -flattered me with a thousand attentions which made me forget the -equivocalness of my position. - -But now, at the last, it was he must sue and I be cold. For, under our -altered relations, I had come to recognise, though late, how wrong was -this continued communion, however platonic, between us. It was not -that I loved my brother less, but that I respected myself more. I had -been blinded by all the novelty and glamour. He was pagan at heart, I -saw, and I was at heart religious. My thoughts turned with affection -to the quiet nunnery at Wellcot. I longed to see my kind again, to -recover something of the world I had lost. I had no real faith in his -protestations, no real belief that, should it ever chance to him to -recover his rights--which, in truth, seemed impossible--he would claim -me to my legitimate share in them. And I found no room in my world for -a paradise of sinful loves. - -He sighed much, and was very pathetic, poor fellow, over my changed -attitude, and wearied me to death. Then he took to verse, and -depressed me more. He had a strange faculty for a sort of big-sounding -line, which he would invent and declaim in his odd moments while -engaged over mending his snares or sewing buttons on his gaiters. It -was quite impressive in its place, but was not exhilarating when -applied to _les amours_. - - “This world” (he declared once) “is but the weed-heap of the spheres, - Whereon we rot and fester, torn from the skies, - And are consumed in fire, to manure - And quicken old fields of heaven with new love. - O, sweet! wind with me on the damnéd pile, - So of our mingled dust shall blossom heaven”-- - -A romantic use to put your poor little Diana to, eh, my friend? But, -indeed, I would have none of it. I hate that fashion of decrying the -flesh, because your poet has a stomachache. My body is the only -certain God I know in the midst of these shadows. I cling to it, -worshipping it with all the pretty gifts I can think. When it goes, -where shall I be? Seeking and crying for it again through space. I -will not have it abused to such uses, my sweet body that I love so. - -Well, it had all vastly interested me once: the fond, comical -incongruity; the unexpected soul of my Nimrod revealing itself through -suffering. He did not, dear simpleton, in the least understand his own -inconsistency: how, loving all birds and beasts, as he professed to -do, and so claiming affinity with Nature, he could use and approve the -latest engines of civilisation for their slaughter. He called the red -deer “the spirit of the antlered tree,” and went to shoot it with a -gun. He made me a pretty waistcoat of squirrel skins (I went sweetly -befurred, indeed, throughout the cold winters), and dwelt lovingly on -the primeval romance of woodlands, meaning, in fact, that rapture of -flight and pursuit of visible things which alone appeals to the -unredeemed barbarian. In the end, to speak truth, his mad rhapsodies -came to remind me, only too uncomfortably, of the dead astrologer; and -I looked askance on what seemed a common derivation from a crazy -stock. - -But now, lest it appear that I attach too much importance to these -minor discords, let me relate of the much darker and more formidable -shadow which had arisen between us, and which, as the months but added -to its density, grew at last to be the insuperable barrier to our -reconciliation. - -It was the _secret_ dividing us--the secret which I had once half -surprised, and to the existence of which he had virtually confessed, -only, it seemed, to torture me by withholding it. This much alone I -knew: that he went somehow practising, in his banishment, to be -revenged on the society which he held responsible for it. Often, at -first, I tried to coax the truth from him. He was not, for all his -love, to be beguiled. There were others concerned, he said, who by no -means shared his faith in my discretion; with whom, in fact, he had -come to open dispute on the subject of my continued sojourn in the -cottage, and whom, in the end, he had had to propitiate--seeing his -safety lay in their hands--by a vow to reveal nothing to me. - -I had no doubt, in my heart, but that these unknown were the “merry -men” of his boasting--woodmen, verderers, perhaps, who--treacherous to -the earl their master--were aiding and abetting the exile in those -very malpractices he concealed from me. I was right as to that, it -appeared; but what I could never understand was the nature of my -reputation with them: how they had so learned to misapprehend my -character for faith and loyalty. However, mistaken as they were, they -had nothing to complain of their leader’s constancy to his oath--a -constancy, alas! which I can only not commend because of its miserable -sequel. If he had only had the strength to trust me, neither would he -have lost his liberty, nor I been condemned to the torments of a quite -unmerited remorse. At this date of time, I can insist, with a clear -but sorrowful conscience, that the poor infatuated fool brought what -happened upon his own head. - -When I recognised at last that he was adamant to my pleadings, I -waived the subject, but not by any means my private concern in it. The -secret, I was naturally enough convinced, lay to be revealed behind -the locked door of that Bluebeard Chamber; and one night--after my -friend had gone out--I took a taper and my courage in hand, and -descended softly through the trap to investigate. - -After he had gone out, I say; and therein lay the key to my growing -apprehensions. For not many days had I been in hiding before I -discovered that my comrade was a night-walker. He would wait, -soft-shut into his room, until he fancied I was drowned in sleep, then -list-footed creep out and by the screen--which he had put up to -protect me--and either descend by way of the trap, or, less often, -mounting the ladder which communicated with the hidden gully, -disappear, and pull his means of exit after him. Then I would wait, -shivering and wondering through the whole gamut of formless fears, -till stupor overtook me, or perhaps by and by, after long hours, a -terrified half-consciousness of his stealthy return. - -Where did he thus nightly go? To what dark business or witches’ -frolic? I tormented my brain for the solution, and of my love and -loyalty could find none. But the poison of a yet-unrealised fear was -working in me early. - -Now, on this night, waking out of tormented dreams, I was on the -instant desperate to solve the mystery. But hardly had I crossed the -little cellar when a warning rumble from Portlock, seated in the room -beyond, told me that I was discovered. So this vast creature was in -the conspiracy! Quite panic-struck, I fled, and, mounting to my -room--found George there. He had returned, descending by the ladder, -during the minute of my absence. - -He made no allusion whatever to my escapade; but just laughed softly, -and took my cold hand in his, as I stood trembling and aghast before -him. - -“Poor little maid,” he said; “she has been dreaming”--and he led me to -my bed, and tucked me in warm, and left me with a kiss. - -I never thought it necessary to confess; but always after that, as I -came to learn, he descended by the trap and _bolted it behind him_. - -That did not assuage my fears, though it was some comfort henceforth -to be spared the pretence of blindness to his flittings--a comfort, I -think, to him as well as to me, though his silence on the main point -was not to be broken. Ah! if he had only had the courage to set my -mind at rest, before its fears grew to a frenzy beyond my control! - -Now, as time went on, my hearing grew morbidly acute--during the dark -hours of his nightly absences, when I was fastened lonely and -frightened into my attic, and sleep refused to come to me--to certain -shufflings and whisperings--sounds scarce to be distinguished from the -wind and the rain--which filtered to me from the depths below. -Sometimes it would seem a sough of blown voices; sometimes a -suggestion of _dragging_; sometimes the low rumble of a cart on the -turf, which set my pulses knocking in my ears. Then when, succeeding -an ominous silence, George’s step would come mounting stealthily by -the trap, on tiptoe thence to his room, I would shudder in the thought -of dreadful footprints going by my screen, and would feign the -deep-breathing of slumber, lest he should be moved to stop and call to -me softly in the voice I had not yet learned to resist. - -And so at last, out of all this torment of apprehension, out of the -sleepless waitings and breathless listenings, had emerged a spectre, -real and present in the end, to whose whispered hauntings I had long -struggled to close my ears; whose approach I had sought to stay, -beating my hands in air; whose name I had not dared to breathe to -myself. And it was murder. - -Yes, murder. So only, and only so, was logically expounded that -perverted creed of Nature. Livid, terrifying, his hands stained with -blood, I saw him in its ghastly glair; saw him savagely wreaking on -the social order the wrongs he had suffered at its hands; saw him -reverted to the beast he worshipped, tearing his kind, a common robber -and assassin. - -I will not say that I was convinced and overwhelmed in a breath. For -long the hideous shadow of the phantom was poor proof against the sun -of present love; would thin, attenuate to a mere gross mist in the -light of kind embraces, and honest laughter, and a manly candour--on -all, alas! but the subject that most corroded. Only when that later -spectre of our estrangement crept between, did it assume a dreadful -complexion, glooming through the other. And so, at last, the appalling -confirmation. - -It had been for weeks a terror to me to creep by the secret passage -into Portlock’s kitchen, on the rare occasions when my brief visits -there, for the sake of some small change and play of liberty, were -invited. For the hole entered close by the locked door, which had come -to figure to me for the seal on all most nameless horrors; and I could -not pass it by but with averted head, and nostrils held from -breathing, and a sickness like to the death I felt it contained. -Rather would I strain a little the chance of capture without; and -often now, when George was sleeping--for he lay late after his night -excursions--I would put the ladder to the hill, and climb, and wander -in the hidden furrow above, sometimes as far as the gravel-pit, and -there indulge my misery, daring even at the worst a thought of escape. -For at length, so far as we knew, the chase of us had ceased -altogether, and Portlock was no longer interrogated for possible -information. - -Wandering thus, greatly unhappy, my thoughts would often recur for -shelter to the peaceful nunnery; to my little loving Patty, the -dearest pleader of a sister’s repentance; most, and with a -self-humbling remorse, to the faithful, unexacting soul whom I had -deserted in the tower. What if I had been misled by specious arguments -to wound incurably where I had wrought to cure? Could I ever in that -case forgive the false advocate? O, surely there was a greater Nature -than she in whose name were perpetrated deeds of violence and -reprisal? There was the human, the humorous, the tolerant large -philosophy of being which Gogo had revealed in his story of himself. -_His_ misfortunes had but made him forswear the false goddess in whom -weaker men sought to justify their passions. I could never think of -him but as the Pan of these later days--the poor limping Pan of our -era, beguiled into a hospital, and persuaded to an operation, and -shorn of his limp and his legs together. One might meet him begging on -a city bridge, and look wondering down for the song of the water in -the rushes that were not; one might read his hairy breast into dreams -of red dead bracken, and see his eyes, under their matted brows, like -little forest pools reflecting glimpses of the sky, and not guess who -he was, for he would never whine of better days. He always took -fortune like a fallen god, did Gogo. He always smelt sweet, did my -monster. And he had not erred in love before he found me. - -Could that be said of another? I was never quite able to forget that -discarded favourite who had warned a threatened brother and assisted -him to escape. Though I had never deigned to give the thought place in -my mind, the unacknowledged shadow of it, of what had been her -inducement to the act, slept in me, to rise presently and add its -quota of darkness to the whole. I was very unhappy--very forlorn and -tired and unhappy. - -But, on that morning, as it blew bitter cold without, and I longed for -the fire that was never ours in that chill cellar but by proxy of the -chimney-back, I brought myself to go down, and scratch out the signal -to Portlock to let me pass if it were practicable. He responded at -once, drawing away the grate; and I crept in and through, and stood up -on the farther side. Instantly a grumpy exclamation from him, as -instantly clapped back with his great hand on his mouth, took my eyes -to my skirt, whereto for a flash I had seen his directed. And there, -smearing the pale folds of it, was a long, foul streak of blood. - -“Where did this come from?” I cried in a dismayed voice, for the -moment too shocked to reflect. - -I fancied he shook upon his great gelatinous calves, that the little -eyes set in the vast oyster of his face were blinking shiftily, alert -to my movements while he turned over the dull masses of his brain for -an answer. - -“Rabbits--dinner,” at length he rumbled. - -But I had realised it all while he stuck fast. Desperate in my -heart-sickness, I made a hurried step to pass him; and instantly he -moved backwards, and filled the doorway into the little front parlour -by way of which I had hoped to escape into the forest. - -“Let me pass,” I cried wildly. “I want air.” - -He pointed to the copper. - -“Not safe. That way.” - -“I can’t,” I cried. “It was there I picked this up: you know it was.” -Then I quite lost my reason. “You are a murderer!” I shrieked. “You -are all murderers here! You rob and kill, and drag the poor bodies -through and hide them in the cellar behind the door. Let me pass--I -can’t live here--I can bear it no longer!” - -I raved and cried; I beat helplessly on that huge drum of flesh. It -stood stolid, insensible, completely stopping the aperture. - -“Go--ask cap’en,” was all it said. - -I fell back from him on the word. The sense of an immediate necessity -of self-control was flashed upon my consciousness. Above or -below--either way my passage was guarded. I was between the devil and -the deep sea; and, in an irrepressible burst of frenzy, I had -confessed myself, let slip my tortured demon, and so, perhaps, spoken -my own death-sentence. The terror of the thought drove out the lesser -loathing. I must temporise--finesse. - -“Yes,” I said, “I will. I will not rest now till I know.” - -The return by that foul sewer, the fearful issue by the closed door, -were experiences as horrible as any in my life. What crawling thread -might not be still drawing from the obscure reservoir beyond? What -hideous witness not fastening silent to me in the darkness, that it -might rise with my rising and shriek to the light for vengeance? But I -forced myself, in my mortal fear, to tread softly, and on very panic -tiptoe climbed from the hateful pit, and crossed the room above. I -paused a moment, on my shuddering way, for assurance of _his_ steady -breathing; and then with cold deft hands set the ladder in place, and -mounted it, and, drawing it after me into the thicket, fled along the -passage. I had no thought of what I should do. I only wanted to -escape: to put as long a distance as possible between myself and that -spectre, confessed in all its blood-guiltiness at last. Half blinded, -torn by flint and briar, I broke at length through the farther -thicket, and sank, trembling and exhausted, upon the bank of the -gravel-pit beyond. - -I had sat there I know not how long, my face in my hands, the alarum -in my heart deafening me to all outward sounds--the storming trees -above; the cold sabre of the wind slashing into the bushes of my -refuge, as if it would lay me bare--when suddenly I felt the clinch of -a hand on my shoulder, and screamed, and looked up. Three fellows, in -a common livery, had descended softly upon me from above, and I was -captured without an effort. - -I rose, staggering, to my feet, my face like ashes, my poor hands -clasped in entreaty. But not a word could I force from my white lips. - -“You must come with us, miss, if you please,” said the man who held -me, civilly enough. - -“Where?” I made out to whisper. - -He pointed with a riding-whip. I followed the direction of his hand; -and there, on the rim of the pit above, silhouetted against the sky, -sat a single horseman. I had no reason to doubt who it was. Even at -that distance, the lank red jaw of him was sign enough of the fox. I -was trapped at last, and when I had thought myself securest. - -Now, I do not know what desperate resignation came to me all in a -moment. As well this way out as another. “Very well,” I said quietly, -“I will go with you.” - -They were surprised, I could see, by my submission, and all the more -alert, on its unexpected account, to hover about my going. But their -strong arms were not the less considerate, for that reason, to support -me, overwrought as I was, in my passage to the open daylight above; -and, almost before I realised it, I was standing before the Earl of -Herring. - -He sat as stiff and relentless in his saddle as an Attila, his red -eyes staring, a very wickedness of foretasted relish grinning in his -hungry teeth. A fourth servant in livery stood a little apart, holding -his own and the others’ horses. - -“So,” said the master, whispering as out of a dream, “you are caught -at last, my lady.” - -I felt for the first time a little flush come to my cheeks, and -answered his gaze resolutely. - -“I don’t know what you mean by ‘caught,’ my lord,” I said. “These are -not the days of King John.” - -He rubbed his gloved hand across his chin. - -“No, by God!” he said, with a hoarse chuckle. “But they are the days -of King Hardrough, by your leave.” - -“I have done no wrong.” - -“Tell that to my lady,” said he. - -“Jealousy has no ears.” - -He gave a hyæna laugh. - -“Misfortune has not chastened you, I see,” crowed he. - -“It has not tried to,” I said, “till this moment. Now you have seen -me, will you let me go, and ride back to tell Mrs. de Crespigny that -she has nothing more to fear from my rivalry?” - -He regarded me with a delighted humour. - -“When I go, you come with me.” - -“O no!” - -“O yes! straight back to Dr. Peel and his whippings.” - -“You will not--you will not!” I clasped my hands upon his knee in a -frenzy of terror. I was quite broken in a moment. “Don’t send me back -to that hell!” I implored. - -He lusted over my fear. He could not for long bring himself to ease -it. - -“What have you got to offer me to stay my hand?” he said at last. - -I was silent. - -“Harkee!” he said. “I will help you out. Will you give me my bastard -brother?” - -“He is my brother too; I swear it.” - -“Pish!” said he; “will you give up your paramour?” - -“Not if you call him by that name.” - -“Why, there, I knew,” said he, “you was in hiding together somewhere. -Smoke the red earl, if you can. Call him by what name you will, and -lead me to him.” - -I hung my head, and burst into tears. - -“He has deceived me.” - -“What did I say?” - -“Not that--not that. If I betray him, ’tis only in the hope of his -being persuaded to some reformation. You will not work him evil?” - -“That I swear. ’Tis only that I want to keep him out of harm’s way.” - -I looked up, breathless. This assurance was at least a comfort. - -“What will you do with him?” - -“Leave that to me. The question is, what has he done with you?” - -How could I not answer him? To win my brother from this vileness--was -it not worth the sacrifice of myself? With many tears and falterings, -I told him the story of my sojourn in the verderer’s cottage; of the -secret chambers, and our life therein; finally, with bitter -reluctance, of the shadow that had risen to estrange us, and the -bloody confirmation of my fears that was to witness even now on my -gown. - -He grinned horribly over the revelation. - -“That Portlock!” he rejoiced to himself; “that Portlock! A good throat -for the hangman! But, for your murderings--I warrant ’tis a fatter -bone I’ve to pick with our gentleman.” - -He fell into a little musing, scowling fit; then, suddenly -dismounting, bade me get into his saddle. - -“Where are you going to take me?” I said. - -“Where,” he answered, “but to your cottage?” - -“O no!” I cried; “not back there!” - -“What!” he said, grinning; “is Madam Judas yet short of her price?” - -“What price have I taken? It is not to be Judas to betray brother to -brother for virtue’s sake.” - -He bent, in a sawing laugh. - -“How apt the jade is! Let me tell you, madam, that virtue is an inner -commodity, and spoils when too much on the lips.” - -He forced me to mount, signed to his fellows to follow, and, taking -the bridle, led me down the hill. - -“Now, for your price,” said he, as he walked. “Well, I would have bid -more for sound goods; but--what say ye?--you are happy on -relations--would you like to be my daughter?” - -I hung my head, without replying. It was true he was old enough to be -my father. This misery must cast me once more on the world, a prey to -all unimaginable evils. What chance else remained to me to protect -myself and make my fortune serve my honour? - -While I was still quietly weeping, we reached the cottage from the -front, and halted. The earl motioned, and his suite gathered round and -knocked on the door. In the silence that ensued we could hear the -sound as of an unwieldy beast within shuffling to and fro. The -verderer had seen us through the window, and knew himself for lost. -Presently one put his knee to the panels, whispering for orders. - -“Curse it, no,” hissed his master; “he may hear us.” - -“If he does, he cannot escape,” I murmured. “I pulled the ladder after -me.” - -With that he raised his hand, and the door crashed in. I caught one -glimpse of Portlock’s face--it was a mere white slab of terror--and -turned away. - -“Now,” said the earl in my ear; but I shuddered from him. - -“I won’t--don’t ask me--it is not in the price!” - -He uttered an impatient oath, bade one of his men hastily to my side, -and himself, with the other three, strode into the cottage. - -I don’t know how long passed; it may have been minutes, and seemed an -hour. All the time a low snuffling reached me from the interior. The -bitter wind had loosened my hair, and I caught its strands to my ears, -to my eyes, and rocked in my saddle, trying to shut out everything. -Presently a man came forth, to join the other by my side. - -“Garamighty, Job!” muttered he; “his honour be cap’en of the gang, and -no mistake. You should see his larder.” - -“Ah! what’s in it?” asked the first. - -“Ten fat bucks, as I’m a saint,” answered the other. “We know now -where the pick o’ the herd’s gone to, eh?” - -I sat up, listening. - -“What larder?” I asked faintly; for, indeed, I knew of none. - -The man touched his hat, half deferential, half impudent. - -“’Tis through the secret passage your ladyship, so to speak, opened to -us--a locked door in the little cellar beyant.” - -I shrunk from him. - -“You said--what did you say was in it?” - -“What but a show of venison, miss--piled to the roof, one might say. -He must ’a made a ryle living out o’ deer-stealing, by your leave.” - -He had--and that was the whole truth of the secret he had withheld -from me! All the time I had been torturing my fears into madness, he -had been abroad in the midnight woods, murdering, not men, but deer; -in league with an ignoble crew for a paltry gain. This romance of a -social ostracism revenging itself on a social hypocrisy: savage, -melancholy, yielding to love only the troubled sweetness of its -soul--what did it confess itself at last? O, glorious, to be first -consul to a little republic of poachers! To vindicate one’s -independence by picking the pockets of the king! It was all explained -now--the whisperings, the draggings, the creaking carts--in that -butchers’ shambles, the secret store of a gang of deer-stealers. He -was no better than a cutpurse. In my bitter mortification, I could -have wept tears of shame. “I am justified of my act,” I cried to -myself. “Better that he should think me a traitor now, than live to -curse me for withholding my hand when there was time and opportunity -to save him!” - -Nevertheless, when they led him forth presently bound and quiet, I -could not face his eyes, but cowered before the unspoken reproach and -sorrow in them. He came up quite close to me. - -“It was your own fault,” I muttered in my hair. “Why would you never -tell me?” - -“I was wrong,” he said, quite simply. “You must forgive me for what I -have taken from you, Diana. If it is any comfort to you to know, the -poor little unrealised bond between us reconciles me to this--and all -that is to come.” - -I felt as if my heart broke then and there. I was conscious of the red -earl watching us. The other turned to him, with a laugh like death’s. - -“Take your reversion, brother,” said he. “As for me, I am for the -madhouse, I suppose.” - -At a grinding word, two of the men helped him to mount, and moved away -with him. I never saw him again. The other two entered the cottage, to -fetch and escort Mr. Portlock to his doom. I was left alone with his -lordship. - -My heart was broken. I left it scattered on the turf, with all the -fragments of the past. - -“Now, papa devil,” I said, with a shriek of laughter, “what about your -dutiful daughter?” - - - - - XXI. - I AM METAMORPHOSED - -I had loved, and lost, and buried my dream of yesterday. It lay -fathoms deep in the green forest. From the moment of my resurrection I -knew myself for a changeling--a fairy creature quite other than the -soft, emotional child who had cried herself to sleep on last night’s -hearth. George was in his house of discipline; Portlock, with others, -transported; my past was broken for me beyond repair. Facing me -instead were the battlements and pinnacles of a new dominion, with -what infinite potentialities behind its walls! Conscience makes no -conquests. With my rebirth had come the lust to supply the -deficiencies of the old. I laid my love in its grave with tears and -kisses, and turned intrepid to the assault. - -Memory, my friend, makes men good critics, but bad romancers. I was -too indulgent of my kind to be the first: beauty invited me: I would -forget. Remorse is, indeed, of all self-indulgences the most useless. -It reconciles an offended Heaven to us no more than do tearful sighs -win a wife her husband’s condonation of an ill-cooked dinner. An -inch-narrow of reformation is better than an ell-broad of apology. Let -our sweetness of to-day, rather, be our experience of yesterday. The -gods find no entertainment in regrets. They shower their benefits on -the unminding; and in the gifts of the present we are justified of our -past actions. It is only when we are rich that we can afford to put up -tablets to our memories; whence follows that we cannot more honour the -dead than by taking our profit of the living. Well, once I had lived -_for_ others; now I would live _on_ them--a word of distinction and a -world of difference. - -His lordship took me straight to London, and gave me a little suite of -rooms in his fine house in Berkeley Square, where I was to remain -during the next three years, until, in fact, I was come legally of -age. He had decided, on reflection, that I was to be his niece. He was -a very great man, and this gift was only one of many in his disposal. -It was no business of mine how he accounted to the world for my title. -_My_ interest was only to justify it, with a view to my position in -life when I was become marriageable. Wherefore I would consent to give -him none of my duty until he had drawn up a settlement in my favour, -to date from my majority. I had had enough of unprofitable bargains. - -Perhaps he would never have consented to this--for, like all covetous -pluralists, he was parsimonious--had not the death of the young -viscount about this time moved him to seek comfort in an artificial -relationship for the real one he had lost. In the hearts of the worst -of us, I suppose, such vacancies yearn to be filled; and so the poor -childless wretch took his opportunity, and adopted me. I hope I -acquitted myself properly for the favour; but, in truth, I could never -quite forgive him his treachery to his brother. - -In the meantime, I developed rapidly, and had my little court, quite -exclusive of _les convenances_. The ladies, of course, looked askance -at me; but what did I care? I had only to curtsey to my glass to -procure the reason. And they made their _modistes_ their deputies in -paying me the sincerest flattery. Instead, I experienced the high -distinction of a whole _entourage_ of carpet-knights--captains and -parsons and diplomatists unending--who came to ogle their own images -in my blue eyes, and, losing their heads like Narcissus from -giddiness, tumbled in by the score, until I was stocked as full under -each brow as an abbot’s pond. It was a rare sport to throw crumbs of -comfort to these gaping creatures, and see them rise and jostle one -another for the best pickings. I assure you, my friend, I was a queen -in my sphere, and had as much need to practise diplomacy. It was that -first attached me to politics--the knowledge of into what good coin -for bribery and the traffic of State secrets those pretty orbs might -be converted. So soon, sure, as amongst my parliamentary followers I -distinguished my favourites, I began to sift my political opinions, -and to work for the handsomest. I have traced my measures in both -Houses, believe me, my little monsieur: I have pulled some strings, -sitting in my boudoir, with results as far-reaching as St. Stephen’s. -Ah, well! they were days! But I will be true to myself in not -bewailing them. Memory, in my philosophy, is a very lean old pauper, -crumbling dried herbs into his broth. I never could abide mint sauce -unless plucked from the green. - -Chief among my favourites was a madcap young member, whose wit was -never so impertinent as when, flitting here and there for an -opportunity, it could prick the sides of some great parliamentary -bull, and elicit a roar for its pains. He was that Mr. Roper who, -indeed, went so far, on somebody’s instigation, as to tease the great -Mr. Pitt himself on certain measures introduced for the betterment of -the Roman Catholics, and who, in consequence, redeemed himself a -little, it was whispered, in the eyes of high personages with whom he -had long been in disgrace. His father was Robert Lord Beltower, that -deplorable old nobleman who was reported early in life to have staked -his honour on some trifling issue, and lost; and who always described -himself as living a posthumous life, since he had been carried off by -a petticoat in the fifteenth year of his age. Father and second son -(the heir to the title, Lord Roper of Loftus, was eminently -respectable and pious) were known as Bob Major and Bob Minor; and, -indeed, apart or together, could ring the changes on some very pretty -tunes. But the minor, who had been a scapegrace page at court and -early dismissed, was _my enfant gâté_, as well for his wit and -information as for a daring that recked nothing of the deuce itself. -He owned to no party, and as to his principles, “Why,” said he, “I -throw up my hat to the best shot, and that isn’t always to the -heavenly marksman. I have known the devil score some points in -charity.” - -He never truckled to me, which was perhaps one of the reasons of my -favour; but was like a licensed brother--a relationship I had come to -regard. Indeed, he most offended me by his outrageous independence of -my partialities. - -“Hey! Come, rogue, rogue!” sniggered his father to him once, on the -occasion of some abominable impertinence; “you go too far. What the -devil means this disrespect to our goddess? You’ll be pricked, egad, -one of these days, like that fellow Atlas, or Actæon, or what the -devil was his name, that was tore for his impudence.” - -The son bowed to the sire, quoting Slender’s words to Shallow: “‘I -will marry her, sir, at your request; but if there be no great love in -the beginning, yet Heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, -when we are married and have more occasion to know one another: I -hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt; but if you say “Marry -her,” I will marry her, that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely.’” - -“Why, you villain,” said his lordship, with a grin, “if you’re the -devil quoting Scripture, I’m done with you.” - -“Nay, sir,” said the other, “you flatter yourself. I quote no better -than my father.” - -“No better, you dog! And how?” - -“Why, sir, wasn’t it you taught me that the more one sees of a woman -the less one respects her?” - -“I?” - -“’Twas _à propos_ the Chudleigh, sir, you may remember, whom you met -at Ranelagh--in ’49, I think it was--undressed as Iphigenia. She came -clothed in little but her virtue, and caught a bad cold a-consequence. -You may have forgot the moral of your sermon, sir, but I, as a dutiful -son, have stored it.” - -“Hang you, Bob! What moral?” - -“Why, sir, that a woman dreads exposure in nothing but her weakness to -stand the test of it. If she’s a peculiar fineness anywhere, she’ll -take some means to let you know.” - -“Then, sir,” cried I, with a flaming face, “I pride myself on nothing -so much as my hand!”--and I brought it down stingingly on his ear. - -“But I don’t want your hand,” he cried, stamping about, while his -father roared, “Didn’t I tell you as much?” - -Nevertheless, we were fast comrades, and together in some captivating -peccancies, of which I only learned to rue the publicity when they led -to my undoing. - -Mr. Roper, as I have said, found a particular delight in galling--_on -somebody’s instigation_--the sides of the promoters of the new -pro-Papish Bills. Well, I will ask you, what did I owe to that Church? -Was it likely that my treatment at its hands had left any love between -us, or that I should wish its disabilities removed, who had suffered -so much from it muzzled? I had been educated, under its shadow, to a -full understanding of its juggleries and impostures. Now was the time, -the country being still in a ferment over its heir-apparent’s alleged -marriage with the Fitzherbert, to relate my experiences. - -There was at that date published in London a little fashionable -scapegrace of a paper called the _World_, the property of a Major -Topham, who made it the vehicle for such a _chronique scandaleuse_ as -the town had never yet known; and in this paper I began (by preconcert -with my political ally) to disclose, over the signature “Angélique,” -the true story and circumstances of a certain beautiful young lady, -who had been practised upon, and in the very heart of Protestant -England, by a worse than Spanish Inquisition. The series, cautiously -as I began by handling it, made an immediate sensation, and was, you -may be sure, deftly engineered in the House by Mr. Roper for the -Opposition. Moreover, “Angélique”--which delighted me as much--gave -her sweet and melancholy name to a mourning gauze, which was so pretty -that I had to kill an aunt to give me a title to wear it. At the same -time her instant popularity made me tremble for my incognito, which, -nevertheless, I knew to be the major’s very best asset in a profitable -bargain. Still, not even his tact could altogether explain away the -association of ideas implied in Mr. Roper’s common friendship with me -and with that poor persecuted anonymity; and that I had made myself by -no means so secure as Junius was a fact disagreeably impressed upon me -on a certain evening. - -I had been entertaining late that night, when his lordship entered -unexpected. He came from St. James’s and from playing backgammon with -the king, and wore his orders on a pearl-silk coat and, for contrast, -a mighty scowling face over. I took no heed of him as he walked up the -room towards me, humping his shoulders, and acknowledging wintrily the -salutations of my little court, but went on laughing and rallying a -dear little ensign Percy, with whom I was in love just then, _pour -faire passer le temps_. However, the boy could not stand the -inquisition of the red eyes, and joked himself into other company, -with a blush and a bow to the ogre; at which I laughed, lolling back -in my chair. - -“Well, madam,” said Hardrough, knuckling his snuff-box softly, “when -you can vouchsafe me a moment of your attention.” - -I recognised the compelling tone in his voice, and rose, with a little -show of indolence. - -“O!” I said, yawning, “what sin has found me out now? I vow it can -never be so ugly as it looks.” - -He gave me his arm, mighty ceremonious, and, conducting me into an -antechamber, shut the door. - -“That is for you to prove,” he said, taking snuff, and stood glaring -into my soul. “So, madam,” he said, “you are for setting your little -teeth into the hands that have warmed you?” - -I sat down, fluttering my fan, and pretty pale, I daresay. But I was -not surprised. My conscience had pricked me at the first sight of his -face. He pulled from his pocket a copy of the damning sheet, and “Tell -me,” says he, “if His Majesty was justified in asking me if this did -not refer to some member of my family?” - -I did not answer, and he threw the paper on the floor. - -“Well, you are condemned,” he said drily; and at that I found my wits. - -“Condemned?” I cried. “By whom? Why, my lord, how can you, being of -the Court party and in Opposition, condemn an anti-papish tract?” - -“That is all very well,” he said acridly; “but the stone once set -rolling against a house, who knows who may be included in the ruin?” - -I knew very well, of course, to what he referred; for had he not been -subsidised by his sister (and during the time, too, when he had -figured hottest against Catholic emancipation) into overlooking the -establishment by her, in the very heart of his estate, of that -community of Sisters whose complicity in my abduction I was bent upon -exposing? And was I not aware, too, that the appointment he coveted to -a vacant garter trembled at the moment in the balance of such -revelations? O, I held some strings, my friend, you may believe! -though at present I had the opposite to any inducement to pull this -particular one. - -“Why, Nunky!” I cried, “is not this, your succour and protection of -madam’s poor victim, the best proof of your orthodoxy?” - -He regarded me grimly, but with some shadow of returning good-humour. - -“That’s true enough,” he said, “so long as you use _me_, if at all, -for no worse than to point the moral of _her_ damnation.” - -“Why should I not? ’Tis my interest to, at least.” - -“Ha!” he said; “there you speak. And stap me if I love you the less -for it.” - -He took a turn or two, and came back grinning. - -“They’re damn clever, Di: there, I’ll admit they’re damn clever! But -’tis a perilous game you play, my girl; and you’ll do well to take -care you play it to none but your own interests.” - -He went off again, and returned. - -“Harkee!” he said; “there’s Beltower’s whelp, and--and I don’t care a -fig for your predilections. Work your oracle as you will; only be -faithful to me, and you won’t suffer for’t in the end.” - -He finished in such spirits that he was moved to show me a letter he -had received from his sister but a few days before. In it she -upbraided him for his treachery,--of which she only recently had -certain information--in converting his capture of me to such infamous -account; and called upon him, as he valued his soul, to turn his -Jezebel adrift again to her merited deserts. - -“_Enfin_,” I said, handing him back the effusion, “for a respectable -lady she shows a vigorous vocabulary. She writes in London, I see.” - -He chuckled like a demon. - -“She writes in hell, and bites the more viciously for her roasting. -’Tis that fellow has led her here, dancing after some new fancy of -his; and, by God, she’s paid for her stubbornness, and must vent her -spite on someone.” - -“Well,” I said, “tell her so from me; and that, for my part, I’d -rather be Jezebel than what came to lap her blood.” - -At which he neighed, vowing he’d take me at my word. - - - - - XXII. - I RUN ACROSS AN OLD FRIEND - -It has always been my fate to suffer most at the hands of my best -friends; and now it was to be my dearest, my little sister, who was to -shoot her arrow over the house and wound me. In innocence, Heaven -forgive her; and, in forgiving, answer to itself for making me the -unconscious instrument of its retribution. - -It was in the third year of my “minority,” and while in the full zest -of my conspiracy with young Roper, that one night we made up a party -for Vauxhall Gardens, and crossed from Whitehall Stairs--very merry -with French horns and lanterns and a little Roman boy, Ugolino, who -sang like an angel--to witness the new picture of a tempest in the -cascade house. This we had seen, and were gone for supper into one of -the boxes (which Bob called the loose boxes) in a retired corner of -the grove, when occurred the _contretemps_ which was to change the -whole face of my fortunes. I had observed, without marking them, a -couple enter the adjoining booth, and was bawling my part in a catch, -while waiting for the chickens and cheesecakes, when a fellow put his -head round the partition, and, kissing his dirty hand with a leer, -“Beg pardon, leddies,” says he, “but I can supplement that ’ere chaunt -with a better”--and immediately, disappearing from sight, began to -bang the table beyond and to roar out a filthy ballad. - -Roper leapt to his feet--there was a crowd lingering by, attracted by -our merriment--and ran round to the front. - -“Stop, you sot!” screamed he, “or I’ll nail your ears to the table!” - -The fellow ceased dead, and in a moment came staggering out with a -furious face. He was a coarse, blotched ruffian, and as drunk as -David’s sow. - -“What, the ’ell,” said he, lurching up his words; “ain’t one song as -good as another in this here bordel, mister?” - -Bob struck like Harlequin, and the wretch went down. I had once before -heard the smack of flesh on flesh, and it made my blood jump. - -There was a fine uproar: we had all risen to our feet; and in the -midst I observed the girl (we had forgot the creature had a companion) -slip out of the box and away, taking advantage of the confusion to mix -with the crowd. I just saw her white face melt from me, and gave one -gasp, and started in pursuit. My companions called; but I took no -notice, and was lost in a moment. - -She was making for the Druid’s Walk, unheeding my cries in her -blindness. But in a little she began to falter, and then to sway, and -I came up with her, and caught her into my arms. - -“Patty!” I whispered, frantic, “Patty!” - -She looked at me quite dumb and bewildered, the poor thing; and then -sighed, and mechanically put her hair back from her temples. - -“Patty!” I urged again, “don’t you know me?” - -And at that, all of a sudden she had burst into tears, and was -clinging to me. - -“Is it you, Diana?” she sobbed, “really you at last? O, I have so -longed, since we came, and I knew you was here in London! Take me -away; don’t let me be carried back.” - -She was near choking me with her arms. - -“Hush!” I said. “What have they been doing with you? Pish, child! that -was never--no, no; with all your softness, you couldn’t be such a -fool. Who the deuce was it, then? Now, don’t answer; but come with me -where we can talk.” - -We were already being accosted and offered genteel squiring. The child -held to me, terrified, while I laughed, and convoyed her in safety to -the open, where we were lucky to encounter one of my party. - -“Is it over?” I asked. - -“O, faith!” he answered, quizzing my friend, “the manster’s floored; -and Parseus refreshing himself on Roman panch; and here, by my soul, -’s Andrameda come to give thanks to her presarver.” - -“Well,” I said, “Andromeda’s in better hands for the present; so you -must e’en take us where we can talk private, while you mount guard.” - -He looked mightily astonished; but, obeying, conducted us to the -farthest limits of the grounds--where was little company but the -keepers, put to restrain interlopers from the fields beyond--and there -set us on a seat, and withdrew. And the moment we were alone, I took -the girl and held her at arm’s length. - -She was the same as ever, though her figure grown a thought too full -for perfection, perhaps. But there were the soft, bashful eyes, and -the naïve face, too white under its dark hair, that I loved so well. - -“So,” I said, nodding my head, “we meet again, like the town and -country mice. And are you still under her dominion, you little brown -frump?” - -She could not have enough of wondering, and fondling me, and weeping; -but her inarticulateness filled me with a horrible foreboding. - -“What!” I cried, giving her a little shake; “don’t tell me, miss, -that--but, no, I won’t hear it! ’Tis grotesque beyond reason.” - -“What do you mean?” she whispered. - -I looked searchingly into her eyes. - -“No,” I said, reassured; “there are the same unborn babies there. But -who, then, was that brute you ran from?” - -She put her arms round my neck. - -“He--he is a groom of madam’s, and high in favour with her because a -good Catholic. She bids me listen to him; and--and I don’t know what -she means, Diana, or what he means. He is a coarse and violent -man--sometimes. But she forces me into his company, and to see the -town together. And O, Diana! I am almost sure he drinks too much.” - -I burst into a laugh. - -“You should be whipped for the slander, child. But I suspect the -truth. We don’t run but from those we have a partiality for. Watch -Moll and Meg at dragging-time in the fairs.” - -She cried “Diana!” and, looking up horrified into my face, read its -mockery, and, gasping out, “I am very unhappy,” fell away from me. - -“You poor little creature!” I cried, fiercely moved by her distress; -“if _you_ don’t know what madam means, _I do_. ’Tis the way with the -quality to pension off their discarded fancies on Jack or Molly.” - -She showed by her manner that she did not understand me, but my -indignation would not let me explain. Moreover, I was too satisfied -with my own solution to wish it contradicted. - -“Never mind,” I said, stamping my foot. “Tell me everything--every -word.” - -Then it all came out in a flood: How, since my removal, madam had -visited more and more upon her innocent head the trespasses of her -poor little friend and sister; how this habit, vindictive at the best, -had grown into a very fury of spite (which I laughed much to hear -about) when de Crespigny’s wandering fancy had begun (as it inevitably -had) to turn from the hop-pole, which had invited it to be wreathed -about itself, to the ripe little sapling growing so snug beside; how, -in her jealousy, my lady had driven her below stairs, and at last made -her altogether consort with the servants as her proper peers, who had -only been lifted by her generosity out of the gutter; how, not content -with this, literal, debasement, she had thought further to soil her by -forcing upon her the reversion of her tipsy _cavaliere servente_ (as, -anyhow, I chose to think him), a tyranny which had at last driven the -soft little creature to despair and rebellion. So she told me all, -though with less force and conviction, poor simplicity, than I have -chosen to put into her relation. - -“And you was gone--and how did you escape, Diana?--and I hated Mr. de -Crespigny as much as I hate this one--and it all makes no difference, -and I don’t know how I can bear it longer,” she cried, in a breath. - -“Very well, then,” I said, and looked sternly at her. “You must find -the courage to run away.” - -I had thought that the very suggestion would make her faint; but -instead, to my surprise, a rose of colour flew to her pale cheeks. - -“Yes,” she whispered. “If I only knew where!” - -O, fie on madam! She must have been a cruel task-mistress, indeed! - -“There!” I said, “you naughty little thing! But confess to me first -what you have heard tell about your sister.” - -“What does that matter,” she murmured, hanging her head, “when nothing -in the world can ever alter my love for you?” - -I took her in my arms, and touched her little simple toilette into -shape here and there. - -“You are very desperate, in truth, child. What do you say--will you -risk all, and come and be my duenna? You are older than I, sure, and -shall defend your little sister from slander. I will get the earl to -consent, if you will say yes.” - -She seemed beyond answering, but could only cling to me in a kind of -frenzied rapture. - -“And I will make a fine bird of my Jenny Wren,” I said, still busy -with her; “for she has a thousand pretty little modest graces which -will do me a vast credit in the dressing. You shall keep your natural -hair, miss, for powder, since the tax, is not _à la mode_ with the -best; but a gentleman’s arm--_le cas échéant_--would never go round -this waist by three inches.” - -I peeped, with a smile, into her face. - -“O, if I only dared!” she sighed. - -“Sir Benjamin,” I cried, rising instantly, “escort us to the gates, -please, and call a coach.” - -An hour later I broke upon his lordship’s privacy. - -“Nunky,” I cried, “I want permission for a new toy, please.” - -He looked up askew. He was in the hands of his valet. - -“I have been taking thought for my reputation,” I said, “and desire a -duenna.” - -He screwed out a laugh and an oath. - -“I’ll have no old hags about.” - -“’Tis a young hag but a little older than myself. Will you let me?” - -“No, I won’t.” - -“It will please me.” - -“No.” - -“It will spite Lady Sophia to death.” - -“Curse it, you viper! I’ll think about it.” - -“Very well. I’ll bring her to be introduced.” And, before he could -remonstrate, I was gone. - -We found him in demi-toilette when I returned, dragging my reluctant -baggage with me, like a lamb to the slaughter. She was as terrified as -if ’twere for him I coveted her, and not for myself. He started, -seeing her, and came and put his hand on her shoulder. - -“Well, I vow,” said he, “’tis a toy for a king. Whence come you, -child? From my sister? She was wise to dismiss you, egad!” - - - - - XXIII. - I AM MADE FORTUNE’S MISTRESS - -I have ruled myself all my life to be none but Fortune’s mistress. -Let who will question it, the gift of fine clothes has never bought my -independence. Honesty, as the little plant of that name tells us, may -go dressed in satin. And, as with me, so would I have it with my -sister. - -I was not long in discovering that I had erred in bringing her to -Berkeley Square, though I will not, for her sake, detail the processes -of my enlightenment. Let it suffice to say that the nobleman, my -guardian, was not exactly intellectual. He was one of those who, like -Tony Lumpkin, reckon beauty by bulk; and in that respect, it is -certain, Patty could more than fill my place with him. She had no -notion, of course, dear innocent, that she was being invited to do so. -She was all blindness and affection; but that made it none the less my -duty to save her the consequences of her own simplicity, seeing how it -was I had unwittingly brought it imperilled. The worldly may sneer and -welcome. That I _did_ preserve her, and at the last cost to myself, is -the only proof needed of that same disinterested honesty which in the -beginning had welcomed her, without a selfish second thought, to its -arms. - -Now, the moment I realised my mistake, I set myself to combat its -results. I think I may say I gave my lord some _mauvais quarts -d’heure_. He, for his part, when I thought it time to throw off the -mask, did not spare me insult and brutality. In very disdain I will -not report the quarrel. And all the while the silly child its subject -trembled apart, in an atmosphere she felt but could not understand, -while the shepherdess and the butcher disputed for her possession. - -At length came the climax. One day, at the end of a furious scene, he -told me roundly that he had had enough of me, and that it would be -well for me to agree to commute my proposed settlement for--for what? -A sum that was less than a valet’s pension. I refused it; I refused -everything. Let that at least speak in my vindication. He assured me -that in that case I had nothing further to expect from him. The -dotard! Did he laugh when I told him, perfectly quietly, that I quite -understood that the debt was mine, and that I should pay it? Did he -still count himself the better tactician, when I affected to be -terrified over my own rashness, and to slink away from him to lament -and reconsider? - -I went straight to my bedroom, where for an hour or two I sat writing. -At the end, I despatched two letters, one to the _World_, one to Mr. -Roper, who lived hard by, and whose reply I set myself to await with -what philosophy I could muster. It came in a little; and then, -singing, I sought out Patty, in the pretty boudoir that was hers of -late. She flew to greet me, and coaxed me to a couch. The moment we -were seated, I hushed her head into my breast. - -“Patty,” I whispered, “do you love the earl?” - -I could feel her breath stop, then recover itself in wonder. - -“He is so good to us, Diana--like a father. And I had always lived in -such terror of his mere name. How easily we may be deceived.” - -“Yes, child,” I answered. “How easily--how easily.” - -Her pulses answered to my tone, I could feel again. She slipped upon -her knees before me, and clasping her hands looked up, dumbly -questioning, into my face. - -“You are so simple, _ma mignonette_; I hardly know how to tell you,” I -began pitifully. - -“Tell me! O, what, Diana? I am frightened.” - -“I wish you to be. Patty”--I took her two entreating hands into one of -mine, and with the other made a significant gesture--“all this--these -little costly gifts--has it never occurred to you, child, that they -are bribes”-- I stopped. - -“To me?” she whispered, with a whole heart of astonishment. - -“To your honour, child.” - -“To--?” - -She gulped, and turned as pale as death. - -“He has promised to show you his Richmond cottage?” - -“Yes.” - -“To-night?” - -“Yes. How did you know?” - -“Never mind. I know. You must not go.” - -“How can I help it? Diana!” - -She sunk down before me, quite helpless and unnerved. - -“Patty,” I said, “you have never ceased to love and trust your -sister?” - -“Never, never--you are before all the world to me. Diana! You will -find a way!” - -“If you are strong--yes. I have been alert and watchful, child, while -you never knew it. But he did; and he means to separate us; to rid -himself of the watch-dog, that he may seize the lamb. He has but this -moment told me I must go--with what coarseness and insult I will not -soil your ears by repeating. If you love your honour, as I love and -have sacrificed myself to save it, you must come with me.” - -“I will come”--she rose hurriedly to her feet. “How can I ever repay -you, sister? The old, wicked man! At once--Diana! let us fly at once!” - -“Hush! We must be circumspect. You don’t know-- There, child, I will -die to save you.” - -She clung to me, in a gush of silent tears. Hastily I instructed -her--it was necessary in escaping to leave no trail--in my plan. It -was that, in an hour’s time, she should order out her barouche (there -was one put at her disposal), and, having driven to Grosvenor Gate, -alight and dismiss it, as if with the intention to walk in the park. -Thence she was to make her way on foot to Mrs. Trix’s toy-shop in -Piccadilly, and, having asked very privately to be shown into the -parlour, await me there, in whatever company she should find. - -She obeyed, heedful, in her panic, to the last details. Luckily, my -lord, being gone abroad to his lawyers, there were no prying eyes to -criticise her. No sooner was she driven off than--having collected -into a stocking all our jewels, and whatever money I could lay hands -on, which I hung from my waist out of sight--I stole forth by the back -way into the stables, and thence to the street, where I found a -hackney coach, and drove after my friend. - -I found her, as I had hoped, with Mr. Roper. He looked mighty serious -over our escapade, but informed me that he had loyally attended to my -instructions, and procured us a lodging, as for two country ladies who -had come up to view the sights, in as distant a part of the town as he -could compass on short notice. We went out immediately by a side door, -and, having all got into a coach that was in waiting, were driven to -Holborn, where we alighted, and thence, for precaution, walked to a -quiet house in Great Coram Street, near the Foundlings, where our -handsome escort left us, promising to call, at discretion, in a few -days, and recommending us in the meanwhile to lie as close as rabbits -in a furrow. - -He was as good as his word, coming in a week later, after dark, with a -face as long as a lawyer’s writ. - -“Well, madam,” he said, “you have cut the ground from under your own -feet with a vengeance.” - -I laughed. - -“You have been reading ‘Angélique’s’ Last Testament?” - -“Pray the Fates it may not be so indeed,” he said gravely; and, -pulling a paper out of his pocket, began to refer to it. - -“Why, do you not know,” said he, “that others besides our _Volpone_ -are reported interested in that strange disappearance of a one-time -heir-presumptive to _Volpone’s_ own title?” - -“Perfectly.” - -“And yet you go and put your head into the lion’s mouth?” - -“I would do more to expose a villain. I would go all lengths to right -an injured man. He is no more mad than I am.” - -“That seems probable.” - -He unfolded a second paper from the other, and pointing silently to a -paragraph, handed it to me. - -“The king” (I read from the _Gazette_) “has bestowed the vacant garter -upon the newly created Marquis of Synge;” and a little lower down: “It -is stated that the Earl of Herring has been relieved, at his own -request, of all offices which he held under the Crown. His lordship is -understood to have long contemplated a complete retirement from public -life.” - -I shrieked with laughter. I danced about the room, waving the paper -over my head. The noise I made brought up one of two gentlemen who -lived below. He put his head in at the door, with a leer and a grin: -“O, a thousand pardons!” said he; “I thought you was alone, and that -something had happened”--and he vanished. - -“He thought something had happened!” groaned Bob dismally; and, taking -the paper from me, he read out elsewhere: “His Majesty’s final -decision is supposed not unconnected with the _esclandres_ of a -certain notorious lady, which have exercised the public curiosity for -some time past, and which culminated on Saturday sennight in an attack -too obvious in its direction to be overlooked.” - -I heard, glistening. - -“Well, I told him I recognised my debt, and should pay him,” I said. - -Bob folded the papers, and returned them to his pocket. His mouth and -eyes were set in a kind of suffering smile. - -“You may know best how to play your hand for yourself,” he said. “God -preserve your partner, that’s all.” - -“What have you to fear?” - -“Your prudence, first of all--not a very trustworthy asset, if one may -judge by your apparent confidence in your fellow-lodgers.” - -“O! him that looked in!” I said. “I will answer there with my life.” - -He raised his eyebrows. - -“Yes, that is the point,” said he. “Do you quite realise what you have -done, Diana?” - -“O, quite!” - -“Well, that is a comfort. It gives me a sort of confidence in my -future. So long as I can be played as live-bait for your capture, I -shall be spared, no doubt.” - -He came up to me, and spoke very earnestly-- - -“Do you understand? He will try to trace you through me. If he -succeeds”-- - -“There is an end of both of us,” I said cheerfully. - -“Well,” he answered, with admiration, “you are a game little partlet. -But remember, at least, that revenge which evokes retribution misses -the best half of itself. For that reason, if for no other, I must keep -away from you. This visit to-night, even--I only dared it after -infinite precautions. If you want me, write: I will risk some means to -see you. For the rest, live close as death, till some of this, at -least, is blown over. Your friend, the pretty simpleton, where is -she?” - -“In bed and asleep.” - -“Keep her there. Make a dormouse of her. My Lady Sophia is nosing for -her tracks, as my lord her brother for yours. Did you suppose she -would acquiesce quietly in the abduction of her handmaid? I tell you, -she has got wind of the truth; and there has been tempest in the house -of Herring. Keep her close. Above everything, cut all further -communication with the _World_--as you love yourself, and me a little, -perhaps, Diana.” - -“As I love the truth,” I said; and went up and kissed him. - -“Ah!” he sighed, “that is very pretty. But, believe me, the truth, as -represented by His Majesty, wishes your love at the devil before it -meddled in his family affairs.” - - - - - XXIV. - I FIND A FRIEND IN NEED - -You know the truth, _mon ami_--that the face which looked in at my -door was the face of my father. O, heavens, the reunion, so wonderful, -so pathetic! and the sequel, so interesting! Truly, through our living -fidelities do the gods chastise our worldliness. - -We had not been a day in the house when I ran across him in a passage. -He was, it appeared, one of two gentlemen who lodged below. He was -plainly, almost shabbily dressed; bloated a little; prematurely aged: -but I knew him instantly. Though eleven years had gone since my -childish eyes had last acknowledged and adored him, the instinct of -nature was too sure to be deceived. I gasped, I trembled, as he stood -ogling me; finally I threw myself into his arms. - -“Papa!” I cried; “papa!” - -“Hey!” he responded; “is that all?” - -“Do you not remember your little Diana?” I implored, in an ecstasy of -emotion. - -“Wait,” he said, and put a hand to his forehead. “It may be on my -notes. I’ve a damned bad memory.” - -The door of a room hard by stood open. He led me in, closed it, and -seated himself officially at a table. - -“Now,” he said, “what mother?” - -The shock, my friend! I had remembered him so strong and -gallant--wicked, if you will; but then I had always pictured myself -the cherished pledge of his wickedness. And now, it appeared, I was -only one of a large family. Without a word, I turned my back upon him. - -“Don’t go,” he said, disturbed at that. “What name did you say?” - -I confronted him once more, sorrow and disdain battling in my face. - -“I said Diana.” - -“Of course,” he answered, beating his forehead; “the child of”-- - -After all, it was a long lapse of time. I told him my mother’s name. - -“She was my one real love,” he said, shedding tears. “I recall her -among the peats of Killarney as if it were to-day. When she died (she -is dead, isn’t she?) I buried my heart in her grave. I have never -known a moment’s happiness since. Speak to me of her, Dinorah.” - -He followed me up a little later, when Patty was sitting with me, and -peeped round the door. - -“May I--daughter Di?” he said. I believe he had really in the interval -been looking among his notes, or letters, and with such benefit to his -memory that he felt secure, at least, in that monosyllabic compromise. -Blame my fond heart, thou _fripon_. I was softened even in my -desperate disillusionment by this half recognition. With a father, -fashionable and well-connected, possibly rich, to safeguard my -interests, I need no longer fear the light. - -Receiving no answer, he sidled himself into the room, and to a sofa, -on which he sat down. Patty, dropping her work, looked at him with all -her might of astonishment. - -“And is this dear child your sister?” he asked. - -“Yes,” I answered; “from the very first.” - -“Twins?” he exclaimed. “I am very sure there is no such entry.” - -He sat frowning at the carpet for a little. Then, “Wait,” he said. “It -is my misfortune to serve small beer.” And with these enigmatic words -laid himself down and fell asleep. - -With his first snore, Patty flew over to me. - -“Who is it?” she whispered, frantic. - -“_It_ is a wise father that knows his own child.” - -“_Father_?” she said. - -“Hush!” I answered; “yes.” And would say no more till he woke. - -He came to himself presently, in a properer sense of the word. During -the interval I had been curiously observing his condition. It was very -different in seeming from that of the spark of eleven years since. It -showed an assumption of finery, it is true; but the trappings were -tawdry and soiled, and the materials cheap. - -He sat up with a prodigious yawn, his face, in the midst, lapsing into -a watery, paternal smile. But it was evident at once that something of -the thread of memory was restored in him; and he began questioning me -much more shrewdly and to the point. - -“Why, ecod,” said he presently, “was it a fact that the sweep had -stole you? If I’d only learnt the truth before Charlie Buckster put a -bullet in himself. I’d a double pony on it with the man.” - -Then we got on famously. He cried much over his poor lost love, and -was so tender with me that he completely won me from my reserve, and I -ended by recounting to him the whole tale of my fortunes, even up to -the present moment. - -“That Herring!” he said: “a fine guardian to my girl! I knew the stoat -well in my time. Let him beware, now that she has found her natural -protector.” - -He swelled with indignation, as I with pleasure. - -“You have gifts, presents from him, no doubt,” he said fiercely. “What -do you say to my taking them all back, and throwing them in his face?” - -“I say, certainly not,” I answered. - -“Ah well!” he said, “you have got them, anyhow; and the thought will -wring his covetous soul.” - -At this moment a great voice roared, “Johnson, you devil!” down below -somewhere. - -My father got quickly to his feet. - -“Ay,” he answered, to my look; “’tis me, Di--the pseudonym I go by. -Fact is, child, I’m temporarily under a financial cloud, and forced to -eke out a living, while awaiting the moment of my complete restoration -to fortune, by service--that is to say, by taking it, hem!” - -“By taking service?” - -“Exactly. A sort of elegant cicerone and social introducer to a damned -old parvenu curmudgeon, who wants to learn at what lowest outlay to -himself he can pose as a gentleman. ’Tis tiresome, though in its way -amusing; but I really think I shall have to cut the old rascal on his -taste in liquor. For a palate like mine, you know--small beer and blue -ruin, faugh! You haven’t change for a guinea, my angelic?” - -“Johnson!” roared the voice again. - -“Coming, sir, coming!” cried my papa; and, seeing me unresponsive, -skipped out of the room. - -He was with us continually during the fortnight after our arrival; and -I had no least idea of the consequences awaiting me, when one -afternoon a hastily scribbled note, dated “_en route_ for the -Continent,” was delivered at the house door by a porter, and sent up -to me. I read it, shrieked, and sank half fainting into a chair. - -“I have taken, dear daughter,” it said, “the entire responsibility for -our monetary affairs upon my own shoulders. To live on one’s capital -is, like the self-eating pelican, to devour the substance of the -unborn generations. Seeing how you appeared quite unaccountably -callous to the natural claims of your prospective family (for, with -your attractions, you cannot hope to escape one), I, as its -prospective grandfather, have asserted my prerogative by appropriating -our principal to its properest uses of investment. The stocking you -will find still reposing in its secret _cache_ behind the hangings of -your dressing-table; but you will find it empty. Do not blame me, but -console yourself with the conviction that in a few weeks I shall be in -a position to return you your principal _at least trebled_. In the -meanwhile, accept the assurances of my love and protection.” - -Half dazed with the shock, I tottered, with Patty’s assistance, into -our bedroom. It was too true. The desperate wretch, seizing his -opportunity by night while we slept, had robbed us of everything. He -had left us not a sixpence. We were ruined. - -I tore my hair. I uttered cries and imprecations. I cursed Heaven, my -own fond gullibility, the cruelty of the fate that would not let me -live and be honest. Patty, poor fool, tried to calm me. I drove her -away with blows, and, in a reaction to fury, rushed downstairs and -into the room of the remaining lodger. - -“Where is my money, where are my jewels?” I shrieked. “You are his -accomplice. I will swear an information against you unless you tell.” - -He was a gross, coarse man, of a violent complexion. - -“Ho-ho!” he bellowed; “blackmail is it? Wait, while I call a witness.” - -He pulled the bell down, summoning our landlady. When she came, there -was an outrageous scene. Quite cowed in the end, I retreated to our -apartments, where, however, I was not to be left in peace. Within an -hour the harridan appeared with her bill, an extravagant one, which of -course I was unable to settle. The next morning, driven forth with -contumely, we were arrested at her suit, and carried to a -sponging-house. Thence, quite self-collected now in my desperation, I -despatched a note to Mr. Roper, who, without delay, good creature, -waited upon us. I told him the whole unreserved truth. - -“Very well,” he said, “I will quit you of this, child; and, for the -rest, find accommodation for you in humbler quarters till you can help -yourself. With your genius, that should not be long. You know my -circumstances, and that I cannot afford luxuries.” - -“I will work my fingers to the bone,” I said, with tears in my eyes. - -“Not quite so bad as that,” he answered. “Bones ain’t negotiable -assets. Have you ever thought on the stage, now, for a living?” - -“I believe, without much study, I could make an actress,” I said. - -“With none at all,” said he confidently. “I have a friend in Westley -of Drury Lane, and will see if he can put you in the way to a part. I -should fear the publicity, i’ faith, but that my lord has taken his -grievances to the Continent for an airing, and in the interval we are -safe to act.” - -Good loyal friend! He found us pretty snug quarters over a little shop -in Long Acre, where, keeping to our pseudonym of the Misses Rush, we -bided while he negotiated terms for me. He was successful, when once I -had been interviewed by the management; and, to cut short this -melancholy story, I made my first appearance on the boards as the -fairy Primrose in the Christmas masque of the _Dragon of Wantley_. I -had a little song to sing about a butterfly, which never failed to -bring down the house; and altogether, I was growing not unhappy in the -novelty of the venture, when that, with almost my life, was ended at a -blow. - -But first I must relate of the most surprising _contretemps_ that ever -I was to experience, and which had the strangest and most immediate -bearing on my destinies. - -I had noticed frequently that the hind legs of the dragon would linger -unaccountably, when the absurd monster, on his way off the stage, -happened to pass me standing in the wings. This would lead to much -muffled recrimination from the forequarters, which, exhausted by their -antics, aimed only at getting to their beer; the consequence being -that one eventful night, what between the haulings and contortions, -the back seam of the creature split, and out there rolled before my -eyes--Gogo. - -He picked himself up immediately, and stood regarding me silently, -with a most doleful visage. My dear, I cannot describe what emotions -swept my soul in a little storm of laughter--the astonishment, the -pity, the bewilderment! In the midst, too confounded to arrange my -thoughts, I turned away, affecting not to recognise him; seeing which, -he uttered one enormous sigh, and stumped off to face the battery of -the stage-manager’s indignation. - -I must have put a world of feeling that night into my little song -about the poor butterfly, that was stripped of its wings by a cruel -boy, and so prevented from keeping its assignation with the rose, -insomuch that it moved a very beautiful lady, who was present in a -private box, to send for me that she might thank me in person. - -We had all of us, of course, heard of, and some of us remembered, -perhaps, chucking under the chin, the ravishing Mrs. Hart, who, from -pulling mugs of beer to the pinks of Drury Lane, had risen to be -_chère amie_ to his excellency the British Ambassador at Naples, and, -quite recently, his lady. She had lately come to London, _à travers -tous les obstacles_, to be made an honest woman of, and it was she who -craved the introduction, to which you may be sure I responded with as -much alacrity as curiosity. I could have no doubt of her the moment I -entered the box, and made, with becoming naïveté, my little curtsey. -She was certainly very handsome, in spite of her twenty-seven years -and her large feet, though, I thought, lacking in grace. But her face -was beautifully formed, with a complexion of apple-blossoms, and red -lips a little swollen with kissing, and, to crown everything, a great -glory of chestnut hair. There were tears in her fine eyes as she -turned impulsively to address me-- - -“La, you little darling, you’ve made me cry with your butterflies and -things. Come here while I buss you.” - -There was a gentleman sitting by her, foremost of two or three that -were in the box, and he made room for me with an indulgent smile. He -was a genial, precise-looking person, with a star on his right breast, -and the queue of his wig reaching down his back in long curls that -were gathered into a ribbon. I took him, rightly, to be Sir William, -the husband, and made him my demure bow as I passed. His lady gave me -a great kiss, in full view of the house, and taking a little jewel -from her bosom, pinned it into mine. - -“There,” she said, “wear this for Lady Hamilton, in token of the only -reel feeling she has come across in your beastly city.” - -Sir William put his hand on her arm. - -“My dear,” he said. - -She fanned herself boisterously. She had been disappointed, everyone -knew, in her designs to be received at court, and was to leave England -in a few days missing the coveted honour. Somehow she reminded me of -the “bouncing chit” that our gentlemen call a champagne bottle--she so -gushed and sparkled, and was a little large and loud. - -I made my acknowledgments quite prettily, and left the box; and, once -got outside, leaned for a moment against the wall, with a feeling of -mortal sickness come over me. For, as I retreated, I had come face to -face with those seated at the back--_and one of them was the Earl of -Herring_. - -Had he recognised me? He had not appeared to lift his eyes, even, as -he sat at discussion with his neighbour. And that might be the most -deadly sign of all. - -I don’t know how I got through the rest of my part. But that night I -clung to Patty as if she were my only support in a failing world. - -Morning brought some reassurance; and so, for a further evening or -two, finding myself still unmolested, I struggled to convince myself -that he had not seen, or that I was forgotten, and my fault passed -over. But all the time the terror lay at my heart. - -On the third evening, as I was entering the theatre, I encountered a -poor creature standing by the stage door. I went to him; I almost fell -upon his breast in my agitation. - -“Gogo!” I said, “Gogo!” and stood dumb and shame-stricken before him. - -He threw up his hands with that odd familiar gesture, with that -tempestuous sigh which found such an immediate response in my soul. - -“Are you not coming in?” I faltered. - -He shook his head. - -“You are dismissed?” - -“I spoiled their dragon for them.” - -I burst into tears. - -“It was for me, dear. Do you see to what I have come? Forgive me, -Gogo.” - -“I can’t help myself,” he groaned. “You are my destiny.” - -“Gogo, I am frightened; I am in danger. Help me, Gogo.” - -The poor fellow smiled. - -“In everything but running away, Diana.” - -“And that is just where I want your help. Come to me: come and see me -to-morrow, Gogo, will you? O, Gogo, will you?” - -“Don’t be foolish, Diana. At what time?” - -“You know my address?” - -“Of course I do.” - -“As early as early, then; the moment I am out of bed.” - -Strangely comforted, and looking to see if we were alone, I dropped a -tiny kiss on his rough cheek, and ran in gaily, wiping my eyes as I -went. - -That night I sang my little song with renewed feeling, and ended to a -burst of applause. As I was standing at the wings, flushed and -radiant, a note was put into my hand. I opened it, and read: “_You are -in danger. Don’t go home._” - -I never learned who had sent it; some one, probably, from amongst the -few friends I could still number in that wicked household. It had been -handed in at the stage door by a messenger, and that was all I could -discover. The lights of my triumph were darkened. I knew myself at -last hunted--and alone. Why had I not bid my monster wait for me? But -it were idle now to moan. Despair gave me readiness. I finished my -part quite brilliantly, without a stumble, and chatted gaily, while -disrobing, with the poor pretty little _coryphée_ who was my chief -friend in the dressing-rooms. By one pretext or another I detained her -until we were alone. Then, “Fanny,” I said, “keep mum; but I think it -unlikely I shall come here again.” - -She looked at me with her large grey eyes. We were much of a figure, -and not unlike in features. - -“O, Miss Rush!” she whispered. “And I’d ’oped always to ’ave you for a -friend.” - -“So you shall, Fanny,” I said: “but there are contingencies--you -understand?” - -Her lip was trembling. I think she wanted to tell me to keep good. - -“And so,” I said hastily, “as I have liked you so, I want to exchange -little presents with you, as a remembrance, if you will.” - -The poor child had often cast admiring eyes on a calash which it was -my habit to wear to the theatre, and which was indeed a very becoming -thing of crimson velvet and cherry-coloured lining, with a frame of -costly fur to the face. It had been given me by Bob, and certainly -nothing short of my present desperation would have brought me to part -with it; but it was, more than anything I wore of late, associated -with me; and necessity has no conscience. - -Fanny’s eyes sparkled against her will, as I held the thing out to -her. - -“O no, miss!” she entreated; “it’s too good for me, and I can’t give -you nothing the same in exchange.” - -“You shall give me your neckerchief,” I said; and, cutting the -discussion short, drove her away at length, with her pretty face in -the hood, and tears in her eyes. - -I gave her five minutes’ start, then followed her out, with a brain as -hot as my heart was shivering. “They must discover their mistake very -soon,” I thought, “and will be returning on their tracks.” - -However, I reached home, running by byways, in safety; and there, -quite unnerved now the terror was passed, threw myself into Patty’s -arms and told her everything. She was the sweet, simple counsel and -consoler she always was to grief, and distressed me only by some -concern she could not help showing for the fate of Fanny. - -“You try to make me out a devil,” I cried passionately. “They will let -her alone, of course, when they find she isn’t who they want.” - -We slept in one another’s arms that night, fearful of every sound in -the street. But morning brought the sun and Gogo--though the latter -inexcusably late to his appointment--and both were a heavenly joy to -me. - -I saw at once by his expression that he carried news; but he did not -speak. - -“Gogo!” I whispered. - -He uttered a strange sound, like a wounded beast, and turned his face -from me. - -“Did you exchange head-dresses with her last night?” he muttered. - -“What do you mean?” - -My heart seemed to stop. - -“They said it was your hood. She was jostled by ruffians in the -street, it seems, and thrown under the traffic, and killed.” - -I fell on my knees before him, shuddering and hiding my face. - -“You didn’t mean _that_, Diana?” - -“Before God, no. I thought they would leave her when they found out.” - -He gave a heart-breaking sigh, and looked at me for the first time. - -“I wouldn’t go near the theatre again, if I was you. They’ll not judge -you as--as favourably as I, perhaps.” - -“I’ve done with the theatre. Fate is very cruel. No one understands me -or believes in me. At least, don’t tell Patty anything of this. I -think you will break my heart among you. How did you even know I was -threatened?” - -“Didn’t you tell me you were in danger?” - -I cried out to him in a sudden agony-- - -“I _am_ in danger. O, Gogo! for God’s sake tell me what I am to do!” - -Then the great human love of the creature went down before me. He -fondled me, with tears and broken exclamations; he swore himself once -more, through all eternity, through sin and sorrow, my bondman. - -Presently, without extenuation, I had confessed all to him; and he had -forgiven me; had admitted, even, that I had had the reason of a better -regard on my side. But as to what had happened to himself during the -long interval, he would tell me nothing as yet. - -“I am the ex-hind legs of a dragon,” he said, “that was conquered by -the Chevalière Primrose, and turned into two-thirds of a prince. I -date myself from the translation. The curtain’s down on all that was -before.” - -Now, when we came to discussing the ways and means for my escape from -a desperate situation, my dear resourceful monster was ready with a -suggestion at once. - -“The Hamilton,” said he, “sails from England in a day or two. She is -disposed, by the tokens, to make a pet of you. Why not go to her; -relate everything; throw yourself upon her charity, and ask to be -conveyed abroad in her suite?” - -“Gogo! When?” I cried. It was an inspiration. - -“No moment like the present.” - -“I will go. But you must come too, to protect me.” - -“Of course.” - -“And Patty?” - -“All three of us together. Pack your box, pay your bill, and be ready -while I wait. At the worst, ’tis something gained to shift your -quarters and cover your trail.” - -I demurred only at the bill; for, indeed, we needed every penny of our -ready money. But he settled the matter by paying it himself. - -“I have become of a saving disposition,” he said; “and whatever trifle -there be, you are its heir. This is only drawing on your -reversion”--and, indeed, he valued money at nothing at all. If he -could have picked a living from the earth, he would never have been to -the trouble of putting a penny in his pocket. - -In a little, all being prepared, we took a coach and drove to the -Ambassador’s hotel. My lady was fortunately at her toilette, and sent -down a surprised message, that, whatever the deuce I wanted, I was to -be shown up. I found her, tumbled a little abroad, in the hands of her -_perruquier_, whom she dismissed while she talked to me. - -“Why, child,” she said, “what a face! ’Tis as white, I vow, as the -wings of your butterfly. Out with your trouble now.” - -I threw myself at her feet. I made a clean breast of my story--of the -inhuman cruelty of which I was the destined victim; and I ended by -imploring her to let me and my friends enjoy the bounty of her -protection. She fired magnificently, as I had hoped she would, over -the recital. She embraced my cause impulsively and without a thought -for possible consequences to herself. - -“The infamous old fox!” she cried of my lord; “I was flattered by his -attentions, hang him! until I found they was of the worst consequence -to me as a lady of position. To think of the old beast wanting to -murder you because of a lampoon--pasquinades we call ’em in Italy! La, -child! if _I_ answered so to every dig that’s made at me, I’d better -turn public executioner at once. Let’s keep our own characters clean -against the light being turned on ’em, say I; and, if we don’t, -there’s only ourselves to thank. It’s too late to talk of bein’ a lady -when the crowner comes to sit on our dirty stockin’s.” - -She made me repeat my little song to her, and cried over it again. - -“Trot up your friends,” she said, wiping her eyes. “There’s room for -you all here till we start for France--or Naples, if you will. Let me -see the old devil dare to follow you into this sancshery! We’ll be -even with him, gnashin’ his yellow teeth left behind. Go and fetch -’em. I want to see what they’re like.” - -And she gave me a tempest of a kiss, and pushed me out at the door. - - -_It is here we encounter that considerable lacuna in the Reminiscences -to which reference was made in the “Introductory.” An examination of -the MS. shows that the large section--of more than a hundred -pages--which related to Mrs. Please’s experiences during the terrific -period of the Revolution, and afterwards so far as the year_ ’98, -_when the narrative is resumed, was at some time bodily removed, -whether with a view to separate publication_ (_of which, however, no -proof can be found_), _or through one of those intermittent panics of -conscience to which the lady was subject, there is no evidence to -show. While this breach is to be regretted--from her editor’s point of -view, at least--it must be said that innumerable contemporary -references to Madame “Se-Plaire” enable us in some measure not only to -follow the career of that redoubtable adventuress_ (_pace M. le Comte -de C----_), _but to supply to ourselves at least one presumptive -reason for her shyness, on reflection, of perpetuating certain of its -incidents. However, not to confuse matters, we will take our -stepping-stones in the order of their placing._ - -_It appears, then, that Mrs. Please and her friends were conveyed -safely in the Ambassador’s entourage, to Paris, where Madame the -Ambassador’s wife received, during the few days of her stay in the -French capital on her way to Italy, some salve to her hurt vanity in -the reception accorded her at the Tuileries by the queen, who took the -opportunity to intrust her with a letter to her sister of Naples. -Whether elated, indirectly, by the royal condescension, or electrified -by the state of the national atmosphere, or for whatever reason, -Diana, it appears, decided to remain where she was. She even, there is -some reason for believing, sought, in the character of a very loyal -little_ moucharde, _to ingratiate herself with the queen, going so far -as to imply that Lady Hamilton had taken this delicate means of -placing in Her Majesty’s hands a counter-buff to Mr. Pitt, whom Miss -Diana had often seen in my lord of Herring’s house in Berkeley Square, -and whose sinister designs against France she was quite ready to -quote--or invent._ - -_However this may be, it seems certain that Her Majesty was -inexplicably so far from being prepossessed by her fair visitor’s fair -protégée, that_ (_assuming even that she gave her her countenance at -the first_) _she did not hesitate long in turning upon her the coldest -of cold shoulders. We know at least that within a month of her arrival -in Paris, Diana_ (_which always equals, be it understood, Diana_ plus -_her two inseparables_) _had established herself, far from the -precincts of the court, in very good rooms in a house in the Rue St. -Jacques; where with characteristic suddenness and thoroughness she -announced her complete conversion to the principles of -ultra-republicanism. It must have been about this time, moreover, that -she found interest to return to the stage; for in addition to the -inclusion of her name in the bill of that stirring melodrama_, Les -Victimes Cloîtrées, _which set all fermenting Paris overflowing, -there exists that reference to her in the rather spiteful -Reminiscences of Adrienne Lavasse, which, I think, is worth -transcribing. “Mademoiselle Please,” says the actress, “was for a -little our_ ingénue _at the Français. She was imported from England; -but, it must be confessed, had a pretty gift_ [une belle facilité] -_for our tongue. One night, after a_ mêlée _in the green-room, she -lifts her voice in a furious outcry about her having been ravished of -a neckerchief which had been given her by a fellow_-comédienne _in -London, and which, she declares, she would not have parted with for a -louis-d’or. But I never observed”_ (_adds the little spitfire_) _“that -she took the trouble to replace it with another; from which it is -evident that it was not her modesty that she valued at so high a -figure.”_ - -_How long Mrs. Please continued on the stage at this time_ (_she -returned to it again later_) _is not certain. Probably her engagement -was terminated by that famous split in the company, when democratic -Talma and Vestris migrated to the Rue de Richelieu, bequeathing the -remnant honours of the old house in the Faubourg St. Germain to the -royalist Fleury, Dazincourt, and Company. What we_ do _know is that -about this critical period a lucky_ coup _in a State lottery -established our heroine on her feet, and that thenceforth she -flourished. She kept a little salon in those same historic rooms, -through which a regular progression of nationalists passed and -vanished. There, in their time, were to be seen Brissot, Guadet, -Gensonné, the Roman Roland, the handsome Barbaroux, Pétion, -Vergniaud, the sweet and indolent, in his ragged coat, Desmoulins, -Barrére, Billaud-Varennes, Barras. The order is significant of our -lady’s political, or politic, evolution. The life of the State, she -came to think, was only to be saved by ruthless amputation; and, -unfortunately, the disease was in the head. As the atmosphere -thickens, our glimpses of her become rarer and more lurid. She appears -once as the proprietress of a sort of_ Mont de piété, _very private -and exclusive, in which she amassed good quantity of property, pledged -by the proscribed, who never returned to redeem it. Among these, -curiously, seems to have been her father, whom, as characteristically -as possible, she forgave and attempted to shelter, though without -avail, for he was guillotined. It was probably to propitiate the -Government for this filial dereliction that she reappeared on the -boards, in_ ’93, _in that grotesque monument to the dulness of the -Sovereign People_, The Last Judgment of Kings; _and there, so far as -we can trace, ended her connection with the stage._ - -_During all this period, it is only fair to her to say, she seems to -have played the inflexible duenna to her little friend and adoratrice, -Miss Patty Grant, protecting the child from outside evil and her own -kind pliability, and, when she was called away from her side, -committing her to the care of that faithful and incorruptible monster, -the cripple._ - -_Towards the end of_ ’93 _she appears to have been so far in favour -with the powers that she was despatched on a secret propagandist -mission to the Neapolitan States--a portentous departure. She was not -back in Paris again until the spring of_ ’95, _when she returned to -find the Terror overthrown, its “tail” in process of being docked by -Sanson, and the_ jeunesse dorée _patrolling the streets._ - -_Not much record of this journey remains, beyond the single weighty -fact that it brought her acquainted with the young revolutionary -enthusiast, Nicola Pissani, who accompanied her home by way of Tuscany -and Piedmont, propagating their gospel of Liberty on the road._ - -_We may perhaps be pardoned for thinking it probable that Mrs. Please, -on her return to Paris, would have recanted her extremist views, had -it not been for this romantic_ exalté, _to whom, no doubt, she at the -time was sincerely attached. It is possible, indeed, that she did -persuade him of the necessity of an_ open _recantation, in order that -she might consort with him the more safely in those measures which he, -and for his sake she, had at heart--the violent establishment of a -republic at Naples, to wit. For, for the moment, sanscullotism was out -of fashion, and propagandists at a discount. It made no difference to -her, apparently, that her former patroness and saviour was heart and -soul with the court of Ferdinand. She was of the Roman mettle, and -would have sacrificed her own child to Liberty--with Pissani. I swear -my heart bleeds for her; for_ (_the truth has to be uttered_) _that -passionate young zealot was no sooner made free of the house in the -Rue St. Jacques, than he fell hopelessly entangled in the unconscious -meshes of poor blameless, lovable little Patty Grant. And, worse: Miss -Grant, without a thought of disloyalty to her friend and sister--who, -indeed, persistently, and perhaps justifiably, posed for no more than -the Neapolitan’s pious fellow-missionary--yielded her whole sweet soul -to him!_ - -_Nothing was declared, or came of this at the time. Pissani went back -to Naples; the two--he and Diana: not he and another, you may be sure, -unless by stealth--corresponded regularly; the march of events -proceeded; our heroine managed, no doubt, to console herself, -provisionally, for the separation. Perhaps she may have been conscious -of an alteration in her friend; a hint of some sad preoccupation; the -bright eyes dulling, the white face growing ever a little more white -and drawn. If she did, she chose, while biding her time of -enlightenment, to attach any but the right reason to the change. She -seems to confess, indeed, that she had the suspicion. Like enough, in -that case, she indulged it for a perpetual stimulant to her romance, -which might have withered without. She was not one to bear tamely her -supplanting by another--least of all by the little humble slave of her -passions and caprices, of her kisses and disdains. And, in the -meantime, the years went over them, while she was studying to -ingratiate herself with the Directory, so that presently her house -knew again its succession of ministers and deputies--men who came to -lighten their leisure with a little interlude of love or wit. And so -we reach the crisis._ - -_Naples, about the middle of_ ’98, _was in a last state of ferment. -Jacobinism threatened it within and without, the former but awaiting -the advance of the French under Championnet to arise and hand over the -city to its sympathisers. In September Nelson came sweeping to its -sea-gates in his_ Vanguard; _in October General Mack posted from -Vienna to take command of its rabble army of resistance; in November -its king led another army to Rome, nominally to restore the Pope his -kingdom, and, having done some ineffective mischief, returned -ingloriously, to find his capital in a state of anarchy. Finally, in -December, the whole royal family sneaked on board the_ Vanguard, _and -transferred itself_ pro tempore _to Palermo, where it remained until -the danger was laid, when it returned to exact a bloody vengeance._ - -_Therewithin lies the whole tragedy of Pissani and a little English -maid. Early in the February of that year the man had written, hurried -and agitated, to Mrs. Please, to announce that the moment was ripe, -the tree of despotism tottering to its fall, to be replaced by the -more fruitful one of Liberty; and to urge her to come at once, if she -would see consummated the glorious work for which they had both -laboured so long and so self-sacrificially. No doubt that he believed -in her single-heartedness, as she, in another way, in his. He assured -her that she might be, if she would, a second Pucelle. He fired her -vanity: he rekindled her passion. With characteristic impetuosity, she -broke up her household, and_ (_here figures either her blindness or -her imperious self-confidence_) _prepared to transport it, stock and -block, to the scene of her anticipated triumphs. She had no difficulty -in procuring passports. Indeed, there is reason to suppose that she -was intrusted with despatches for General Berthier, then occupying -Rome. At any rate she, in company with Mademoiselle Grant and her -inseparable Gogo, embarked at Marseilles for Civita Vecchia; were in -the Eternal City before the end of the month; and had thence, -travelling again by sea, reached Naples without accident by the middle -of March. Here, by preconcerted arrangement_ (_as regarded only -herself and the Neapolitan, however_) _they were met by Pissani, who -conducted them in the first instance to a little cabaret in the dark -quarters near the Arsenal. And here, from the glooms of that dingy -rendezvous, Mrs. Please is pleased to enter again upon her own story._ - - _B. C._ - -[_Note_.--To the curious in matters of personal appearance, the -following extract from the _Roper Correspondence_ (Hicks & Beach, -London, 1832) may be of interest. The passage occurs in a -letter--dated Paris, January 1798--from the Hon. Robert Roper to his -cousin Lord Carillon, and runs as follows:-- - -“I have renewed my acquaintance with the Please, who is twenty-seven, -and nothing if not the ripe fruit of her promise. Dost remember, Dick, -how she was your ‘Long-legged Hebe’? I tell you, sir, she is by Jove -out of Leda, a very Helen. She moults her years, like the swan her -father its feathers, and is always ready with a virgin bosom of down -for the next quilt. The same sprightly insolence; the same _perfect -irregularity_ of feature--and conduct; the same zeal in making the -interests of others her own--and the profits thereof. Her face retains -its pretty _moue_; her hair has only ripened a little, like corn. She -is still slender, as we remember her--in everything now but the -essentials; still as pale, with the flawless eyebrows and bob-cherry -lips. I would be sentimental; but, alack! she tells me our past is put -away in a little bag like lavender. ‘Would you wish the gift of it, -sir,’ she says, ‘to lay among your bed-linen? ’Tis grown too scentless -for my use. _Il n’y a si bonne compagnie qu’on ne quitte._’ O, Dick, -to be rebuked for one’s years, and by an immortal! O, Dick, for the -time ‘when wheat is green and hawthorn buds appear’! Why may not our -feet continue to dance with our hearts? I have a _débutante_ always -within my breast, and because _I_ am forty, _she_ must be a wallflower -forsooth! - -“She has realised at last _la grande passion_, she tells me. She is -perfectly frank. _He_ is gone elsewhere, and she only waits for his -whistle to follow. _This_ to me! She has her little salon, as pretty -as a bonbon box, and a dozen of powdered ministers at her feet. The -morning after our meeting I breakfasted with her and her friend. You -recall the little soft brunette, with the motherly eyes and the -caressing bashfulness? She is still with her, the foil, as of old, to -her ladyship, and virgin soil to this day, I believe.... Madam took -her tea laced with a little _eau de vie_. There was a curious legless -monster in waiting: something between a dumb-waiter and a Covent -Garden porter. She defers to him in everything; and he growls.”] - - - - - XXV. - I DECLARE FOR THE KING - -We were landed upon the Mole, not far from the Castel Nuovo, a vast, -sullen pile like the Bastille, on whose ruins I had danced. It was a -dark and rainy night. Pissani, who had been squatted amongst some -boats down by the water, rose, came forward in two or three swift -strides, and exclaimed, in an eager, agitated undertone, “Mother of -God! You are accompanied?” - -I could not see his face, but my heart responded unerringly to the -dear remembered tones. I went quickly to him, and put up my hands to -his breast. - -“Nicola _mio_--my brother, my comrade!” I whispered, “by all that, -next to you, I hold most dear.” - -“What? Whom?” he asked, in a low voice of amazement. “Not--?” - -“Yes,” I said, “by my servant and my sister. You called and I came, -Nicola, ‘bringing my sheaves with me.’” - -He was breathing fast, but he did not answer. - -“Are you not pleased,” I said, “that I give up everything for you and -to you; that I devote my best to the cause--our cause, Nicola; that at -the bidding of my brother I have moved my tent into the wilderness? -Are you not pleased with me?” - -“There is danger in the wilderness,” he muttered. “No, I am not -pleased.” - -I fell back with a little shiver. “No more for her than for me,” I -answered. - -“It is not the same,” he said; “it is not the same thing at all.” In -an instant he had gripped my wrist. “Send her back into safety. She -shall not risk her life here--by God, she shall not!” - -And then I think I understood. I was calm as death, and as cold. It -had needed but these few words to turn me into stone. My God! all my -fervour and self-sacrifice--and this for their reward! I laughed out -quite gaily-- - -“O, _mon chéri_! in the rain and the dark? Are you mad? Please to -convey us to some shelter.” - -He hesitated a moment; then beckoned to Patty, who came running like a -dog to the whistle. Pissani turned his back as she approached. - -“Tell your servant to await your orders here,” he muttered; “and, for -you, follow me.” - -Patty stole by my side, dumb over her reception. The fool! the little -adorable traitress! How would she have chattered, teeth and heart, had -she seen my nails, hid under my cloak, dug into the soft palms they -were clinched on. Yet I had an admiration for her, even while I -crouched to spring. That she, self-obliterating, undemonstrative with -men, could all the time have been softly insinuating herself between -me and my love! I had not credited her with so much cleverness. - -Our sombre patriot led us to a little _osteria_ in a sewer hard by, -where the rain beat on a lurid scrap of window, and a mutter of voices -from within seemed to mingle in a throaty discussion with a gurgling -water-pipe at our feet. There were two or three wine-drinkers revealed -as he pushed open the door--strangely respectable folk in these -incongruous surroundings. They but glanced up as we entered and passed -on by a stone passage to a little remote room, where were a bare table -and a single taper glimmering sickly on the wall. - -Pissani shut the door and faced us. He was very pale and grim; grown -sterner than my memory of him, but still the melancholy, romantic -brigand of my heart. For a moment he seemed unable to speak; and in -that moment I could see my little sister’s hand shake on the table on -which she had leaned it for support. The truth was confessed amongst -us all in that silence. And I--I knew it suddenly, instantly, for what -I had long suspected but struggled to conceal from myself; knew it for -the real solution of this my conscious unconscious caprice in bringing -Patty with me. It had been to force it, to satisfy myself of the best -or the worst, that I had acted as I had done. That I recognised now. -And, after all, I was the first to speak. - -“Well, M. Pissani,” I said, “it seems that one of us at least is _de -trop_.” - -His mouth twitched with nervousness. - -“She cannot help the cause,” he said. “She will only be in the way. -What is her use in this pass?” - -“Patty,” I said, turning on the child, “M. Pissani does not want you. -You can go back.” - -She looked at me, the helpless fool. Her lip trembled, and her eyes -filled with tears. But Pissani by that was smiling. - -“I do not want you, child, _I_?” he said, in a sick voice, and held -out his hands fondly to her across the table. “Ah, but we know better -the truth of our hearts! When the battle is won, then, O gentle my -love, that betakest thyself to love as the lark to heaven, come to me, -as you promised! But not now--not now, when the storm is in the air, -and this so dear shrine of my hopes might be struck and violated. You -have not changed, you could not change: it is enough, I have seen you. -Come now with me, Pattia, and I will take you back to the boat, to my -friends, that they may see you secured in Rome until I can send to you -and say, ‘It is time, most dear wife, it is time. Return to me, and -give thyself to be the mother of patriots!’” - -She moved, and gave a little sob. Her response was not to him but to -me--to the stunned questioning of my eyes. She had no wit but to utter -her whole self-condemnation in it. - -“Diana! I did not know! I have not been untrue to you.” - -I struck her on the mouth, and she staggered back, with that red lie -printed on it for the delectation of her paramour. She clutched at the -table, reeled, and sank down beside it moaning. It was too much. My -fury had flashed to an explosion in that wicked falsehood. - -Pissani, with a sudden and terrible cry at the sight of his mistress’s -disgrace, drew a knife from his hip, and leapt like a goat across the -table. Stumbling as he alighted, she caught him frantic round the -knees, and held him raging and snarling while he stabbed at the air in -his frenzy. I stood fallen back a little, white and scornful, but with -not a thrill of fear at my heart; and, so standing, saw how, in the -thick blindness of his rage, he was yet tender of her in his struggles -to free himself. And then in a moment he had fallen upon his knees, -the blade yet in his hand, and was kissing and caressing her, moaning -inarticulate love into her ear. She tried feebly to repulse him; to -drag herself away and towards me. I had always known that she was of -the fools who caress the hands that scourge them. But I sprang back, -loathing her neighbourhood. - -“Don’t come near me,” I cried. - -He had kissed the blood from her mouth to his own. He struck the spot -there with a furious hand, as he turned on me. - -“By this,” he said, “your death or mine!” - -I laughed scornfully. - -“So brutes revenge themselves on the innocence they have despoiled!” - -“It is a lie!” he raged; and, on the word, put a fierce arm about his -_wife_. “Believe it is a lie, thou!” - -But she was still struggling to reach me. - -“Diana! Not this end to all our love! Not this end to the high hopes -with which we came. It is not ourselves, but Liberty, sister. See, he -will be good; he will not hurt you” (she was groping eagerly for the -knife, which he ended by letting her secure). “I did not know,” she -cried, “I did not guess--until this moment I did not. I will never see -him again, if you wish. I will be no man’s wife to your hurt. Diana! -It is the truth!” - -I let her rave. I never took my eyes from his devil’s face. - -“So,” I said, deeper now, and with my hands upon my storming bosom, -“you would make your sacrifice to Reason, monsieur, in me--me! _My_ -mission was to be the Pucelle’s, and her glorious fate, with which, I -suppose, you were to assure your little after-paradise of loves. O, a -grateful use for this poor heart, to be a stepping-stone to the -respectable amours of Monsieur and Madame Pissani! Only I renounce the -honour, as I renounce the cause of the paragon of taste who could -prefer that for this.” - -I tore at my dress. - -“You have made your choice,” I cried; “it is all said. Only think, -monsieur, think sometimes of what you have lost, before you talk of -the battle being won!” - -I hurried from the room, even as my false friend called to me again in -agony, “Diana! Believe me! Listen to me! O, what shall I do?” But, -even in my frenzy, I had the wit to pause the other side of the door, -listening for his response. - -“Thou shalt go back to Rome, my dearest, my heart,” he said. “Hearken -to me, my Pattia.” - -But she only sobbed dreadfully, “Not like this--not in this disgrace. -I must follow her, even if she kills me.” - -“By my soul, no,” he said; “for your life is mine.” - -I could hear them wrestling together; till, in a moment, he prevailed, -even before I had guessed he would. - -“Hush, my bird,” he panted softly; “there is one other way--if it must -be so indeed.” - -There followed a pause. I could have laughed in the mad joy of my -revenge. He was an upstart, this patriot; a son of the people. He -would commit her to his own--wive her, I most fervently prayed--and -deposit his jewel, this little pet of luxury, in the squalid cabin at -Camaldoli where he was born. He had often told me of it; of his early -experiences of the joys of life in a place where the peasant could not -fasten his coat against cold, or take refuge from the sun under a -tree, or borrow a stone from the hill for his paths, or renew his -starved patch with manure of leaves, or set a water-butt to catch the -showers, or be buried decently when he dropped at the plough-tail and -died, because buttons, and the shade of trees, and stones, and dead -leaves, and rain-water, and a dead peasant were all taxed alike--items -in a hundred other feudal impositions which left existence hardly its -own shadow to prevail by. And now these joys would be hers; for I knew -that she had not the strength to oppose him, though enough to damn her -own fool fortune by insisting on the Church’s sanction to her -possession of an estate of mud and wattles. I listened eagerly for the -next. - -“If thou wilt be my mother’s daughter?” he said. - -I could have clapped my hands. I hurried down the passage and out into -the night, fierce, burning, but with an exultation in my rage. The -sight of men risen, scared and listening, as I passed through the -wineshop, served to recall me to myself and to my danger. I was -outcast from these conspirators--if only they had known! - -With an effort I composed myself, and turned to them with a smile-- - -“Messieurs, but the door is between me and the street!” - -One of them at that stepped forward, opened it, and gravely bowed me -forth. As gravely I stepped into the rain, and made without hurry for -the beach. - -So this was the end to all my exaltation, to my dreams of love and -sacrifice! I stamped in the puddles. “_Vive la tyrannie! vive les -Bourbons!_” I cried to myself as I sped on. So shamed, so wronged, so -spurned! was not the worst justified to me? I saw the shadow of my -loved monster standing solemn sentinel over the single trunk we had -brought with us. Our heavy baggage we had left in Rome. O, _mon -fidèle_! how at that moment I could have stormed my wounded heart out -on thy breast! - -“Canst thou lift it and follow me?” I said only. - -He answered, the dear Caliban, by obeying. - -“Whither?” he growled. - -I looked desperately about me. Near at hand it was all a tangle of -spars and sheds, and the rain driving between. But inland, the night -went up in glistening terraces, scattered constellations all shaken in -the thunder of a great city. Far south, what looked like the red light -of a forge alternately glared, and faded, and grew again, battling, it -seemed, with drowning flaws of tempest. It was the glimmering bonfires -of Vesuvius, those hot ashes of a consumed empire, from which, -according to Pissani, the phœnix Liberty was to arise. I laughed: -“Not yet, my poet, my friend; since thou choosest another than Pucelle -to breed thee thy patriots!” - -I turned to the north. There, upon a huddle of tall buildings, looming -near and enormous in the dark, the stars of the hills seemed to have -drifted down, clinging thickly over all, like primroses under a bank. - -“It is the royal palace,” said Gogo. - -“It is _our_ way, then,” I panted, on fire. “Follow me, and quickly; -we are not safe here.” - -Along wharfs and causeways, plashing over the filthy stones, by -squalid alley and reeking wall, I fled and he pursued. I had no -lodestar save my hate; but it served. The growing scream and thunder -of the town drove towards us as we advanced; but few people in that -bitter night; until, skirting the massed buildings of the arsenal and -palace, we emerged suddenly through a little lane into the Strada di -St. Lucia, and paused a moment undecided and amazed. - -It was as if the devil had taken his glowing pencil and ruled off this -quarter of the city for his own. A noisome ravine of houses it was, -with life like a fiery torrent brawling along its bed. Song and tumult -and mad licence; fingers quick to stab, or to snap like castanets to a -dancing child; doorways that were the mouths of tributary sewers -vomiting filth and tatters into the main; fishermen, at their flaring -stalls, bawling crabs and oysters, _frutti di mare_--my God! what -fruit, and from what a sea that drained a shambles; women out in the -rain and the open, making their shameless toilettes, and screaming the -while such damnation by the calendar on their sister doxies for a -word, a retort, a mere flea-bite (the commonest experience, after all) -as to leave themselves, one would have thought, no vocabulary for the -more strenuous encounters of fists and claws; children swarming -everywhere in the double sense, and scattering shrill oaths like -vermin; rags and nakedness and insolence--a loafing melodrama--an -epitome of the worst squalor and viciousness in all Naples--such was -the district upon which we had alighted, the mid-ward of the -Lazzaroni. - -As we stood, a ruffian, swaggering past, swerved, and approached a -handsome, impudent face. Gogo, without a word, heaved his shoulder -between. But I had no fear. These Lazzari were the king’s friends--and -mine. I pushed aside my henchman. - -“_Pour le roi!_” I cried, and pointed towards the palace. - -He understood, and whipped off his greasy hat. - -“_Viva il re!_” he answered enthusiastically, showing his white teeth, -and motioned us to a street going eastwards up the hill. I saw and -recognised the same fellow once or twice afterwards. He was a Michele -di Laudo--Mad Michael, they called him--who, as chief of his -vagabonds, was to take a prominent part in the defence of the suburbs -against the French. - -We crossed the street under his protection, and on its farther side, -before waving us on, he bent and snatched a kiss. The rank sweet touch -of his lips was like a _visé_ on my passport into hell. It seemed to -bring the blaze, the colour, the stench of the reeling streets -clashing to a focus in my brain, and it sent me speeding on half drunk -and half sick, loathing and hugging myself. I was an angel in Sodom, -running blindly for the refuge of God’s wing in a dazzle of roaring -lights, and confused by the glare, knowing not whether I turned to the -self I had left or to the self that was awaiting me. Gogo, straining -in my wake, panted as I hurried before him-- - -“For every dog but the watch-dog, a bone.” - -I turned on him, with a stamp. - -“A bone! I am meat for your masters, I tell you.” - -“I serve no Pissani,” he said sullenly. - -I shook him in my anger. - -“Never breathe his name to me again, or we part.” - -“Very well,” he said. “I thought as much. He has got his deserts.” - -“_Has_ he?” - -I glared at him one moment, then turned and sped on--up the street of -the Giant, passing the north flank of the palace, where sentries stood -on guard, and so into an open piazza, the Largho S. Ferdinando, into -which the palace itself stuck a shoulder, and where were churches and -the flaring portico of a theatre, and other buildings strangely fine -in their contiguity to the slums we had left. - -And here, amidst the wild drift and gabble of a throng less foul but -as aimless, we plunged and were absorbed, and stood together again to -breathe. - -All Naples, it seemed, was bent on shouting down its brother. - -“What next?” bawled Gogo in my ear. - -A handsome inn, the “Orient,” stood comparatively quiet and isolated -in an odd corner of the _Place_. - -“Rooms--there!” I answered. - -“Its exclusiveness makes it prominent,” boomed Gogo, with as much -dryness as he could put into a roar. - -I beckoned him on imperiously. - -_On n’a jamais bon marché de mauvaise marchandise._ - -In a little we were installed in comfortable rooms. - -“Now order wine,” I said, “and we will drink.” - -I sipped, while he sat on a stool at my feet, soothing the weariness -from them with a touch that was only my monster’s. The Chianti and the -sorcery of his hand began to drug me. - -“Drink you too,” I murmured. - -He reached for his glass. - -“To whom?” he said. “What are we now? It makes no difference; only I -must know.” - -“Death to all republics,” I cried, “and long life to the King of -Naples!” - -“Ah!” he said, between a groan and a sigh. “Well--the poor child--you -have cast her off, I suppose,” and he drained his glass. - -I stared at him a moment, then fell sobbing upon his shoulder. - -“You pity everyone but me,” I cried, “and my heart is broken.” - -“What, in the old place?” said he. - -But I was too miserable to retort; and half the night afterwards he -held me, fallen fast asleep, in his arms. - - - - - XXVI. - I RENEW AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE - -For three days I remained shut into my rooms at the “Orient,” not -daring to go out, a prey to the utmost nervousness and agitation. Do -not suppose that on that account I was the less determined in my plans -for vengeance. But revenge that lays itself open to retribution misses -the better half of itself. I remembered my old friend Mr. Roper’s -dictum, and beat my brains only for the means to strike with impunity. -I was not from the first without a design. The difficulty was to give -it practical effect; because for the moment I could not use Gogo. For -myself, under my assumed name, I might lie secure in this hiding. To -make _him_ my carrier to the English Embassy would be to mark a sure -track to my retreat with every punch of his wooden legs. I dared not -let him out; I dared not even temporarily part with him in my peril; I -dared not come to a decision, while knowing that my life depended on a -wise one. For I was a renegade revolutionary--I could not blink the -fact. Though I had never hitherto actually set foot in Naples itself, -there must be many to know me by report for that apostle of the new -creed of equality who, but a few years before, had stumped their -country, winning converts. And now! the safety of many men--and women -too--was in my hands; and not Pissani, nor those others when they came -to learn, would have forgotten the nature of my secession, or the -significance of the threats which had accompanied it. If passion had -given me away, caution must redeem me. I had no faith in Patty’s power -to protect me. The occasion was too desperate; the interests involved -were too many. Pissani was a reformer before he was a lover. I _must_ -be sacrificed, if possible, to the cause I had the means to betray. - -All day, peeping from behind the curtains of our windows, we saw the -piazza below like a seething cauldron of unrest. As significant of -that as anything were the out-at-elbows letter-writers under the -arcades of the old theatre of San Carlo, who, at a time when every man -feared to commit his simplest thoughts to paper, did less than enough -business to keep themselves in macaroni. They served to exhibit the -popular bankruptcy as well as the briefless advocates, who, from -thriving on the countless abuses of the law, found themselves -abandoned to the lawlessness they had created; as well as the -journalists, who, having been brought under a strict moral censorship, -starved as vampires might on a diet of milk; as well as the professors -and _savants_, who were hampered, it must be confessed, by a thousand -childish restrictions in their efforts to make life beautiful by -turning it inside out, and to teach men to follow in themselves, while -eating an omelet, the whole process of absorption and digestion; as -well as the bolder demagogues, who, mounted on steps or tubs, screamed -denunciations of their misgoverning sovereigns, under the transparent -veil of Claudius and Messalina, and called upon their hearers, by many -classical examples, to strike for liberty and political cleanliness. -At which the Lazzari laughed, understanding just so much that, if they -were to be no longer flea-bitten, they would be deprived of the -traditional luxury of scratching; and shaking their heads over that -new idea of equality, which was in fact so old an idea as to be -embodied in a popular proverb: “_Tu rubbi a me, io rubbo a te_,” which -one might expound: “‘If Taffy robs me, I rob Taffy’--so what the -devil’s all this fuss about?” Naples was rich in charitable -institutions for the encouragement of indolent beggary; and what sort -of a reform was it that sought to deprive an honest loafer of his -soup? And so to a man _they_ held out for dirt, moral and material, -and for the king who assured them a continuance in both--a condition -of things which made revolution a very different affair from what it -had been in starving Paris. - -Since the date of my first visit in ’94 this ferment had been rising, -in spite of all efforts of the authorities to check it. As well try to -stop the decomposition of a dead body--for such was the national -credit. The foolish, vile queen, panic-sick that she was destined to -the fate of her better-meaning but as foolish sister in Paris, -persuaded her weak, common husband into a counter-blast to the -Terror--with as much effect as King James the First’s against smoking. -It is bad policy to try to suppress an evil by advertising it. -Self-martyrdom is the most popular of all notorieties. They -inaugurated a system of espionage, which in itself was an education to -conspirators; they read Jacobinism across the forehead of all -learning, and so alienated the intelligence which might have saved the -land; they crammed the filthy prisons with suspects, and broke the -hearts and fortunes of those who were the best leaven to corruption; -they made it criminal to wear scarlet waistcoats and long trousers; -finally, for some such dereliction, or one less momentous, they hung -up two or three respectable boys in a public square, varying the -entertainment by shooting down some scores of spectators who had -fallen into a panic at the noise of a distant musket-shot. And then, -having thrown their sacrifice on the flames of discontent, and so -lowered them, they settled down with an affectation of the strong arm, -and a blindness to the embers smouldering underneath. - -These had not ceased to smoulder, nevertheless, feeding on their new -fuel; and by and by the blaze was to come. - -_Eh bien! la voix du peuple est la voix de Dieu!_ So they say; only, -unfortunately, here the Lazzari were the crack in it. It was a pretty -Naples I had come to. - -One afternoon, while looking out of the window, I saw a magnificent -equipage cross the square, and, turning the corner towards the palace, -disappear. I had been waiting during these long days for some such -vision, the nature of which now, if, indeed, the plaudits of the -loafers had not confirmed it in my mind, was established in the -glimpse of a bold, beautiful face which I obtained in its passing. On -the instant my resolution was made, and I ran to the table and hastily -scribbled off a note:-- - - “_One whom you formerly befriended seeks your help and protection. She - is in possession of important secrets, which you cannot afford to - discard. Ask for her, under the name of Madame Lavasse, at the_ - ‘_Orient_.’” - -I called Gogo, and hurriedly instructed him-- - -“Lady Hamilton has just passed, driving to the palace. Her coach is -gilt, with four dapple-greys. Go secretly out by the back; make your -way there circumspectly, wait for her reappearance, and throw this in -at the window of her carriage. Then return here, but by a roundabout -way, and not till after dark. Be swift and sure. Everything--our -safety, our lives--depends on this opportunity.” - -He groaned out a little sigh: “And our honour, Diana? Think of the -time when we shall be damned together, before you betray the child.” - -I walked up and down in terrible agitation when he was gone. Betray! -Who had been the traitor, of us two? Not a drop of water for her, -though I were to lie in Abraham’s bosom! - -Night came, but no Gogo. Tortured with doubts and apprehensions, I -could neither eat nor rest. Had he too repented at last of his -loyalty, and abandoned me in my need? They all fell from me, those I -had succoured and most trusted. Sometimes, in my agony of mind, I -upbraided his selfishness, cursed my own irreclaimable fondness in -putting faith in man. I believed he had sold himself--whether to -cupidity or an emotion, what did it matter. At length, quite exhausted -by my passions, I fell asleep on my bed, dressed as I was. - -I slept far into the morning, and awoke to a consciousness of a -presence in the next room. Was it he, returned at last? Dazed, and -sick with excitement, I rose and ran to meet him. A lady only was -there, cloaked and mysterious. She lifted her veil, and showed me the -face I had desired. - -It had not, indeed, so much altered in these years as her person’s -amplitude. Conceive, my dear friend, the head of a Circe on the body -of a hippopotamus! Now I perceived Nature’s forethought in the gift of -those immense feet. They were disproportionate no longer. She had -grown colossal. The mountain had come to Mahomet. It was wonderful -how, in spite of all, she could have retained the general fine contour -of her features. One would have thought she could hardly have kept her -countenance, seeing the changes below. I certainly found it difficult -to keep mine, as I fell on my knees before her, and, catching at her -hands, hung my head. - -She stepped back from me, shaking the room. I understood then in a -moment that the old glamour was only to be recovered, if at all, with -discretion. - -“Now, madam,” she said, “being come at your request, I must ask you -for your reason, and as short as you’ll please to make it.” - -“My messenger”--I began. - -“Your messenger,” she interrupted me promptly, “is put under lock and -key till we know more about him and you. He got a cut on the cheek -before he was took by the guards; but that wasn’t my fault.” - -I buried my face in my hands. - -“I thank you, madam,” I said, with emotion. “He lies at least in -better security than I.” - -“Well, I won’t answer for that,” she replied, “till I come to hear -what you’re after.” - -I looked up. - -“O, madam, my benefactress!” I cried. “It is much to expect, perhaps; -but do you not know me?” - -“O, perfectly, madam!” she said, with a curtsey that made her balloon. -“We make it our pains to know all about our visitors. Believe me, you -was under surveillance from the moment you stepped ashore at the Mole. -It was not very likely, was it, that we should overlook the arrival of -her as seemed wishin’ to reap the discord she had sowed among us a -while back? Be sure we know you, madam, well enough, and the -reputation you built for yourself in Paris too!” - -Startled as I was, I had a difficulty to refrain from retorting that -my reputation would bear comparison with hers. But I bit my lip on the -temptation, and for the moment took refuge from everything in tears, -to which, however, she listened silent. - -“I did not refer to that,” I cried, looking up with clasped hands and -swimming eyes, “but to the goodness of a great and beautiful lady, who -once succoured a poor girl in distress.” - -“And I include that too in my knowledge,” said she; “and much -gratitude you’ve shown to the class as befriended you.” - -“Gratitude!” I cried. “O, believe me, that, until I reached here, I -never even guessed that, in conspiring against royalty, I was -conspiring against you, my saviour.” - -She sat down on a chair, near breaking it. - -“Didn’t you?” she said, gathering the folds of her cloak about her. -“Well, supposing you didn’t, what then? You ain’t goin’ to forego your -principles for a sentiment like that--don’t tell me.” - -“If you won’t believe me”--I murmured despairingly. - -“Why look here, Madame Lavasse, or Please, or whatever your damned -name is,” she said, shaking a hectoring finger at me, “one may help a -girl, but a woman helps herself, which I make no bones of guessing -you’ve managed to do pretty free. The question with you is whether -Jacobinism or royalty is going to pay best; and if you’re proposin’ to -change about and turn informer, no better moral than profit is at the -bottom of your little game, I’ll vow. Well, I don’t say but in that -case we’re open to treat; only I’ll ask you to drop the artless girl, -which don’t sit well on you at your age, and talk with me like one -woman of the world to another.” - -I rose to my feet with a burning face. - -“Go!” I said, with an imperious gesture; “insult me no more. Have I -not suffered wrong and outrage enough, but my heart must be made the -sport of every common”-- - -“Highty-tighty, miss!” - -She rose in astonishment. For a moment she stood conning me, my -quivering lips and heaving bosom. Then of a sudden she smiled. - -“Well, perhaps”--she said. “There, I’ve a way of letting my tongue run -away with me; but it’s no example for you to follow. I should have -remembered the glass houses in the sayin’ before I twitted you with -your past. Only for sure, Diana Please, it can never be said against -me that I betrayed my love that betrayed me.” - -My rage was all gone. I dropped my head, with a sad little cry. The -sound of it brought her to my side. - -“Was he not your love,” she whispered--“him that came with you?” - -And I answered, “He was my love.” - -“Was--was,” she repeated. “Well--I see. They take other fancies.” - -“You was sold yourself--is it not true?” I muttered. - -“Ay,” she answered, and sighed. “But it was for gold.” - -“_You_ can forgive, then, and forget,” I said; “but not I--no, never.” - -“You would ruin him?” - -“Yes, and her.” - -“Bring him to the gallows?” - -“That is why I sent for you. You can trust me.” - -“And in the meantime you fear for yourself?” - -“I struck her. He tried to stab me. I cried, _Vive le Roi!_ You know -what that means.” - -“Cry _Vive la Reine_ for the future. ’Tis the sweet saint who suffers -most. Well, it seems the truth at last; and you have your -provocation--by God, you have! Only for me, having one different, to -help myself by you?--it goes against my stomach somehow. I wish it was -your principles instead of your jealousy.” - -“Help me in nothing but to some place of safety, where I can inform -and direct the court. _It_ will not be troubled with your ladyship’s -scruples.” - -“How do you know? ’Tis so you have been taught to regard my sweet -queen, I suppose?” - -“O, madam!” I cried, “you know what made me an ardent pupil.” - -She stood musing upon me long and earnestly. - -“Yes, perhaps,” she said at length, and sighed; “what a fool preacher -is Love, not to be able to keep his own faith! To drive woman for -refuge on woman--’tis like banishing your physician to the enemy’s -camp. Well”--she took my hands; I thought she was going to kiss me, -but she made no offer--“for myself, I don’t want to hear none of your -inculpations; but I’ll put you in train to satisfy your passions on -others that may. Will that suit you?” - -She turned before I could answer, and was going. - -“It must be soon,” I urged hoarsely, following her; “O, madam! don’t -you understand that it must be soon?” - -“Within an hour or two,” she said, over her shoulder. “Have no fear. -You are already protected--and watched.” - -I set myself, with what self-control I could, to await her return; -for, after our emotional confidences, I expected nothing less than -that she would come for me presently in person. But in that I was -mistaken, as was made evident in the ushering up to me by and by of a -very courtly young gentleman, of a shrewd, sallow visage, who informed -me, with a bow, that he was Love’s emissary. - -“His Majesty, sir,” I said, with a faint smile, and some intentional -ambiguity, “is well represented. Do we go to the palace?” - -“We go,” he said, “_to_ the palace. Will madam be pleased to accept my -escort?” - -I took the arm he offered me. In view of some such contingency, I had -spent the interval in making my toilette agreeably to it. - -He conducted me out by the back way to the stables, where, in a little -court, we found an ordinary post-chaise, with two horses, awaiting us. - -“_Faire comme on le juge à propos_,” murmured my companion; and, -seeing my trunk (pregnant with damning evidence) well secured in -front, he handed me in, followed himself, pulled down the blinds, and -gave the word. In an instant we were rolling over the stones. - -It was a very roundabout way, it seemed to me, that we took to the -palace; yet for long--so potent was my trust in myself as an emissary -of vengeance, and so engaging the chatter of my comrade--I suspected -no treachery. But at length, losing conscious sense, through the -thunder of the wheels, of a roar and racket which had once accompanied -it, I started as it were awake, and, in an immediate panic, peeped -from behind the blind nearest me. And then I saw that we had already -left the town, and were tearing along country roads. - -I half rose, with a cry: “The palace! This is not the way to it!” - -My companion seized my wrist in a grip of steel, forcing me to reseat -myself. - -“The very nearest, I can assure you, madam.” - -“You are taking me to prison?” - -“My faith! a prison that some would like,” he said, showing his teeth. - -I struggled with him. “Let me out! I will raise the country else!” - -He released me at once. - -“As madam wills. Madam will claim protection of her friends the -Jacobins? For me, I consult only her safety.” - -“What!” I panted at him, sinking back. “Tell me who are you?” - -“Luigi de’ Medici, at madam’s service,” he said, with a bow; “a name, -at least, that should be a guarantee of some worth.” - -“No doubt, sir; but, as a stranger, at your mercy”-- - -“I have the honour to be, madam, the chief of the police.” - -The word awoke new frenzy in me. - -“My God! I am betrayed. For pity’s sake, sir, tell me where we go.” - -“I answered, madam, to the palace. I am a man of my word.” - -“What palace?” - -“Ah! At length madam talks reason. To the Palace of Caserta, ten -leagues away.” - -I stared at him aghast. - -“To be immured there?” - -“Truly,” he said, “to be immured in a paradise, amongst fountains and -flowers! It is not like the inside of a wall.” - -“You are pleased to mock me, sir. But why am I brought so far?” - -“Madam shall ask of her mirror,” he said, with a charming grin. “Shall -I so abuse my office as to admit that His Majesty is susceptible; and -that Madame the English Ambassadress--who, nevertheless, is of a -perfect honour--is jealous for her friend the queen, and, perhaps, for -her own pre-eminence in beauty? Certainly not. It is quite enough to -say that Madame Lavasse, being in some danger of assassination in -Naples, is removed to a distance for her own security; to a place, in -short, whence she can direct the lightning, without exciting suspicion -of collusion with Jupiter.” - -He bent and looked into my face. - -“I vow, madam,” he said, “that the last frost of discretion must melt -in the fire of such beauty. Take my word for it, that the Queen of -Olympus never of her will would have admitted Venus to be of her -court.” - -This was very disarming, to be sure; and already, before we reached -Caserta, Signor de’ Medici was in possession of some preliminary -information that proved useful to him. - - - - - XXVII. - I KNOW HOW TO WAIT - -Caserta Palace was a sort of Versailles to the Palazzo Reale. It was -a fine, long, rectangular building, lofty and imposing in the -eighteenth century style of grand architecture, with marble colonnades -and innumerable windows. The town it dominated, being a royal town -_par excellence_, was comparatively clean and reposeful; and the -palace gardens were as extensive and as beautiful as any in the world. - -It was not, however, to a corner of this stately pile that I found -myself committed, but to rooms in the Casino of St. Lucius, which -stood in the park some two miles north of the main building, and -commanded a noble view, not only of the surrounding country, but of -the dark pruned alleys beset with white statues, and the terraces and -fountains and cascades of the gardens themselves--a lovely spot. And -here, for the moment secure and at peace, I resolved upon a life of -placid enchantment, treated like a queen’s hostage, and biding the -development of events. - -I had my little sleepy, soft-footed household--an old groom, a pretty -maid or two, and a quite delectable cook. No restrictions were placed -upon me; I was free to wander as I listed, and, indeed, had no -inducement to venture without the cordon of sentries who were my best -protection. The month was April, the most lovely in all Naples; and, -save when Capri, showing near and blue, gave indications of the -scirocco, I spent all my days out of doors. So tranquil was it, so -remote from the centres of ferment, I could have thought myself in -Avalon, though all the while and around the clouds of a coming tempest -were gathering to burst. As I loitered by those empty corridors of -green, smiling back the smiles of the unruffled statues, listening to -the drowsy thunder of the waters, seeing only for all tokens of human -life the little marionnettes of place swarming, quite distant and -minute, about the steps of the palace, France was preparing to launch -her legions on Naples both by land and sea; scared refugee cardinals -were trotting by the dozen into the city; Nelson, off Toulon, was -shaping his course, by way of Aboukir, to the arms of Mrs. Hart; -Ferdinand was tremblingly fastening his warlike greaves on his fat -shins; and, finally, Maria Carolina was making her bloody tally for -the hangman. And only of the last was I actively cognisant, seeing -that it was there alone lay my concern with the outer world. - -From time to time M. de’ Medici would visit me in this connection, -coming ingratiatory and quite lover-like to refresh his portfolio with -new names from my list, or to examine my correspondence, which was -entirely at his service. I had taken no half-measures. The spared -assassin comes to strike again, was my motto. - -“Have I not proved myself a sincere convert?” I said to him once. - -“Assuredly, most beautiful,” he answered; and fell to counting on his -fingers. “You have given us already certain proof of the guilty -complicity of--One: Signor Domenico Cirillo, professor of botany, -arborist, edenist, pupil of Jean Jacques, too delicate a flower for -this climate; two: Francesco Conforti, court theologian, a priest and -ambitious--nothing singular, but he will be beaten in the race for -power by a neck; three: Carlo Muscari; four: his excellency the -Marquis of Polvica, a lamentable case; five: Pasquale Baffi, professor -of dead languages, for which he will soon be literally qualified; six: -Gennaro Serra di Cassano, a very pretty young gentleman, late released -from confinement--but it is sometimes policy to spare the cub, if one -would learn the way to the dam; seven:--but, ’tis enough, madam: those -six will vindicate you.” - -“You are welcome to them, monsieur,” I said, “if only you would -exchange against them all my dear, indispensable Gogo.” - -At which, as usual, he shook his head, tightening his lips. - -“A bond of sentiment. You are better apart.” - -“At least you might acquaint me where he is?” - -“As to that, he is very safe and well cared for.” - -“In prison?” - -“Nominally--nominally, _ma belle_. But, observe--so are you, you know. -What then? There are prisons and prisons.” - -“Well, if he is as well off as I?” I sighed. And, indeed, the -assurance was a wonderful comfort to me. - -As a matter of course he kept me constantly informed--though I never -questioned him--as to the career of the Pissanis, the head and front -of all offending. - -“Signor Nicola is our bell-wether,” he would say. “We have hung a -little invisible cymbal about his neck, which has the strange quality -of sounding only to us. O, we police are the latter-day fairies, -believe me! All unconsciously to himself, he calls the flock about -him; and we--we have nothing to do but keep count of them, till the -season of the butcher arrives. Then we shall see. I shall want, -perhaps, all the fingers of my own hands, and of yours too--my God, a -dainty tally! And madam, you ask--though your lips do not move? It is -very laughable, take my word. At once, since her marriage, the dear -little frog emulates the bull. O, fie, fie! Madam misreads me. Such a -scandal! I would say only that it has inoculated her with her -husband’s ambition; that she is become an enthusiast in the cause, -attending meetings, distributing tracts, haranguing multitudes in her -sweet round voice, that is like pelting giants with sugar-plums. Yes, -as madam implies, it is marvellous. What will not love do? But for me, -I am susceptible: I adore all beauty. I could wish the poor child -another embrace than the hangman’s.” - -“Well, sir,” I answered, “you will have occasion, perhaps, to offer -her the alternative.” - -“O, fie!” he said. “Is not my heart engaged immutably? Otherwise--who -knows? It is a sad world.” - -It was a very dark and bitter one to me from the moment of his -revelations. So, she could be independent of me, and happy in her -independence! What a world of hypocrisy and double-dealing was exposed -in this her easy repudiation of my claims upon her! During all these -years that I had counted her my slave, she had been nursing her -schemes of treachery--been manœuvring, probably, to make me the -instrument of her conveyance to her lover’s arms. And now, no doubt, -they were laughing over their outwitting of me. Well, who laughs last -laughs best. - -One day I had a notable visit. Two ladies, walking through the -grounds, came upon me where I was seated in a grove of myrtle. One was -Lady Hamilton, very great and gorgeous in a shell-shaped hat _de -sparterie_, trimmed with butterflies and a violet ribbon knotted under -one ear; while the other, whom I did not know, a dowdy, ignoble old -figure with watery eyes, wore a plain _fichu-chemise_, and an immense -bonnet with a veil thrown back over it. They both stopped upon seeing -me, and Lady Hamilton beckoned. I rose, advanced, and curtsied. - -“Here, your Majesty,” said my friend, “is the very person herself.” - -Her Majesty! I paled and trembled; then ventured a glance from under -my lashes. Sure I was not to blame for my remissness. I vow I could -have thought my lady had brought her monthly nurse with her for an -airing in the country. The poor woman looked steeped in caudle, flocky -with child-beds, and no wonder. In some two dozen years out of her -forty-five or so she had borne near as many children. She had prayed -for an heir, and Heaven had sent her a tempest. The eternal lyings-in -had soured her temper, which was not further improved by neuralgia and -opium. Nursing, as she did, outside her litter, a perpetual ambition -to wear the breeches of government, it had been characteristically -mean of her husband to adopt this method to correct it. Yet, in spite -of all she had borne both from and to her lord, her vigour remained -unquenchable. Indeed, in a kingdom which annually abandoned some -twenty-five thousand babies to the foundlings, a child was the -cheapest present one could make to one’s favourite of the moment. Yet, -as I saw her now, she was the farthest from imposing or attractive. -Her legs were short, and her upper lip so long that her nose stood -nearer her forehead than her chin, on the former of which she wore a -single fat curl like a clock-spring. She put a hand to it two or three -times, before she addressed me, very quick and hoarse, in French. - -“_Maria! Mais elle fait une bonne mine à mauvais jeu!_ Come hither, -child. So this is our redoubtable little _moucharde_? We have need of -her in these days of the devil’s advocacy.” - -Her eyes looked injected; her flabby face puckered at the temples like -yellow milk skin. As I approached, she turned away in evident pain. -Lady Hamilton was all effusive attentions at once. She waved me to -stop, and supported her friend to the seat I had just occupied, -commiserating, explaining, and fondling in one. - -“O, my darling queen! It is the neuralgia that worries my sweet like a -dog. Lean on your Emma. Have you nothing, child--no salts, no drops?” - -I fetched a certain vinaigrette from my pocket, and bending before the -royal knees, snapped the stopper once or twice under the royal nose. -The effect was instantaneous. An expression of maudlin relief -succeeded to the strain. She lay breathing peacefully, with a smile on -her lips, until, after some minutes, she aroused herself with a sigh. - -“What was it, then? It is a Circe, with her witch’s face and her -potions!” - -But this was to trespass on the other’s domain. - -“Give it to me, if you please,” said Mrs. Hart coldly. “Her Majesty -would prefer to take it from my hand.” - -I returned it quietly to my pocket. - -“Nay, madam,” I said; “it is a remedy that must not be repeated.” - -She looked at me astounded; then broke into a forced laugh. “Hey-day! -We are pretty absolute, are we not?” But the queen, grown suddenly -very affable and communicative, put her aside with a hand which she -laid upon my arm-- - -“We will not quarrel with our physician. She knows what she knows. -Moreover, for all her long exile and the little errors which she has -redeemed, she is of the great nation which we love. Is it not so, -child? and hast thou heard what are the best and latest news? None -other than that thy glorious captain, the supreme Nelson, has within -the last few days annihilated the French fleet at Aboukir! Ah! that -rose is from thy heart. It speaks the proud blood, the red rose of -England, mantling above all foolish sophistries. Thou canst not but -rejoice with us in the destruction of the enemies of thy race--of all -the world!” - -And then she and the other began a little litany of excommunication:-- - -“Dogs and assassins!” - -“Despoilers of churches and women!” - -“Hordes of anti-Christ vomited from hell!” - -“Scum and rabble of an infamous democracy!” - -“Monsters of sacrilege!” - -“Cowards curst of God!” - -“Whom to slay is righteousness!” - -“To whom to give quarter is deadly sin!” - -“Subverters of all order and decency!” - -“The devil hang the lot!” said Lady Hamilton. - -The queen rose, quite refreshed and reinvigorated. Suddenly she was -holding me with a piercing look. Craft and villainy peeped out of her -little inflamed eyes. - -“I come to put a question to you, madam,” she said. “There is a lady -of our retinue--the Signora de Fonseca Pimentel. Your correspondence -contains no proof of her disloyalty to us?” - -“No, madam, or I should have informed M. de’ Medici,” I answered, in a -faint terror; but rallied immediately. “I know only that she is in -communication with the Signor Carafa since his escape.” - -“Ha!” - -The red eyes of the ferret closed a moment, then reopened to an -ineffable smile. She held out her hand to me to kiss. - -“We find you an invaluable physician, Madame Lavasse. To have eased a -poor queen--it is something; but to cure this land of its headache”-- - -“Ah, madam!” I said, “there I yield to the hangman.” - -Both ladies burst out laughing as they moved away. The queen turned -and waved her hand. - -“You shall not be forgotten,” she cried; and I curtsied. - -A few days later M. de’ Medici called upon me. He read out a little -indictment he had prepared for my behoof-- - -“Eleonora de Fonseca Pimentel, wife to Pasquale Tria de Solis, -Neapolitan officer, noble, now deceased: emotional; authoress of some -panegyrical sonnets to royalty and the age of gold; since suspect of -schemes for the education of the populace; shows a partiality for red; -advocates an appropriation of the Punch and Judy shows to the lessons -of national virtue; claims the liberty of the press to print her -halting rhapsodies;” (Monstrous!) “imputed sympathiser with Ettore -Carafa (son to the Duke of Andria, the king’s major-domo, and to the -duchess, Her Majesty’s mistress of the robes) in said Ettore’s late -conspiracy to print and distribute an Italian version of the ‘Rights -of Man,’ which conspiracy resulted in the execution of some companion -malignants, and the escape from Naples of said Ettore; finally, -convicted of corresponding with said fugitive, to the end of His -Majesty’s overthrow and the subversion of his government!” - -“Not convicted, M. de’ Medici.” - -“That is all one, most beautiful,” said the chief of police, folding -his paper. “Madame Lavasse’s word is as good as her bond.” - -Within a week the Pimentel was lodged in the prison of the Vicaria. - -That was in October; and thenceforward things moved fast, though -scarce quick enough for me, who was beginning to beat my wings against -the gilded bars of my cage. For what was all the national excitement -to me but a means to my personal vengeance? And I feared, feared that -while I lay aside for others’ use, my prey would find a means to -escape me. - -On the 22nd of September I had heard the guns of the citadels down -below in the bay welcoming Nelson’s arrival. The sound shook every -nerve in my restless heart, so that I could hardly eat or sleep that -night; and I laughed myself into hysterics over my little maid -Martita’s description of how Madame l’Ambassadrice d’Angleterre had -flown up the side of the _Vanguard_, and cast herself upon the breast -of her hero, who was a very little man, and quite unable to support so -much emotion. - -Still, thereafter, as day by day drums beat, and recruits were -gathered, and men hanged themselves to avoid serving, and the English -admiral was urging upon the poor fat, wind-blown king one of three -alternatives: To advance upon the French, and conquer; to die sword in -hand; or to remain and be kicked out--while all Naples was seething -and roaring in a vortex about my garden, the garden itself remained -silent and empty, an island in the midst of a whirlpool. - -But at last His Majesty _did_ set out, and reaching actually as far as -Rome, while the republican general Championnet was falling back for a -spring, blustered naughtily for a little, killing a few Jews, -threatening the wounded enemy in the hospitals, committing to sack and -pillage the very sacred city he had come to relieve, and finally, upon -the approach of the concentrated French, deserting his demoralised -army, and pelting back, with all the might of his perspiring legs, to -where?--why, to Caserta. - -It was evening of the 19th of December, and a thunderstorm, to terrify -one to death in that desolate park, had broken over the town. All the -imprisoned electricity of months past seemed to me, as I stood -fascinated at an upper window of the Casino, to have torn itself free, -and to be hunting in and out of the trees for fugitives from its fury. -Far away and below the thousand eyes of the palace shut sickly to each -blaze, and blinked and were staring frightened again in the crash that -followed. The hand of an incensed God bent the proud necks of the -trees, and His wrath drove a roar of leaves and twigs criss-cross -about the alleys. It was the anarchy beginning. - -In the midst I saw two figures, cloaked and dusk, butt their way to -the door below; and a moment later Martita summoned me to receive -messengers from the palace. I went down, and found two officers, pale -and glaring, awaiting me in the parlour. The rain dripped from their -unbonneted locks; their hands were restless with their hats and -sword-hilts. I curtsied in wonder; and the elder, with a shaky, -conciliatory smile, addressed me. - -“You will pardon this intrusion, madam. The occasion is our excuse. -You have in your possession some charm, some restorative, by which Her -Majesty the queen has already greatly benefited?” - -“Assuredly, monsieur. It is in my pocket now.” - -“It is much needed at the moment. You will vouchsafe us the loan?” - -“You must forgive me, monsieur. Its virtue is incommunicable save by -the possessor.” - -“That is so? Then will madam, perhaps, administer it in person?” - -“To whom, monsieur? Monsieur will consider the night.” - -“Alas, madam! But to assure that this night shall not be endless--that -the sun of our hopes be not extinguished for ever?” - -“Pray, sir, have mercy on me. To whom do you allude?” - -“To His Majesty--no less.” - -“The king?” - -“He has but now ridden--been driven, would be truer--from Albano. For -the moment everything seems lost. Ferdinand is at the last extreme of -exhaustion and agitation. Madam will come to quiet him?” - -“I will come, monsieur.” - -“Ah! _Dio mercè! Questo benefizio è una grande grazia._” - -We set out without delay. My companions took each an arm of me, -laughing very gallant scorn of the lightning and my fright thereat. -Between them, however, they bruised my poor shoulders horribly, in -their instinctive efforts to come together and clutch one another -whenever the thunder slammed. - -I was so dazed with the rain and uproar that I had little wit left me -to note my surroundings as they hurried me, blown and breathless, up a -flight of steps into a great hall, blazing with lights, thronged with -confusion. Courtiers, nobles, mud-stained soldiers; weeping women, -frightened maids--here they stood in gabbling, gesticulating groups, -which were constantly detaching and discharging units into other -groups, the whole contributing to a sum of frenzy which swayed the -candle-flames. And throughout, threading the frantic maze, went scared -pages and lackeys; all, from captain to scullion, looking for orders, -and receiving none. - -There were a few whispers, a few who observed and remarked upon me, as -my conductors forced me through the press, crying a passage to the -royal closet. - -“It is the beautiful English witch! _O, quanti vezzi!_ They are going -to try to cure him like King David!” - -The opening and swinging-to of a door; as instant a muffling of the -tumult; the peace of a lofty anteroom, padded with thick carpets; a -muttered challenge, a muttered answer; the passage of a further -portal--and I was in the royal presence. - -Now, all my life I have had to battle with a fatal sense of humour. I -will simply undertake to relate the test to which it was here put. - -The room, shut away from all disturbance, was brilliantly lighted. In -the midst, at a gorgeous escritoire, sat a secretary in black, biting -a pen. Hard by stood a staff officer--in a glittering uniform, but -sopped and mud-splashed--who incessantly, with a white, nervous hand, -turned down and bit at his moustache, making a motion with his lips as -if he were talking to himself. The two all the time followed with -their eyes the movements of a third figure, the only other in the -room, which went to and fro, up and down, in a sort of tripping dance, -gabbling an eternal accompaniment the while to its own _chassé_, and -at odd moments ringing a little gilt bell which it carried in its -hand. This in itself, to be sure, was sufficiently remarkable; but O, -my friend, for the appearance of this eccentric, who indeed was no -other than the monarch himself. Cocked on the top of his large head -was a little tie-wig, which, for the last touch to disguise, he had -borrowed during his flight from the Duke of Ascoli, after exchanging -clothes with that peer, who was a much smaller man. The effect may be -imagined. His Majesty’s breeches’ ends were half-way up his thighs; -his waistcoat was a mere rope under his arm-pits; his coat-tails stuck -apart from the small of his back like ill-fitting wing-cases. Add to -this that he was pinned all over with holy pictures, and hung with -reliquaries and medals like a mountebank at a fair, and the picture is -complete. - -The lightning penetrated the ruddy blinds with no more than the silent -flicker of a ghost; but no glass could muffle the shattering reports -of the thunder, at every clap of which His Majesty whinnied and -crossed himself-- - -“O Lord, spare Thine anointed! Beloved saints, be particular to point -out to Him where I am!” (ring). “This, you must know, is not my usual -cabinet; but I will withdraw to my own, if you desire it, though it is -in the hands of the decorators. There!--O!--San Gennaro, protect me! -Caution our Master of the risk of striking among the chimneys, lest -the levin brand, following a wrong course, enter this room instead of -another, and destroy me in mistake for a lesser man” (ring). “_Dio non -vóglia!_ O, saints! I believe I am struck! No, it is my breeches -splitting. But they are Ascoli’s. Make no mistake, Lord. I am not -Ascoli. Take the breeches, but spare the king!” - -He shut his ears distracted to a louder boom, and immediately was off -again at a tangent-- - -“O Lady of Loretto, plead for thy servant!” (crash). “_Mea maxima -culpa_--I will confess--if your Majesty will condescend to keep it to -yourself--I am really a stupid man” (loud ring)--“well meaning, holy -mother; well meaning, San Gennaro, but dull, as kings go, and -surrounded by greater fools than myself. I have been seventeen times a -father” (ring)--“at least” (loud ring), “and only once a husband” -(groan). “Fool though I be, I have propagated my race for the glory of -Holy Mother Church--and the confusion of the learned, her enemies. For -the sake of my family, Madonna, succour me!” - -He chattered so loud, racing up and down all the time, that I could -hear his every word where I stood, awaiting events, by the door. Once, -in a lull of the storm, he swooped round my way, and, suddenly -becoming aware of me, stopped as if petrified, then rattled out, in a -thick, gulping voice-- - -“Do you know who I am, madam? Do you know who I am?” - -I curtsied profoundly. - -“Sire,” I murmured, “--such a little cloud--to hide the sun of -Majesty!” - -He stared at me, and down at himself. “I am the king,” he muttered; -“is it not so?” - -The officer hurried to him, and whispered in his ear. - -“Eh!” he exclaimed, “my wife’s physician? You find me very distraught, -madam, very overtasked. I am so constituted I never could abide -thunder”--and he was off again. - -“Monsieur,” I whispered, “if we could get him prostrated on a sofa.” - -“Ah!” replied the officer, “for myself, it would be madness. But -you--you are beautiful--you may dare.” - -I did not hesitate, but, stealing catlike to a couch, took the -opportunity of His Majesty’s passing to seize him by his wing-cases, -and with such effect that in a moment he was sprawling on his back on -the cushions, with his legs in the air. Then, before he could protest -or avoid me, I had clapped the duck-stone to his nostrils. Instantly -the convulsion of his limbs relaxed, and a great sigh heaved itself -out of his depths. His wig had tumbled off; his brows were dark over -goggle eyes; he had a long, aquiline nose falling to a slack jaw. -Imagine all this revealing itself in an expression of the most perfect -contentment and idiocy. - -The soldier tiptoed across, and looked down scared. - -“God in heaven, madam!” he whispered, “what have you done to His -Majesty? He is not himself.” - -“Pardon me, monsieur,” I said; “never so much so.” - -He came round in about ten minutes, and gazed at me in a sort of -affectionate beatitude. - -“_Dio mercè!_” he murmured; “I dreamt I was in purgatory, and awake -to find myself in paradise. Another dose--one more.” - -I shook my head. - -“Enough is as good as a feast.” - -“I will give thee a fortune for thy talisman.” - -“Its virtue lies in myself.” - -“Ah! Then the casket must be mine too.” - -He sat up suddenly, all rumpled, and bellowed out in a thick, slurred -voice,-- - -“Away, dolts and rapscallions! What! are you prying and listening?” - -The secretary hurried to the door, and disappeared. The officer -lingered only to protest-- - -“Affairs of urgency, sire”-- - -“Pooh!” said the king. “I am attending to them.” - -I drew away. - -“Pardon me, sire”--I began, when a clap of thunder rattled the glass. -His Majesty ran at me whimpering-- - -“You think to leave me? No, no, madam. I am but half recovered yet. I -must be watched, or I shall die. For yourself, you are as safe as in a -convent.” - -He drew himself up, and endeavoured to thrust his hand into the breast -of his waistcoat; but not finding any, caught at his braces instead. - -“Though all else be lost to Ferdinand, honour remains.” - - - - - XXVIII. - I RETURN TO NAPLES - -What a business I had with that father of babies--himself the -greatest baby of all! He would not let me leave him, but took my wits -to physic his irresolution as my duck-stone his nerves. As the night -sped darker and wilder, bringing distracted generals and ministers, -who, desperate to gather some clew out of chaos, would not be denied, -he clung ever closer to my presence beside him, goggling at me mutely -when faced by a poser, and laughing and applauding hysterically when I -supplied an answer to it. - -At last a cry rose in the palace that the French were got between Rome -and Naples, with only General Mack at Capua a little north of us to -oppose them. - -“He is not to be trusted,” cried poor Ferdinand, wringing his hands. -“He will sit down there and do nothing! Besides, I am not at war with -France!” - -“_He_ is not everything,” I answered, ignoring the other fatuous -pretence. “Quick, now, and light a fire between!” - -“A fire!” said he, aghast. - -“To be sure,” said I--“the fire of a crusade. Call upon the whole -population north of us to fly to arms and exterminate the impious -invaders. Declare you are coming to their help, and bid them strive -their utmost in the meantime. It may be, in such a war of bigotry, -your peasants will do your chief work for you, leaving you no task but -to come presently and kill the wounded.” - -“But,” cried the king disconsolately, “they must know too well already -that I have run a--that I have thought it best to retire!” - -“Date your manifesto from Rome, sire, and it will give the lie -to--ahem! the truth. Quick! we will compose it together; and within an -hour you can have it flying north, east, and west.” - -He liked the idea. That thought of being reserved to give the -unhazardous _coup de grâce_ tickled him sensibly. But, though we -acted upon it with all despatch, it was helpless to still the rumour -of coming disaster. The report of the king’s flight and of the army’s -demoralisation were too well confirmed. Hordes of robbers and -cut-throats rose, it is true, at the word; swarms that committed -woeful deeds of plunder and outrage and massacre, making the smiling -campagna a hell. But these were without concentration or discipline, -and as ready, when the lust had bitten in, to torture Italians as -French. - -And, in the meanwhile, courier after courier, racing to the palace -with distorted legends, finished the last self-control of the king, -and drove him near morning to order out his carriage for Naples. - -Even then, as he went thundering by the dark fields and long -glimmerings of the dawn, I was beside him. He would not part with -me--with “his councillor, his dear little nurse”--but lavished upon me -the wildest eulogies, the most reckless promises, while entreating me -all the time to sit tight against him, for his better sense of -security in the event of his dosing. And when he _did_ dose, and fell -upon me--good Lord! it was a nightmare, like having a mattress for a -quilt, and with a voice! If his nod had failed to shake Olympus, his -snore might have uprooted it. - -Long before we reached the capital, the signs of a coming anarchy were -increasing about us most wild and threatening. Swarms of excited -countryfolk; strings of hard-driven carts loaded with household -furniture, shedding a tithe of their contents, to be crashed over or -spun aside by other pursuing wheels; haggard soldiers sobbing -children; cries, threats, _vivas_, furious banter--all went sweeping -in one flurry of uproar and motion towards the gates. Sometimes, when -we were recognised, it would be to a shout of jubilation: “_Ohi! O me -beato!_ It is our king, our father, come to tell us the devils are -singed and scattered!” Sometimes it was to a vision of black menace, -that surged up, and showed a moment at the windows, and dropped behind -in a wake of curses; more often it was to evoke a scattering volley of -laughter, that broke into a regular sing-song refrain: “_Venne, vide e -fuggì, venne, vide e fuggì!_ He came, he saw, he fled! Way for -Cæsar, way for Cæsar, who marches for Rome hind-first!” The -frightened, sweating postilions scourged their sweating cattle, -struggling to escape these gadflies, who nevertheless only clung and -stung and sung the thicker. But at last we won through, and were in -the city, and whipping for the royal palace through denser agitated -crowds, which still, through a prescriptive respect, offered no -effective bar to our progress. - -I will not say but that throughout this ordeal my blood did not come -and go the quicker. I will swear, at the same time, that I was always -more exhilarated than terrified. To be quit of my weary exile; to find -myself in the thick of events once more; best, to know that I had won -to active co-operation in my revenge the most powerful instrument of -all--these, at least, were a sufficient offset to the perils I must -encounter in my race to realise them. And it ended to our credit, when -all had been said and sung. We reached in safety the Palazzo Reale, -where were being enacted, in a more massed and vehement form, the -scenes of Caserta. The king, holding to my hand, drove a way for us, -with kicks and curses, through the throng. - -“Her Majesty!” he yelled. - -She was in her apartments, to which he hurried me, scattering maids of -honour like fowls. He shut the door upon her and me and himself alone. - -“My love!” he said. - -She was in like pass with himself. She was going up and down, -muttering entreaties to the saints, her stays stuck full of prayers -and pious ejaculations writ on scraps of paper. Every now and again -she would pluck out one of these in a spasm, dip it in a plate of -broth that stood on a table, and swallow it. - -“My soul!” murmured the king. - -She noticed us all in a moment, and stopped dead. - -“Who are you?” she demanded witheringly. - -“Angel of my heart, don’t you know your lord?” - -She advanced quickly, and whipped him this way and that. He was still -in Ascoli’s clothes. - -“Is this all they have left of you, you poor rag of royalty?” - -He tried a little bluster. - -“How now, madam! I adopted it for a disguise.” - -“What!” she said, “by revealing yourself? I should have thought that -one exposure had been enough.” - -“Hush!” he said, perspiring; “there is a witness.” - -“One!” she cried; “the whole nation!” and she left him for me. - -“What do _you_ do here?” she demanded. - -The king put in a word. - -“I bring you your physician, madam--our physician. If it had not been -for her, your Ferdinando would have lost his mind.” - -“Better that than his kingdom,” she answered bitterly, and stood -scowling on me. “I understand, madam, I understand. I called you -Circe, and not, it seems, without excellent reason.” - -“I was persuaded, madam,” I said, raising my head. “My honour is as -precious to me as your Majesty’s. If you have no further use for me, I -beg your permission to withdraw.” - -At which, if you will believe me, this stormy queen ran to a chair, -and flinging herself down on it, began to weep violently. - -“I am deserted of all,” she cried; “in the hour of my tribulation they -all forsake and disown me.” - -The king skipped to her and fell on his knees before. - -“My soul,” he wept, “all is not yet lost. General Mack”-- - -“General post,” she snapped. “What do you know of your own city, or of -the anarchy that reigns in it? It only needed this spark to the mine. -All _is_ lost, I tell you. They are clamouring for a republic. We -shall be sacrificed like the King of France and my sister to the fury -of the Jacobins--I feel the knife at my neck--O! O!” - -She rose in a frenzy of horror, shuffling her billets like cards to -find a trump. “Gennaro, Valentino, Jeromio?” she whispered tearfully, -and ended by making a sippet of the hermit. He was old and a -misogynist. It was evident for some moments that he disagreed with -her. - -“Nothing remains to us,” she said at last, with a wry gulp, “but -flight. We have foreseen it for days. For days, while you have been -playing with tin trumpets, we have been transferring our royal effects -to the ships: pictures, plate, jewels; the specie from the banks; the -last soldi from the treasury. We have seen to everything, I and my -sweet darling Emma, my only, truest, and best of friends. Nelson but -awaits our signal to take us on board. You must give it him, at once, -for this night, do you hear?” - -“I will send a message by Ferreri,” said the king, rising, with a face -as scared now as her own. “I will send Ferreri at once,” and he -skipped to leave the room. - -“Stay!” she cried, in agitation. “Be sure to bind him to the last -privacy.” - -“O, poor me!” said the king, with a spasm of a smile. “Must I then -cheat my excise by smuggling my own orders through?” - -“It is no time for fooling,” cried his angry spouse. “My God! do you -not understand? Whether our plan should be suspected by Lazzari or -Jacobins, the result would be the same. To the one it would mean -desertion; to the other escape. They would combine at least to -frustrate it.” - -He stared, nodded sagely, and this time stole away on tiptoe, so that -the Lazzari in the square should not hear him, I suppose. I was -following, when the queen stopped me. Her expression in the act had -fallen a little piteous, like that of a smiling saint sitting on -spikes. - -“Has Circe, then, no ministrations for the anguished of her own sex?” -she asked. - -I hurried to her. “O, madam!” I cried, “if I might serve _you_ alone!” - -Nevertheless, the whole present prospect dismayed me. Whither was it -their scheme to remove the court, and for how long? and in the -meantime, what Government was to represent it? I had immutably ranged -myself against my former party, burning my boats behind me. What, now, -if that party were to triumph, as I had already seen it triumph wholly -and tragically elsewhere? The tables of vengeance would be a trifle -turned, I thought. - -However, I gained some reassurance on this point from de’ Medici, upon -whom, in the midst of a distracted rush and scurry, I stumbled in the -course of the afternoon. - -“Hush!” he replied to my question. “Whisper it not in Gath. You are -indiscreet, most beautiful. Listen: _if_ we go, it will be but as a -fowler withdraws from his nets, that the foolish birds may fly more -confident into the lure.” - -_If_ we go! An event which happened in the morning resolved that -question for ever. Ferreri, the poor courier, was hardly sent on his -message (luckily a verbal one) when the suspecting mob fell upon him, -dragged him all torn and bleeding to the palace square, and there, -with savage cries: “A spy! a Jacobin spy,” despatched him with their -knives before the very eyes of the king, whom they had insisted should -be witness to this proof of their loyalty. The poor monarch tottered -back aghast into our midst; and from that moment the end was sure. - -As the day waned, the confusion in the palace waxed indescribable. -Tendency, no doubt, there was in the seeming chaos: I, as a stranger, -could do no more than commit myself blindly to the stream, resolved in -one matter alone--that I would not remain stranded and left behind. -All questions of precedence but in flight--of etiquette, of privacy -even--were blown to the winds. We were become a mere commonwealth of -terror. Great ladies issued puffing and lumbering from their -apartments, their arms loaded with goods and dresses, which they -tripped over like clowns as they ran; nervous warriors got entangled -in their swords, and lay gasping on their backs like dying fish. I -never laughed so much or so hysterically in my life. With all but the -almighty family itself it was _sauve qui peut_; and I was beginning to -formulate my own desperate plans, when de’ Medici whispered quick in -my ear-- - -“Follow me without seeming to!” - -It had been impossible in that frantic crowd, had not my wits already -noted his every trick and mannerism. Fortunate in being utterly -unencumbered, I pursued the shadow. It led me by intricate ways, out -of the light into darkness, out of the tumult into silence, by a back -passage through the arsenal, and so down to the waterside, where a -little boat with dusk figures was waiting. Without ceremony we tumbled -in, and sat panting. - -“Any more?” said a voice in my own good English tongue. - -De’ Medici answered in the negative. - -“Give way, men!” cried the officer sharply. - -In an instant we were speeding for the bay. The lights quivered and -shrunk behind us; the uproar attenuated, and was drawn out to a -murmur. Yard by yard there swelled up before our eyes vast -ribbon-girded bulks, that rocked lazily on the tide, tracing intricate -patterns with their masts among the stars. To one of these, the -greatest, we galloped, and came round with a surge and hollow lap of -water under its quarter. The next moment we were aboard the -_Vanguard_. - - - - - XXIX. - I STILL KNOW HOW TO WAIT - -I sing Palermo, “_la felice_,” the languorous, the sunny, the lotus -island to all shipwrecked mariners. O, those five days in the gulf!--a -hundred hours in which to think of nothing but one’s crimes, and one’s -mistake, saving the sinfulness, in not having been born a mermaid. I -declare I was not ill myself, except in the illness of others; but to -hear the groaning of the ship’s ribs mimicked a hundredfold by the -straining ribs of my companions was an eternal bone in my throat. As a -canary sings the louder the more we talk, so, as the ship talked, the -more fervent rose all round the chaunt of suffering-- - -“O, San Gennaro, grant it passage! O, Santa Maria, I can give no more; -you have it all! Father of pity, I am like a squeezed wineskin!” - -Then, perhaps, from Lady Hamilton, mistaking, in her prostration, the -steward for the admiral: “O, my dear lord! though I cannot rise to -thank you, believe me that for all you have done my heart goes out to -you.” To which the honest sailor would respond, “Give it went, mum, -and take the basin.” - -In truth it seemed the stars fought against us with the sea. The -_Vanguard_ itself was none too big a vessel. She was what they call, I -believe, a seventy-four with two tiers of guns--not a first-rater. I -saw her commander sometimes, in the glimpses of the moon. He was not -utterly impervious himself to the calls of the deep. His right arm was -gone, and the sleeve pinned to his breast. He had a gentle, sober -face, blind of one eye, and the scar of a late healed wound on his -forehead. Casually met, I should have taken him for a little mild -professor, who had once said Bo to a goose and been well pecked for -his pains. - -We had weighed anchor on the 22nd, and at once run into baffling -winds. The day before, the king had received on board a deputation -mixed of the marine, the city, and representatives of the Lazzari, who -were all aghast to learn that His Majesty projected a withdrawal to -his Sicilian capital. He was very short with them. When facts should -reassure him of their loyalty, he said, he would return. In the -meantime, he left General Pignatelli (a poor bemused creature) as his -regent to restore order. He said nothing of his wholesale plunder of -the public funds, and was only in a perspiration to escape before it -should be discovered. Then he went below, having lighted and flung -ashore the brand which was to set the city blazing. - -And the following day we sailed for Palermo, in a vessel as full of -royal livestock as if it had been a training ship for kings. Besides -their Majesties, and as many of their progeny as they could recollect -at the moment, there were on board the ineffable Hamiltons; English -Acton, their minister and the queen’s lover; princes of the blood -Castelcicala and Belmonte, and a few others of condition. Amongst us -all, from the first, there was little affectation of state, and none -of stateliness. It was just a scurry and tumble--an encumbering mass -of royalty, in the thick of which the unhappy crew were hard put to it -to find quarters. One of the poor children even died of sickness; and -the queen screamed lamentations over it whenever she could recall its -name. - -At length, more dead than alive, we were all pitchforked ashore out of -a battered hulk, and carried piecemeal through the city to the old -fortified palace at its southernmost end, where, for the next seven -months, was to be enacted the royal intermezzo in the tragedy of -Naples. - -Those months passed livelily enough for me. The king, what time he -could spare from his hunting and fishing and the building of a new -country lodge, was quite my devoted servant, paying my gambling -debts--when it sometimes grew beyond my own power to liquidate -them--and assigning me the new post, fruit of his own incomparable -invention, of stillroom maid to his royal person. He was not really a -bad-hearted man; and, if he could only have accomplished his eternal -wish to be left alone, and not bothered while others were arranging -his affairs for him, would probably have resumed his Neapolitan -dominions without vindictive bloodshed, when the way was once paved -and swept level for him. - -We heeded little (I except, in one main question, myself) the volcanic -throes which were wrenching that doomed town across the water while we -feasted and played. While Lazzaro and Jacobin, each dominant in his -turn, were flushing the kennels with blood; while imperious Nelson, -now promoted to his _Foudroyant_, was circling and swooping on and -off, issuing edicts, arrogating to himself the lead, in infatuated -touch all the time with his substantial mistress; while the French -were planting the Tree of Liberty in the palace square, and giving -birth, amidst song and jubilation, to the new republic; while, -following their withdrawal, Cardinal Ruffo was descending, with his -brutish swarms, upon the fated walls, which he was destined to retake -in the king’s name, the king himself was absorbed in ombre or -lansquenet, chuckling over charades, playing practical jokes upon the -most reverend Spanish señors of the place, guzzling and drinking, and -in every lazy way luxuriating in an utter self-abandonment to -pleasure. - -And indeed, in that wine-soft climate, there were many temptations to -him as to us all. We were like Boccaccio’s company, forgathered out of -range of the plague, and telling stories to pass the time. The -similarity of our condition, in fact, gave me an idea. I set my wits -to work, and became a public _raconteuse_. I invented and told in -those days more tales than I can remember, but a selection from which -the curious may find included in my _Des Royautés Depouillées_, -first published in Paris in 1806. - -The series became so popular, that poor Mrs. Hart found her nose quite -put out of joint in the matter of her own contributions to the fund of -gaiety. She might flop and pose like the most enormous of Greek -goddesses; she might assail our ears with her voice, for she had still -the remains of a very handsome one; or our hearts with her faculty for -mimicry, which, being ill-natured, went deeper. Once my début was -made, she must be content to play second fiddle; and that did not suit -her at all. The result was a coldness towards me, which, by inevitable -process, led to my disgrace with herself and her royal mistress, and -my dependence, as much for my interests as my safety, upon the favour -of the king. The court, in fact, became divided into the party of -Diana and the party of Emma, and was much more concerned over our -rivalry than over the ultimate destinies of the kingdom. - -It mattered little to me, so long as I could keep the interest alive -until the moment when my vengeance on a certain couple should be a -_fait accompli_. That once executed, the two Sicilies, for all I -cared, might disappear under the sea. O, believe me that Nicola -Pissani did an ill thing when he loosed an insulted mistress on his -track! - -It is not to be supposed that throughout those idle months I had once -lost sight of my purpose, or had failed to inform myself, through de’ -Medici, of the real progress of events. And when at last the end came, -and Ruffo with his bloody Calabrians was master of the city, and the -republic had collapsed like a rotten hoarding, I prepared my hands for -their share of the price to be exacted, and laughed to think how great -a fool he had been who claimed to represent Reason by yielding his -soul to the passion of a foolish face. - -Now, at this end, Naples had become a shambles. Shot and fire and -sharp steel, butchery and festering wounds and starvation, had left of -the “patriot” hosts but a little mean swarm, that rotted out its -remnant life in the prisons, awaiting the holocaust. Pissani and all -his high hopes were scattered. The gods had no desire to be worshipped -by Reason, missing their perquisites, as this “long-legged Hebe” might -well at the first have assured Liberty’s apostles, if they had not -been at the pains to discard her. She had been in Paris; had seen -Reason sit in the churches; had heard the millennium proclaimed, and -Olympus echo laughter. And what had been the result? Not till the -temples of superstition were razed in all the lands, not till Reason -sat in the fields, would the first glimmer of that golden dawn appear. -This she knew from the table-talk whispers of the new race, which had -decreed the old Titan Nature a vulgarity, and, having overthrown it in -the common hearts of men, dreaded nothing but the destruction of the -countless schools of sophistry on which its own lease of dominion -depended. And I, who had preached, who had been ardent again to preach -their crusade against a detestable lie, had been insulted by these -wise reformers, and been driven back to pour headstrong wine to the -gods of rank desire, and help them to hold the world a market to their -passions! O, Pissani had done well indeed! - -And yet he was not among the captured. - -One day, near the finish, de’ Medici accosted me alone in the palace -gardens. It was mid-June, and the scent of roses was thick in the air. -I looked in his face, and, for all the warmth and fragrance, my heart -was winter. - -“He still baffles you, monsieur?” - -“Most beautiful, the man is a fox, or perhaps already a ghost.” - -“Go on. You have something else to say.” - -A stealthy smile creased his mouth. - -“Keen as thou art fair. Know, then, that his wife is in our hands.” - -“Again, go on,” I whispered. I could hardly breathe. - -“We found her like a little torn rat in a sewer--ragged, half -starved.” He gulped, and looked up with a pallid grin. “Have I not -deserved? It is the better half of the bargain. Vouchsafe me my reward -in advance.” - -I paid no heed to his question, asking him only-- - -“Where is she?” - -“In the Carmine.” - -“And a hostage?” - -He shivered, and hung his head. - -“I understand you, madam,” he muttered. “But she is dumb to all our -questions, to all our threats.” - -I turned away with a laugh. - -“And you are a humane man, monsieur, and a susceptible. Well, it is -not for me to teach the inquisitor his trade.” - -“Understand,” I said, facing round once more, “that I cannot rest, or -live, or love, while this remains unaccomplished.” - -He did not answer; but, standing irresolute a moment, shrugged his -shoulders and left me. - -But I knew at last that the moment was near. - - -On the 22nd of that same month the penalties of rivalry were ended for -Lady Hamilton by the arrival, in the _Foudroyant_, of the Lord -Admiral, who came to transport his mistress to Naples, as Her -Majesty’s deputy in the latest Reign of Terror inaugurated in that -capital. - -A fortnight later the king himself, taking me with him as his simpler -and nerve-doctor, and leaving the amiable English Ambassador behind to -play dry-nurse to his queen in Palermo--followed in the _Sea Horse_, -which, after a short fair passage, anchored in the bay. Thence, rather -to my annoyance, we were transhipped no farther than to the -_Foudroyant_--his mightiness being timid for the moment of venturing -into his distracted city--and, there, were scarcely on board before my -services were called into requisition in an odd enough connection. - -The king--Nelson and his _cara sposa_ being gone ashore--was looking -idly out seawards over the taffrail of the quarter-deck, and -chattering desultorily with members of his suite behind him, when he -broke off abruptly to stare under his palm at some object in the -water, which, first seen at a distance, grew rapidly nearer, drifting -with the tide upon the ship. Then, in an instant, he gave a hoarse -scream; and, seeing him pointing and articulating confusedly, we all -ran to the side, and followed with our eyes the direction of his hand. - -“_Vátene!_” he shrieked: “_è Caracciolo!_” and he shuddered down, so -that nothing but his nose and goggle eyes were peeping over the -railing. - -I held my breath, staring fascinated, while the others echoed his cry: -“_Caracciolo! è Caracciolo! O me miserábile, Caracciolo!_” in a -dozen accents of terror. - -I had heard of the poor scapegoat admiral,[2] whom Nelson--always -bearing a grudge against him for his better seamanship--had caused ten -days before to be hanged with every refinement of savagery, and -afterwards flung into the water. Now risen, it seemed, from its first -sleep on the floor of the bay, the sopt and dreary spectre was come -riding to sear the eyeballs of the master, whom it had failed to serve -only through being deeper pledged to humanity. Fouling our hawser, the -body swung upright, bobbing and reeling as if it were treading water. -Its hair and long beard swayed on its cheeks; its dead stiff eyes -stared unwinking in the spray; its arms were flung wide, as if -inviting its destroyer to a mocking embrace. Turning a moment, it -drifted loose, and went dancing towards the shore, where the poor -fishermen of Santa Lucia, who had loved the man, were to find and give -it Christian burial. - -The king staggered back. - -“Mother of saints!” he sobbed, “what does the creature want?” - -“Sire,” whispered a voice, “he asks for a consecrated grave.” - -“Give it him, give it him!” gasped His Majesty, and signed to me to -follow him below, where, however, I was not long in laying his -“horrors.” - -“_Enfin, mon père_,” I said, “the man, by his appearance, was only -asking your forgiveness.” - -“Magnificent,” he answered, with a shaky laugh. “He was certainly in -need of it”--and he turned to me gratefully, but with a rather scared -look. - -“Little agent of Providence, if thou hast ever a poor friend thou -wouldst save in the dark time coming, ask of my Majesty’s mercy, and -it will listen. There may be some who err through the mind’s nobility. -Of that I know nothing; only--only, I would have something to balance -my possible mistakes.” - -It was true enough, though the blood-lust was not long in mastering -him, when once, without risk to himself, he could taste the spice of -vengeance. Even while he spoke the depleting of the gaols and -prison-ships was begun, and the hurried trials, and the false -testimony, and the hangings. And the wail of the thousand doomed was -already mingling itself in the streets with the roar of a grand State -lottery, when at last we could venture ashore and to safe quarters in -the reconsecrated palace. - -We were all triumphant then, or about to be. I remember the last night -we spent on the _Foudroyant_. It was a full moon; and, seated under an -awning on the upper deck, Lady Hamilton sang “Rule Britannia,” with a -cockney fervour which must have pierced reassuringly to the ears of -the poor wretches imprisoned behind the floating walls that surrounded -us. She was always so much more than equal to the occasion, was Emma. - - - - - XXX. - I AM JUSTIFIED IN MY POLICY - -It was a dark and gusty night when I issued forth with de’ Medici -from a side door of the palace. - -“She is condemned,” he had whispered to me a minute earlier. - -A needle of ice had seemed to enter my heart. The question my lips -could not ask had flown to my eyes. Comprehending it, he had caught at -his throat and lolled out his tongue grotesquely. To the same dumb -inquisitors he had answered, as confidently as if I had spoken, -“To-morrow.” - -Then I had found my voice, as if after a fit of choking-- - -“And she has not spoken?” - -“And she has not spoken.” - -He had hesitated, before suggesting deprecatingly, “There remains only -to make your appeal to her in person.” - -I had struck my hands together, hearing that. - -“You might have forced her, had you chosen. Now, leaving it to me, our -bargain is dissolved.” - -“Madonna, you will not so requite my faithful services?” - -“I will answer nothing till I have seen her.” - -“Then what time like now?” he had replied desperately, “when she sits -buried alive in the darkness, with the spectre of to-morrow whispering -in her ear.” - -“It is well spoken, then. I will go.” - -The town was so full of reek and passion, that, most in the low -quarters it was necessary for us to traverse, I doubt if I could have -survived without him. But he was too well known and feared to leave my -safety much in question. Then the Lazzari and their allies of the -conquering army were such sworn blood-brothers, that it needed never -more than the smallest bone of dispute to set either tearing at the -other’s throat, whereby a flying petticoat, circumnavigating both, was -able to avoid shipwreck between. Indeed, we had committed more than -one red scrimmage to our wake by the time we were arrived, breathless -but whole, at the door of the Carmine. - -A roar and drift of torches surged upon us from a side alley at the -moment that we reached our goal. Here was a wave of passion broken -from the main wastes, and bearing forward on its crest a single victim -to its fury, whom it seemed about to fling against the sullen walls of -the prison. He was a mere boy, and his face as white as wax. By the -door stood a Calabrese sentry, armed with a musket and a great sabre, -and a rose in his hand, the gift thorn and all of some amorous -_contadina_. As the boy was hurled up the steps, “Smell to this, poor -lad,” said he; “art faint?”--and he thrust the rose violently against -the victim’s nostrils. The poor wretch staggered back, uttering a -horrible scream, his face bathed in blood. There had been a long pin -concealed among the petals, which had stung him almost to the brain. I -am not sentimental, but I shall hope some day to be to that Calabrese -in the relation of Lazarus to Dives. The mob, however, roared laughter -over the jest, clapping their victim with a certain good-humour on the -back, as we were all carried together in a confused struggle up the -steps and into a vaulted stone hall beyond. - -This stronghold, massive and mediæval, had only lately been the scene -of the treacherous massacre of a patriot garrison, and its stones were -yet mapped and mottled with the story of the deed. And since, being -made a State butchery, without regard to accommodation or cleanliness, -from every carrion Jacobin, it seemed, had emerged a living swarm, -predestined children of the grave, who haunted the corridors with -unclean cries, and showed ghastly visions of wounds and suffering at -the grates as we hurried by. It was a catacomb, in whose rotting lanes -of stone walked a hundred vampires, gloating over their huddled pens -of victims. - -Typical of the worst was the gaoler who, at de’ Medici’s summons, had -risen to attend us. This was a creature, like an obscene lank bird, -who hopped before us chuckling and pecking forward with his long nose, -as if as he went he sought the corners for offal. At his waist jingled -a bunch of keys, and often he cracked, after the Italian habit, a -thong of leather with a lash which he carried in one hand, his other -being occupied in holding aloft a flaring taper. He led us by a -descending passage, so narrow and so low that the flame of his torch -made sooty blotches on the roof as he advanced, into a murmuring -drain, at whose termination he at length paused before a door sunk in -the wall. - -“_Guái a lei_, Messer de’ Medici,” he chuckled, as, groping for the -lock, he leered round at us. “Wait till, having opened, I can block -the passage. There is another here besides our little bird.” - -“Another?” - -“Courage, most excellent; ’tis but half a man when all’s said. He was -a State prisoner in the Vicaria, until the mob released him with the -rest. Then he disappeared, God knew whither; but he was retaken, with -a few more, in the prisoner Pissani’s company. Well then, his day will -come, no doubt; and in the meantime, waiting orders, we keep them -caged together.” - -De’ Medici grunted, rubbing his chin, “I should have been told; but, -hurry, friend.” - -The man waved him back. - -“Let me entreat messer, in case of an attempt.” - -The chief withdrew a little. - -“Open, and come thou too,” said he. “Madam would speak alone with the -condemned.” - -The key grated in the lock; the creature flung wide the door. - -“Pissani!” cried he, on a sharp note; and that was all. - -Even as he retreated, having uttered his cry, she stood in the -opening. A dank and mortal odour came with her, a reel of filthy -darkness unbroken but by the dim splotch of a tiny grating, which, set -in the wall opposite, made an aureole behind her head as she stood. - -God of mercy! It was a spectre from which I shrunk in instinctive -loathing. Had it ever been one with beauty, and with me? Its very -tattered gown seemed fallen into harsh, lean folds. Love must have -trodden, not sat, in those hollow eyes, so to discolour and bury them. -It was a just retribution--the more providential in that so squalid a -vision sickened my heart from sympathy. - -Yet, to break this withered reed! It seemed a despicable task for my -strong hands. They must withhold a little, caress a little first, with -whatever reluctance to themselves. Nevertheless, I could not but be -conscious how forced and artificial rung the tenderness I sought to -convey into my voice. - -“Patty--Patty Grant! I have come to offer you life and liberty!” - -The tiny smile that broke then from her lips was my first earnest of -her reality. The sigh she gave was such as a dead sleeper might yield -to the dawn of Judgment. Yet she did not move, or come to me, or show -one sign of the collapse I had expected and calculated on. And, as the -light of the flaring taper fell upon her figure, a new hate and -loathing surged in me, so that the persuasiveness with which I sought -to dress my tones shivered into a mockery of itself-- - -“Did you not expect me? Did you not know that I hold your life in my -hands?” - -“Else why should you have left me to come to this, Diana?” - -I shrunk back. What new knowledge of herself, or me, was implied in -the chords of that wasted voice? Yet she smiled still, like one waking -out of a frightful dream. - -“Is it not strange, Diana, this end to all we have known and -experienced together? Do you remember the sundial, and the old green -garden, and the nuns in the sleepy village? We are Englishwomen, after -all, Diana. I should like to rest in England.” - -“It lies with yourself,” I answered, half choking. “You have but to -speak--I tell you, it needs but a word from you, and all this false -sacrifice is passed by and forgotten.” - -Her eyes had been fixed on some vision beyond me. Now in a moment they -were scorching my soul. - -“Yes,” she said, “and the word?” - -The shame of its utterance should be mine, she meant. If I had shrunk -from the challenge, it would have been to discredit my claim to the -greater wrong. - -“Where your husband lies hidden?” I said, with a cold fury at my -heart. - -“God forgive you,” she answered only, and fell back. - -Her assumption of the holier strength, of the worser grievance, stung -me to madness. I leapt and clutched her by the wrist. - -“Fool!” I shrieked; “do you know what you are bringing on yourself? Do -you know how they will kill you? It is not, as in Paris, a shock, and -a sob, and forgetfulness. They will push you from a ladder, and one -will spring and swing himself by your feet, and another leap upon your -shoulders, and squat there like a hideous toad, making sport for the -crowd. And you will be minutes choking and dying, and not one to pity -or relieve you!” - -Her eyes had a smile of agony in them; but still it was a smile, and I -could have torn myself in my impotence to change it. - -“Ah, yes, one!” she said; “my little unborn baby.” - -I sprang back. - -“Wretch! Your obstinacy murders it!” - -“It gives its life for its father!” - -Without sound or warning, she sank at my feet, and lay motionless, her -white face turned upward. - -A harsh jest was uttered at my shoulder. - -“Bravo! It is so they always think to sport with our feelings. But we -have an infallible medicine”--and the gaoler, coming from behind me, -cut across the senseless face with his whip. - -With a roar, a figure bounded out of the darkness of the cell, and -whirling long arms about the beast, fell with and upon him, and -battered out his brains upon the stone floor. It all passed in a -moment; and in that moment I knew my lost monster again, gaunt and -foul and tattered, yet even in his wasted strength a god, and -glorious. Then against a coming tumult and scurry of feet I flung my -body. - -“Back!” I shrieked; “the king gives me a life! I claim his--do you -hear? If by a hair it is injured, the bitter worse for you all!” - - -Sobbing, burning, in a flurry of passion, I threw myself, an hour -later in the palace, at the king’s knees. - -“Sire,” I cried, “I claim your royal promise. I ask mercy for a -friend.” - -Taken off his guard, bewitched, perhaps, “It is granted,” he said. - -Then he recovered himself, and laughed, and patted my shoulder. - -“_Enfin_,” he said; “what has he done?” - -“He has killed a gaoler who was ill-treating a prisoner.” - -He startled, frowned, then laughed again, but less easily. - -“O, well,” he said, “a gaoler is no great matter. But I must know his -name first.” - -“Sire, it is my own servant Gogo, that you have robbed me of this long -time.” - -“O, him!” he said, relieved. “Well, perhaps, after all, we owe him a -gaoler or two.” - - - - - XXXI. - I KNOW MY OWN HEART - -I had hardly got into the street before a hand touched my arm. I -turned and saw Gogo. - -“It was you,” he said, “won my deliverance this morning?” - -“Yes.” - -“From the king?” - -“From the king.” - -He said not a word more. I questioned him in my turn. - -“I sent you a message by the courier. Why did you not come direct to -me?” - -“I had business first. I answered, ‘If you will tell her that I will -witness for her and bring my report this evening, she will -understand.’” - -“I understood nothing but that you were in no hurry to thank me.” - -He made no reply. - -“It is only after a struggle with my pride, sir,” I continued, “that I -am here to keep your appointment. I think, perhaps, your business -might have kept better.” - -“Do you? Well, perhaps, after all, you have a shallow wit.” - -I looked at him in dumb amaze. We were loitering on, to me aimlessly, -though I knew presently how all the time he had been rigidly enforcing -our direction. The city was in its hottest night-fever of excitement -over the executions that had taken place that day, in a mood already -too monstrous to take much heed of the shock and tattered prodigy that -stumped by my side. Once, passing a group, I caught a name, and -startled, and was hurrying on; but he snatched my wrist, and forced me -to linger, absorbing horror to the dregs. I knew his temper by that, -and to what I had delivered myself; but I never feared him so much as -when he would not speak. - -“Gogo,” I whispered suddenly, “you will give me credit for having -known nothing of your state all this time. Whenever I asked M. de’ -Medici, he assured me of your comfort and prosperity. I am not to -blame if he is a cursed liar.” - -He did not answer. - -“The moment I could,” I said, trembling, “I begged your life. It is -the dearest of all I know to me. Are you going to punish me for that?” - -Still no answer. - -“O!” I said, with a little rally to anger, “if you will not thank me, -at least you might say whether or not you received my enclosure this -morning?” - -“The money?” he muttered. “Yes, I received it.” - -I was moved to a little agitated laughter. - -“Is everything poisonous that comes from my hands? If you had spent a -little of it on food and clothes, my obligation to you would not have -been the less.” - -“I thought you sent it to me to pay your debts.” - -“What debts?” - -Again that grim silence. I feared him more than I can tell; feared him -so much that no thought of the conquering guile by which I had once -been wont to sway him occurred to me to use. I shivered, and drew my -cloak faster about me, and hurried by his side without another word. - -Whither was he bent? By the roaring quays, it seemed, towards the dark -prison from which, only a few hours earlier, she had gone to her -self-elected doom. - -“Not there!” I sobbed, struggling--“not there! What good can it do -now?” - -But he turned, short of reaching it, to his left, into a street -leading to the great square adjoining, where the gallows was erected; -and here, under the shadow of the fortress, stood a church with a -lofty tower. Stopping at a door which opened into the base of this -last, he tapped three times; and in a moment it yawned, and engulfed -us, and the tumult of the living town was become in our ears like the -murmur of the sea in a dead cavern. - -Our guide, taper in hand, went on before us. The sound of our -footsteps reeled and laughed behind, echoing up to unknown altitudes. -Ward of that little star of radiance, I had no terror so great as that -of its flashing away and committing me to the shadows that seemed -always dancing and clutching for me outside its circumference. And -then suddenly we were come to a narrow iron gate set in the stone, and -to the cowled, motionless figure of a monk who stood thereby. - -Without a word uttered by this spectre, the folds of its robe -contracted, and a long white hand was thrust forth palm upwards. Gogo -put a purse into it. - -“Bear witness, Diana,” he said, in a low voice, that boomed and -clanged among the stones, “that I deliver the account of my -stewardship to the last penny.” - -I was sobbing dreadfully, moved by some terror that had in it, -nevertheless, no thought of evil intended by him to myself. - -“You will take nothing from me?” I gasped. - -He addressed the monk. - -“It is enough?” - -The cowled head bent. - -“Then let us through, father, and alone.” - -The grate clanked. He gripped my arm, and, seizing the taper from the -sacristan, led me down a long flight of steps, through a low doorway, -into a crypt. And there, on the damp ground, full in our view, was -something lying, and a sheet over. - -“No, no!” I screamed. “You have tortured me enough already!” - -Never releasing my arm, he set the taper in a crevice, and dragged me -to the dreadful bed. - -“What!” he said, “are you afraid to look on your work?” - -And, pinning me forcibly, he bent and drew the cloth away. And side by -side with the other, I saw the dead face of Pissani. - -Without a word, I sank down where I stood, and he fell back from me. - -“O, woman!” he cried, in a terrible voice, “that you could talk of -your pride, with this lying at your heart!” - -He clasped his hands, and unclasped them, and struck his forehead, and -again writhed them together, as if his grief baffled him from speech. -Dragging my body towards him, I huddled cowering at his feet. - -“What!” he cried; “no word? no word?” - -I moaned, and moved my head in negative. - -“Grant he stabbed himself under the gallows,” he said, “since he found -he could not look on her agony and live. Are you the more guiltless of -his death?” - -Again I shook my head. - -“At least they are together,” he cried. “By so much you did them -service, sending her first. But the price, woman, the price!” - -I rose, blind, staggering, to my feet. - -“It was my honour. I will go and pay it, and die.” - -He caught at and held me. - -“To whom?” - -“To de’ Medici. Let me go. Only you could have saved me, and you will -not; and it is right.” - -Never quitting his hold, he turned from me, with a wild gesture of his -free arm. - -“It was her life or yours,” I said. “Make it my curse, if you will, -that I chose the dearer to me.” - -With a mad groan, he snatched me from my feet, and, holding me -fiercely against his breast, carried me out and to the foot of the -steps. - - [The End] - - - - - NOTES. - - [1] - #Diana Please# Born _circa_ 1770. - - [2] - #scapegoat admiral# The unhappy patriot Caracciolo, whose hurried - execution at the yardarm of the _Minerva_ raised such a storm of - mingled protest and justification at the time. Madame Please’s - insinuation must be accepted, if at all, as characteristic; yet there - is no denying that Caracciolo’s court-martial (on a charge of - deserting his king; to which the culprit pleaded very reasonably that - it was his king who had deserted him), conviction by a narrow margin - of votes, vindictive sentence, and hasty despatch thereon, afforded - the great captain’s enemies the means to as unpleasant an indictment - as any they could bring against his conduct of this unhappy Naples - business. - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES. - -Minor spelling inconsistencies (_e.g._ caldron/cauldron, -counterbuff/counter-buff, gravel-pit/gravel pit, etc.) have been -preserved. - -Text version only: “#” is used to indicate bolded text. - -Alterations to the text: - -Convert footnotes to endnotes. - -Silently correct a few punctuation errors (quotation mark pairings, -missing periods, etc.) - -[Introductory] - -Change “so often mentioned in the text, from the _slavic_” to -_Slavic_. - -[Chapter VIII] - -(“She is _grern_ ... She is become, it _appe-ars_,) to _grown_ -and _appears_, respectively. - -[Chapter IX] - -(“Why, you old _de-ar_?” said he.) to _dear_. - -[Chapter XVII] - -“then, suddenly _panicstruck_, groped for the table” to -_panic-struck_. - -[Chapter XXIV] - -“and, _unfortuntely_, the disease was in the head” to _unfortunately_. - -“At _anyrate_ she, in company with Mademoiselle” to _any rate_. - - [End of text] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EXTRAORDINARY CONFESSIONS -OF DIANA PLEASE *** - -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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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The extraordinary confessions of Diana Please</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Bernard Capes</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 27, 2023 [eBook #69885]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EXTRAORDINARY CONFESSIONS OF DIANA PLEASE ***</div> - -<h1> -<span class="font80">THE EXTRAORDINARY<br> -CONFESSIONS OF</span><br> -DIANA PLEASE -</h1> - -<p class="center"> -<span class="font80">HERE “ENGLISHED” FROM THE ORIGINAL<br> -SHORTHAND NOTES, IN FRENCH, OF M. LE<br> -MARQUIS DE C——, A FRIEND TO WHOM<br> -SHE DICTATED THEM,</span> -</p> - -<p class="center mt2"> -<span class="font80">BY</span><br> -BERNARD CAPES<br> -<span class="font80">AUTHOR OF<br> -“THE LAKE OF WINE,” “PLOTS” ETC. ETC.</span> -</p> - -<p class="center mt4"> -METHUEN & CO.<br> -36 ESSEX STREET W.C.<br> -LONDON<br> -<span class="font80">1904</span> -</p> - - -<h2> -CONTENTS -</h2> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#intro">INTRODUCTORY</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch01">I. I MAKE MY DÉBUT</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch02">II. I AM ABDUCTED</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch03">III. I ESCAPE</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch04">IV. I FALL INTO THE HANDS OF A COLLECTOR</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch05">V. I AM CARRIED AWAY AS A SPECIMEN</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch06">VI. I AM “PINNED OUT”</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch07">VII. I AM PUT AWAY IN CAMPHOR</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch08">VIII. I MEET MR. NOEL DE CRESPIGNY</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch09">IX. I AM COMMITTED TO THE ——</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch10">X. I BEWITCH A MONSTER</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch11">XI. I ADD THE LAST TOUCH TO A PORTRAIT</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch12">XII. I AM INFAMOUSLY RETALIATED ON</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch13">XIII. I AM WOOED TO SELF-DESTRUCTION</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch14">XIV. I AM RESCUED BY MY MONSTER</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch15">XV. I BECOME AN INMATE OF “RUPERT’S FOLLY”</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch16">XVI. I PUT AN END TO ONE FOLLY</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch17">XVII. I AM CONSIGNED TO A GREEN GRAVE</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch18">XVIII. I BEGIN ANOTHER FOLLY</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch19">XIX. I AM MAID MARIAN</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch20">XX. I PUT AN END TO FOLLY NUMBER TWO</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch21">XXI. I AM METAMORPHOSED</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch22">XXII. I RUN ACROSS AN OLD FRIEND</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch23">XXIII. I AM MADE FORTUNE’S MISTRESS</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch24">XXIV. I FIND A FRIEND IN NEED</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch25">XXV. I DECLARE FOR THE KING</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch26">XXVI. I RENEW AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch27">XXVII. I KNOW HOW TO WAIT</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch28">XXVIII. I RETURN TO NAPLES</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch29">XXIX. I STILL KNOW HOW TO WAIT</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch30">XXX. I AM JUSTIFIED IN MY POLICY</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch31">XXXI. I KNOW MY OWN HEART</a> -</p> - - -<h2 id="intro"> -INTRODUCTORY -</h2> - -<p> -<span class="font90">“<i>I am convinced she rivalled, at fifty, the exquisite Diane de -Poitiers herself, in the brightness of her wit and the perfection of -her form, and might have passed as triumphantly a like test of the -marble.</i>”</span> -</p> - -<p class="sign2"> -<span class="font90"><span class="sc">The Marquis de C——</span> in his “Foreword.”</span> -</p> - -<p class="noindent mt1"> -<span class="sc">If</span> the public seeks any apology for this introduction to it, at a -late date, of the extraordinary woman whose self-dictated Memoirs form -the staple of the following pages, it must look for it in the -references of her contemporaries; it will be far from gathering it -from her own autobiography. -</p> - -<p> -Diane Rosemonde de St. Croix (to give her her proper mother-title) -considered that she owed to Romance, in a glowing age, what, in a -practical one, is conceded by a thousand dull and petty vanities to a -vulgar curiosity—her personal reminiscences. She had at least the -justification of her qualities, and the good fortune to find, in her -latter-day friend, the Marquis de C——, an enthusiastic historian of -them. In the question of their appeal, one way or the other, to the -English reader, the present transcriber (from the original French -notes) must hold himself responsible both for choice and style. -</p> - -<p> -Madame de St. Croix was a “passionist,” as the French called Casanova; -and, indeed, she had many points in common with that redoubtable -adventurer: an unappeasable vagabondism; a love of letters; an ardent -imagination; an incorruptible self-love; and, lastly, what we may term -an exotic orthodoxy. If, subscribing to the universal creed which -makes man’s soul his fetish, she worshipped an exacting god, she was -at least always ready to sacrifice the world to gratify it, and now, -no doubt, very logically sings among the angels. -</p> - -<p> -In the matter of her more notorious characteristics, M. de C——, lest -her part on earth should suffer misconstruction by the censorious, is -so good as to speak with some show of finality. “I deny,” he says, -“the title adventuress to my charming and accomplished friend. It is -nothing if not misleading. Every day we venture something, for love, -for hunger, for ambition. He who deviates from rice and barley-water, -venturing on spiced dishes, makes every time an assault on his -epigastrium. He who is not content with an ignoble mediocrity, though -he do no more than take pains with a letter, is a candidate for fame. -And as for love, it does not exist on the highway. Why should it imply -distinction to call a man an adventurer, and be invidious to style a -woman adventuress? Ulysses dallying in Ææa is surely no more -honourable a sight than Godiva traversing Coventry in an adorable -deshabille. To have the wide outlook, the catholic sympathy—is that -to merit defamation? No, it is to be heroically human. Better sin like -an angel, I say, than be a sick devil and virtuous.” -</p> - -<p> -It remains only to mention that the present transcript conducts no -further than to the finish of a dramatic period of Madame de St. -Croix’s story; and to that, even, at the expense of a considerable -lacuna (referred to in its place), which no research has hitherto been -successful in filling. It is hoped, however, that, in what is given, -enough will be found to interest. -</p> - -<p class="sign2"> -B. C. -</p> - - -<p class="mt1"> -[<i>Note</i>.—An ingenious etymologist supplies a likely derivation for -the “duck-stone,” so often mentioned in the text, from the Slavic -<i>dook</i> or <i>duk</i>, signifying to spirit away. Accepting this genesis, -the duck-stone, given to Mrs. Please by the gypsy, becomes the <i>dook</i>, -or <i>bewitching</i>-stone, and is imbued with whatever virtues our faith -or our credulity may suggest.] -</p> - - -<h2 title="THE EXTRAORDINARY CONFESSIONS OF DIANA PLEASE"> -THE EXTRAORDINARY<br> -CONFESSIONS OF DIANA PLEASE<a href="#fn1b" id="fn1a">[1]</a> -</h2> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="ch01"> -I.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I MAKE MY DÉBUT</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">At</span> my friend M. de C——’s instigation I sit down in the noon of my -life to talk of its morning. -</p> - -<p> -I look first to your gallantry, my dear Alcide, to see that this -statement is not misconstrued. That I have a past argues nothing of my -remoteness from it. In comparison with the immortality which is surely -to be mine, everything on this side is youth. I am seventeen, or -thirty-seven, or whatever I choose; and I intend that Heaven, whenever -it calls me, shall find me irresistible. Possessing all the ages, it -cannot grudge me my arbitrary disposition of my own little term. -</p> - -<p> -Now, tell your friends, my dear Alcide, that to succeed in life one -must never ask a woman her age or a man his intentions; and so we -shall all be comfortable. -</p> - - -<p class="mt1"> -I owe my mother the most whimsical of grudges, my existence. I will -nickname her the Comtesse de l’Ombre, and so shall abuse no -confidences in relating of my debt to her, and to “Lovelace,” her -collaborator in the romance of which I am the heroine. She was very -beautiful; and he, an English cadet of distinction, was an -aristocratic paragon. -</p> - -<p> -At the age of sixteen, convinced of the hollowness of life, she had -taken the veil, and become the Sister Agnès of the Communauté de -Madelonnettes, Notre Dame de la Charité, in Paris, whence a year -later she was transferred to an English branch of the house. Hence and -from her duty my father, whom she had approached upon a begging -mission, succeeded unhappily in inveigling her. -</p> - -<p> -To the day of her death my mother bore the disfiguring sign of a -little cross on her breast. It has succeeded to me, but in a faint -reflection, a <i>grain de beauté</i>, only. I will tell you, in a word, -the story of my inheritance. -</p> - -<p> -The ladies of les Madelonnettes had, in inviting all the feminine -vices to their inauguration ceremony, with the object to pension them -off handsomely, overlooked the bad fairy Jealousy. Thou knowest, -Alcide, the meanness of this witch. To revenge herself, she cast -Lovelace into their midst, as Eris cast the apple of discord upon the -nuptial board of Thetis; and poor de l’Ombre was made the consequent -scapegoat. Driven forth in ignominy from the fold, she could not -suffer so much but that one, over zealous or jealous, must strike her -an envious blow across the bosom, on which she always wore a little -crucifix, the gift of her father. The ebony cut in and left an -indelible scar, to which I was to succeed in pathetic earnest of my -origin. It has never ceased to be a symbol to me of the vanity of -self-renunciation. How can we deny our<i>selves</i>, and not deny One after -whose image we are made? -</p> - -<p> -I was born in a lodging at Brighthelmston, whither my father had -conveyed my mother. The town, which has always possessed an attraction -for me, was at that time a very paltry affair of scattered houses, to -which the mumpish or melancholic came periodically to salt their -spleens against a fresh course of dissipations. Locality has never, -however, influenced my temper. The perfume of contentment breathes -from within, and is not to be affected by soil or surroundings. Let us -who have good constitutions continue, as the way is, to accept them -for virtues, and to abhor the dyspeptic as unclean. Let us have the -discretion to ask no questions of our neighbours about what we don’t -understand in this entertaining comedy of life. So shall we justify -ourselves to ourselves, and avoid being made uncomfortable. Is it not -so, my friend? -</p> - -<p> -My mother had never, I do believe, had a doll till I came. She was -very young, even then, and could not tire of playing with me in our -pretty cottage near the Steine. And I responded in all endearing -gaiety and innocence, with the very trustfulness of which she must, I -fear, have come to reproach her apostasy. -</p> - -<p> -Maybe she did, for, as time went on, I can recall a cloud settling -upon her brow—the shadow, perhaps, of the yoke under which she was -passing from girlhood to womanhood. I was already four <i>when she came -of age</i>. O, <i>mon chéri</i>! think of the tragedy of those italics! And -think of me, a child of a precocious observation, and little ears as -pinkly susceptible to murmurs as the inside of a shell, doomed to -wake—wake to some misty understanding of the unusual in our -relations! -</p> - -<p> -By and by I even confided my suspicions to my father, whom I adored, -and who visited us occasionally, coming down from town very elegant -and <i>mondain</i> and in great company. He laughed, and then frowned over -at mamma, who returned his look steadily. -</p> - -<p> -“Dear sir,” she said only, “the child is growing very critical. Do not -encourage her, and make this cross harder than I can bear.” -</p> - -<p> -“But I too have a cross,” I said; “only it is little and faint, and -not blushing like <i>maman’s</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -My papa laughed again, and again frowned, saying, “It is a fact, and -hard on the infant, who has done nothing to deserve it.” -</p> - -<p> -Then he pushed me from him, and rose, and, going to the door, turned -at it with a peevish face. -</p> - -<p> -“I weary of these heroics,” said he. “If you persist in them, remember -that you are qualified, more than ever, for les Madelonnettes.” -</p> - -<p> -He went; and she cried out, as if over some dreadful awakening. But -thenceforth, for some reason, our confidences grew estranged. I loved -my poor mamma so well, that I think she should not have responded by -striving to make heir to her melancholy the innocent cause of it. At -the root of all our moral revolt is a sense of the injustice of -original sin. I, at least, had done nothing to make me unhappy. -</p> - -<p> -Presently I was given a governess, my dear careless father’s nominee. -She was French, a <i>ci-devant maîtresse de pension</i>, very lazy and -self-indulgent, and, if not sleeping, she was always ogling for -unattached beaux. Vicious and insolent, she delighted in prompting me -to reflections on my mother’s self-reserve, and “honour” was as much -in her mouth as false teeth. I learned nothing from her but indecorum -and innuendo. -</p> - -<p> -One day—for the moral to her teaching (it was when I was ten years -old)—I was playing truant on the downs, when I saw a small smutty -baby crawl from under a bush into the road at the very moment that a -carriage, wildly driven, was approaching. I had just time to notice -the gilded splendour of the equipage, and, perhaps,—let us be frank, -my friend,—to be inspired to heroism by the sight, before I leapt and -snatched up the child from under the very feet of the galloping -horses. As the chariot thundered by, an elegantly groomed head thrust -itself from the window, and a ruffled hand, waving to me standing -there unhurt but bewildered, flung back a gold coin into the dust. I -turned my back immediately, disillusioned, by the insolence of the -acknowledgment, as to the disinterested quality of my deed, and the -more so as the baby was, <i>parler franchement</i>, decidedly unpleasant. I -put the imp down, and began to re-order my little ruffled plumes. -Wouldst thou hear what they were, my Alcide? I can recall them at this -hour: A dainty gipsy hat knotted to a blue ribbon; a stomacher laced -over with silver twist, and a skirt to the ankles, both of flowered -lustring; three pair of ruffles at my bare elbows; a black solitaire -at my neck, and black shoes with red heels and the prettiest of paste -buckles. -</p> - -<p> -Alas! how better than our sins of yesterday do we remember the -stockings we wore to sin in! Let me, for penance, concede to history -these my failings. I was, in fact, colourless in complexion, like -tinted porcelain, with what my detractors used to call spun-glass -hair, and the eyes of a Dresden shepherdess. And I was not at that -time light on my feet, with which my volatile spirits were always at -odds. -</p> - -<p> -Now, as I smoothed my skirt, I was aware of a mad gipsy woman hurrying -from the bank towards me, and crying and gesticulating as she came. -She caught up the infant, and, finding it unharmed, put it down again, -and fawned upon me inarticulate. Then she broke off to curse the -distant carriage up hill and down, and finally went to pick up the -coin from the very spot where she had not failed to mark its fall. -</p> - -<p> -“It is yours,” she said, striding back to me. “Take it!” -</p> - -<p> -“You can keep it,” I answered, with my little nose in the air. “A lady -does not want for money.” -</p> - -<p> -She slipped it into her pocket, and fell on her knees before me. -</p> - -<p> -“Nor beauty, nor love, nor silken raiment,” she cried; “and yet they -are not all. Think, my darling! There be no need so wild but the poor -grateful gipsy may show a way to gratify it.” -</p> - -<p> -I laughed, half annoyed and half frightened; and then, suddenly and -oddly, there came into my head the thought of the stocking needle the -<i>gouvernante</i> was wont to stick into my bosom at meals, to prevent me -stooping and rounding my back. Must I confess, my Alcide, that there -was ever a time when thy Diane was a little less or more than a sylph? -</p> - -<p> -“Make me light,” I said, “so that I can dance without feeling the -ground.” -</p> - -<p> -She looked at me strangely a moment, then all about her in a stealthy -way, while she slipped her hand into her pocket. -</p> - -<p> -“Hush!” she said. “For none other but you. Only tell not of it.” And -she brought up a little greasy packet, of parchment writ round with -characters, like a Hebrew phylactery. -</p> - -<p> -“Have you ever heard tell of the duck-stone?” she whispered. -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head, full of curiosity. -</p> - -<p> -“No,” she said, “nor any of thine. It fell from the sky, from another -world, deary, that’s strange to ours, and the gipsies found it in the -wild places of the woods. There was a smell came from it like the -sugar of all flowers, and it was as light as foam and as hard as the -beaten rocks.” -</p> - -<p> -She undid the packet while she spoke, and I saw a number of tiny grey -cubes, like frothy pumice-stone, one of which she detached, and gave -to me. -</p> - -<p> -“It wrought upon them even to madness,” she said, “so that they took -and broke it with their mattocks. And, lo! the nameless thing was -found in its scattered parts a virtue, even like the poisons which, -taken in little, heal. Smell to it when the world is dark, and your -brain shall flash into light, like an inn to the tired traveller. -Smell to it when your feet go sick and heavy, and you shall feel them -like the birds’ whose bones are full of wind. But tell not of the gift -or giver, lest I die!” -</p> - -<p> -Involuntarily, as she spoke, I had raised the stone to my nostrils. A -faint scent as of menthene intoxicated my brain. The downs and the sky -swam before me in one luminous mist. Lightness and delight took all my -soul and body with rapture.... -</p> - -<p> -A shout brought me to myself. I was sitting on the grass, with the -duck-stone still tight in my clutch. The gipsy was gone, how long I -could not tell, and up the road was coming a second cortège, more -brilliant than the former. A dozen young fellows, all volunteer -runners and dressed in white, preceded a coach in which sat a -rich-apparelled lady, very bold and handsome, and escorted by a -splendid cavalcade of gentlemen. It was the Duchess of Cumberland, who -followed her husband to the seaside, as I was to learn by and by; for -while I was collecting my drowsy young wits to look, a wonderful thing -happened. A horseman drew up with a cry, dismounted, seized and bore -me to his saddle, and rode away with me after the carriage. It was my -father, flushed and jovial, the pink and Corinthian of his company, as -he always was. -</p> - -<p> -He showed no curiosity over the encounter, nor scruple in taking me -with him. He was in wild spirits, laughing and teasing, and sometimes -he reeled in his saddle in a way to endanger my balance. But the rush -of air restored me to myself, and I had the wit, for all my -excitement, to slip my charm, which I still held, into a pocket. -</p> - -<p> -So we raced for the town, and presently drew up at the Castle Tavern, -where His Royal Highness and his wife, the late Mrs. Horton, were -quartering themselves. -</p> - -<p> -The time which followed is confused in my remembrance. I was put in -charge of a chambermaid, given a dish of tea and cake, and presently -fell fast asleep, to awake smiling and rosy to the summons of my -pleasant Clarinda. A lackey in a magnificent scarlet livery awaited me -at the door, received me into his arms, and carried me downstairs to a -long room blazing with waxlights, where, at a white table spilt all -over with a profusion of fruit and crystal, sat a gorgeous company of -gentlemen and ladies. Such silks and laces, such feathers and -diamonds, I had never in my young day encountered. It was like the -most beautiful fair I had ever seen, and the red faces of the company -were the coloured bladders bobbing in the stalls. Still, I had not -lost my self-possession, when my father reeled round in his chair, and -catching me away from the servant, set me on my feet on the table -itself. -</p> - -<p> -I was a little confused by the tumult which greeted my exaltation. -</p> - -<p> -“Diane,” whispered my father in my ear, “go and tell the duke in a -pretty speech that I send my love to him.” -</p> - -<p> -I flicked up my skirts, and went off immediately among the fruit and -decanters. My progress was a triumph. The women clapped in artificial -enthusiasm, and the men stopped me to kiss my little shoes. And -presently down that long lane I saw the duke’s smiling face awaiting -me. It was not a temperate face, it is true; its thirty-four years -were traced upon it in very crooked hieroglyphics. But then—<i>c’est la -dernière touche qu’informe</i>—the royal star of the garter glittering -on the apricot coat beneath made everything handsome. By his side sat -the lady his duchess, <i>née</i> Luttrell, as brand-new as I to her -exaltation. But it was the difference between Hebe and Thais. For all -my innocence I felt that, and did not fear her rivalry. I dropped a -little curtsey amongst the grapes and melons. -</p> - -<p> -“Monsieur,” I said, “my papa wishes to make you a pretty gift, and -sends you his love.” -</p> - -<p> -He applauded, laughing, as did all the table, and lifted me down to -his lap. -</p> - -<p> -“What price for the love?” he cried. “See, I return him a dozen -kisses.” -</p> - -<p> -He kept me, however, plying me with bonbons, while madam tittered and -fanned herself vexedly. -</p> - -<p> -“You will make the little ape sick, Enrico,” she said. “Put her down; -for shame!” -</p> - -<p> -“I know where to stop,” I retorted; and “By God, you do!” said the -duke, with a great laugh, and held me tight. -</p> - -<p> -I had a thimbleful of liqueur from his hand by and by, which made me -think of the duck-stone. I was the little queen of the evening, and a -delight to my father and all. -</p> - -<p> -“Faith!” said a merry Irish <i>rapparee</i>, a bit of a courtier captain, -“man has been vainly trying to fit woman into the moral scheme ever -since she made herself out of his ninth rib, and the fashions out of a -fig-leaf; and here, in the eighteenth century Anno Domini, is the -result.” -</p> - -<p> -I was carried on to the Steine presently by my father, my little brain -whirling. The whole of the Castle Tavern, and every house and shop -adjacent, were illuminated; and the lights and crowds of people quite -intoxicated me. There were sports enacting on all sides, and I -screamed with laughter to see a jingling match, played for a laced -coat and hat, in which the jingler, hung with bells, dodged and eluded -and dropped between the legs of the blindfolded who sought to capture -him. Then there was a foot-race, run by young women for a Holland -smock; and I jeered at their self-conscious antics with all my little -might, as they went giggling into place, coy and hobbledehoy, and -pushed and quarrelled secretly, and stopped the starter to do up their -greasy tresses, and then, all but the winner, snivelled over the -result, pronouncing it unfair. -</p> - -<p> -Presently I was taken to see an ox roasted whole; and it was here, -while we were looking on at the lurid tumult, occurred a rencontre -which was to alter the whole current of my life. A fat, drunken sweep -in his war-paint jostled my father, who, himself in the fury of wine, -turned and felled the beast to the ground. We were isolated from our -friends at the moment, and a ring was immediately formed, and the -sweep called upon to stand up and pay his interest like a man. He -rose, nothing loth, it seemed, and faced my father, who was forced to -engage. -</p> - -<p> -“My little ’orse and cart to a red-un that I whop ye!” cried the -sweep. -</p> - -<p> -“Done!” answered my father, and they fell to. -</p> - -<p> -I was sure of the result, and stood by quite self-possessed and eager -while they fought. A round or two settled it, and there sat the sweep, -unable to rise again, with a white tooth dropped on his coat-front. -</p> - -<p> -When my father came away, I clung to him and kissed him in ecstasy. He -was quite cool, and only a little breathed; and when, for the honour -of sport, he had settled for the sweep’s trap to be driven round to -his door in the morning, intending to put it up to auction, he -shouldered me laughing, and carried me away amidst cheers. -</p> - -<p> -It was near midnight by then, and, happening upon a royal servant, he -gave me into the man’s charge, and, in spite of my remonstrances, bade -him convey me home. I sulked all the way, and was in no mood, after my -excitement, to sympathise with my mother’s agitated reception of her -truant. She had been near distracted all these hours, thinking me -drowned or kidnapped, and could not control a gust of temper upon -hearing how I had been employed. -</p> - -<p> -“O, my <i>maman</i>,” I said saucily, “you must understand I have never -been in a convent, and so know how to take care of myself.” -</p> - -<p> -It was wicked; but it was my governess speaking, not I. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch02"> -II.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I AM ABDUCTED</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">My</span> mamma questioned me again in the morning about my adventures. She -was very hollow-eyed and nervous, which offended me; for for her to -appear ill in body or ill at ease in mind seemed to make my own young -sanity something that it was wrong or selfish in me to enjoy. I was -inconsiderate, no doubt; yet tell me, my Alcide, is it, on the other -hand, considerate of dyspepsia to be always wet-blanketing health and -contentment? Is not the human the only animal permitted of right to -inflict his sickness on his fellows, while in every other community -the invalid is “out of the law” of nature? It is thus, undoubtedly, -that deterioration is provided against. To be attracted to the sweet -and wholesome, and repelled by distemper, is <i>that</i> selfishness? If it -is not, then am I content to be misunderstood by all others, so long -as Heaven will recognise the real love of humankind which inspires my -wish to secure its untainted image in myself. There must be a divine -virtue in health, seeing how disease is the heir of sin. Is not to -sympathise, then, with depression, to condone evil? -</p> - -<p> -I leave the answer to profounder moralists than I, content, in -default, to admit that the misery which now befell me was the direct -consequence of my wickedness. -</p> - -<p> -“Papa,” said I, tossing my head, “gave me to the beautiful duke, and -he took me in pledge of the love papa bears him. Will he come and -fetch me, do you think, mamma? I shall be glad to belong to one who -does not have headaches whenever the sun shines.” -</p> - -<p> -She went quite white, and broke into a torrent of French invective. -</p> - -<p> -“I do not understand these hard words,” I said. “Is it so they pray in -les Madelonnettes?” -</p> - -<p> -My sauciness took her completely aback. She stared at me for some -moments in silence, and then cried out suddenly, “God forgive you, -Diane, and the vile creature who has instructed you to this, and your -father, who I am going at once to ask that she may be removed!” -</p> - -<p> -And she went out, unconsciously consigning me to my fate; and I never -saw her again, may Heaven pardon her! -</p> - -<p> -I was a little frightened, though still defiant; and I loitered about -the house, singing in my small voice, which, though never an “organ,” -has always been attractive, so people say. -</p> - -<p> -Presently I remembered my duck-stone, and thought I would seek a case -for it. I was alone in the house, for our one maid was gone marketing, -and the governess not yet arrived. I went upstairs, and rummaged in my -mother’s bureaux, and by and by found a tiny silver vinaigrette into -which the stone fitted beautifully. Then I went and sat in our little -front garden which overlooked the road running to the downs, and there -rocked and mused amongst the flowers in a recovered temper. I hoped my -father would fetch me again; I expected he would; and so, smiling and -dreaming, put up the vinaigrette half-consciously, and sniffed at it. -In a moment all sense of my surroundings went from me, and sky and -flowers and the grey downs were blended in a rapture of unreality. -</p> - -<p> -I came to myself amidst an impression of jolting. I thought it was -night, and that I was suffocating in my bedclothes. I threw something -from my face, saw daylight, and cried out incoherently. -</p> - -<p> -Immediately the jerky motion ceased, and a horrible mask looked over -and down at me. It was fat and sooty, with a handkerchief, startlingly -white by contrast, going obliquely across its forehead. -</p> - -<p> -“Stow that, my pigeon!” it said hoarsely and shortly. But at the first -sound of its voice, black inspiration had come upon me in a flood. It -was the sweep of my last night’s adventure, and he was bearing me away -captive in the very little cart he had lost to my father. Whether he -had driven that up, sportingly, to time, or was merely escaping in it, -I never learned. Anyhow, temptation had come to him recognising me -lying there, senseless and unprotected, in the garden, and moved, -perhaps, by some sentiment between cupidity and revenge, he had seized -the opportunity to kidnap me. -</p> - -<p> -He swung his fat legs over the sitting board, and lifted me up from -the midst of the empty bags where he had concealed me. We were in the -thick of a little wood, and the pony was quietly cropping at the -trackside grass. The sense of loss and isolation, the filth of my -condition, the terror of this startled awakening from happy dreams, -wrought a desperation in me that was near madness. I screamed and -reviled and fought. The man opposed to my struggles just his two -hands; but their large persuasive strength, unctuous as they were with -soot, was more deadly than any violence. Alas! how the star that lit -last night’s heaven may be found fallen in the mud to-day, my Alcide! -</p> - -<p> -When I was quiet, he put me up between his knees, and smacked my face -twice, deliberately, on either side—not hard, but in a lustful, -proprietary way. -</p> - -<p> -“Blow for blow,” says he, and lifted the bandage a little from his -eye. It was horribly swollen and discoloured. -</p> - -<p> -“Knew how to handle his morleys,” he said. “D’ee see’t? Now it be my -turn.” -</p> - -<p> -“What are you going to do with me?” I sobbed. -</p> - -<p> -“Make ’ee my climbing boy,” he answered promptly, and with a hideous -grin. “You’re my luck. D’ee see? Say you’re a gurl, and I’ll”— He -hissed in his breath, and looked at me like a beast of prey. -</p> - -<p> -“There,” he ended; “get under, and so much’s sniff at your peril!” -</p> - -<p> -Some distant sound, perhaps, startled him. He stuffed me into my -former position, and, covering me again with the bags, turned and -clicked up his pony. I lay in a half faint, scarce daring to breathe, -so utterly had this monster succeeded in subduing me. I cried, -incessantly but quietly, hearing hour by hour the wheels grind under -my ear, till the sound and physical exhaustion induced in me a sort of -delirium. All this time, the hope of pursuit and rescue never occurred -to me, I believe. Did they occur to Proserpine having once felt the -inhumanity of her sooty abductor? -</p> - -<p> -But now all of a sudden the anguish grew unendurable. I must move or -die. And at the moment I became conscious of the vinaigrette still -clutched convulsively in my little fist. -</p> - -<p> -Sure never death offered a sweeter release. Very softly I raised it, -and found oblivion. I might have sought to use it on my enemy, and -escape; but, alas! the unsophisticated mind of the child could compass -no such artifice. -</p> - -<p> -We went on all day, as I realised during the intervals of my waking, -by the unfrequented roads, jolting, loitering, sometimes in lonely -places halting to rest the pony. The moral force my master (as I must -now call him) put upon himself to avoid the wayside taverns, is the -most convincing proof of his tenacity. -</p> - -<p> -At last, a thicker darkness descended upon me, lying there in hopeless -apathy, and night and sleep stretched their shroud over my miseries. -</p> - -<p> -I awoke to rough movement and the sound of voices. My master was -carrying me into a little ill-lighted cottage, which stood solitary -upon the edge of a common. Sharp and brilliant, at no great distance, -in a soughing night, sparkled the first lamps of a town. -</p> - -<p> -I was borne into a tiny room, where something, covered with a cloth, -lay stretched upon a rickety table. My master put me to the ground, -and stood back to regard me. Another man, an expressionless sweep like -himself, but gaunt and bent-shouldered, joined silent issue in this -scrutiny. -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” said the latter at length, “they’ll fit right enow; but damn -the exchange!” -</p> - -<p> -He stopped to cough rendingly; then went on— -</p> - -<p> -“If you mean a deal, I’m game for half a bull, and there’s my word on -it. But burn them duds, Johnny! I won’t take the risk on ’em.” -</p> - -<p> -My master considered. -</p> - -<p> -“Mayhap you’re right,” said he. “Call it done.” -</p> - -<p> -The words were hardly out of his mouth before the other had jerked the -cloth from the table. And there underneath lay the dead stiff body of -a little sooty boy. His hands were griped at his chest, as if in agony -of its œdematous swelling, and his bared eyeballs and teeth were as -white as porcelain. -</p> - -<p> -I could not cry out, or do anything but stare in horror, while the -gaunt man, with some show of persuasion, began to strip the little -body of its coat and vest and trousers—all its poor harness. Then, in -a sickness beyond words, I comprehended. I was to be made exchange, -for these foul vestments, my own pretty silken toilet. -</p> - -<p> -“Come along, Georgy,” wheedled his late master. “You wouldn’t be so -unhandsome as to deny a lady, and she doing you honour to accept of -them.” -</p> - -<p> -He rolled the body gently from side to side, so coaxingly forceful and -intent, that someone, bursting in upon him at the moment, took him -completely by surprise. -</p> - -<p> -It was a wretchedly clad woman, with resinous blots of eyes in a -hungry face, and a little black moustache over a toothless -mouth—strange contrast!—that was never more still than a crab’s. -</p> - -<p> -“So he’s dead, you dog!” she cried, seeming to feed on the words; “and -you druv him to his death; and may God wither you!” -</p> - -<p> -The bent man jumped, like a vulture, from the body, and hopped and -dodged, keeping it between him and the woman. -</p> - -<p> -“You took the odds!” he cried, coughing, and kneading his cracking -knuckles together, “you took the odds, and you mustn’t cry out like a -woman if they gone agen ye. I did no more’n my duty, as the Lord hears -me!” -</p> - -<p> -“Both on us,” said the woman. “Well, speak out!” -</p> - -<p> -“He stuck,” said the sweep. “He stuck beyond reason. It were a good -ten-inch square, for all it were a draw-in bend. I were forced to -smoke him; but his lungs were that crowded, there was no loosening the -pore critter till they bust and let him down. He were a good boy, and -worth a deal to me.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s true,” put in my master. “A man, though he <i>be</i> a flue-faker, -don’t cut off his nose to spite his face, missus.” -</p> - -<p> -She made no answer, staring fixedly at the corpse. -</p> - -<p> -“He were my seventh,” she said. “He made no cry when you come and took -him away from me—a yellow-haired devil. Did he cry for his mammy, -chokin’ up in the dark there?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” said the man—“an unnat’ral son!” -</p> - -<p> -She threw up her hands with a frightful gesture. -</p> - -<p> -“I could have borne it if he had—I could have borne it, and cut my -throat. What were you doing with him?” -</p> - -<p> -The sweep hesitated; but my master took the word from him. -</p> - -<p> -“It’s a question of his slops, missus.” (He jerked a thumb over his -shoulder at me, where I stood in the background paralysed with -terror.) “Half a bull or nothing, and you and him to share.” -</p> - -<p> -The woman put her arms akimbo. -</p> - -<p> -“Ho, indeed!” she said. “And where does <i>he</i> come in?” -</p> - -<p> -“It’s my own smalls,” swore the man, excited and truculent at once. “I -won’t bate an inch of ’em, if I’m to die for it.” -</p> - -<p> -They were facing each other across the body like tom cats, when my -master pulled his friend aside, and whispered in his ear. -</p> - -<p> -“Amongst ladies and gentlemen,” said he, and waited, smiling and oily, -while the other fetched a black bottle from a cupboard. The woman -visibly relaxed at the sight of this. Its owner uncorked it, and -putting it to his mouth, gurgled, and smacked his black lips. -</p> - -<p> -“The deal passes!” cried my master; and he snatched the bottle, and -handed it to the woman with an ingratiatory smile. -</p> - -<p> -It was the psychologic moment, which loosened and harmonised their -tongues. They waxed confiding and genial. Presently the woman, -commissioned politely to effect my transformation, swaggered across to -me with devil-daring eyes, and began roughly to pull off my clothes. -</p> - -<p> -“Damn you!” she said, with such a heat and violence of hate that my -very sobs were withered in my throat. “Come up, you young limb! What -the deuce! We’ll cry quits for my Georgy when the black smoke finishes -your ladyship.” -</p> - -<p> -She never had had a doubt of the meaning of my presence in that vile -den, but my beauty and refinement and helplessness were only so many -goads to her implacability. Her fingers were like rakes in my tender -flesh. She would have torn me with her teeth, I believe, if any had -been left to her. And I could only shrink and shiver under her hands, -terrified if they wrung so much as a gasp from me. -</p> - -<p> -When I was stripped, she seized a blunt dinner knife, and sawed off -all my golden hair close to my head, a horrible experience. The tears -gushed silent down my cheeks. They might have moved the heart of a -wolf. -</p> - -<p> -“There!” she said, when finished; “chuck us the duds!” and as she -received them, scrubbed my face with the filthy tatters before she -vested me in them. -</p> - -<p> -I had hoped, perhaps, until thus hopelessly transformed; and then, at -once, I hoped no more. <i>Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’ entrate</i>—I -was behind the bars; I wore the devil’s livery. O, my Alcide! Pity -this poor little Proserpine so ravished from her Plains of Enna. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch03"> -III.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I ESCAPE</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Hast</span> thou the nerve to follow me, my friend? My martyrdom was -severe, but, after all, brief. Comfort thyself with the thought of the -brilliant moth which is to emerge from this sad chrysalis. -</p> - -<p> -My master was an itinerant sweep. He jogged from town to village and -from village to town in his little cart, an untaxed Bohemian, and -carried me always with him. I had wild weepings at first, and frantic -schemes of escape, and fits of sullen rebellion; but they were all -persuaded out of me presently by his thick black hand. Then, as the -past grew obscured behind me in ever-densifying clouds of soot, I came -by degrees provisionally reconciled to my destiny, and even—canst -thou believe it?—to some enjoyment of its compensations. -</p> - -<p> -These were its changefulness, its irresponsibility, its little -adventures, that always had our bodily solace for their end. We -pilfered orchards, snatched an occasional fat duckling from a pond, -smoked hives at night and carried away the dripping comb to eat under -warm ricks in the moonlight. And I had little to complain of -ill-treatment, except when engaged professionally. My master’s ample -receptivities laughed and grew fat on self-indulgence. Liquor made -him, to my good fortune, beatifically helpless; rich meats, paternally -benevolent, and even poetical. It was only in business that he -chastised, with a large and incorruptible immorality. -</p> - -<p> -I learned the jargon more readily than I did the practice of my -abominable trade. My first ascent of a chimney was a hideous -experience—an ascent into hell, reversing all geographical orthodoxy. -But my particular devil was a Moloch, who would either be served by -exaltation or vindicate his majesty in smoke and fire. He was -diplomatic to put me through my first paces, so to speak, in a -dismantled vicarage that was in preparation for a new tenant. He -simply thrust an iron scraper into my hand, and, with the briefest -directions, drove me up. I was refractory, of course; and at that, -without wordy persuasion, he lit a brand of tow and applied it to my -bare ankles. The pain made me scream and writhe, as he had -philosophically counted upon its doing. Involuntarily I found myself -ascending the flue, as an awn of barley travels up inside one’s -sleeve. The very ease of it made me rebel, and I stopped. Immediately -the brand below, flaring at the end of a stick, was lifted to spur me. -Frenzied and sobbing, I felt its hot rowel, and struggled on. The -soot, with which the chimney was choked, began to fall upon me, half -stifling, and filling my pockets. Then self-preservation, the great -mother, recalled to me my directions. I looked up, and saw a far eye -of light denoting freedom, and I began desperately to scrape clear my -passage towards it, letting always the black raff descend between my -knees before I rose to take its place. The eye enlarged, and with it -grew the dawn of a strange new enthusiasm. I rose to it, like a fish -to the angle, as my master had calculated I should. These fiends bait -their hooks with heaven. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly, the last feet were conquered, and I emerged, and saw below -me a beautiful village prospect of trees and homesteads. -</p> - -<p> -Did I then sit there and weep? On the contrary, I was radiant. Account -for it, thou <i>fripon</i>, as thou wilt. Thou knowest, Better the devil to -applaud us than none at all. I swear to thee that, for the moment, I -coveted nothing but my master’s admiring praise. Breathless as I was, -I bent and uttered down the chimney the shrill cry “All up!” as he had -bidden me. A little strained laugh came back, and, with an oath of -distant approval, a command to descend. But at that, oddly enough, the -horror came. I could not stomach the evil pit, with its reeling return -into a night from which I had mounted to heaven. My knees trembled -beneath me. I sat crying and shivering, while my master stormed thin -gusty blasphemy up the flue. At length I remembered my duck-stone. It -was in my trousers pocket, safe in its silver case, which, having -dropped in the cart, I had found again to my delight lying -undiscovered amongst the soot bags. I took it out, let myself down -gingerly to the arm-pits, clutched it tightly in my hand, and sniffed, -but not vigorously. I awoke to find myself sitting on the hearth, and -smiling foolishly into the frightened face of my master. He recovered -himself at the moment I did, and was the implacable martinet again and -at once. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, you cust little back-slummer!” he said, “to let loose and think -to take a chalk of me like that! I’ll larn your nerves!” -</p> - -<p> -And he pulled me to my feet, with his hand raised, but thought better -of it, and gave me another chance. Chimney after chimney I must mount, -till, fagged and heart-broken, I stood rebellious against his -extremest persuasion, and he was obliged, with at least a few healing -words of commendation, to postpone the finish of his job. -</p> - -<p> -So began this terror of my new life, and so fortunately ended within a -period that was not stretched beyond my endurance. -</p> - -<p> -In this phase of it, after the first, there were no compensations, but -only degrees of misery. If my master had ever thought to make capital -out of my restoration, he soon abandoned the idea as impracticable, -and devoted all his persuasion to turning me, after the inhuman -methods of his class, to his best profit. Once I stuck tight in one of -those clogged “draw-in bends” which had been fatal to my predecessor. -I could move no way, and in my struggles, a little crossed stay of -iron, fixed in the chimney, so pressed upon my breast as almost to -stop my heart. I was in a dreadful condition of terror and suffering, -and in the midst he lit some damp straw on the hearth to smoke me -down. The fumes took away my senses, and so, perhaps flattening the -resistance of my lungs, released me. But I was in a sort of conscious -delirium for days afterwards. Sometimes, where he had got the worst of -a housewife’s bargaining, he would shout to me, working two-thirds up, -“Pike the lew, boy!” which, in sweep’s jargon, meant, Leave the job -unfinished, to spite the old slut! And then I would descend at once. -Sometimes, where a cluster of flues ran into one shaft, I would come -down into the wrong room, causing consternation amongst its inmates. -But, through all, the idea of escape was very early a dead passion in -me, so utterly in soot and sexlessness was I lost to any sense of -self-identity. -</p> - -<p> -So, always homeless, always enslaved, always wandering, I was one day, -some nine months after my abduction, come with my master into the -neighbourhood of Streatham, which is a little rural suburb of London, -reclaimed, with other contiguous hamlets, from the thick woods and -gipsy-haunted commons of that part of the country. For some days past -we had moved, unhurriedly as was our wont, through an atmosphere -charged with a curious nervous excitement. Housewives, avoiding -contact with us, as with possibly compromising emissaries of ill-omen, -had vanished into their cottages as we came near; tavern cronies, -grouped at tap-doors, were to be seen looking citywards, until dark, -tramping up the long white roads, drove them within with unreasonable -frights of shapeless things approaching. Then, sure enough, the night -horizon grew patched with flaring cressets, and we learned that London -was in the hands of a No-Popery mob. -</p> - -<p> -Its area of destruction spreading like an unchecked ink-blot, and we -moving to meet it, brought us presently involved in the fringe of the -disorder. Protestant Dulwich had sent its contingent to help petition -Parliament against the legalising of the poor harried Catholics, and -had got its warrant, as it chose to consider, for an anti-Romish -crusade. And for that, whether right or wrong, I, at least, owe it -gratitude. -</p> - -<p> -We were rolling one afternoon along a certain Knight’s Hill or road -which skirted a stretch of common, when we came upon a great inn, -called The Horns, where was a considerable concourse of people -assembled, all in blue cockades, and buzzing like a hive about to -swarm. The word most in the mouths of this draff was Pope, which at -first we took to mean the Vicar of Rome, but soon understood for the -name of a young Jesuit who was lately come as chaplain to a Catholic -family of the neighbourhood. Now, such insolent defiance of the penal -laws was not to be tolerated, and so the loyal Protestant burghers of -Dulwich were going, with no disrespect to the family, to cast down its -graven images, and hang up its chaplain for a scarecrow to all -propagandists who should venture out of the Holy See into our tight -little island. And here they were gathered to organise themselves, the -process taking good account of malt liquors; and hence, when they -moved off, we, to cut the story short, accompanied them walking, -foreseeing some prospect of “swag” in the crusade. -</p> - -<p> -Going in a pretty compact body, with a great deal of howling and -hymning, such as that with which all conscripts, either of the cross -or guillotine, are accustomed to stimulate one another’s courage and -vanity, we crossed a Croksted Lane, and again a sweep of wild heath, -that spread towards the dense forests called Northwood, which fill all -that shallow valley from Sydenham Wells on the north to Penge Common -on the south. And presently coming to the trees, and entering a wide, -elegant clearing amidst them, where the woods were banked behind, and -the ground dropped towards us in terraces, on the highest we saw the -house standing, a great sunny block of brick and stone, but shuttered -now, and apparently lifeless. -</p> - -<p> -The mob at first knocked on the door with a diffidence inspired of its -varnished and portly exclusiveness; but, provoking no response, -presently grew bolder and more clamorous. Still, I believe, its -fervour would ultimately have wasted itself on this inflexible -barrier, had not my master, with some disgusted expressions of -contempt, come to the front and taunted it on to a violence the more -vicious because it was shamefaced. Under his stimulus, then, the -panels were beginning to crack, when in a moment the bolts flew, and -there stood in the opening a little sinister fellow in grey, who asked -us, curt and ironic, our business. -</p> - -<p> -All but my master fell back before him, though there were some broken -cries touching the Scarlet Woman, which the sweep took up. -</p> - -<p> -The little man wrinkled his little acrid nose. He was nobody, it -turned out, but the Scotch steward, holding staunch to his post; but -he was cut and coloured like steel. -</p> - -<p> -“D’ye ask here for your doxy?” he said. “Go back, man, and look where -you left her in the tavern.” -</p> - -<p> -The sweep, only half understanding, spat out a mouthful of oaths. -</p> - -<p> -“We want that there Pope!” he roared. “Bring us to the black devil, -you.” -</p> - -<p> -“After you, sir,” answered the other politely. -</p> - -<p> -My master, looking horribly ugly, repeated his demand. -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” said the steward, “this is fair humours, Newcastle asking for -coals!” -</p> - -<p> -The words were hardly out of him, when my master smote him down, and -pushed into the house. He gave a little quiver, like unstrung wire, -and lay senseless, the red running from his nostrils. -</p> - -<p> -<i>Mon chéri</i>, hast thou ever seen a pack of mongrels snarl aloof, -fearful and agitated, about a dog-fight, and in a moment break in with -coward teeth upon the conquered? So over the body of the steward -trampled this rabble, blooded now at another’s expense, and reckless -in its consciousness of self-irresponsibility. They had found a -champion to take the onus of this, and all worse that might happen, -off their shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -But they were destined to discover no further chestnuts for their -catspaw. The Jesuit had fled, it appeared, with the rest of the -family; and so they must content themselves with wrecking the private -chapel, where the household was wont to practise its treasonable -rites. -</p> - -<p> -Now, my master, who was eager after spoil, sweating and toiling in the -thick of the press, left me unguardedly to my own devices; and -suddenly I found myself quite alone in a closet hung with vestments, -where there was a fireplace with an open bricked hearth, having no -signs of usage, which immediately, from habit, caught my attention. -And straight, at last, God, pitiful to His poor little derelict, -touched the cross on my breast, and quickened inspiration in that -where I had supposed all was dead. I slid into the chimney, and went -up, up, like an eel in a well rising for air. The sounds of -destruction grew attenuated beneath me; I smelt life and freedom, and -swarmed faster in my agony to attain them. The chimney, clean as at -its building, let down no token of my passage by it, and in a few -moments I emerged from the summit, and, tumbling into the cleft of a -long double roof—found myself face to face with a man who was there -before me. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch04"> -IV.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I FALL INTO THE HANDS OF A COLLECTOR</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">At</span> least I call him a man; but O, my Alcide, he was a marionnette! -His joints creaked. All the bran in his body seemed to have been -shaken down into his calves. His hat supported itself on his ears and -the top of his coat collar. His sleeves were sacks. His nose was -nothing but a wen, and being no better adapted to the burden of some -enormous spectacles he wore, had led his fingers to an incessant trick -of adjusting those in their place. He carried under his arm an immense -folio, with which, as I appeared, he aimed an agitated blow at me, -only to miss and fall forward on his face on the roof. -</p> - -<p> -I instantly dodged past him, and stood panting while he collected -himself. His glasses, without which he was helpless, had flown off, -and I saw his eyes, which before had seemed to fill the whole field of -the great lenses, mere swollen slits, like a pig’s. He groped about in -the utmost consternation as he knelt, pawing the tiles for his lost -property. -</p> - -<p> -“Who are you? Wait! I’ll be with you,” he ejaculated excitedly, as his -bony hands swept the roof. -</p> - -<p> -I backed out of their reach without replying. -</p> - -<p> -At last he found what he sought, and fitting the rims to his nose, -rose to his feet and stared at me. -</p> - -<p> -“Hey, what!” he said—“a sweep! Well!”—and blew out a rumbling grunt, -which he checked suddenly, as if he had turned a cock on it. -</p> - -<p> -A moment after, he put his hand into his pocket, and fetching out a -dirty fragment of biscuit, held it to me persuasively, as one might -lure a colt. Seeing, however, that I still held away from him, he -threw the biscuit down in a pet, and stood to canvass me in a baleful -manner. -</p> - -<p> -“What do you want?” he snapped out suddenly. “How did you find your -way here?” -</p> - -<p> -Still with my eyes on him, I answered, in a husky whisper— -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t you know? Up the closet chimney.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ay,” he said, dropping his own voice in tacit response to the warning -in mine, “but not to sweep it?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” I said; “to escape by it.” -</p> - -<p> -His hand went up to his glasses. He glared at me through their -restored focus. -</p> - -<p> -Watchful of him, lest, before I could explain, he should silence me -provisionally with some stunning blow, I ventured to approach him a -little nearer. -</p> - -<p> -“There’s killing,” I whispered, “going on down there—a poor old man -in a grey coat.” -</p> - -<p> -He started violently, and pulling his jaw down, uttered a sort of -mechanical crow, and let it go again. -</p> - -<p> -“Grey!” he muttered. “It’s the steward, then. He didn’t give <i>me</i> -away, did he?” -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head dumbly. He was readjusting his glasses to meet the -answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Ay,” he gulped, swallowing with relief, “poor Mackenzie! And to think -that for all his loyalty he must burn!” -</p> - -<p> -I whispered, “Why must he?” -</p> - -<p> -“Because,” he said, “he wasn’t of the faith.” -</p> - -<p> -This uncouth creature was getting horrible to me. I suppose he read my -repulsion in my face, for his own suddenly grew agitated and menacing. -</p> - -<p> -“Are you thinking of betraying me?” he said. -</p> - -<p> -I retreated before him, working my foolish young arms. -</p> - -<p> -“Keep away!” I cried; “I don’t even know who you are.” -</p> - -<p> -“O!” he said, and stopped, and was at his spectacles again. Then -suddenly he held up his hand. -</p> - -<p> -“Hark!” he said. -</p> - -<p> -I listened. Far and faint below, through the hubbub of destruction -came wafted at intervals the name of the chaplain—Pope—the cynosure -of all this iconoclastic zeal. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, it’s you they want,” I said. -</p> - -<p> -“And you,” he retorted fiercely, “are pointing the way, you little”— -</p> - -<p> -“It’s a lie!” I cried vehemently. “I came up here to escape from them, -like you.” -</p> - -<p> -He looked at me doubtfully. -</p> - -<p> -“You said you didn’t know who I was.” -</p> - -<p> -“No more I did,” I protested, “till you told me.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>I</i> told you!” he cried. “Humph!” And he glared at me sourly. “Sit -down, then,” he said, “and hold your tongue till I speak to you -again.” -</p> - -<p> -It was the wise policy, certainly. He squatted himself between me and -the chimney, and we dwelt in silence, while the mob wreaked its blind -vengeance below. I was in a dreadful fright all the time. Every moment -I expected to hear my master’s voice boom up the flue by way of which -I had climbed; and, desperate as I was, I devised the naughty -expedient to curry favour, if necessary, by claiming the credit of -having run this fugitive to bay. It was a base thought, perhaps, -though natural under the stress of the occasion. Chiefly, however, I -regret it because it was uncalled for, and it is aggravating to burden -one’s conscience with unprofitable frailties. The monster I had run -from was never, in point of fact, to cross my path again. Probably, -thinking I had fled from the house, he went hunting counter, and so -put ever a wider interval between us. -</p> - -<p> -It was not, after all, so very long before the racket of despoliation -down below died away, and we heard the mob clatter from the house, and -go streaming and singing across the common in its retreat. I believe -that, either realising how in my master it had evoked a demon to its -own legal discomfiture, or perhaps frightened by the bugbear of some -reported troop of militia assembling in the neighbourhood, it was -suddenly decided to temper Protestantism with prudence, and so -dissipating itself with great speed and piety, left the building to a -solitude more dense by contrast than before. -</p> - -<p> -It was not, however, until every whisper and echo had long ceased that -I durst let myself be persuaded of the reality of my reprieve; and -when at last I did, the joy that grew minutely in my heart came near -to upsetting my reason. -</p> - -<p> -My excitement hungered for something on which to flesh itself. I rose -and went up and down, quickly and softly, in the space left me, -seeking the means to some larger action. Then I saw the great folio -lying discarded on the roof where the chaplain had dropped it, and all -of a sudden felt itching to know what it could contain to tempt this -man to burden himself with its care in so anxious a situation. -</p> - -<p> -He sat with his face in his hands—or cuffs, rather. He appeared to be -in a sort of uncouth trance. I stole very noiseless by him, and, -unobserved as I supposed, had actually lifted the book, when he -started awake in a moment. -</p> - -<p> -“Hey!” he cried. “That’s mine!” -</p> - -<p> -“I was going to bring it to you,” I said. -</p> - -<p> -He scuttled towards me on his hands and toes, and snatching the book -from me, squatted down, hugging it, and glaring at me in a sort of -dumb malevolence. -</p> - -<p> -I had no retort for such rudeness. I stood crimsoning under my black a -moment, then, in default of a better answer, began to cry. -</p> - -<p> -He was not the least moved, the ill-conditioned boor, but he was -disturbed by the noise. -</p> - -<p> -“Ur-rh!” he bullied. “That’ll do. Do you hear?” -</p> - -<p> -Indignation gave me decision. I turned my back on him. -</p> - -<p> -“Where are you going?” he cried. -</p> - -<p> -I stalked on without a word. -</p> - -<p> -“No, you don’t!” he said, scrambling up; and he followed and caught -hold of my jacket. -</p> - -<p> -“Let me go!” I cried, struggling. “My master will be looking for me.” -</p> - -<p> -“O!” he said, quite suddenly agitated. “Come here and I’ll show you a -picture.” -</p> - -<p> -I let myself be drawn reluctant. -</p> - -<p> -“Is it of the Scarlet Woman?” I said. -</p> - -<p> -He started, and roared, “The Scarlet—!” then, conscious of his -mistake, dropped his voice to a panic whisper. -</p> - -<p> -“There’s no such moth,” said he. “If you mean <i>heraclia dominula</i>, the -scarlet tiger, come and I’ll show you one.” -</p> - -<p> -He persuaded me to sit by him on the roof slope, and gingerly opened -the book away from me. -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t touch,” he said. “It’s called <i>Fasti Sanctorum Naturæ -Cultoribus Proprii</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is that Latin?” I asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” he growled; but he looked at me rather curiously. “It means The -Naturalist’s Calendar of the Saints. How did you know?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, I know,” I said. -</p> - -<p> -He turned some leaves, while scanning me covertly and sourly; and I -exclaimed becomingly over their contents. On each was a picture of a -saint, hastily illuminated, and of many insects most beautifully -coloured after nature. The saints, it is true, were pigmies, and the -moths life size; but it was through the former that this uncivilised -Churchman justified himself in a secular hobby. He was, as I came to -learn presently, a crazy collector of the small game of fields and -hedges, and had only drifted into the Church after a particularly fine -specimen of the Painted Lady, or some such immoral creature. -</p> - -<p> -I tried to appreciate in order to conciliate him; but I could see that -my flattery was not expert, or perhaps fulsome enough for his taste. -Presently, on the score that my mere neighbourhood threatened the -lustre of his illuminations, he shut the book, and placed it -discontentedly by his side. -</p> - -<p> -“Did you do it all by yourself?” I asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Ay,” he grunted. -</p> - -<p> -“And why did you bring it up here, when”— -</p> - -<p> -He smacked his great hand on his knee, interrupting me— -</p> - -<p> -“If you haven’t the intelligence to see—sooner part with my blood to -those Vandals! There; let the book alone, and tell me what brought you -here.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve said already—I was escaping from my master.” -</p> - -<p> -“A master sweep?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” he said, “how did you know this was Latin?” -</p> - -<p> -I hung my head. -</p> - -<p> -“Come,” he threatened, “you’d best tell me.” -</p> - -<p> -I was considering what I should do. I reddened excited under my mask, -and rose to my feet again. After all these months of obliteration, a -wonderful thought was beginning to dawn in me—the thought of my sex -as a possible factor in my redemption. For how long, my dear friend, -had I not lost the art to play it for the value of so much as a -sugar-plum? And what was there now to prevent me from reassuming that -charming confidence in men which so disarms them? Alas! it was a vain -recovery here—a waste of art on a material no more responsive to it -than a pulpit hassock. -</p> - -<p> -“How did you know?” he repeated angrily. -</p> - -<p> -“Because,” I whispered, blushing, and lingering over the sensation I -felt I was about to produce—“because—Father—I am a little daughter -of the Church.” -</p> - -<p> -He had been gnawing his knuckles, as he bent his morose brows on me; -and at my words stopped suddenly, his great teeth bared, like a dog -looking up from a bone. -</p> - -<p> -“I am the child of a great gentleman. I was stolen from my parents,” I -said, and clasped my hands to him. “I am not a boy at all, but a -girl.” -</p> - -<p> -He leapt up as if I had struck him. -</p> - -<p> -“How dare you!” he shouted; then, choking, in another hoarse reaction -to panic, “How dare you try to impose upon me!” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m not!” I cried, in a childish fury of chagrin over his -insensibility. “It’s true, every word. My mother was a Sister of les -Madelonnettes, and I was stolen from her, and I want to be sent back.” -</p> - -<p> -I did not in truth, save in so far as that way only lay my chance of -restoration to my darling father. But the point was inessential. -</p> - -<p> -The priest’s eyes, dilated monstrosities, devoured me through their -lenses. -</p> - -<p> -“Les Madelonnettes—the Magdalens!” he muttered, amazed and frowning. -His hand, caressing his chin, grated on the stubble of it. “Come,” he -said brutally, “I’m an old bird to be caught by chaff. Confess to me, -if you’re a Catholic, you wretched little sinner.” -</p> - -<p> -I wanted nothing better. This sacrament of penance must convince and -win him. In a moment my young elastic soul had leapt the dark -interlude which divided me from my past, and my little feet were -tripping once more in fancy down the royal prince’s table. I fell on -my knees. -</p> - -<p> -“Say your Confiteor,” he commanded harshly. -</p> - -<p> -I repeated it without a mistake. -</p> - -<p> -“Humph!” said he. “What are you waiting for?” -</p> - -<p> -I told him my whole story. He listened to it, after the first, -abstractedly, with one eye caressing his abominable book. At the end -he gave me absolution, canvassing me distastefully as he pondered the -penance. Presently he spoke. -</p> - -<p> -“I order you,” he said, “twenty Ave Marias, and to return to your -master.” -</p> - -<p> -I jumped to my feet. -</p> - -<p> -“My master—the sweep!” I cried. -</p> - -<p> -“Certainly,” he replied stubbornly. “You were obviously the foundling -of Providence, which has elected this honest tradesman to be your -foster-father.” -</p> - -<p> -“But, my mother?” I choked. -</p> - -<p> -“It is her judgment,” he said, “to remain and mingle her weeping with -the ashes of this sacrifice, in the hospital of which her crimes have -made her an inmate.” -</p> - -<p> -He had listened with his elbows, as I supposed. I recognised the -hopelessness of my task. -</p> - -<p> -“Very well,” I said. “I daresay he has finished with the steward by -now. I will go and tell him what you say”—and I made for the chimney. -</p> - -<p> -He was after me in a moment, at a gallop. -</p> - -<p> -“Stop!” he cried. “What do you mean? That your master was one of this -rabble?” -</p> - -<p> -“One? The worst of them all,” I answered. “It was he knocked down the -poor grey gentleman; and the last I heard of him was crying for you.” -</p> - -<p> -He released me, to throw up his hands. -</p> - -<p> -“The intolerance of these heretics!” he cried. “Stop! Don’t go. I -withdraw my pronouncement. You shall name your own penance.” -</p> - -<p> -I breathed quickly, standing before him. -</p> - -<p> -“Father, that is soon done. I will go with you.” -</p> - -<p> -“With me—with me?” he complained, stamping distracted. “Where to?” -</p> - -<p> -“Anywhere from here,” I pleaded. “You can’t stop. The whole country’s -up, and a second time, if they come, you’ll be caught.” -</p> - -<p> -Snorting with agitation, he took off his spectacles to wipe them. -</p> - -<p> -“It’s quite impossible,” he said. “I know of only one asylum beyond, -and that”— -</p> - -<p> -With a quick little snatch I ravished the glasses from his hand, and, -running away with them, hid behind a chimney. For a minute or two he -raved round, stumbling, and grabbing at the air, and finally tripped -over his book and subsided, quite prostrate, upon the roof. -</p> - -<p> -“Little sweep!” he panted, in a trembling voice. “My daughter—child -of Magdalen—where are you?” -</p> - -<p> -I held my breath; and he went on, in broken sentences— -</p> - -<p> -“Come back—give me my glasses—where are you?—I believe all you -say—What! will you give me up, and the Calendar unfinished?” -</p> - -<p> -Then, as I still did not answer, “Holy saints! The little devil has -hobbled me, and I shall be caught and martyred.”—A longish -pause—“<i>In manus tuas, Domine, com</i>— I wonder if in Paradise—the -scarce copper—h’m!” -</p> - -<p> -He began to gnaw his knuckles, with a sort of pleased abstraction over -the thought. It would never do. I came out of my hiding. -</p> - -<p> -“Will you take me with you?” I repeated. -</p> - -<p> -“O, it’s you?” he cried, with a start. “Where are my glasses?” -</p> - -<p> -“In my hand.” -</p> - -<p> -“Will you return them to me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Will you let me go with you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Scandalous!” -</p> - -<p> -“I will carry the book.” -</p> - -<p> -“Pooh!” -</p> - -<p> -“I will walk behind.” -</p> - -<p> -“Pish!” -</p> - -<p> -“If anything happens to me, then”— -</p> - -<p> -“Fah!” he interposed; and then added, “What could happen to you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you suppose I shall stay in these clothes?” I said. “I shall -return to be a girl; and what am I to do then, without someone to -protect and help me back to my parents?” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s nothing to me,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“Good-bye,” said I. -</p> - -<p> -He scrambled to his feet with a roar: “Give me back my glasses!” -</p> - -<p> -I stood quite still, making no sound. He thought I had really gone -this time, and began taking little strides hither and thither, and -throwing his arms about. Suddenly he stopped, sweating with agitation. -</p> - -<p> -“Are you there?” he said. -</p> - -<p> -I did not answer. He hopped from leg to leg, pulling with one hand at -the other, as if at a tight glove. -</p> - -<p> -“Child!” he cried, “you’re a good child—a perfect little sweep. You -shall come—do you hear?—if we ever get off this roof. We’ll escape -by the woods—nobody will see us there together—and I can catch some -arguses (<i>lasiommata ægeria</i>) that will be in season.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch05"> -V.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I AM CARRIED AWAY AS A SPECIMEN</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">The</span> very rudeness of the creature nominated by Fate to be my warden -gave me a feeling of confidence. Here was a shepherd’s dog ugly enough -to frighten away the wolf himself, should he cross us in the shape of -my master. I thrilled to have secured his promise, which, for all his -boorishness, and perhaps because of it, I had faith in. The dark pit -was already half bridged in my foolish young imagination, and I -dreamed of alighting on the farther side—to what? Not, indeed, to the -old melancholy life of the cottage near the Steine. For all my sad -experience, I never entertained that prospect for one moment. I was -but now in my eleventh year, yet some instinct informed me that the -dead—amongst whom, surely, I must be written—should not return if -they would avoid the mortification of home truths; that broken threads -cannot be made one again, and leave no scar. Perhaps the spirit of -vagabondage even had entered a little into my blood. In any case, it -was the breezy security of my father’s, not my mother’s, protection to -which I hurried in thought, with this reverent cur for escort. -</p> - -<p> -As for him, accounting for his presence on the roof, he growled out to -me once after this, in order to still my inquisitive importunity, -while I still held the spectacles in pledge, that he had indeed taken -the alarm that morning, with the rest of the family to whom he was -spiritual director; but that, remembering his book left behind, he had -insisted upon quitting the general flight and returning for it—with -what awkward results for the steward had appeared, though, as a fact, -I believe the poor man recovered later. Now, I was to understand, he -had the intention, if he could make good his escape, to seek asylum, -while the storm blew over, with a lady, a co-religionist and -connection of his patrons, who lived distant a two days’ journey on -foot. And so, having grudgingly informed me, he subsided into his -unsavoury self, and would speak no more. -</p> - -<p> -I did not much care, once being put in possession of the facts and the -chances they afforded me. No one, it was evident, guessed at our -retreat; and, for the rest, I was content to bide my time, and the -opportunity I foresaw of impressing even this dull animal with a -revelation of the pretty romance he had undertaken to squire. -</p> - -<p> -Evening fell, and we were still sitting there. Not a footstep sounded -in the house beneath us; not a voice but the birds’ came from the -garden. Presently, emboldened by the quiet, I went softly climbing and -investigating, finding the trap-door by way of which the chaplain had -ascended, and peeping between the gables and over the roof ridges. So -far as I could see, nothing human was stirring in all the placid -demesne. The sundial on the lawn, the arbour in the corner, the brook -embroidering the low trees, like a ribbon run through lace, were -things inanimate in a painted picture. But there was something in -their voiceless watchfulness that made me long to open the door, as it -were, and run into the air. I was not born, like my mother, for -cloisteral seclusions. -</p> - -<p> -I was passing my companion once soft-footed, when he startled me by -demanding, suddenly and savagely, “What’s your name?” -</p> - -<p> -“Diana, please,” I answered, in a flutter. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Diana—Please!</i>” he protested crossly. “Fah! Diana Please don’t -please”—and he subsided into himself again. -</p> - -<p> -But he had christened me. I had gone lacking nothing but a name of my -own hitherto and here was one given me, apt and pat. From that moment -I became Diana Please. -</p> - -<p> -The very sense of its possession made me forward. -</p> - -<p> -“Aren’t we safe now?” I said, “or are you going to stop here all -night?” -</p> - -<p> -He looked up at me hurriedly, and, scowling, motioned me away from -him. Then, without a word, he snatched his book, rose, and striding to -the trap-door, began to descend. I followed him closely. The way led -by a flight of steps in the walls to a cupboard under the main stairs -where they rose from the hall. We emerged from darkness into a wide -echoing twilight. For the first time the thought of my master secreted -somewhere, watchful and waiting for me, sent my spirits reeling. I -slunk against the wall. -</p> - -<p> -“Where was it?” demanded my companion brusquely. -</p> - -<p> -I stared at him. He stamped his foot, so that the noise resounded -horribly through the empty house. -</p> - -<p> -“The steward!” he cried. “Where did they leave him?” -</p> - -<p> -“By the door,” I whispered, trembling—“out there.” -</p> - -<p> -It was still ajar. He hurried to it, looked out, went out, returned -after a minute or two, and slammed the oak thunderously. -</p> - -<p> -“There are trails of blood down the steps. He has been removed, or has -removed himself,” he said, and began immediately to ascend the stairs. -</p> - -<p> -“O, where are you going?” I cried fearfully. -</p> - -<p> -“To bed,” he snapped. -</p> - -<p> -“To bed!” -</p> - -<p> -I clung to his coat-tails. There was a sort of nightmare struggle -between us, up as far as the first landing. There he rent himself -away, and, leaving me sprawling, banged and locked himself into a -room. I crouched on the mat outside, sobbing and imploring. “What am I -to do? Where am I to go?” -</p> - -<p> -He answered not a word to my pleading. Presently I heard him snoring, -and—would you believe it?—the gross carnival of sound was heavenly -music in my ears. In all that vast loneliness it was my only human -stay and comfort. O, my Alcide! To think of thy Diane owing her reason -to the grunting of a hog. -</p> - -<p> -It was a terrible night. I dared not move—scarcely breathe. But fear -and exhaustion at last overcame me, and I slept. -</p> - -<p> -I awoke to sweet, soundless daylight. The look and smell of sunshine -restored me in a moment to myself. I had not been disturbed. The house -was utterly abandoned. I arose, resolved at once to put into effect -the plan I had formed. A little memory of something I had noticed -yesterday was urging me. I fled softly upstairs. Signs of the raid met -me at every turn: broken crucifixes, torn vestments, scattered -Hosts—up and down they lay, trodden into dirty rubbish by the -swarming footsteps. There had been, I believe, no secular looting, -unless, as was probable, by my master, who would be sure, on that -account, to have withdrawn himself remote from consequences. I had -nothing to fear from him. I looked for a room where I had seen some -children’s clothes scattered, and finding it still undisturbed, -quickly selected from among the litter the simplest outfit I could -adapt in mind to my figure. -</p> - -<p> -A common watch lay ticking on a table. I examined it—scarce five -o’clock—lingered, hesitated, and left it where it was. I had not yet -come to thieve, even had it been less bulky for my juvenile fob. -Hastily I snatched soap and towels from a washing-stand, and holding -the clothes so as not to soil them against my own, stole out. There -was not water enough in all the house for my cleansing. My spirit -rushed to the little river I had seen gleaming under the trees. -</p> - -<p> -At the back of the hall I found a low window, unlatched it, and -dropped into the garden. A light fog was spread abroad, which, -dripping from the trees, alarmed me with a thought of unseen things -moving near. But presently a bird piped close above my head, with a -note of reassurance, and I slipped on and made my way stealthily -towards the river until I heard it gurgling; and in a moment later I -came upon it. -</p> - -<p> -There, with only the wild things in the grass to scare my modesty, I -made my bath. The ecstasy of it, as all that foul husk slipped off, -and was carried from me down the stream! The joy to recover my -near-forgotten self, the thing of pink and pearl, from its long -mourning! The wonder, and the strangeness of that reincarnation to a -maturer estate! I was not, like the Sleeping Beauty, to renew my old, -but to awake to a newer self—a different from the Diana from whom I -had departed nine months before. It seemed incredible; and still when -I was washed as white as a lamb, I must sluice, and relather, and -sluice again, to convince myself that no stain of my horrible livery -remained. Then, at last, I came out, and dried and dressed myself -hurriedly; and so, being secure, sat awhile on the bank to let my hair -sun. It had never been but roughly clipped since that first cruel -shearing, and now was down to my collar, thick and golden. I could see -it in the water glass, when I bent over, reflected like a dim glory, -and I nodded and laughed to the picture in my delight, and was only -sorry presently to bind it about gipsy fashion with the silk -handkerchief I had brought down with me for the purpose. But time was -moving, and so must I be. I rose, and returned to the house. -</p> - -<p> -I heard a shuffling on the stairs as I re-entered by the window, and -in a moment, tripping lightly, came upon Father Pope descending. He -had his great book under his arm, and he tiptoed with a sort of scared -effort to hush the creaking of his tell-tale shoes. He gave a guilty -start on seeing me standing smiling before him, and stumbled and -caught himself erect by the banisters, frowning at me. -</p> - -<p> -I did not speak. I stood dumbly to let him canvass the transformation; -but the creature had no nerve of sentiment in all his dull anatomy. -</p> - -<p> -“What do you want?” he said; “who are you?” -</p> - -<p> -I could see he only fenced with the truth to recover himself. I -dropped him a pretty little curtsey. -</p> - -<p> -“Diana, please,” I said. -</p> - -<p> -I was in trepidation that he would deny me, as I was convinced he had -designed to give me the slip; and, though for policy’s sake I must -propitiate him, I hated the creature for his treachery. But, despite -his being a Jesuit, he was too crude a wit for the double part. -</p> - -<p> -“Humph!” he growled. “I was wondering what had become of you,”—which, -no doubt, was true enough. -</p> - -<p> -He glowered at me dislikingly; then bidding me wait for him, stalked -off into the gloom of passages, from which he presently re-emerged -with a bagful of bread and biscuit ends which he had collected. -</p> - -<p> -“I have no money,” he said. “You must manage with your share of these -or nothing. If you look for better, it must be out of my company.” -</p> - -<p> -“What does for you, will do for me, Father,” I said meekly; but -nothing would disarm his churlishness. -</p> - -<p> -“That’s a matter of opinion,” said he. “I could do very well without -you, to begin with.” -</p> - -<p> -I dropped my eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“Now, then, bestir yourself,” he bullied. “If you’re to come at all, -come before the world’s awake.” -</p> - -<p> -He strode off, and I followed, through shuttered glooms, and along -silent corridors to a distant part of the building, emerging from a -door in which we found ourselves in a close shrubbery-walk going up -towards woods. Very soon the comforting screen of trees was about us, -and the peril of watchful enemies surpassed. We pushed on without rest -or pause. My spirit and my feet danced together. It was all so free -and fragrant, and the rapture of my new emancipation was like a second -sight. Fays and sweet things seemed to melt before me round green -corners, or overhead among the branches, leaving a scent of the -unknown world in their footsteps. I sang low, I laughed to the birds, -I seemed incapable of weariness. And, indeed, my late training served -me in good stead, for this clerical Caliban had no mercy on my tender -limbs. He desired only the least excuse to shake me off, and I would -not gratify him with one. -</p> - -<p> -All day he led me south by wood and common, avoiding the living places -where men were like to be alert on the new Crusade. We hardly -exchanged a word, as he swung on with the gait of a camel; but in the -end it was he who succumbed first. The weight of his great folio -crushed him—that is the truth. He called a halt in an unfrequented -copse, and flung himself exhausted on the grass. -</p> - -<p> -“Go, find yourself a lodging,” he said. “I will sleep here.” -</p> - -<p> -I did not dare cross him. I crept away; but only so far as a low thorn -tree, mounting into which I could easily hold him in view. But I need -not have feared. The poor wretch was sunk in fatigue, and incapable of -further effort. He had an odious night, I am sure, while I, from my -late habits, slept as securely as in an arm-chair. -</p> - -<p> -Early next morning we were afoot again. My companion, mouldy-cheeked -and limping, greeted me with a scowl. -</p> - -<p> -“What have I not suffered of humiliation as a priest,” he said, “to -have thee breathing in the same wood!” -</p> - -<p> -The world must have been an insufficient dormitory to this misogynist. -</p> - -<p> -At noon, having wandered for hours through forest so green, so -profound, that its deer-haunted vistas seemed the very byways to the -infinite, we came out suddenly, when half faint with toil and hunger, -upon the foot of a low hill, on whose summit was a queer octagonal -stone tower, crowned with a dome like a pepper-box. My companion -sputtered anathema upon seeing it, and stood stock still. -</p> - -<p> -“What is it, Father?” I whispered, creeping up to him. -</p> - -<p> -“We’ve overshot the mark, that’s all,” he growled, conceding a point -to civility. “Here’s Shole beyond; and I aimed at no farther than -Wellcot-Herring. Well, we must go over as the shortest way,” and he -began to mount the slope. -</p> - -<p> -I followed him, emboldened to ask, “What’s this we’re coming to?” -</p> - -<p> -“Rupert’s Folly,” he answered viciously. “Old Lousy’s spy-house.” -</p> - -<p> -“What’s he?” I asked. -</p> - -<p> -He gave a rude laugh. -</p> - -<p> -“He’s an itch on the skin of my lord that he can’t scratch away;” and, -with these coarse, enigmatic words, he motioned me to fall behind. -</p> - -<p> -The tower sprouted clean from the grass. Reaching and skirting it, I -had occasion barely to notice a figure seated under a low door against -its farther angle, before the liveliest prospect below engaged all my -attention. The hill went down on this side into a wide valley, in the -midst of whose trees and pastures, dominating a tiny village with -forge and tavern, stood a great old house of grey stone. On the green -before, as we could see, was a merry-making: sports, and dancing, and -long tables spread, and a vast broaching of casks. And the villagers -in their ribbons were all there, so that my eyes and my heart danced -to see them. -</p> - -<p> -But my companion stood looking down with a most venomous expression. -</p> - -<p> -“Fah! A nest of heretics!” he muttered. “What golden calf are they met -to worship?” -</p> - -<p> -“The red herring’s spawn, good sir,” said the voice of the creature -behind us. I turned and stared at him for the first time. He sat -sucking at a long pipe at the open door of the tower—the filthiest -little scrub you could imagine. His face was like old crumpled -parchment, his crafty eyes floated in rheum, and he scratched a dusty -tag of beard down upon his breast as he leered at us. -</p> - -<p> -“What! Lousy John,” said the priest. “Is it our heir of all the -Herrings come of age?” -</p> - -<p> -“Ay,” said the old wretch. “Nephew Salted. You know him? Ay, ay. You -should be the man Pope, of course, by your rudeness? Go down to your -whore of Babylon, sir. She mingles with yonder company.” -</p> - -<p> -“You’d have me into the range of your burning-glass, hey?” said the -priest, with a snort between laughter and contempt. -</p> - -<p> -The other smoked on unperturbed. -</p> - -<p> -“All in good time, priest,” he said. “I’m not for anticipatin’ the -devil. Is that his scriptures you’re a-carryin’ to propagate?” -</p> - -<p> -My companion uttered a furious exclamation, and, hugging his book, -shuffled out of range. Most like a woman, he could not bear to have -his spiteful humour returned upon him. -</p> - -<p> -I understood nothing of all this, of course, and was standing -bewildered, when the old obscenity beckoned me. -</p> - -<p> -“See,” he said, taking his pipe from his mouth and pointing with the -scarlet tongue of it: “a beautiful landscape, ain’t it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” I faltered. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” said he. “I’ll tell you—just you, mind. I don’t take a-many -into my confidence. It’s the beauty of pain, child; a local -inflammation in the system.” -</p> - -<p> -I murmured something, and he chuckled. -</p> - -<p> -“They call this tower ‘Rupert’s Folly,’” he said privately; “and I -laugh, settin’ up here in my shell. D’ye think they’d laugh too, if -they guessed where the smut came from that blasted of their crops?” -</p> - -<p> -“From you?” I whispered. -</p> - -<p> -He bent over, and pointed upwards. For the first time I noticed that -the muzzle of a telescope projected from the little dome on the roof. -While I was gazing, I suddenly felt my wrist in the clutch of his -apish claw. -</p> - -<p> -“Hush!” he said. “It’s there I gathers my star-powder, and discharges -it where I will. I’m Briareus, the last of the Uranids, left behind to -rack the world to all eternity for its presumption.” -</p> - -<p> -He let me go, squinting and nodding at me. I backed from him in -horror. Nothing was plain to me but that here was one of those -astrologic demons who delight to bring heaven close that they may -measure our remoteness from it, and to cast away poor souls amidst the -eternal silences. That he seemed to rave was nothing. Such inhumanity -is in itself a madness. -</p> - -<p> -“Ay,” he chuckled, hugging himself in a secret way, “you didn’t expect -that, did you? You must be a god to lust in pain. Why, lord, child! -the earth would be drab all over but for its galls and breakings. See -where I’ve set a withered crop among the green; see where I’ve teased -the soil to scarlet—a blazing core of fever. I know the World, the -wanton. So long as she can cover her cancer with a ribbon, she’ll -smile. By and by I shall set a spark to the west, and burn up the -day’s rubbish. Look when the sun drops, and you’ll see it a little -point of white, and afterwards a bonfire.” -</p> - -<p> -I backed still farther. -</p> - -<p> -“Lord!” he cried, doubling with laughter, “what headaches I’ve -projected into their beer-barrels down there! What poison laid on the -lasses’ lips! I shall have some fine incense of sufferin’ risin’ to me -to-morrow! What, you’re goin’, are you? Down into the fire, hey? A -pretty little faggot to mend its blazin’!” And he kneaded his hands -rapturously between his knees. -</p> - -<p> -I saw the priest had disappeared over the crest, and, half crying, -pursued him. He turned on me angrily as I came up. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” said he, adjusting his spectacles to glare through them, “if -that old carrion speaks truth, I come to an end with you.” He gripped -my shoulder. “Hold your tongue, d’you hear? Not a word of us till we -find out how the land lies.” -</p> - -<p> -He dropped his hold, on a sudden thought, to my elbow, and, with a -muttered menace, marched me down the hill. -</p> - -<p> -At the bottom, in a little lane, with hedges to screen it from the -view beyond, we came unexpectedly upon a lady gathering wild flowers. -She started violently upon observing my companion, and dropped her -nosegay. He accosted her, with a manner of gruff civility, and here it -was somehow that, as they broke into talk of an urgent nature, we got -separated. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch06"> -VI.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I AM “PINNED OUT”</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">The</span> festivities were to celebrate the majority of the Viscount -Salted, only son to Hardrough, fourth Earl of Herring, Baron Rowe of -Shole and Wellcot-Herring, Warden of the Cinque Ports, and official -Verderer of the Forest of Down. The Lady Sophia Rowe, aunt to the -young gentleman, had driven over from Wellcot—her estate in tail -female, and distant from Shole by road seven miles—to lend her -saintly countenance to the gathering, and it was she whom Father Pope, -steering his course erroneously for Shole instead of Wellcot-Herring, -had fortuitously encountered culling wild flowers in her brother’s -lordlier demesne. -</p> - -<p> -The Lady Sophia was, unlike her orthodox kinsman, a convert to the -Catholic from the Established Church, and within her limits, and -because of them, a zealous fanatic. In her one saw acutely -demonstrated the denaturalising power of creed. Gentle as a dove by -temperament, there was no crime but self-destruction which she would -not have gloried in to justify hers. She would have thought the world -well lost to save her own soul, colourless as that dear little article -was. Though she was modesty incarnate, her self-importance in this -respect was amazing. She schemed through all the virtues for the -apotheosis of Lady Sophia, and she called her scheming the vindication -of truth, which she held to be a Romish monopoly. She would have made -me a nun, as part of it, and taken all the credit with Heaven. I can -hardly regret that she was foiled. I love truth as well as any woman, -only, being a woman, <i>à contre-cœur</i>, and not a saint, for me it -must be coloured, and in the newest shades. To ask me to love it for -its own sake is to ask me to be a dowd; and, for all my respect for -Lady Sophia, I have never fancied a heaven of dowds. -</p> - -<p> -When we alighted on her, she was by great good chance withdrawn from -her company, and communing with Nature for relaxation. Flowers, to -her, were sanctified of the altar, so bringing her faith and her -inclinations into line. She was terribly agitated over her encounter -with Father Pope, whom she knew, and over his peril, which she -exaggerated. The shock of intolerance was hardly extended to Shole; -but she had heard, by private despatch, of her Dulwich kinsfolk’s -flight, and of the chaplain’s eccentric desertion, and all the day had -tormented herself with fears of the fate which he had invited to -befall him. Now, while they were engaged in earnest discussion, -eschewing for the moment all thought of me, I was driven by curiosity -to steal down the lane, till, through a gap in the hedge, I was able -to observe at close hand the lively scene that was enacting on the -green below. -</p> - -<p> -It had certainly looked prettier from the hill. I saw links of -red-faced oafs sway roaring across the turf, and whip themselves in -mere drunken impulse about any mock-bashful hoyden who stood, feigning -unconsciousness, in their path. I saw blowzed, over-fed women, -dragging squalling babies, struggle vainly to be included in the -amorous capture, and when they failed or were ignored, vindicate their -outraged respectability in coarse recriminations. I saw farmers, -seated under trees, weep fuddled tears because they could hold no -more, and stuffed children, crying for nothing so much as breath. I -had been drawn, as was natural to me, by the bait of gaiety and life, -and this was my reward. The ground between the booths was strewed with -trampled fragments of bread and meat, and sodden with rejected ale. It -was a fair, with all the licence of a day gathered into an hour. -</p> - -<p> -I don’t know how long I had been standing, absorbed in contemplation -of this Gehenna, and of the stately mansion across the green, on whose -terraces a gay company, gathered to see the beasts feed, was clearly -distinguishable, when a sound of hoofs coming up the lane behind me -brought me to myself; and almost immediately three horsemen, with very -flushed faces, rode into view, and, perceiving me, halted. One was a -fox-featured gentleman, in fulvous cloth; one, good-humoured and -quiet, wore a grey coat; and the third was resplendent all over, and -as drunk as Chloe. He, at the first sight of me, tumbled rather than -dismounted from his horse, and, forsaking the reins, which the grey -gentleman caught, came staggering upon me. -</p> - -<p> -“Hey, my vitals!” he lisped, “whom the devil have we here?” -</p> - -<p> -He was quite young, and like a pretty toy, with a spangled coat in the -Maccaroni Club style, a great bow at his neck, and ribbons to his -knees. But he frightened me with the stare in his glazed eyes; and as -he advanced, I backed into the hedge. -</p> - -<p> -“I was only looking,” I fluttered. “I didn’t mean any harm. Please let -me go.” -</p> - -<p> -“Harm!” he exclaimed, with a tipsy crow. “O, but you’re trespassing, -missy, and must give an hic-count of yourself. Come ’long, now, before -my lord.” -</p> - -<p> -I saw the eldest of the three regarding us from his saddle with a sort -of mordant humour, and the sudden recognition of his state made my -heart leap. Red, and lank-jawed, and vicious, he sat watching us as a -fox might watch his cub negotiating the helpless struggles of a lamb. -He always had a fine appetite for such occasions, and could sin very -sweetly by proxy, could Hardrough. -</p> - -<p> -“Wounds, my lord!” cried the boy, “is this a larsh surprise for me -you’ve ’ranged? Besh preshent of all the day. Come cock-horse, child, -and we’ll kiss a-riding.” -</p> - -<p> -He put an arm about me. For all my distress, the musky contact of him, -so precious after my long degradation, seemed half to drug me from -resistance. I struggled feebly to push him away. -</p> - -<p> -“Get on with your gallophic,” said he, addressing his companions -knowingly. “I’ll follerer by-m-by.” -</p> - -<p> -“Come, Salted,” cried the grey gentleman suddenly, in a laughing, -half-vexed way. “Remember what’s due to your guests, child, now and to -be. Come along and ride yourself sober, as you engaged.” -</p> - -<p> -“Shober, nunky! shober, you cake!” sputtered the fool. “Shober ’nough -yourself to wa’t me go on and break my neck—hey, my lord?” -</p> - -<p> -He leered tipsily to the earl his father, who grinned, and blinked his -red eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“Let him be, George,” said the nobleman. “Damme, the boy’s not fit to -ride a broomstick. You’re precious anxious for the gipsy, brother. I’d -as lief you was concerned for your nephew.” -</p> - -<p> -“And so I am,” says the other hotly. “’Tis foul so to take advantage -of a stranger and a child. Call your cub off, sir,” says he, “if I’m -not to take a whip to him.” -</p> - -<p> -He gathered his reins in, and twitched his heels. He was bronzed and -comely, a man of thirty or so, younger by ten years than the earl. He, -the latter, had turned quite white. A frost seemed to have pinched his -cheeks. In another moment, I believe, he would have drawn his -riding-switch across the handsome face, but in that moment I was aware -of a lady hurrying up, and I broke from my captor, and fled to meet -her. -</p> - -<p> -“Help me!” I cried. “Don’t let him hurt me!” -</p> - -<p> -She received me very kindly. She was a tall and colourless figure, -gentle in mien but with a bad complexion—the lady, in short, in whose -company I had left Father Pope. -</p> - -<p> -“Hardwick! George!” she whispered, in an outraged voice. -</p> - -<p> -The earl pushed up to her, with a snigger. -</p> - -<p> -“There, Sophy,” said he. “What are you doin’ here? But I’m glad you’ve -come. Is this here your protégée? Well, take the little baggage -away, that was near bringing us to words about her.” -</p> - -<p> -“Words!” she said. “This child!” -</p> - -<p> -“O,” he exclaimed, “that’s all one! Come, boy!” -</p> - -<p> -She detained him some minutes, murmuring to him as he bent down. At -the end he rose, grinning at me. -</p> - -<p> -“What!” says he—“the sly old crow! Be sure the little sweep wasn’t -fathered by a black cassock before you adopt her.” -</p> - -<p> -She started back, flushing scarlet. -</p> - -<p> -“Hardrough!” she said; “I ask you to go on.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I will,” said he, with a little breathless laugh, “and carry -your secret, sister, safe in my keepin’.” -</p> - -<p> -He half wheeled, and in an ironic voice summoned the young viscount. -The boy got to his horse as sulky as sin. In another minute the three -gentlemen were ridden out of sight. -</p> - -<p> -The moment they had disappeared the lady turned to me. -</p> - -<p> -“Why didn’t you keep by your friend?” she asked, rather sharply. “From -what he tells me, you are in need of one.” -</p> - -<p> -I hung my head and broke into sobs. She was softened immediately. -</p> - -<p> -“There,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be harsh; but discretion was so -necessary. Will you come with me—I am the Lady Sophia Rowe—and we -can discuss your case in safety at home? But every instant means -peril, and we must hasten.” -</p> - -<p> -I suffered her to hurry me up the lane. Her gait took no grace from -urgency, being awkward as with most over-tall women, and the worse to -view because she was reckless how she raised her skirts. In a little -we came round a curve that swept beyond the limits of the green; and -here, under some trees, we found her coach, which had been ordered -round earlier, with the priest and his great folio ensconced glowering -in it. In a moment we were in, and rolling along quiet country roads. -The noise of the fairing died behind us. The world of new peace and -beatitude lay before. For seven miles we sped soberly on, deeper and -deeper into the pleasant hush, that was broken only by the incessant -confidential murmuring of my companions. -</p> - -<p> -At last, taking a road high above a little village bowered in trees, -we turned between beautiful scrolled gates into a drive that seemed to -me to pierce gardens as enchanting as the hanging ones of Babylon. -There were soft lawns and placid groves of timber, with lofty -rookeries. There were vivid parterres, and terraces stooping to blue -depths, wheredown a little silver brook bubbled through mists of -foliage. There were rose bowers, and great jars, like Plenty’s horn, -brimming petunias. There was a mossy fountain, with lilies and -goldfish, and a baby Triton in the midst spurting a jet to heaven. -There were grassy walks, and beyond their vistas the eternal solace of -distance. And, dominating all, there was the house. -</p> - -<p> -At least it seemed less to command than to partake of the serenity of -which it was the habitable nucleus—the human nest in the garden. It -stood before us, not suddenly, but in quiet revelation, a simple old -structure of red brick, unlaboured with ornament, unweighted of stone, -a pleasant home for happiness set on a wide level platform of grass -and gravel. My eyes had hardly accepted it before my heart. -</p> - -<p> -We alighted into a fragrant hall, and madam led me at once into a -large low room with windows bent upon a heavenly prospect of woods and -meadows; and there, bidding me await her until she could come and talk -with me, shut me in, and withdrew. -</p> - -<p> -I had not stood many minutes, in a silent dream of wonder and -expectation, when the door opened softly again, and a little girl -stole in. She was about my own age, or somewhat older, and very dark -and pretty, but with foolish large eyes like a dog’s. For some moments -she stared at me, wondering, without a smile, then came and touched my -hand. -</p> - -<p> -“Madam sent me,” she said. “I live here. I am her adoption child. Are -you come to stay?” -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head, bewildered. -</p> - -<p> -“O,” she whispered, “I hope so. I have no little friend at all, and -you are so pretty.” -</p> - -<p> -“I have golden hair,” I said. “We can’t all be the same. But yours at -least is very curly. What is your name?” -</p> - -<p> -“Patience Grant,” she said. “My mother died in the convent, and I have -no father. I am not allowed to play with the village children. What is -<i>your</i> name?” -</p> - -<p> -I told her “Diana Please.” -</p> - -<p> -“It is a nice name,” she said. “Did <i>your</i> mother too die in the -convent? I am very happy here, but I shall be happier if you come.” -</p> - -<p> -Lady Sophia had entered softly while she spoke. -</p> - -<p> -“Hush, Patty!” said she, with a smile. “And run away now.” -</p> - -<p> -The child went, looking wistfully back. <i>Ah, mignonnette, ma petite à -jamais mémorable, toi que j’aime sans discontinuer!</i> How wert thou to -me from the first the most attached of little dogs! -</p> - -<p> -Madam drew me into a window, and looked earnestly into my eyes. As she -held me, Father Pope entered and stood near, my morose and baleful -inquisitor. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you like my home?” she said, in her level, toneless voice. The -labour of lifting it seemed always constitutionally beyond her. -</p> - -<p> -I clasped my hands. “O, madam,” I said, “I could be a very good -Catholic here!” -</p> - -<p> -She smiled, in a surprised way, then looked grave. I waited in a fever -of expectation for her to speak again. I had already decided that I -would wish to be adopted like Patience, in whom I seemed to foresee a -little adoring vassal, so welcome after my own long slavery, and that -I must be adroit to gain my point. Brighthelmston, with its -questionable potentialities, had darkened in contrast with this -paradise. I felt even that it would not be good for me to return -there; that I was destined for a virtuous, if not a devout life. It is -no contradiction that I had not thought so an hour before. Our moral -development is intermittent. Its phases of growth are inspirations of -adaptation to circumstance. A fever made of Francis of Assisi a saint -out of a profligate. These high lawns had revealed to me the pit from -which I had escaped. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Sophia looked very sweet and grave. -</p> - -<p> -“Or anywhere, I hope,” she said. “Faith is not a question of -surroundings.” -</p> - -<p> -I was not so sure of that; but I held my tongue, hanging my head. -</p> - -<p> -“Let me see your face,” she insisted, and put her thin hand under my -chin. -</p> - -<p> -“It is a pretty and an innocent one,” she declared. “How came you, -child, in the position in which Father Pope found you?” -</p> - -<p> -I told her how I had been stolen by the sweep, and had escaped from -him rather than seem to concur in the violence offered to my religion. -</p> - -<p> -“It was an ingenious and a courageous act,” she said, gently kindling; -“was it not, Father?” -</p> - -<p> -The bear snorted, dissent or commendation—it was all one. -</p> - -<p> -“Ask her about her mother,” he growled. -</p> - -<p> -“True,” said the lady, with a gesture of involuntary repulsion, for -which she the moment after atoned with a caress. -</p> - -<p> -“She had been a Sister in the Hospital of St. Magdalen, Father Pope -tells me,” she said very low. “She had returned there to expiate -her—her”— -</p> - -<p> -“No,” I broke in. -</p> - -<p> -“You told me so,” roared the priest. -</p> - -<p> -“I didn’t,” I said, half crying. “You were looking at your book all -the time I confessed.” -</p> - -<p> -Madame Sophia could not restrain a smile. -</p> - -<p> -“Fie, Father!” she said. “I admit it does not sound the least probable -part of the child’s experiences.” -</p> - -<p> -But she sobered again in a moment. -</p> - -<p> -“She did not return?” she asked. “Then”— -</p> - -<p> -“She is dead,” I whispered. -</p> - -<p> -After all, I believed it was true; that she could not have survived -the wreck of all things which my abduction must have meant to her. The -gentlewoman gave a gasp of pity and self-rebuke, and enfolded me in -her arms. -</p> - -<p> -“Forgive me!” she cried. “O, I was cruel! The poor lost lamb! So -white, so helpless, so delivered to the wolves! But”—she bethought -herself—“where was this?— And your unhappy father?” -</p> - -<p> -“He had taken me to Brighthelmston,” I stammered; “he was not of our -religion—of any. He made me dance before the pretty prince, and would -have given me to him, but that the sweep whom he fought stole me out -of revenge first.” -</p> - -<p> -The priest and the lady exchanged looks. -</p> - -<p> -“Am I justified?” she asked. “The peril, the iniquity! O, surely, -Father—surely!” -</p> - -<p> -He shrugged his shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -“Write to the Magdalens first,” said he, “and verify it.” -</p> - -<p> -She thought a little, then addressed me again. -</p> - -<p> -“And if I do, would you like to make your home here in the meantime, -Diana?” -</p> - -<p> -The strain had been very severe. I fell on my knees before her, -weeping. I knew, from what my governess had once told me, that les -Madelonnettes must confirm the worst of my story. -</p> - -<p> -“O, madam,” I cried, “if you would train me in goodness and piety!” -</p> - -<p> -She kissed me, then looked up, her immobile face quite transfigured. -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps,” she thrilled, “some day, perhaps some day to fill the place -and vindicate the vows of the poor weak apostate who gave you life!” -</p> - -<p> -“Write to the Magdalens,” growled Father Pope. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch07"> -VII.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I AM PUT AWAY IN CAMPHOR</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">I cannot</span> hold Lady Sophia altogether irresponsible for the loss to -the Calendar of a very promising saint. I entered Wellcot enthusiastic -to devote the rest of my days to the practices of piety and -self-renunciation, and I was moved to this resolve not least by the -example my benefactress seemed to offer me of the most perfect -detachment from the world. Alas! I was too soon to realise how the -chaste aloofness of a mind may mean only a vanity so sensitive, and an -irritability so nervous, as for ever to be on their defence against -unwarranted approaches. I had thought her serenely above the -littlenesses of life; and all the time she only sat on a level with -them, but apart, in alarm lest her moral distinction should be held to -justify familiarities with her social. The folded wings of piety may -be used to conceal some uncelestial humours. I had supposed, at least, -that passion was the remotest from her temperament; and there even I -was wrong, as you shall learn. -</p> - -<p> -She wrote, in accordance with Father Pope’s advice, to the Superioress -of the sisterhood to which my mother had belonged. I confess, for all -my confidence, I awaited the answer in some trepidation. It fulfilled, -however, when it came, my best expectations. The charitable Mother -confirmed the story of her former postulant’s recreancy and flight -with a profligate man of fashion—whither, she had never concerned -herself to inquire. The woman, in leaving the convent gates, she said, -had died to her—to all, save the lord of hell, who, she was rejoiced -now to hear, had so soon claimed and secured his own. She would -command a Magnificat that night in praise of the eternal chastity; and -there her interest in the matter ended. She wrote in French, with much -Pharisaic unction, which betrayed, nevertheless, its underlying gall. -Madam quoted to me only so much (I found an opportunity later to read -the whole) as appeared to justify her in the course upon which she was -resolved—my present adoption, that was to say, by her, for the sake -of my soul. I was becomingly meek and grateful in placing myself -unreservedly in her hands; and in this manner began my -self-obliterating martyrdom of five long years in the placid nunnery -of Wellcot. -</p> - -<p> -For a time I was very happy, until a ripening intelligence revealed to -me by degrees the limitations of my moral and material surroundings. I -have no intention to detail the processes of that growth. I can -hardly, indeed, claim an independent life until detached from its dull -experiences. It is enough here briefly to review them. -</p> - -<p> -My first warning disillusionment was the knowledge, to my infinite -disgust, that Father Pope was to remain a permanency in the asylum to -which accident had translated him. Whether his former patrons seized -this opportunity—in the first reactionary days after riot—to rid -themselves of an ungainly incubus, or whether—which is more -probable—he himself manœuvred for transference to new -hunting-grounds, not of souls, but grubs, I do not know. Anyhow, his -baggage being his book, the change was easy, and at Wellcot he -remained, titular chaplain to the Lady Sophia, but positive to a -community of nuns across the valley, who were her most cherished -protégées, and to whose ranks I, in the first blind fervour of my -redemption, unprovisionally dedicated myself. -</p> - -<p> -I had not been long settled before, speculating on the relationship -between Shole and Wellcot-Herring, I began to wonder if I was destined -ever to see again the young gentleman who had so insulted me. Perhaps, -I thought, I might help by my example, and even persuasion, to wean -him from his evil courses. However, the opportunity was not to be -given me, as it appeared he was not sufficiently in love with his -aunt’s ways to pay her even the periodic courtesy of a visit. But his -father the earl came occasionally, and from him I was bent upon -discovering whether or not my image was entirely effaced from the -son’s remembrance. -</p> - -<p> -Happening to meet him alone in the gardens one day, I was actually -emboldened to beg him to convey a message from me to the viscount that -I forgave him. -</p> - -<p> -He stopped, and looked at me with admiration; then took my chin in his -hand. -</p> - -<p> -“I shall do nothing of the sort, Miss Presumption,” he said, in his -thin, ironic voice. “But I’m not so particular for myself. You shall -give me all of your confidences that you like.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you,” I said saucily; “I will choose a handsomer to fill the -place of my papa.” -</p> - -<p> -“Was he so handsome?” says he, grinning. -</p> - -<p> -“He was the most beautiful man in the world,” I answered. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I can believe it,” he said. “But not so handsome as my brother -George, hey?” -</p> - -<p> -“Fifty thousand times,” I said. -</p> - -<p> -“And fifty thousand times better?” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know. He was good enough for me.” -</p> - -<p> -“That I can well believe,” he chuckled; then took a turn or two and -came back. -</p> - -<p> -“Harkee, missy,” says he, “I’m not going to peach on you, whatever you -say, so you can be as free as air with me. Only promise not to make me -jealous of my own son, and we’ll be fast friends some day.” And with a -laugh, he left me. -</p> - -<p> -I hated him instinctively, and longed for the time when I could set my -wits to discompose him. He was a widower, and socially and politically -a man of bad character; and it should have been madam’s duty to see -that we were not brought into contact. But she could conceive no evil -of the head of her house. -</p> - -<p> -The brother, the good one, came near us no more than the viscount; -which, nevertheless, did not trouble me, because I owed him a debt, -and he was too poor in purse and reputation to expect me to liquidate -it. Little Patty, after her manner, loved this unfortunate, whom she -had seen often in former days, before his character went over some -racing transaction, which ruined him and made him shy of his -familiars. Her loyalty was proof against the worst. Where she was -pledged, she never dropped away, and her heart had the truest instinct -for finding and attaching itself to what was lovable in another. She -adored nobility of mind, and was always my most faithful little -adherent. I came early to discover that her origin was none of the -most select, and on this account, perhaps, condescended to her more -than I should. She repaid me with a blind devotion and admiration -which were sometimes more affecting than diplomatic; and, before I had -been at Wellcot a year, would have followed me at a word to shame or -death, in very despite of her duty to her patroness. But by then, I -think, she was coming with me to recognise certain flaws in the -character of her former divinity. -</p> - -<p> -It was from her in the first instance that I learned all that she knew -of the family history: How my lord was a brute and libertine, who had -done his wife to death, and was hated and feared of all, unless, -perhaps, by the old dirty astrologer on the hill, who was his kinsman -and Naboth and defier in one, holding the “Folly” in fee simple, as he -did, from a scientific ancestor, and persistently refusing to be -coaxed or bought out of it. How my lady, as pious as her brother was -worldly, had embraced the Romish doctrine many years before, and had -not scrupled, on the Jesuit principle, to procure herself through his -most questionable political relations a virtual exemption from the -penalties which attached to the open exercise of her religion. How, -trading on this connection, she had planted in Wellcot-Herring a -community of the “Sisters of Perpetual Invocation,” whose munificent -patroness and dupe (Heaven forgive me! They were certainly very -plausible little sybarites) she had constituted herself. How the -honourable Mr. Rowe, his lordship’s younger brother, was suspected of -royal blood in his veins, and was only spared the scandal of proof so -long as his nephew, the Viscount Salted, kept him out of the -succession. How, in fine,—and this was where my interest was most -intimately engaged,—her ladyship had once had an <i>affaire de cœur</i> -with a Mr. de Crespigny, an artist, who came to paint her portrait, -and who left it on the canvas half finished, being given, it was -whispered, his congé in reluctant return for his insensibility to the -proselytising advances of his sitter. -</p> - -<p> -From little Patty I extracted all this <i>chronique scandaleuse</i>, and if -she enlightened me in her own inimitable bashful way, blundering -prettily on the truth out of innocence, I was not so backward even -then as to be imposed upon by half-revelations, or to refrain from -construing them on my own account into the language of experience. -</p> - -<p> -And so I entered on my new life, having, to endear its strangeness, -and soon, alas! its monotony to me, the most loving, simple-minded -little comrade one might imagine. From the first my position, like my -friend’s, was undefined. We were not adopted daughters, or servants, -or companions to madam, but a sort of pious pensioners on her bounty. -She claimed some personal menial duties of us, which might be likened -to those exacted of ladies of a royal bed-chamber. As was befitting -with so great a princess, we might approach and handle her, but -reverently as one might uncover a reliquary of sanctified bones. And, -indeed, she was little else. For myself, I did not much care. My eyes -and ears served me for all her case, howsoever little of her intimacy -was vouchsafed me. -</p> - -<p> -I often put her to bed after supper and prayers, when she would love -to engage me in little drony dialectics on faith. We had amicable -contests of wit, God save me! on the qualities which endeared our -favourite saints to us. I observed that the male beatitudes were her -choice. Her room was hung with as many “Fathers” as a fribble’s is -with Madonnas of the opera-house. The ways of piety are strange. I was -no <i>dévote</i>, alas! like madam, yet I should have been abashed to go -to bed in such company. -</p> - -<p> -But, indeed, there was no disputing with her principles. Faith was her -covering argument in everything. She wore it like a garment, -high-necked and impenetrable; only, to my taste, it was none the more -becoming for being fitted over broken stay-bones. Then, too, she moved -so stately by faith, that I had often speculated why her heels should -be trodden over, until I discovered that she had bandy legs. Truly -faith, like charity, covers a multitude of sins. I attribute it to her -that mine came so soon to be in myself. I have never had reason to be -ashamed of anything it hid; only instinct tells me to be more -particular about my garters than my scapular. If the Lady Susannah -Rowe had found herself being spied upon by the Elders, she would have -snatched and donned the latter, and had complete faith in its shelter. -That may be grace, but it is not graceful, I think. Since the first -mother started the fashions, there has been every obligation on us to -consult appearances; and I at least, though never more worldly than -the most, have persistently declined to let Faith make an ostrich of -me. -</p> - -<p> -She used often to send me to the convent across the valley with -messages to the nuns; and I was early in discovering that I was the -more welcomed by them when a little offering of fowls or hothouse -grapes accompanied me. Then I could gain indulgences as many as I -wanted for my peccadilloes—up to twenty at least for a couple of fat -gallinas—and perhaps rather presumed upon my purgatory in -consequence. -</p> - -<p> -This community was a praying order and eternally vowed from washing, -as a personal indelicacy; or from stepping beyond its convent gates, -as a first <i>faux pas</i> into the world; or from ministering to any needs -but its own; or, in short, from being of any practical use on the -earth whatever, save as an authorised agency for the distribution of -“indulgences.” A natural consequence of all of which was that it grew -to be a very pot-bellied little community, as tight-skinned and ruddy -as the pears on its own south wall, and, through its Superioress, as -knowing a judge as any of old port and early asparagus. The bell that -prostrated it on its fat little knees to Angelus was the same that -rang it to dinner. The throat of the thing was hoarse with the steam -of rich pasties and salmis of game that rose from the convent kitchen -hard by. It had mushroom pits and a peach-hung pleasaunce, and, -indeed, by the help of my lady, was altogether as epicurean a little -company for saints’ feast days as could be gathered. The devil, it is -certain, sets up his tent in an empty stomach. He would have found -close quarters, as was proper, in the Convent of Perpetual Invocation. -I will say for the Sisters that I never heard a cross word among them. -</p> - -<p> -Now, to have the command of indulgences, for feast days, and for -dispensations from fast, in such a neat little paradise as theirs, -seemed to me at the first a very desirable thing. Only I hoped that by -the time I was ripe for the novitiate, the chaplain would have been -replaced by one more personable. The Mother had, in common decency, to -undertake to instruct me and Patty by and by in the articles of our -creed, and Father Pope, complete gentleman, to conduct our secular -finishing. We never saw any other man, except village chawbacons and, -at rare intervals, the foxy earl. It was a deadly life. I could not -have endured it but for the society of my sweet little <i>adoratrice</i>. -She grew up the dearest thing, with the face of a Christian -shepherdess. One saw lambs, not babies, in her eyes. Holding her -little kind hand in memory, I pass over four years of this -self-obliteration, until I awaken to find myself in my seventeenth -year. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch08"> -VIII.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I MEET MR. NOEL DE CRESPIGNY</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Life</span> without the male element is worse than being limited to shop -windows for the fashions. We can read with patience in a nunnery of -the modes, but not of marrying and giving in marriage. Still, I will -ask any candid critic to judge if an utmost desperation could have -induced me to a conduct, with an accusation of which madam inaugurated -the series of misunderstandings which came to arise between us—an -attempted corruption of Father Pope, to wit! The whole truth of this -fantastic invention is as follows. -</p> - -<p> -When I was near fifteen I had begun to grow troubled in my conscience -as to my Confirmation. How could I face the cloister, an uncertified -soldier of my creed? The chaplain had seemed kinder to me of late; or -perhaps it would be truer to say, less bearishly unapproachable. To be -sure, he could not always be adamant to the natural graces it was his -business to help adorn. And, in proportion as he relaxed, I was moved -to conciliate him with fifty little winning attentions, to which he -could not be altogether insensible. I found plausible excuses for his -confounding entomology with theology, citing the “little Bedesman of -Christ” in vindication of the Nature God. I learned to rear clammy -grubs in pots of earth, that I might surprise him with the -results—beautiful winged creatures which I likened to the souls -emancipated under his tutelage. I discovered, or invented, a hundred -symbols for his hagiology. I sewed buttons on his coat, and brushed -his great hat, with actual reverence for the moth which had settled in -it from the brain below. Was it my fault if the ridiculous creature -misconstrued all these little wistful <i>égards</i>? I sought my way only -by him, as one might propitiate a surly but indispensable guide, and -in my utter innocence took his morose silences, and the scowling -suspicion which grew in his eyes, for some late dawn of sympathy, some -increased consideration, if not tenderness, towards the pupil whom he -was conscious of his heart having maligned. How cruelly my trust was -abused, will show in an interview to which madam unexpectedly summoned -me. -</p> - -<p> -“Diana,” she said—she was seated knitting a comforter for the monster -himself, and her lips, as she bent over her work, had a mechanical but -rather shaky smile on them—“have you a daughter’s regard for our good -chaplain?” -</p> - -<p> -“O yes, madam!” I answered, wondering what was to come. -</p> - -<p> -“Yet it is not a daughter’s part to indite love sonnets to her -Father,” she said steadily, without looking up. -</p> - -<p> -I stared, and flushed, and burst into tears. She also reddened, and -produced a paper from her pocket. -</p> - -<p> -“Is this yours?” she demanded. “He found it slipped into his breviary. -It appears to me to bear only one construction.” -</p> - -<p> -“And what is that, madam?” I asked coldly. My little outbreak had been -mastered as soon as vented. My heart blazed with anger over this -outrageous Cymon in a cassock. -</p> - -<p> -“I put the question to you,” she said, her thin bosom heaving a -little. “If it is as I suspect, I should blush to name it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Blush rather for yourself,” I said, in the same chill tone, “to plant -the slander in a young girl’s soul. I will be a Catholic no more.” -</p> - -<p> -She rose, pale and agitated. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you know what you say?” she breathed in fear. “<i>You!</i> -self-dedicated to the cloister!” -</p> - -<p> -“I renounce the pledge!” I cried, in a sudden burst of passion. “I -will no longer believe what Father Pope believes, or confess again to -him anything but lies, since those are what he likes to trade in.” -</p> - -<p> -“Hush!” she said, aghast at my fury. Her hands trembled, fluttering -the paper. “Hush! Be calm! You say things you cannot mean. God forgive -you the threat of such apostasy!” -</p> - -<p> -“And you,” I cried, still stormily, “such a witness against a poor -child’s character.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, no,” she entreated, almost abjectly, “I wish only the truth. -Father Pope wishes only the truth. Tell me frankly, do you recognise -these lines?” -</p> - -<p> -With a great effort I subdued my emotion, and took the paper frigidly -from her hand. It was folded at the following verse, which I had to -bite my lips, pretending to read:— -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“Thrice happy she who from thy kindling eye</p> -<p class="i2">Shall draw some spark to illuminate her breast,</p> -<p class="i0">A wistful wanderer between earth and sky,</p> -<p class="i2">With doubts of love’s true haven sore oppressed.”</p> -</div></div> - -<p> -“Do you recognise them?” she repeated. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, madam,” I acknowledged, looking up between reserve and defiance. -</p> - -<p> -“You do?” she murmured, taken aback. “And it is your hand?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, madam,” I answered quietly. “It is Miss Grant’s, but disguised.” -</p> - -<p> -She echoed the word, at once incredulous, and fearful of exciting -another outbreak by appearing so. -</p> - -<p> -“Disguised! For what purpose? And to whom addressed?” -</p> - -<p> -“To me,” I answered. “It was part of a game between us; but we will -play it no more.” -</p> - -<p> -She echoed in amazement, “A game!” Then asked faintly, “What game?” -</p> - -<p> -“I was the Hermit of the Rocks,” I said, “and Miss Grant the Princess -Camilla, who wrote to consult me as to her vocation, whether for the -cloister or for marriage with a pious young gentleman.” -</p> - -<p> -It was an inspiration, which I had no sooner uttered than I feared for -my rashness. But I need not have. Madam, as her slow perceptives -kindled, grew one shine of happy intelligence. -</p> - -<p> -“A game!” she repeated, smiling holy-motherly over the decorous -innocence of our inventions. “Well, I will say it was a very proper -one, though a little ambiguous in the articles of love to be addressed -to a hermit. But how came it in the chaplain’s book, child?” -</p> - -<p> -I confessed that I had had the curiosity to read in the Father’s -breviary, and must unwittingly have left the paper there for a marker. -She kissed me then, and, while deprecating my inquisitiveness in -matters which did not concern me, apologised very handsomely, I will -say, for having so traduced me on a shred of evidence. -</p> - -<p> -“It shall be a lesson to me, and a penance,” she said. “But, child, go -now and retract your wicked recantation, before perhaps the devil -shall claim you to your sin.” -</p> - -<p> -“It was very hard, madam,” I said, still rebellious. “Why, being -disguised, should Father Pope have decided as of course that the -verses were mine?” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” she said, blushing and embarrassed. “That I do not know—I -think; but little Patty is no genius.” -</p> - -<p> -The moment I was free, I hurried palpitating to my friend, and -confessed all, and implored her, by the love between us, to play her -part in the little innocent deception I had practised. She gazed at me -with her sweet shocked eyes, as if I were inviting her to murder. -</p> - -<p> -“You really meant them for him, for Father Pope?” she whispered, half -choking. “O, Diana! It was blasphemy!” -</p> - -<p> -“It was,” I said, “to waste the Princess Camilla on such a block.” -</p> - -<p> -Then, as my friend still cried out, I knelt, and took her waist -prisoner in my arms, and begged to her. -</p> - -<p> -“I am not like you, darling. I pine and pinch in this cold air. If it -was not for you, you little warm thing, I should run away with Giles, -the handsome stable-boy.” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t,” she wept. “You don’t mean it. Say you only intended it for a -joke!” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course I only meant it for a joke,” I said, urging her; “though -it’s true I believed the creature was expecting it of me. But ’tis a -joke that will cost me dear if you don’t back me.” -</p> - -<p> -“O!” she cried, despairing, “I do, I will. But how can I ever pretend -to have wrote them, when that cat rhymes with lap is the best I know -of verse.” -</p> - -<p> -“You little dear,” I said, laughing in sheer love of her artlessness. -“Pretend nothing, but hold your tongue.” -</p> - -<p> -That she would have done for me, I think, though they racked her to -confess; and all might yet have gone well, had not the Lady Sophia, -meddlesome like most self-righteous consciences, sent for her to -question if, after all, her simple verses might not have been the -instinctive expression of <i>her</i> leaning towards the cloister. My poor -transparent angel managed to articulate a panic denial of any such -tendency; though, indeed, there was no need to, to any but a -blindworm. If ever little maid was built for loving, or to lay her -pretty hair in a puddle for some rogue to reach heaven by, it was she. -The sense of guilt would confound her, however; and, what between her -duty to madam and her loyalty to me, she must have answered her -examination so ambiguously as to raise some new doubts and suspicions -in the minds of her inquisitors. -</p> - -<p> -She flew back to me with very red eyes, and a fresh horror of the -imposition she was forced to practise. -</p> - -<p> -“I will never, never tell,” she sobbed, “though they tear me to -pieces. But O, Diana! I don’t want to be a nun.” -</p> - -<p> -I comforted her, though furious with the others for their Jesuitical -practices on her innocence. -</p> - -<p> -“Wait,” I cried, “and I will pay them both out! What right had they, -after what I said, to try and torture a lie out of you? Don’t fear for -the convent, child. I pledge my word you shall have a husband and -fifty children, nun or no nun.” -</p> - -<p> -“I want no husband,” she answered, blushing and clinging to me, “and -no lover but you.” -</p> - -<p> -I have taken pains to record her fond little reply, in view of an -odious charge, once concocted to my injury, of my having traded upon -my friend’s faith in me to rob her heart of its dearest possession. -That, indeed, was, then and always, no less than her loved Diana, of -whom none was ever permitted by her to take precedence. Any sacrifice -which was designed to maintain those mutual relations she thought too -cheap for discussion. -</p> - -<p> -One result, however, of her “questioning” was that madam’s attitude -towards me was thenceforth marked by a reserve and jealousy which, -inasmuch as I was unconscious of having done anything to merit it, -served only to prejudice me against a religion which could be used for -a cloak to so much hypocrisy. I grew quickly disenamoured of my -supposed vocation, and decided that faith, which seemed largely a -matter of digestion, could be better realised through independence. In -short, in the world I could reach beatitude through twenty -self-indulgences to one in the convent; and, such being the case, and -my constitution perfect, it seemed folly to take the short way. -</p> - -<p> -Madam seized an early opportunity after this to inquire into my plans -for retiring from the world and taking the veil. I confessed to her, -in reply, that her late suspicions had engendered in me thoughts, a -sense of grievance, inimical to my right contemplation of so momentous -a sacrifice. She was very much shocked and troubled, and recommended -me a stricter observance of all those self-obliterating virtues which -are such a comfort to those who don’t practise them. She rebuked my -pride; she prescribed fasting and discipline and maceration—tortures -which would have killed a dray-man—in order to lower and submit my -system to its final severance from the world. She would have had me at -her mercy before she drove in the knife; only, unluckily for her, my -constitution was impregnable. It flourished equally whether on bread -and water or <i>vol au vent</i>; and, finally, she surrendered to it. I -rather liked a little pious game we played, called the Moral Lotto, in -which the discs were sins, and those left uncovered at the end -entailed an obligation on the losers to maintain a particular guard -against the temptations they expressed. Though we all, in the end, -must have been warned through the calendar, from simony to -powder-puffs, I believe the contest was so sanctified to her by -intention that she read a design of Heaven in every missing counter; -and the fact that I generally won, did more than many assurances to -convince her that I was perhaps after all not so black as she had -painted me. -</p> - -<p> -But, between me and Father Pope, after that little <i>malentendu</i>, there -was no quarter asked or given. He treated me with a persistent coarse -rudeness, and I retaliated with all the interest of wit I dared. I -dropped blobs of wax on his spectacles; left his Hagiology open under -a drip from the ceiling; put crumbs of cheese in his cabinets of moth -to tempt the mice in; and confessed his own most obvious sins to him -as mine, for which I accepted furious penances as meekly as a lamb. He -hated me, and I contrived at least to give him a substantial reason -for such an abuse of his cloth. -</p> - -<p> -Now, I will mention one only other little incident before I pass on to -the subject of this chapter. I was playing in Wellcot attics on a -certain wet afternoon with Patty, when I discovered a locked Bluebeard -chamber. -</p> - -<p> -“What is it?” I said; but she did not know. I tried the handle; I -peered vainly into the keyhole; finally, I took a pin from my hair, -and contrived a little pick of it. -</p> - -<p> -“O, what are you going to do?” whispered the child, quite scared. -</p> - -<p> -“Get in, if I can,” said I. -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t!” she said, horrified. “If we are shut out, ’tis for a reason.” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course,” I answered. “And it’s no good looking for it on this side -of the door.” -</p> - -<p> -She clasped her hands in a little paralysis of curiosity while I -worked. It was a simple lock, and I was successful. As the door swung -open, we saw before us a sky-lit room, wedged under the slope of the -roof, and quite empty save for a framed picture, which leaned to the -wall back outwards. Patty uttered a tiny cry— -</p> - -<p> -“O, Diana! It’s the portrait!” -</p> - -<p> -In a moment, all excitement, we stole in a-tiptoe. The place was very -still and ghostly. Only on the dusty canvas itself lay a melancholy -grid of light. Palpitating in our sense of guilt, we turned the frame -round, let it drop softly back again; and there, before our eyes, -bloomed a smiling, wistful face. The light, which had saddened it in -reverse, was quickened now to an illuminating glory. It greeted and -dimpled to us—the face of a dead woman risen. -</p> - -<p> -A dead woman. Had she ever lived? I could not believe it, thinking of -that unsympathetic <i>dévote</i> downstairs. -</p> - -<p> -“Was she <i>ever</i> like that?” I whispered. -</p> - -<p> -“She was beautiful,” murmured Patty fervently. “I remember him -painting this.” -</p> - -<p> -“And going away, and leaving it unfinished?” said I: for, indeed, the -portrait was but sketched in, though masterly in its promise. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said the little girl, gulping. “And I never supposed what had -become of it till now.” -</p> - -<p> -It seemed incredible, the change that but a few envious years had -wrought. Had love done this thing before me? Or could love forsaken so -warp the loveliness which Love himself had created? It gave me a new -little thrill of respect for the humanised Sophia; because, whatever -the truth of her face, a man had been found to see this beauty in it. -</p> - -<p> -“She was St. Cecilia,” whispered Patty. “There is the harp in her -lap.” -</p> - -<p> -It was without strings—an unborn music. Perhaps the Christian lady -had declined to accept a pagan Muse for midwife, and had temporised -with her would-be deliverer, hoping to convert him. If so, she had -played her cards badly. I wondered if the man had been a -fortune-hunter. But in that event Madame Sophia would certainly be -Madame de Crespigny. -</p> - -<p> -Whatever the case, however, the picture made a deep impression on me, -and from my first moment of seeing it I was haunted by the desire to -become myself the subject of such a master’s devotion. <i>Ma vue et mes -minauderies firent tout-à-coup tourner la girouette.</i> For the first -time I felt myself a woman, encumbered with the heavy responsibilities -of her sex. -</p> - -<p> -One day—it was some eighteen months later—returning from a -commission to the convent, I walked straight into the presence of the -original of the picture and its painter. Yes, that is the truth. He -had run faith at last to earth, it seemed, and, armed with it, was -returned to add the strings to the abortive harp, and perfect the -ancient harmony. I could have thought that, to do so, he had need of -faith indeed; until, looking at madam, I started in sheer wonder. She -was transfigured—rejuvenated. The happiest light—bashful, coy, -defiant, and surrendering its defiance—was in her eyes. She was more -like a wife in the first wonder of motherhood than the starved -<i>religieuse</i> of yesterday. -</p> - -<p> -And the cause! Ah, my Alcide! The creature rose upon my entrance, and -I could have laughed in the face of my own befooled ideal. I had -thought of Raphael and the Fornarina; and, behold! a slack, -half-drowned-looking figure, with an expression, and conduct of its -limbs, as if it were just risen gasping from a pond—there he stood, -no sort of natural fowl at all, but a freak of genius like a -five-legged calf at a fair. -</p> - -<p> -“He! he!” giggled he, and held himself as if he were waiting to be -told what to do next. -</p> - -<p> -He was tall, it is true; and there was a good deal of him, mostly -gnarled bone, if that counted to his credit. His forehead, streaked -with dark hair turning grey, was strong and ample, and in itself -something of a feature; but, mercy! the loose indetermination of his -lower lip, and the way it overhung, foolish and disproportionate as an -elephant’s, the little folded chin! As I stared, too mortified for -manners, he returned my gaze, suddenly startled, it seemed, into a -speechlessness so stertorous that little Patty, who had entered with -and stood behind me, fell back a step in confusion. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” he exclaimed at that, chuckling, “and is hee-ar the little girl -I knew?” -</p> - -<p> -He spoke, when he did at last, drawlingly, and ended, as was his way, -by wrinkling his thin hooked nose and hee-hawing a little laugh -through it. -</p> - -<p> -“She is grown, is she not?” said madam, answering for Patty, to whom -he had referred, though indeed his eyes were all the time on me. Her -voice was so changed and soft, I hardly recognised it. -</p> - -<p> -“She is grown,” he said. “She is become, it appears, a double cherry.” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” said madam seriously, “the other is a second little foundling of -my care, and destined to God’s—<i>our</i> God’s” (she added -coyly)—“service, de Crespigny.” -</p> - -<p> -She had no sense of humour, the dear creature. The next moment, -noticing the direction of his gaze, with a little frown she bade us -begone to our books. -</p> - -<p> -We fled, and, once remote, I turned, with a tragi-hysteric stamp, upon -my companion. -</p> - -<p> -“Patience! And is that donkey <i>him</i>?” -</p> - -<p> -“It is Mr. Noel de Crespigny,” she said, amazed. “He is not— O, -Diana, do you really think him”— -</p> - -<p> -“Hee-haw!” I broke in, with a little passion of laughter; and then -fury overcame me. -</p> - -<p> -“How dared she,” I stormed, “how dared she tell him that lie about -me?” -</p> - -<p> -“What lie?” said poor Patty. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, to claim me to her worship of a golden ass,” I cried. -</p> - -<p> -“It was a calf,” said my friend, bewildered. -</p> - -<p> -I screamed with laughter. -</p> - -<p> -“O, don’t!” Patty implored. “It really was, Diana.” -</p> - -<p> -“You dear!” I gasped. “I daresay it was. But he was so badly made, I -couldn’t tell.” -</p> - -<p> -She followed me upstairs, utterly bewildered. On the landing above we -encountered a strange sight. The picture—<i>the</i> picture—was already -on its way down from the attics. A groom and maid bore it, and the -oddest creature stood above, superintending its resurrection. -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo!” whispered Patty; “it’s Gogo!” -</p> - -<p> -I could well believe it of such a monster. -</p> - -<p> -He was a man, and a huge one, down to his mid-thighs; and there he -ended in a couple of wooden stumps. His face, lapped in a very mask of -red bristle, was as savage as sin; and he growled and rumbled like an -interdicted volcano. -</p> - -<p> -“Ay,” he thundered, “I’m Gogo, the Dutch tumbler. Who calls me by my -name?” -</p> - -<p> -Holding with one hand by the banisters, he struck with the strong -stick he carried at the stairs, missed the tread, and was within an -inch of falling. The stick rattled down, and he swung and clung with -both hands to the rail. In an instant, some whimsical impulse sent me -tripping lightly up to help him. -</p> - -<p> -“Take my arm,” I said, “down to the landing.” -</p> - -<p> -The giggling servants paused in their task to stare up; but the -monster himself laboured round, with quite a stunned look. -</p> - -<p> -“To help—<i>me</i>,” he whispered hoarsely; “the little scented rush to -prop the oak!” -</p> - -<p> -I was in love with his changed voice at once. It was something to meet -only two-thirds of a man. -</p> - -<p> -“No, no,” he said, touching my arm as if it were a relic. “I’m Gogo, -the colour-grinder, the bottle-washer—not worthy to latch your -ladyship’s little shoe. I’ll go down—I’ll go down. Ho-ho! it’s easy. -I’ve done it all my life.” -</p> - -<p> -While he spoke, the odd creature had descended unaided, and, -recovering his stick, struck his wooden limbs fiercely with it. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you see?” he cried. “A stiff-kneed dog as ever limped after -Fortune!” -</p> - -<p> -He flounced upon the servants, and roared them into care of their -charge; then turned again to me, where I stood with my friend, who had -run trembling to my shelter. -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis our market, ladies,” he said in apology. “I must be particular -in its custody. We deal in new lamps for old; in”— -</p> - -<p> -He descended a few steps, then turned again. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” he groaned, tragic and comical in one. “Pity the poor genii who -has to serve; pity him—pity him.” -</p> - -<p> -He heaved a sigh that would have turned a windmill, and followed the -picture, and disappeared. -</p> - -<p> -“Patty!” I whispered, when he was gone—“Patty! Lord, Patty! who <i>is</i> -the creature?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m terrified of him,” she gulped. “He’s Mr. de Crespigny’s dog, he -calls himself, and follows his master everywhere, loving and growling -at him. He used to say there was no such painter in the world, if he -could be kept to it; but he always frightened me dreadfully. I do hope -they won’t stop long.” -</p> - -<p> -“H’m!” I said. “And is that queer name all he’s got?” -</p> - -<p> -“I never heard of another,” she answered. “But anyhow, it suits him.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” I said—and sighed—“<i>if</i> he only had legs!” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch09"> -IX.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I AM COMMITTED TO THE ——</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">I learned</span>, as you shall understand, to readjust my first impression -of de Crespigny. It is certain one must not judge the quality of the -wine by the vessel. He was a great artist, who ran quickly to waste in -the passions evoked of his own conceptions. From the mouth downwards -he was a sensualist, and not fit to trust himself with a fair model. -Shut into a monastery, he would have been a Fra Angelico. -</p> - -<p> -At the first he captured me, when once I was familiarised with the -ungainly exterior of the creature. To see him work—ardent, engrossed, -unerring in the early enthusiasm of a subject—was a revelation. He -stood so slack, he ran so to moral exhaustion when delivered of his -inspiration, it was impossible to recognise the master of a moment ago -in this invertebrate body with the loose wrists and silly laugh. If he -could only have been kept always at the high pressure of his -conceptions! Sometimes I wondered if it was in me to make him great -and hold him. It would have been splendid to be the Hamilton to this -Romney. Yet in the end I found the game not worth the candle. He was -soft wax, indeed, for seven-eighths of his length, and the littlest -puff from red lips could blow all the flame out of his head. -</p> - -<p> -Still, while it lasted, his influence over me was an education. His -portfolios were the very minutes of inspiration—suggestions, -impressions of loveliness, caught and recorded and passed by for -others. He finished little, and perhaps would have been a lesser -artist and a stronger man if he could have laboured to consolidate his -dreams. He taught me that not facts, but shadows of facts—the -reflections, most moving, most intimate which they cast—are the real -appeals to the emotions; that there is no landscape so beautiful as -its reflection in a mirror, no chord so pathetic as its silent -vibration in one’s heart. Perhaps the heavens are an eternity of -echoes, of spectral perfumes, of dreams derived from experience, and -we the authors of our own immortality. If so, we should live -passionately who would dream well. -</p> - -<p> -What this man lacked in nerve and backbone, his strange servant and -comrade supplied, and many times over. He was the oddest -monstrosity—savage in criticism, caustic in humour, a Caliban -bellowing grief and tenderness through hairy lungs. How he could ever -have come to attach himself, and passionately, to so flaccid a -bear-leader, was a problem pure for psychology. Now, at least, the two -were inseparable as— Ah, my friend! I was on the point of saying as -Valentine and Proteus, but the analogy, I protest, is too poignant; -for have not I too been cruelly declared the Sylvia who divided them? -</p> - -<p> -The portrait, on that first afternoon, was carried down to a -convenient closet on the ground floor; and there de Crespigny worked -on it, always alone, or in the sole company of his henchman. When -finished for the day, he would invariably lock the canvas into a -press, and none, not even I (there is virtue in that parenthesis), was -permitted to see it. The room was held sacred to him; and madam -herself refrained so religiously from intruding on its privacy as to -evoke, in her guileless trust of the singleness of his conversion, the -very hypocrisy which to her faith was inconceivable. For, indeed, he -converted this closet—which stood safely remote and approached by a -back-stair way—into a sanctuary for deceit. Often, to confess the -whole truth, when she supposed me engrossed in books or the -construction of celestial samplers, was I closeted with de Crespigny -and Gogo, learning to handle a brush, or inspire one, while Patty, -with a code of signals, kept panic watch on the stairs. -</p> - -<p> -Madam’s exclusion, no doubt, cost her many a patient sigh. She -wondered over the idiosyncrasies of genius, which preferred, or -professed to prefer, to labour its mental impressions rather than toil -to record the living and mechanical pose. Still, it was true, the -Sophia of to-day, however rejuvenated, was scarcely the model of that -older time; and that he could finish that beautiful inspiration from -her staider personality was what it was folly, perhaps, in her to -expect. -</p> - -<p> -Poor woman! Though I had my grudge, and no taste or reason to -commiserate such vanity, I suffered some qualms of remorse for the -part I was led to play. It is natural, after all, for the sex to see -itself never so immortal as through the eyes of love; and, when a man -has once praised its complexion, to claim for itself an eternity of -roses. -</p> - -<p> -Father Pope, the old spiritual curmudgeon, never quite credited, I -think, the genuineness of this late conversion. I daresay, from his -experience in the confessional box, he knew his man pretty well, and -the value of such emotional abjurations. The sick devil turned monk -was not to his taste; and, if he ventured to intimate as much, the -coldness which certainly befell between madam and him at this time was -easily to be accounted for. It all amused me hugely; and I felt -delightfully wicked while the fun lasted. But retribution, my friend, -was to overtake your naughty little Diana. -</p> - -<p> -One day, stealing into the studio, I found Gogo alone, grinding -colours into a little mortar. -</p> - -<p> -“God ye good e’en, little serpent,” said he. “You can sit and beguile -me for practice till my master comes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo,” I said, shocked. “Why do you call me by such a name?” -</p> - -<p> -“Because you are as like Eve as two peas,” growled he. -</p> - -<p> -“Eve was not a serpent, but a beautiful woman,” I answered, pouting. -</p> - -<p> -“And so was Lamia; and yet she was a serpent,” he grunted. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know what you mean. You said Eve.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, why not?” he replied, turning his red, morose-looking eyes on -me. “Eve accused the serpent of beguilement, didn’t she? and Adam Eve? -But Eve was made out of the man, therefore Adam accused himself. But -Eve accused the serpent; therefore Adam accused the serpent. Yet he -accused Eve; therefore Eve was the serpent, which is what she would, -and will, never understand. O, God bless her! God bless her! Which, if -He would do, blessing the serpent, might unriddle this sinful problem -of life!” -</p> - -<p> -He set to pounding vigorously with his pestle, and for a minute I -watched him in a bewildered silence. There was always something in -this shorn Cyclops which oddly attracted me. -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo,” I said quite softly. -</p> - -<p> -He threw down his pestle at once, and faced round, writhing his hands -together, and glaring at me. -</p> - -<p> -“Who spoke?” he said, in hoarse, trembling tones. “A voice from the -garden making me in love with my own clown name. O, always so, always -so, thou spirit of Eve; and, though it lost the world to God, I’d take -the apple from thy hand.” -</p> - -<p> -I laughed a little tremulously, as he stumped across the floor and -stood close before me. The vision of this great storm of a creature, -condemned to play the “comic relief” in the tragedy of his own -manhood, came as near my heart as anything. -</p> - -<p> -“Look!” he cried, his rugged chest heaving; “I can’t kneel to you, and -I’m your slave. I walk open-eyed, hating and adoring you, into the -toils you spread for our feet. Feet!” he groaned, looking down, with a -despairing gesture. “Perhaps—who knows?—having them, I might have -escaped.” -</p> - -<p> -“How did you lose them, poor Gogo?” I said. -</p> - -<p> -“Hating and adoring,” he groaned, unheeding my question, “hating and -adoring. Look, little serpent: I could crush your slender throat for -what you do, and hold on, and sob my soul away to see you die. Why -have you come between us? United, we were strong, he and I. I drove -his genius on, and loved the poor ape for its spark of divinity, and -propped the weak spirit while it wrought. You knock the prop away, you -knock the prop away, and we both fall; and where is <i>my</i> compensation -for the injury?” He clasped his great hands to me: “Give me back my -genius,” he cried in pain, “and let us go.” -</p> - -<p> -I rose to my feet, half moved and half resentful. -</p> - -<p> -“It is not I who take him or want him. I will not come here again.” -</p> - -<p> -As I turned, he barred my way. -</p> - -<p> -“No,” he said, near sobbing, “I lied. Do what you will with us: make -us angels or swine—I am content, so long as I may serve you.” -</p> - -<p> -As he spoke, the door opened, and de Crespigny entered. He greeted me -with a rather shifty look, I thought, and his manner seemed too -distraught to affect any particular notice of his servant’s obvious -emotion. -</p> - -<p> -“O, well, <i>ma bella</i> Unanina,” said he; “but a little sitting for this -afternoon, please.” -</p> - -<p> -I flushed, and was about to refuse to remain at all, when an imploring -scowl from Gogo softened me. With plenty of hauteur, I stalked into a -little curtained-off alcove which was consecrated to me for -tiring-room, and there dressed for model. When I emerged again, my -feet and arms were bare, my hair loose in a golden fillet, and, for -the rest, I wore a kind of seraph smock, in which <i>les convenances</i> -had been constrained to clothe me for the peerless Una. -</p> - -<p> -For as Una I was being painted. Looking one day through de Crespigny’s -portfolios, I had come upon some “impressions,” royal, strenuous, of -lions in the Tower menagerie, and was admiring the lithe, strong -darlings, when his voice breathed behind me, with that little eternal -foolish giggle. -</p> - -<p> -“Have you decided, naughty?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” I whispered. “I will be the fairy lady whom the lion came to -devour, and remained to serve and protect, because she was so pure and -innocent.” -</p> - -<p> -He did not know who I meant; so I found him the book and place. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah, to be sure!” said he, reading eagerly. “She laid her stole aside, -did she? Yes, it is an inspiration. It will suit me, if it does you.” -</p> - -<p> -So I was painted wonderfully as Una, making my own “stole” from one of -Patty’s bedgowns, and glorying, out of my very shamefacedness, to feed -the inspiration, while it lasted, of this impassioned art. Now, for -days it had wrought without slackening, so that it was an offence to -me to find it suddenly become, it seemed, without apparent cause or -reason, out of tune with its subject. He worked fitfully, dully, -almost, as it were, disregarding my presence, and drawling -commonplaces the while to Gogo, who had returned to his pestle and -mortar, and was grinding away sullenly. -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo,” he yawned presently, after an idle, preoccupied silence, -“which would you rather marry, a woman of wit or virtue?” -</p> - -<p> -“Neither, you blattering genius!” cried the other, turning round with -such an instant roar that I was almost frightened off my perch. -</p> - -<p> -The master, accustomed to his strange fellow’s moods, only laughed, -and leaned back indolent. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, you old dear?” said he. -</p> - -<p> -Gogo thundered. -</p> - -<p> -“She’s a rotten fish at best, shining the more the more corrupt she -is.” -</p> - -<p> -“But if she don’t shine?” said de Crespigny coolly. -</p> - -<p> -“Then she’s a dull fish,” said Gogo, “but a fish still.” -</p> - -<p> -The other mused, and sniggered. -</p> - -<p> -“—Who’s for ever playing to be caught,” added Gogo, grumbling. “She -loves the angle. Play her what you like, man, only throw her back when -hooked.” -</p> - -<p> -“Mr. Gogo!” I exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -“Ay, Mistress Una,” said he, “you’re all pretty players, from miss to -my lady dowager. Don’t tell me. You all love to excite the emotions -you don’t understand, and then off with you from the stage, sweet -ethereals, to the suppers of steak and porter which you do, while Jack -and my lord are wetting their pillows with tears over your -sensibility.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you,” I said, rising, highly offended. “As I, for one, am not -playing to be hooked, I’ll take your warning in time.” -</p> - -<p> -I had expected de Crespigny to strike in, in angry protest over his -servant’s insolence; but, to my astonishment, he did not move or -interfere. A little pregnant silence ensued, and the tears were -already rising to my eyes, when, to my horror, I heard madam’s voice -at the door. -</p> - -<p> -“De Crespigny,” she said, “may I come in for once?” -</p> - -<p> -He stumbled to his feet, and stood paralysed a moment, before he -answered— -</p> - -<p> -“A minute. You know the conditions: I must hide it away, and then”— -</p> - -<p> -When she entered a little later, there was he standing to receive her -with a spasmodic grin; his easel was empty, Gogo pounded at his -mortar, and I—I was shrunk behind the curtain, peeping in a very -shiver of terror. -</p> - -<p> -She looked at him with a little shaky propitiating smile. Her eyes -were red, as if she had been crying. She tried to speak, and could -not. He understood so far, the poor clown, and bade his servant -withdraw. When they were alone, she turned upon him with a little -appealing motion of her hands. -</p> - -<p> -“Am I never to be allowed to see it?” she asked. -</p> - -<p> -He frowned, and bit his trembling lip. -</p> - -<p> -“No, no,” she said, “I know the sensitiveness of your beautiful art. -Only, O, Noel! I cannot rest where we ended just now. Believe me, it -was so far from my wish to offend or alarm you. But time goes on, and -the pledge this finished picture was to redeem is withheld, until I am -at a loss how to explain.” -</p> - -<p> -“To whom?” he muttered sullenly, “to that priest? O, I know. What -right has he, a grudging Churchman, and you a saint?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, indeed, I am but a weak woman!” she said, with a faint smile, “and -he an anointed Father. He does right—dear, he does—to be jealous for -his daughter. It is only that he would ask you, that I would ask you, -what period”— -</p> - -<p> -“Art is not to be forced,” he interrupted her peevishly. “I made the -finishing of this picture, as it was begun—as it was begun, mind—the -condition of my being received into your Church. Didn’t I, now?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” she sighed; “but there are some vows better broken.” -</p> - -<p> -“A bad recommendation to what you call the truth,” he sneered. -</p> - -<p> -“But, Noel, it <i>is</i> the truth,” she cried. “O, say you are convinced -that it is!” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I don’t know,” he answered, “since you bid me to a lie.” -</p> - -<p> -“I will take the burden,” she cried, her eyes streaming, “to save the -soul I love.” -</p> - -<p> -She hardly breathed the final word. For a wonder, the poor creature -she entreated found enough in it to move him. -</p> - -<p> -“There,” he said, “don’t distress yourself, Sophia. I’ll work -hot-handed on the picture to-morrow. There, I promise I will.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you, Noel,” she whispered, so kindling, so grateful, that de -Crespigny shrunk before her. “I—I won’t interrupt you any longer. It -was like you, kind and considerate, not to blame me for breaking your -rule.” -</p> - -<p> -The room remained so still after her going that I thought he too had -followed, until, stealing out presently in a panic, I found him seated -in a corner, biting his nails. -</p> - -<p> -“I had better go now, hadn’t I?” I whispered, half choking. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” he growled, “to the devil!” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch10"> -X.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I BEWITCH A MONSTER</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">On</span> the following morning, going indifferently by the studio, where -was a back way into the grounds, I encountered Gogo. -</p> - -<p> -“He’s at work on the portrait,” he said, standing moodily against the -room door. “He’ll be at it all day. It’s no good your coming.” -</p> - -<p> -I tossed my head, vouchsafing no reply, and, singing to myself, passed -on and out. -</p> - -<p> -The day after, descending the stairs, I observed that the studio door -was left ajar. I laughed, taking no other notice, and went my way into -the garden. -</p> - -<p> -On the third day, seeing de Crespigny walk out with his Sophia, I -borrowed the opportunity to slip down and investigate. The truth was, -I was devoured with curiosity to learn how madam’s little explosion -had stimulated the artistic verve, and to obtain a glimpse of the -portrait, even, if necessary, by bending myself to the corruption of -my poor infatuated Gogo. But I was to be disappointed, for the room -was empty, and the canvas locked into its press. -</p> - -<p> -Peering here and there, considerably chagrined, in the hope of -discovering the key, I came, in the alcove, upon the full-sleeved -waistcoat in which the artist usually worked, and, diving eagerly into -the pockets thereof, found, not the key indeed, but some scraps of -paper, much scribbled over, which instantly aroused my curiosity, and, -presently, my amusement. -</p> - -<p> -“Ho-ho!” thought I, “you are inspired in other than the pictured arts, -are you, my gentleman? A poet, and fainting in the perfume of some -little naughty Mignonette!” -</p> - -<p> -So he had fancy-named the subject of his agonised Muse; and, indeed, -why should I prevaricate to myself about the application? I blushed a -little, making myself merry over these suffering scrawls and -scratches, of which, I was sure, my own poor little person must be the -victim. I had a face, it seemed, the calendar of innocence; <i>une bonne -poitrine</i>; a sweetest little double chin, like a robin’s throat -swelled with song. I put my hand to my neck. I could not but admit -that the poor man had taken a poetic licence; but, in truth, it was a -very example of the licence that was wont to drug his art. The flesh -held his fine imagination in thrall, and laboured his first spiritual -conceptions into Parisian models. He was divine only in his -sketches—impressions. When he wrought to improve upon them, he became -transubstantiated. -</p> - -<p> -So this was his repentance! He had spent the brief period of it in -painting me in verse, since he was debarred my presence in actuality. -I smiled, reading— -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“Mignonette, Mignonette,</p> -<p class="i0">Of all flowers the pet.”</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="noindent"> -and “Indeed!” thought I, tossing my head; “but not <i>yours</i> as yet, -sir!” -</p> - -<p> -While I studied to disentangle the scribble, I heard breathing near -me, and started to find Gogo regarding me with a cynical, -half-diverted scowl. The creature walked like a cat on carpet. He had -no creaking leather to betray him. -</p> - -<p> -“So-ho!” growled he; “you can yet blush to be found out by your dog?” -</p> - -<p> -I laughed, vexed, and a little embarrassed. -</p> - -<p> -“O,” said he, “never mind! I am honoured in even that little rose of -shame. You won’t grow it long.” -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo,” I said, “how dare you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why,” said he, “as dogs dare, who love without respect, and see no -more harm to serve a thief than a prince.” -</p> - -<p> -I looked at him a moment, between tears and defiance. -</p> - -<p> -“You are very unkind,” I said. “What is the good of my confessing -anything to you, if you so distrust me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Confessing?” said he, “the good? Why, because I have no legs to run -away, and a man’s better judgment is always in his legs. My foolish -heart is nearer the ground than most. Tread on it, thou Circe; and -prove me less than half Ulysses. Confess to me—confess; and I will -stay, and smile—and believe.” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” I said, recovering my confidence. “I swear not to, unless you -confess first. I asked you the other day how—how you came to lose -them; and you put my question by, sir, and were dreadfully rude into -the bargain. Very well, I am waiting to have you atone by answering -it.” -</p> - -<p> -I dropped into a chair, and he followed me, and squatted himself on -the floor, a very abortion of passion, yet moving somehow in his -grotesqueness. I kicked off my slippers, and put my feet into his -hands— -</p> - -<p> -“There,” I said, “they are tired, Gogo. Soothe them while you talk.” -</p> - -<p> -He caressed the weariness from them, as gentle as a woman. -</p> - -<p> -“I am at odds,” he said, in a low great voice, full of emotion, “I am -at odds with what remains of myself. How can I reconcile this with my -loyalty to the poor inspired ape I serve, and love through serving?” -</p> - -<p> -“How did you come to serve him?” I whispered, half drugged by the -creature’s touch. “You are cleverer than he, better educated, and all -that.” -</p> - -<p> -“I love,” he groaned, “I have always loved, to find romantic excuses -for the material uglinesses of life; to get a little salt out of its -offences. Who are those who say the visible form is but an expression -of the individual spirit—an internal autocracy shaping itself on the -surface? Poor atomists who cannot feel the pressure of all eternity -moulding them from without! Amidst sordid functions they go groping -for the essence, turning blank faces to the sweet air, the sun in the -trees, the far-drawn winds, the song of birds and scent of flowers, -all the spirit influences which really shape us. The soul ceases at -the portals of the senses. The dross it carries with it alone goes on -and in. <i>We</i> are but so many obstructions in the vast harmony—foreign -bodies which it is for ever striving to penetrate and decompose. It -focuses its burning light upon us; it takes the swimming heavens for -its lens; and we die and are dissolved into it. Only in rare instances -does the process wring from us a fine frenzy, or melt us into song; -and then we see genius—genius, which fools call self-issuing, but -which is really spirit reflected, like heat cast back from a wall.” -</p> - -<p> -“You odd creature,” I murmured. “You may go on, though I don’t -understand you a bit. Has Mr. de Crespigny been half melted into song? -I shouldn’t be surprised, by his appearance.” -</p> - -<p> -“Nor do <i>I</i> understand,” he said. “I can find romance in everything -external to man, but I can’t pursue it into his organic tissues. Can -<i>you</i> be so penetrated by it, and yet not perish, or even show one -scar? I think you are immortal, woman; unless it is the genius of -human beauty which you reflect, and which will presently destroy and -annihilate you. Why, then, I would give my own soul to keep you -soulless, you wretched, adorable child.” -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo!” I protested, too languid to be resentful. -</p> - -<p> -“Ay!” he said, his voice hoarse with miserable passion. “Let me speak. -It is all the licence I ask. I know my place, if I have grown confused -about my service. What I don’t know is why I, a free spirit, who have -never before truckled to the flesh, should suddenly find myself bound -to it, soul and honour.” -</p> - -<p> -He bent and kissed the foot he was caressing; then quickly sat up, and -set his strong teeth. -</p> - -<p> -“You ask me how I came by my hurts,” he said. “Well, listen to the -story of this most laughable butt of Fortune. It is soon told.” -</p> - -<p> -He passed his hand across his forehead. -</p> - -<p> -“It has been my doom to serve Nature; to worship her through those -visible concentrations of her light upon individuals whom we call -geniuses. How I discovered too late that her preferences were -arbitrary, fanciful, often unworthy; that her signal gifts could be -used to stultify her own creed of natural faith, natural justice, -natural order, let these witness and call me fool.” -</p> - -<p> -He jerked up his poor stumps so comically that I could not help -laughing. -</p> - -<p> -“Ay,” he said, “a tragic prolegomena to the history of a Dutch -tumbler, isn’t it? Well, for the text. It was at Oxford that I met and -worshipped my first genius. He was a man of great family, an inspired -naturalist, an unerring shot and rare sportsman. In those early days -we had already planned an expedition together to the unexplored North -Western ‘Rockies,’ for the purpose of making such a collection of -their flora and fauna as should bring us wealth and reputation. Though -the world of Nature seemed even too cramped a stage for my boundless -lust of life, the prospect of those unspeakable teeming solitudes, -inviting all that was most strenuous in me to conquer, was a certain -solace in itself. My soul sought territory; it seeks it still; and, -though I be what I am, the stars, this poor earth once subdued, still -enter into my plan of campaign. -</p> - -<p> -“I was not rich. When the time came, I had to realise all my capital -to sail with my friend. We reached, after considerable hardships, the -Athabasca territory, and thence started on our exploration westwards. -I soon found that my comrade, though a genius in comparative analysis -and definition, lacked the physique necessary to the task we had set -ourselves. He was often ailing and querulous, and the gathering of the -specimens practically devolved upon me. Still, we had garnered and -classified a considerable harvest in one of the little settlements of -the Fur Company, before the accident befell which was to deprive me -for ever of the fruits of my devotion. We were one day duck-shooting -over a lake, when the ice broke and my friend was plunged in frozen -water to the knees. His frantic cries brought me hurriedly to his -assistance. By the greatest good fortune a little gravelly shallow had -received us; but, inasmuch as this shelved away acutely on every side, -our desperate scrambles to escape only let us into deeper water. There -was nothing for it but to stay where we were till rescue could reach -us from the shore, and so we set ourselves to endure. Not long, on my -companion’s part. He soon complained that he must die unless relieved. -He was frail and spare, and I only something less than a giant. I took -him first into my arms, then upon my shoulders, designing to hold him -so until succour came. It reached us in the shape of some Indians from -the shore, who pushed a canoe towards us over the ice. But by then I -was stark frozen, and my legs to the knees insensible. By chance there -was an ex-medical student in the settlement, who turned what rough -knowledge of surgery was his to the best account he was able. One of -my legs was mortified beyond recovery; and this he amputated. The -other, after incredible suffering, was saved to me. For weeks, -however, I was kept knocking at death’s door; and, when at length I -could creep from under the shadow, it was to the knowledge of an -anguish more cruel than the other. This man, this genius, whom I had -given so much to save, had deserted me while I lay stricken, and, -carrying with him all the rare accumulations of our enterprise, had -gone south to Vancouver. There was no message left, no consideration -for me in all his vile philosophy of self-interest. It was just a case -of treacherous abandonment. -</p> - -<p> -“When I was sufficiently recovered, I pursued him by tedious -heart-breaking stages, long months in their accomplishment. I will not -weary you, you thing of thoughtless life, with their particulars. I -was sustained, and only sustained, through all by the thought of -wresting from this scientific egoist an acknowledgment of my share in -the practical success of our expedition. At last, poor, friendless, -crippled, I ran him to earth in London. I found him there, his name -writ famous in the annals of the Royal Society; himself the honoured -recipient of its gold medal; his collection—<i>our</i> collection—already -on view in the hallowed precincts of Crane Street. -</p> - -<p> -“I faced, and upbraided him with his treachery. He retorted coldly -that he had never considered me but as the servant of his enterprise, -useless to it when once, through my own folly, disabled. I found a -friend, and the affair made a little stir. To my accusations he -answered that he had employed, but had been forced to discard me, -through the irregularity of my habits. Outraged beyond words, I -challenged him; he accepted, and we met at Richmond. His first shot, -aimed with diabolical ingenuity, shattered the bones of my sound knee; -and, in the result, the limb had to be amputated above. When I was -discharged from the hospital, it was to find the exhibition closed, -the town empty, and myself thrust upon it, a helpless, destitute hulk. -</p> - -<p> -“The friend I have mentioned, humorous and good-natured, came to my -assistance. He commanded some pale interest at Court. By means of it, -he procured me, as an expert naturalist, the post of Royal Ratcatcher, -in succession to a Mr. Gower, who had lately filled the office at a -yearly salary of one hundred pounds. The royal economy, however, -docked me, as only two-thirds of a man, of a third of the sum. I wore -a uniform of scarlet and yellow worsted, with emblematic figures of -rats destroying wheat-sheaves embroidered on it; and in this I stood, -the laughing-stock of the maids of honour, for three years. -</p> - -<p> -“At the end of that time, having had the misfortune to overlook a rat -which had made its nest in a pair of the Duke of Cumberland’s state -breeches, I was dismissed without a character. Again I applied to my -friend, and was recommended by him, for my scientific attainments, to -a French nobleman, who was troubled by the croaking of frogs in his -ponds, and employed me to whip the water all night with a long wand of -willow that his rest might be undisturbed. But the constant immersion -rotting my stumps, and he refusing to supply me with others, I was -obliged to resign my post, and returned to England. -</p> - -<p> -“In the meantime, my friend had died of a humour, and I was stranded -entirely without resources. For some time I earned a precarious -livelihood, in my naturalist character, by worming dogs; and again, -one still more precarious, by cleansing ladies’ <i>toupées</i> of the -vermin which long usage engendered in them. It was here, while serving -my master, a wig-maker, that chance brought me acquainted with my -present manner of service. -</p> - -<p> -“During all this time, I will say, I had never ceased to regard soul -as external to form, or to scout that introspection which is the real -unhappiness. What did it concern me, if I was destroying rats, or -picking fleas out of a poodle? In any case, I was helping Nature to -its freer manifestations on matter, and, in my constant communion with -it, prepared to welcome such rare accidents of genius as might come my -way. My master’s business brought him into frequent relations with the -theatre; and it was thus that I first encountered de Crespigny, who -was at the time acting scene-painter to the new house at Sadler’s -Wells. I had no sooner had the chance to see his work than I -recognised genius, glaring and manifest. He did wonders in a few -touches, that he might idle for an hour. My opportunity was come, and -I entreated him to employ me, in however menial a capacity. He was -touched by my enthusiasm; flattered, perhaps, by my admiration; -persuaded by my strength. He engaged me, first as his assistant; soon -as his nurse and mentor. For years I have helped to direct his career, -have goaded his inspirations, cossetted his weaknesses. Ah, child! He -is <i>my</i> child, made glorious by my faith in him. Do not seduce me from -my allegiance to my child, and for the first time make me out of love -with Nature!” -</p> - -<p> -He ended with a groan, and flung himself prostrate on the floor, -beating, I think, his forehead against it. -</p> - -<p> -“Poor Gogo!” I said. “You have confessed; and so will I now. He is my -child too. I adore him, and am so ravished by his art that I could not -rest with thinking what he had made of the portrait. Do you know, -Gogo? I will tell you the truth. I was hunting for the key of the -press when you came in and caught me.” -</p> - -<p> -He lay, without answering. -</p> - -<p> -“Won’t you lend it me, Gogo?” I coaxed softly. -</p> - -<p> -“Thank God,” he muttered, raising his head, “I am tied from the -temptress. It is not in my power, thou Circe. He always carries it -with him.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch11"> -XI.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I ADD THE LAST TOUCH TO A PORTRAIT</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">That</span> same night, while undressing, with my room door open for the -heat, I suddenly thought I distinguished an unwonted footstep on the -landing below me, from which Patty’s little chamber led. I listened, -quite still, for some moments; then, the stealthy sounds seeming to -recede into the hall and thence die away, descended cat-footed to the -landing, and, after hearkening an instant, opened her door swiftly and -noiselessly upon my friend. Instantly I knew that the amazed suspicion -which had sprung upon my heart was justified. The child stood before -me, terror in her startled eyes, her dark hair falling upon her -shoulders, a brush in one hand, a paper in the other. -</p> - -<p> -“Diana!” she gasped, in a whisper. “What do you want?” -</p> - -<p> -“Has he been with you?” I asked instantly, leaving her no time to -prevaricate. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>With</i> me!” she exclaimed, so scandalised and incredulous that the -worst of my qualm was laid on the spot. -</p> - -<p> -Without another word I held out my hand. Without a word she put the -paper into it. I took it, and read— -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“Mignonette, Mignonette,</p> -<p class="i0">Of all flowers the pet,”—</p> -</div></div> - -<p> -(“O, shameful!” I whispered, and set my lips.) -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“O, beautiful, beautiful, sweet Mignonette!</p> -<p class="i4">Dear, kind little blossom,</p> -<p class="i4">Soft, soft in the bosom,</p> -<p class="i0">Who gives to thee, takes from thee, sweet Mignonette?</p> -<p class="i0">Was it thou at her ear that shed sweets passing by me?</p> -<p class="i0">Is it thou in her shape, or herself that doth fly me?</p> -<p class="i0">Is it thou, is it she, Mignonette, Mignonette,</p> -<p class="i4">That I follow, must follow,</p> -<p class="i4">As the Summer the Spring,</p> -<p class="i4">Who hides warm in the wing</p> -<p class="i4">Of its darling the swallow?</p> - -<p class="i4 mt1">As love chases the swallow</p> -<p class="i4">To the eaves and the leaves</p> -<p class="i4">High up under the roof,</p> -<p class="i4">Mignonette, so I follow.</p> -<p class="i4">Ah! to whose little chamber,</p> -<p class="i4">Sweetheart?</p> -<p class="i10">As I clamber,</p> -<p class="i4">I trow not, I know not</p> -<p class="i0">What dream flew before to the room high aloof.</p> -<p class="i4">But my heart pants delight</p> -<p class="i4">In the thought, half a fright,</p> -<p class="i4">Half delirious sweetness,</p> -<p class="i4">That the spirit of the flower,</p> -<p class="i4">That the spirit of the hour</p> -<p class="i4">Shall reveal love’s completeness.”</p> -</div></div> - -<p> -She was as pale as death and trembling all over as I looked up. For -the moment my heart withered to her. The shock, the outrage was -unendurable. -</p> - -<p> -“Who wrote this?” I demanded, in a hoarse whisper. -</p> - -<p> -She did not answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Speak,” I said. “How did it come to you?” -</p> - -<p> -“I heard it slipped under the door,” she muttered. -</p> - -<p> -“By him? O, you little traitor and wanton!” -</p> - -<p> -She fell on her knees, sobbing and clinging to me in a soft anguish of -desperation. -</p> - -<p> -“O, my dear, don’t look at me so! I’m not untrue to you. I never -imagined it was me—no, not for one moment—till to-night.” -</p> - -<p> -“And you are shocked, no doubt, to find your precious virtue at fault. -O, you little serpent that I have trusted and warmed in my bosom!” -</p> - -<p> -“Diana!” she wept, in a very frenzy of despair. “O, what can I say or -do? I thought it was you. It shall be you, Diana!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, it shall be me,” I answered, “but no thanks to you. Don’t think -that this is anything but a passing mood of his, played upon you for -my delectation because I have been cold to him of late.” -</p> - -<p> -“I think it is, I know it is,” she said, brightening. -</p> - -<p> -“And you hope it is, I daresay,” I said scornfully. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, indeed,” she answered. “There is no love in the world but yours -that I care for, Diana!” -</p> - -<p> -“Love!” I exclaimed. “Don’t flatter this poor half-breeched makeshift -with the sentiment.” -</p> - -<p> -But I looked down on her more kindly, with a vexed laugh. My -good-humour was returning to me. It seemed too comical, the way we -three pious spinsters were scrambling for the favour of a -sheep’s-eyes. A pair of small-clothes flung into our nunnery had been -worse than an apple of discord. Skirts were so <i>de rigueur</i> with us, -that I think even Gogo’s wooden legs seemed a little <i>outrés</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“I do believe you were innocent, in everything but your cuddlesome -looks,” I said, relenting. -</p> - -<p> -“O yes, Diana!” she answered eagerly. “And I can’t help them.” -</p> - -<p> -“Would you if you could?” I questioned doubtfully. “I don’t know. -There is a good deal of method in artlessness. It can always plead -itself in excuse for enjoying the pleasures which we sinners must take -at the expense of our consciences.” -</p> - -<p> -She knelt at my feet, silently fondling and kissing my hands. -</p> - -<p> -“Are you sure you don’t regret giving him up?” I asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Quite—sure,” she answered, so faintly as to set me off laughing. -</p> - -<p> -“There, Patty <i>mia</i>,” I said; “you are not to be sacrificed to a -self-indulgent vapours. You will see some day how kind I am being to -you; and you shall have a large family yet.” And with that I kissed -and left her, taking the paper with me. -</p> - -<p> -I will admit that the shock to my vanity was for the moment acute, -until reflection came to convince me that this rickety light-o’-love, -wearying of his one day’s abstinence, and finding me inaccessible, had -only palmed off on my friend the reversion of sentiments inspired by -me. On further reflection, too, I was not the more angry upon -realising that I had acquired a useful weapon for goading him to a -definite decision upon an action long deferred—our flight together, -that is to say, and, when once emancipated from the stunting -influences of Wellcot, the union which, it was understood, was to be -conditional on his satisfying me that his ambitions and mine were -mutually accommodating partners. But now, if for no other reason, I -felt that I owed it to my affection for my poor little friend to -precipitate this step, lest she should be led, through her natural -incapacity for denying anyone, to making herself miserable for life; -and so, armed with my <i>pièce de conviction</i>, I ended by sleeping very -soundly and comfortably. -</p> - -<p> -I did not even hesitate the next morning, but, about noon, singing -very cheerfully to myself, descended to Mr. de Crespigny’s studio. The -door was locked. “Open, please,” I said. -</p> - -<p> -“Go away,” he answered crossly. “I’m at work on the portrait.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes?” I said; “but I want to come in.” -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps there was something in my tone. Anyhow, after a short -interval, during which I heard him wheeling his easel about, he -unlocked the door himself. I marched straight in, and, quite radiant, -nodded to Gogo, who, busy in a corner, gazed at me with a sort of -gloomy alarm. -</p> - -<p> -“Mayn’t I look?” I said, smiling. -</p> - -<p> -“No!” said de Crespigny sharply. -</p> - -<p> -I went and held the paper under his nose. -</p> - -<p> -“Didn’t you slip this under the wrong door last night?” I asked -calmly. -</p> - -<p> -“There!” growled Gogo, and throwing down his tools faced about -furiously. -</p> - -<p> -De Crespigny’s face went mottled, and he began to shake all over. Then -suddenly he rallied, and flamed on me, stuttering. -</p> - -<p> -“Wha-what right have you to ask? I may address whom I like, without -requesting your leave. My-my lady shall be informed what spies she’s -got in her house.” -</p> - -<p> -“You ass!” roared Gogo. -</p> - -<p> -“From me—yes,” I said. “I’m going straight to tell her.” -</p> - -<p> -Gogo stumped fiercely, and put himself between me and the door. His -master collapsed like a pricked bladder. -</p> - -<p> -“You’ll ruin yourself,” he gasped, between tears and bullying. “If you -ruin me, you come down too—don’t forget that.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, in a noble cause!” I said mockingly: “to open the eyes of my -mistress and my friend.” -</p> - -<p> -He stamped about in a little impotent frenzy, then came and almost -prostrated himself before me. -</p> - -<p> -“I—I thought you’d forsaken me,” he cried; “I swear I did, Di; -and—and I was as miserable as a dog, and wanted sympathy, I did, in -this cursed strait-laced nunnery. Don’t tell on me—don’t; and I’ll go -on with your picture here and now.” -</p> - -<p> -In a fever of trepidation, he hurried from me, calling on me not to -go, and fetched the canvas from the press and brought it to me. -</p> - -<p> -“See,” he said, “you little injured innocent—yes, you was quite right -to be hurt; but—but it’s you I love, Di—it really is—and”— -</p> - -<p> -The canvas fell from his hand. He stood, gaping, as if in the first -shock of a stroke. And I turned; and there was madam standing in our -midst, every atom of colour gone from her face. -</p> - -<p> -There are some situations, my Alcide, that can only be ended brutally. -I don’t know what deadly instinct drove me to the portrait; but to it -I ran, and turned it with the easel about. Then, I declare, I felt as -if I had committed murder. The wretch, with what fatal purpose I could -not tell, had done nothing less than mutilate his own inspiration. In -place of the lovely roses of yesterday was the worn, haggard woman of -to-day, and the harp in her lap was a tangle of broken strings. -</p> - -<p> -I felt for her. Looking in her face, I almost repented my part. There -was a dreadful smile on it, as she went very quiet and breathless, and -lifted the “Una” from the ground. -</p> - -<p> -“It is very pretty,” she said, “but hardly proper to a child of the -Good Shepherd.” -</p> - -<p> -Then I hated her as I had never done before, and rejoiced in her -downfall. -</p> - -<p> -“I was looking for you, Diana,” she said, in her straitened tones, -“and heard your voice here. Will you come with me, please?” -</p> - -<p> -And so she went out, deigning not one look at that insult of her own -face, nor one word to the hangdog perpetrator of it. She went out, as -cold as ice, and I saw Gogo, standing by the door, droop his head as -she passed. Tingling with the joy of battle, I followed her. I knew -that my long martyrdom was nearing its end. -</p> - -<p> -Outside in the hall she turned to me, quite stiff—I wondered how her -limp corsets could support so much dignity—and bade me retire to my -room till she should send for me. -</p> - -<p> -“And if it is to find you on your knees,” she said, “why, by so much -will the duty I have to perform be made the easier.” -</p> - -<p> -Well, to do her justice, I believe that her heart was as near broken -as one can be. -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you, ma’am,” I answered. “Do you want to flog me? ’Twould -scarce improve your case, I think, with Mr. de Crespigny.” -</p> - -<p> -I ran up lightly, humming to myself. I heard her give a little gasp, -and then go on her way to the parlour. Nobody came near me while I -waited, until, in a little while, a servant knocked, to summon me. I -went down at once, as jaunty as you please. Father Pope was with her, -I saw, as I entered the room. -</p> - -<p> -“I wonder how much of the truth she has told him?” I thought. -</p> - -<p> -She was seated, perfectly colourless, while her companion stood, -lowering and uneasy, by a table hard by. She bent a little forward, -drawing her breath, I fancied, with difficulty, and addressed me at -once. -</p> - -<p> -“You have asked pardon of God, I hope?” -</p> - -<p> -I tossed my head. -</p> - -<p> -“For what, madam? What have I done?” -</p> - -<p> -She appealed to the priest, with a little momentary helpless gesture; -then bit her thin lips, as if stung by his silent perversity to -resolution. -</p> - -<p> -“For the deceit you have long practised on us,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“O, madam,” I answered, “do you refer to the gentleman’s attentions to -me? I could hardly be so immodest as to confess of them to you, when I -did not even know to what end they were advanced.” -</p> - -<p> -She held up her hand dully. -</p> - -<p> -“I allude to your privately sitting to him for—for that—for his -model,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, I had my respected example, madam,” said I. “I didn’t know but -what we were expected to accommodate the gentleman, seeing you -yourself gave us the lead.” -</p> - -<p> -She rose quickly, striking her hand on the table. -</p> - -<p> -“To make of yourself, pledged to Heaven, a shame and a wanton in his -eyes! O, ’twas infamous!—Not that,” she checked herself hurriedly, “I -blame him—not altogether. Art is a strange creditor, that makes -demands, scarce comprehensible to us, upon those who practise it. But, -<i>you</i>”— -</p> - -<p> -“Are you blaming <i>me</i>, madam,” I cried, “because he has not paid <i>you</i> -to your liking?” -</p> - -<p> -She turned away, as if quite sick. Father Pope took up the tale. -</p> - -<p> -“Silence!” he roared, “you little dirty liar and trollop!” -</p> - -<p> -“O, no doubt!” I piped him back, “because I rejected <i>your</i> -attentions.” -</p> - -<p> -He took a step forward, his great fist clenched, his glasses blazing. -I don’t know how he might not have forgotten himself, had not Lady -Sophia come quickly between. -</p> - -<p> -“Hush!” she said. “It is all to end here, Father.” She turned quietly -on me. “Father Pope is, I am sorry to say, justified. You have -deceived us in more things than one, Diana. It is not so long, I must -tell you, since I heard from the Sisters of les Madelonnettes that -your original story of your unhappy mother’s death was false, she -having but a few months ago returned penitent and broken to die in the -very convent she had so shamed and disgraced.” -</p> - -<p> -I gazed at her, bewildered, for an instant, and then, as the truth -penetrated me, with a horror and passion beyond control. -</p> - -<p> -“O,” I cried, “this is too much! And I believed her long dead of -grief; and you never told me—never let me see her: and I think you -are the wickedest woman in the world!” -</p> - -<p> -She stood staring at me, silent, as if stricken. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Cave anguem!</i>” sneered the priest, with a brutal laugh. -</p> - -<p> -I turned upon the pale woman with a furious stamp. -</p> - -<p> -“Why did you never let me know? How dared you keep it from me? I will -go to law about it and have you hanged!” -</p> - -<p> -“If I could have thought”—she began, in a whisper; “if I have by -chance done wrong”— -</p> - -<p> -“Wrong!” I cried violently, “you have done me nothing but wrong since -I came here. You have always misunderstood and disbelieved in me; and -now, it seems, you had no right to adopt me at all.” -</p> - -<p> -I ended with a torrent of tears. -</p> - -<p> -“I want to leave you,” I sobbed; “I want to go away into the convent, -and be at peace where no one can hate and slander me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ha!” said Father Pope, moving, and hunching his shoulders, “then -there our wishes jump, and no time like the present. So go collect -your duds.” -</p> - -<p> -“Diana!” whispered madam again, in her stunned way, and made a little -movement towards me. But I shrunk from her, shivering. -</p> - -<p> -“No, don’t touch me—<i>please</i>,” I said. “I’ll go to the Sisters, -who’ll be kind to me. I’ll do anything you want—only not stop here.” -</p> - -<p> -I saw her put her hand to her heart as I tottered from the room. Then -I ran upstairs, and hurried to put some little properties together. -</p> - -<p> -I quite acquiesced in the movement—was eager to hasten it, in fact. -The truth is, that, of Wellcot and the convent, the latter appeared to -me by far the less formidable as a present asylum. Any further meeting -here between me and Noel was rendered virtually impossible; nor was it -likely that the outraged spinster would prove so accommodating to our -purposes as the artless little fatties across the valley. One need -have no fear of being buried alive in a dovecot. -</p> - -<p> -While I was hastily collecting a few necessaries, my sweet girl crept -in, and made a little sweet nuisance of herself, distressing and -impeding me. -</p> - -<p> -“There, dearest,” I said, as I wrought preoccupied, “you are the best -of loving chickens, and I shall have plenty of use for you by and by. -Only at present—there, don’t pout—I am too jubilant in the prospect -of escape to cling and kiss and cry with you. I’m not going to Land’s -End, only across the way; and mind, no more communications from a -certain gentleman, miss, unless on my behalf.” -</p> - -<p> -She promised, with new floods of tears. -</p> - -<p> -“Then,” I said, pushing her playfully away, “find me my vinaigrette, -child. Father Pope is going to convey me in the carriage.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch12"> -XII.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I AM INFAMOUSLY RETALIATED ON</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">I remember</span> once dining in Sorrento with the Marquis de P——, a most -exclusive sybarite and dilettante. The table was spread with a flesh -silk damask, whose very touch was a caress. Before each of the -company—a small and appreciative one—was placed one iridescent -Venetian goblet, and a bunch of lavender in a floss silk -napkin—nothing else whatever. The room—vaulted into Moorish -arabesques, and swimming with a slumberous half-penetrable light, in -which the crusted gold of stalactites, high in the groining, alloyed -and confused itself with the stain from purple windows—gave upon a -dusky pillared court, where zithers and the plash of a fountain wedded -in soft music, and the breath of orange blossoms made us a dim -impalpable barrier against the world. The plates were served each -ready charged, and each with a golden spoon only; for knives were not -to be allowed to sever this dream of sensuous rumination. There was -but a single wine—the Château Yquem, which is reserved for the -nobility of its district, and which never goes beyond but in a few -favoured directions. We talked but little and idly, with a mingling of -delicious sighs and happy low laughter. Towards the end the zithers -ceased; the remote fountain tinkled alone; and a girl, a ghost of -loveliness, danced and wreathed herself without in a flood of -moonlight. It was all perfect satisfaction without surfeit. Of such is -the kingdom of heaven. And yet there are times when I wonder if my -host has gone to join Lazarus or Dives. <i>Mon ami</i>, I am often full of -such wonders; and then sometimes—when, perhaps, I have not kept the -perfect proportion, and my head aches—I think I will end my days in a -convent, and purify my wicked digestion on lentils and spring water. -Only, where is the convent? I have seen some in my day, and in not one -have they cultivated their little paradise on cabbages. I find myself -standing aghast on that neutral ground between the world and the -Church; and, alas! there are so many other nice people standing there -to keep me company. With such, this desert itself becomes an Eden, and -on either side I cannot escape from it but into another. -</p> - -<p> -The Convent of Perpetual Invocation received me with open arms from my -morose jailer. It conducted me, in the person of its Mother, to the -sunny parlour, and there sleeked and patted me fondly. -</p> - -<p> -“You dear,” she said. “I am so glad we have got you at last.” -</p> - -<p> -Her coif looked as if she had slept in it, and her plump hands were by -no means over clean. She was a stumpy, beaming little woman, moist -with good living. Her skin worked so freely, and in such prosperous -folds, it might have made a dyspeptic sigh with envy. I felt at home -with her directly. -</p> - -<p> -“There, dear,” she said, “you have brought us many good things in your -time, but none so good as yourself; and now we take you in pledge of -better.” -</p> - -<p> -It may have been meant as a little sly spiritual reflection, but she -smacked her ripe lips over it as if she already tasted in me, as -madam’s direct protégée, a very plethora of venison and larded -fowls. For many years, I believe, these good little women had been -secretly looking forward to the term of my novitiate as their -gastronomic millennium. I could laugh, I declare, with remorse to -think how the dear pink little pigs were defrauded. -</p> - -<p> -I had been delivered without directions, but with a surly intimation -that madam would call on the morrow. It was not my business to -enlighten anyone; and so I enjoyed the best of my present favour. -</p> - -<p> -She trotted me out by and by to see her asparagus and strawberry beds, -fat in promise, though tucked now and slumbering under their autumn -blankets of manure; her hives; her mushroom pits; her stewpond thick -with fat carps stuffed up to the neck and something her own shape; her -pigeon cotes and rabbit hutches. There was an odd family likeness, a -general assimilation to the neckless, apoplectic type amongst them -all—Sisters, animals, and vegetables. Perpetual invocation, it was -evident, had an obliterating effect on the individual. I shifted my -own dimpled shoulders. How long would they be rounding to the contour -of these squat little vessels? I thought with a certain terror of my -admirable digestion, and determined as long as I remained here to live -sparely. What if, like the wolf in the fable, I were to eat so many -fat pancakes that I could not escape through the hole in the wall -again! -</p> - -<p> -That evening we had a refection of sweet bread and fruit and prayers, -and a delightful supper (alas for my resolution!) and comfortable -droning prayers again. Then we went each to her cosy cell, which was -like a crib for a fat baby, and slept the round of the clock to -prayers and breakfast. My fellow-sisters delighted me. I never saw -such a community of bow-windows, the most comfortable little parlours -one could imagine for the spirit to be entertained in. They had their -scapulars made very large, and of flannel, so as to serve the double -purpose of tokens and liver pads. At meals we were forbidden to -talk—a most fattening proscription, or prescription. Prayer, at all -seasons or out of them, was the single ordinance of the -society—perpetual invocation on behalf of our unenlightened land. We -were safe, perhaps, in not considering the logical result of its -efficacy, or, indeed, the prospect of a second reformation might have -frightened us into heresy. For, our point once gained, our occupation -would be gone, and our creed of self-content be called upon to -vindicate itself very likely in self-denial. However, England as yet -was far from recanting its heresy of prosperity-worship. Our very -fatness was the best argument in the world to it of our right to -survive; so it showed no tendency to do other than keep us eternally -praying for it. -</p> - -<p> -Madam drove over on the day following my arrival, and was closeted for -a considerable time with the Mother. I was not summoned to her -presence, but I think she did not dare to vent her full heart of -spleen upon me in her report. She could not very well, without -compromising herself. She must have revealed, or intimated, however, -so much as give the poor woman a hopelessly bewildered impression of -my personal contribution to art. For the rest, I think she was -satisfied with having scotched her terrible little snake, and did not -doubt that, having done so, my own sense of final commitment to my -calling would keep me immured out of harm’s way, and hers, to the end -of time. It must have been with a feeling of guilty relief that she -drove back to conclusions with her inamorato. -</p> - -<p> -The Mother, having sent for me on her withdrawal, looked at me with -the most cherubic doubt and dread, and pressed my hand quite -speechless. -</p> - -<p> -“Dear,” she whispered, all of a sudden, “so very <i>décolletée</i>! and -think of the draughts!” -</p> - -<p> -“Why more than the angels?” I said, pouting. “They don’t wear -underclothes.” -</p> - -<p> -“They are symbols,” she answered doubtfully. “Besides, we don’t know.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, <i>ma mère</i>!” I cried. “What’s the good of being an angel, if one -has to?” -</p> - -<p> -“Hush!” she said. “Anyhow, they may take liberties denied to us. -Besides, this young person was not an angel.” -</p> - -<p> -“There you are wrong,” I cried. “She was an angel of purity.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is that so?” she asked a little curiously. “Well, it makes a -difference, of course. But it would have been more becoming of her to -be painted by a woman. There is the respectable Madame Kauffmann, for -instance, who, I am told, depicts religion and the virtues. But there, -dear, we will say no more about it; only pray to the good Father, now -the naughty little episode’s over, that we may be accepted meekly into -His fold.” -</p> - -<p> -I heard no more from Wellcot after this for a couple of days, and was -beginning already to torment myself with qualms of jealousy of my -sweet little vicegerent there, being at the last almost driven to -break out and precipitate matters, when I was saved by a call from the -darling herself. Our meeting, to which the Mother’s presence gave a -conventual sanction, though fond and cordial, would have been barren -of result had not my friend, with a finesse which delighted me, and -the more because I had thought her incapable of it, rid us of our -incumbrance. -</p> - -<p> -“Good lud!” said she, after the first embrace, twinkling through her -tears, “if I haven’t left my little basket of cream cheeses for the -Sisters melting outside in the sun!” -</p> - -<p> -The bait took instant. The Mother, with a little gentle reproof for -her carelessness, waddled out with such a benevolent glare as though -she had heard the last trump. -</p> - -<p> -“Wait, dears, and I’ll be with you again!” said she. -</p> - -<p> -The moment she was gone, Patty threw herself upon me. -</p> - -<p> -“I hid it under some bushes,” she said, “just to keep her hunting, and -where it wouldn’t melt really.” -</p> - -<p> -Her second reason was characteristic enough. She could never offer the -tiniest hurt from one hand without its remedy from the other. I -foresaw she’d whip her children by and by with a strap of -healing-plaister, the poor little weak creature. -</p> - -<p> -“O, you <i>naughty</i> little thing!” I giggled; but was serious the next -moment, questioning and urging her. -</p> - -<p> -“Quick!” I said. “What’s he going to do? Have you a letter?” -</p> - -<p> -She shook her head. -</p> - -<p> -“He’ll have a postchaise outside in a night or two, and will let you -know; but for the moment he’s watched, and daren’t move, or commit -himself to paper.” -</p> - -<p> -“The hero! He’s still there, then, at Wellcot? If it had been me, I’d -have had my servants flog him out of the house.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, Diana! How can you say such a thing, and you in love with him!” -</p> - -<p> -“Whom I love I chasten. I’m in love, like Mrs. Sophia, with myself -through him. He’s going to make me great. Now, tell me what’s the -state of things there.” -</p> - -<p> -She shook her head rather piteously. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know. It’s all very sad and lonely without you. I think she -wants to forgive him; but he’s proud and angry, and holds aloof.” -</p> - -<p> -I turned up my nose with a sniff. -</p> - -<p> -“It’s nicer to be a healthy sinner. Her fulsomeness makes me sick. And -how did you get leave to come and see me?” -</p> - -<p> -“I didn’t get leave at all,” she said. “I daren’t even ask it, feeling -sure she’d refuse. I slipped out without telling, hearing cook had -something to send. I expect she’ll be very angry when she hears.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>If</i> she hears,” I corrected her. -</p> - -<p> -She looked at me with sad, puzzled eyes, the comical dear. -</p> - -<p> -“How shall I ever bear with it all after you are gone, Diana?” she -said. “You’ll let me come and stay with you sometimes, when you’re -married?” -</p> - -<p> -“Now, Patty,” I said, “tell me the truth. Is the creature still making -eyes at you?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” she answered stoutly; then added, conscience-stricken, “At -least, I don’t know. I never look at him. But—but—O, Diana! I wish -he’d go altogether, and leave us, you and me, as we were.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s perhaps not a very kind wish, child,” said I. “But you shall -come and stay with us when once I’ve got him under control, never -fear.” Then, as I heard the step of the Mother returning, “Hush!” I -whispered; “tell him I’ve no idea of being buried alive here: that he -must arrange it very quickly, or I shall return and give everything -away.” -</p> - -<p> -She answered silently, with a hug and a gush of tears. She looked -haggard and distraught, poor little wretch; yet I had no alternative -but to use her. -</p> - -<p> -I waited two days longer, in an anxiety that rose to distraction. -Still no message came from him; and at last I made up my mind, and -sent him an upbraiding letter by a misbegotten old beldame, with a -leery eye, who helped in the convent laundry. She brought me back an -answer—that he would be waiting for me, with a postchaise, in the -lane without, at nine o’clock that very night. O, my friend! how -dreadful is the first realisation of perfidy in those whom our -inexperience trusts! This cursed Hecate was all the time in the pay of -the authorities whom my innocence thought to hoodwink. When the time -came, I wondered, indeed, to find Fortune so blind in my interest. So -far seemed there from being the least suggestion of suspicion, of -uneasiness abroad, chance appeared to invite me with open portals. -What Sisters I encountered, even the Mother herself, manœuvred, I -could have thought, to leave me my way unobstructed. Miserable -parasites of power, subordinating their consciences to the lusts of -their abominable little stomachs! To pamper those, they were lending -themselves without scruple to a deed of unutterable darkness—the -consigning of their innocent sister to a living death. -</p> - -<p> -I found the chaise waiting in a dusk corner beneath trees. A cloaked -and sombre figure, engaging me in the shadow, hurried me within, leapt -after, slammed the door, and gave the word to proceed. In a moment we -were tearing through the night. -</p> - -<p> -So great was the flurry of my nerves, I had not, until the lamp at the -convent gate flashed upon us and was gone, noticed that we were four -in company. Then, all at once, I started. The man who sat beside me -had removed his hat and was wiping his brow. Two thick-set, motionless -figures sat facing me. -</p> - -<p> -“Easy done, sir,” said one of these. -</p> - -<p> -“Ha!” said my companion, “yes.” -</p> - -<p> -In a sudden terror, I struggled to rise. He restrained me. -</p> - -<p> -“Mr. de Crespigny!” I exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -“Ha!” said my companion again. “You hear that, Willing?” -</p> - -<p> -“I hear,” responded the second of the others gruffly. -</p> - -<p> -My companion turned to me suavely. -</p> - -<p> -“Mr. de Crespigny?” he said. “Yes, and what about him, madam?” -</p> - -<p> -“You are not he!” I cried wildly. “Let me out! He was to have met me!” -</p> - -<p> -With a sort of tacit understanding, they all hemmed me in with their -knees, imprisoning and controlling me at once. -</p> - -<p> -“You make a mistake, madam,” said my captor. “He was not to have met -you. But, be reconciled; time and judicious treatment, I have not the -least doubt, will cure you of this delusion.” -</p> - -<p> -In an instant the whole horror of this snare, of this most wicked -scheme, opened like a black gulf before my eyes. The convent—to -anticipate an analogy—had been my Elba; now my St. Helena was to be -an asylum. She had discovered; or he, the dastard, had betrayed me; -and, in the result, she had not hesitated, with the connivance of some -sycophant doctor, to stoop to this. -</p> - -<p> -It was night; the chaise drove on by back ways; I sunk back, sick and -almost senseless, and abandoned myself to despair. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch13"> -XIII.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I AM WOOED TO SELF-DESTRUCTION</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Dr. Peel’s</span> Asylum was known generically as “The House,” perhaps in -cynical allusion to its licensed irresponsibility to any laws but its -own. It was conceived on the principle of an eel-pot—the easiest -thing to slip, or be driven, into; the hardest to escape from. It was -not so much an asylum as an oubliette; never so much a house of -correction as of annihilation. There, in addition to the -constitutionally weak-minded, troublesome heirs, irreclaimable -prodigals, jealous wives, importunate creditors, distinguished -blackmailers, chance recipients of deadly secrets—all such, in fact, -as threatened the peace of that grand seigniory which has a -prescriptive monopoly in it—could be immured by <i>lettre de cachet</i> -(it amounted to nothing less) from any accommodating physician, and -afterwards “treated,” or disposed of, by private contract. Its methods -were delicate, tasteful, and exceedingly sure. With rib-breaking, -starvation, strait-waistcoats, all the vulgar apparatus of the -ordinary <i>médecin de fous</i>, it had no commerce. Where the removal of -undesirables was in question, it rather killed with kindness; -suffocated, like Heliogabalus, with roses; persuaded to the happy -despatch with a silken cord. It drove its poor Judases to suicide by -putting by, as useless, their moral reparations, and took care to have -at hand the seductive means. If one escaped—a rare occurrence—it -possessed a kennel of highly trained bloodhounds, whose belling warned -the dark nights with menace. It asked no questions, and expected to be -asked none. Its formula was a hint and a cheque. -</p> - -<p> -The asylum <i>ménage</i> was perfectly refined, and its cuisine lavish. It -entertained none but the nominees of the wealthy. The extensive -grounds of the house were a literal maze of beauty, the shrubberies -being so disposed as to preclude all thought of restraint. It was only -upon piercing them, at any point, that one found oneself opposed by a -high boundary wall, which contained between itself and the estate it -enclosed a waste interval incessantly patrolled, day and night, by the -asylum watch. Then, indeed, one realised the iron hand in the velvet -glove, and started back dismayed from the grin of the nearest sentry -whom one’s movements had called light-footed to the spot. -</p> - -<p> -“A fine view, mum,” he might say, stepping up between ingratiatory and -insolent. “Was you looking for anything?” -</p> - -<p> -Whereupon one would do best to retire, and precipitately; because -there was no appeal from any brutality offered, in his own domain, by -any servant of, or partner in, this lawless oligarchy. -</p> - -<p> -Rising from my little bed, and mattresses full of fragrance and down, -on the morning first after my arrival—rising, fevered and exhausted, -to the full realisation of my awful position, my eyes encountered the -vision of a wholesome, even luxurious, little chamber, and through an -unbarred window a most heavenly prospect. I could hardly believe in -the reality of my fate. This was no prison, but an inn, to escape from -which it seemed only necessary to pay the score, and have the landlord -cry “Bon voyage!” I remembered him the night before—a little tough, -square man, drily courteous in manner, with the head and depressed -forehead of a burglar. He had been already on the steps to receive me, -when we drove up, standing in a patch of light with an expression on -his face as if we had caught him in the act of breaking into his own -premises. Those we had reached, within two hours of my first -kidnapping, by dark and devious roads. They stood, remote from all -other homesteads, a little colony self-contained, some six miles south -of Shole. -</p> - -<p> -On the way thither I had soon abandoned all thought of resistance, or -of appeal to my captors. They may have heard my sobs and prayers with -a certain emotion: virtuous distress had no chance to prevail with -cupidity. I sunk into a sullen apathy, my heart smouldering with rage, -principally against the craven who had either betrayed me to this -living death, or, at least, had weakly acquiesced in my doom. The -prospect of revenge, though alternating with despair, alone preserved -me from a condition of the last prostration. And in this state I was -driven up to the House, and to it consigned, the sold slave of -madness. -</p> - -<p> -In the first terror, with staring eyes, a storm in my breast that -would not rise and break, dishevelled hair, and, it may be, a look of -the part I was called upon to play, I shrunk into a corner of the room -into which I was introduced, and stood there panting. Dr. Peel went -into a thin chuckle of laughter, curiously small and inward from so -thick-set a frame. -</p> - -<p> -“Brava!” said he. “Very well observed, madam! But, if you will look -round, you will see there are no bolts, no bars, no locks here, save -as the ordinary appurtenances of a domestic household.” -</p> - -<p> -There were not, indeed, to the common view. To most doors, as I came -to discover, the locks were inside; and, where it was otherwise, it -was—mark this!—to insure from any chance insane attack, especially -at night, the lives of those which it was particularly desired should -be preserved. To be given the full freedom of the House was always a -significant privilege, implying, as it did, one of two things: either -that the proprietor had accepted at the outset a round sum down for -one’s perpetual incarceration, or a hint that one’s accidental removal -would be handsomely acknowledged by those interested. -</p> - -<p> -Now, as I said, waking on that first morning to free prospects, my -spirit experienced a rebound to the most delightful reassurance. -Surely, I thought, no worse harm could be designed me than the -punishment implied in my enforced temporary detention in this charming -home, where, it seemed likely, a nominal deprivation of one’s liberty -was used to convey a gentle moral or adorn a kindly tale of reproval. -I waxed jubilant. If a meek acquiescence in my fate delayed to move my -jailers to liberate me, I was confident that my wits would soon find -me a way to free myself from so indulgent a thraldom. And in the -meantime I would resign myself to the enjoyment of a very novel -experience. -</p> - -<p> -A loud bell summoned us all to breakfast, <i>à la table d’hôte</i>, in a -pleasant refectory. Dr. Peel took the head of the table, and a plenty -of attentive lackeys waited. There was no restriction, nor -interference with one’s individual tastes. I accepted silently the -place assigned me between a gaunt, supernaturally solemn gentleman, -with mended clothes, a wigless head, and prominent fixed eyes, and the -tiniest, most conceited-looking creature with humped shoulders I have -ever seen. An uproarious gabble of conversation, interspersed with -occasional hoots and groans, accompanied the meal throughout. -Occasionally my solemn neighbour would turn to me and remark, -fiercely, as though daring a contradiction, “Enough is as good as a -feast; but more than enough is less than nothing.” -</p> - -<p> -On the third repetition of this formula, the little man on my other -side addressed me with an ill-tempered chuckle— -</p> - -<p> -“Bring him down, ma’am, bring him down, or the creature will scorch -his head in the moon.” -</p> - -<p> -While I was shrinking back in confusion, Dr. Peel bent to the -solemnity. -</p> - -<p> -“Captain,” says he, with an ingratiatory grin, “you’re drinking -nothing.” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t want anything,” said the other, in a loud, bullying voice. -</p> - -<p> -“Nonsense,” answered the doctor. “You must keep up your character. -Here, John.” -</p> - -<p> -He spoke to a lackey, who was ready on the moment with a decanter. To -my amazement, the man filled up the gentleman’s breakfast cup with raw -brandy. -</p> - -<p> -He shifted, glared, hesitated, and caught up the pungent stuff. -</p> - -<p> -“Enough is as good as a feast, but more than enough is less than -nothing,” howled he, and swallowed the fire at a draught. -</p> - -<p> -He had hardly consumed it, when he cast the cup into splinters on the -board, staggered to his feet, and, moaning to himself, left the room. -The conversation died down for a moment, and was instantly resumed -more recklessly than ever. I felt suddenly sick. -</p> - -<p> -“He-he!” sniggered my little companion. “He’s been long taking his -hint, the fool, and outstaying his welcome. But Peel’s done it at -last, I do believe.” -</p> - -<p> -I did not ask him what. My spirit felt engulfed in deep waters of -terror. I sat dumb and shivering, till the meal ended, and the company -broke up and dispersed itself about the grounds. Many, rude, curious, -fantastic, came about me to inquire, mockingly or fulsomely, into my -malady. To all their solicitations my little companion, who had -appropriated me, turned a rough shoulder and rougher tongue. -</p> - -<p> -“The lady has confided her case to me, you pestilent cranks!” he -screamed, and succeeded in extricating and convoying me to a remoter -part of the grounds. On the way we encountered two men, like -gamekeepers, carrying a ghastly sheet-covered burden on a litter. -</p> - -<p> -“Ho-ho!” said my friend, stopping. “It was arranged for the tower, was -it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Now, lookee here, Jimmy,” said one of the carriers, while the two -paused for a moment, “you’re too precious fond of poking your nose -where you ain’t wanted, you are. You go along to your games, and leave -your elders to theirs till you’re growed up.” -</p> - -<p> -“Grown up!” screeched my companion, whose chin, indeed, was thick with -a grey bristle, “grown up, you puppy, you calf, you insolent lout!” -</p> - -<p> -Crazy in a moment, he danced in the path, screaming and shaking his -fists. The men resumed their way, laughing. Suddenly he caught himself -to a sort of reason, white and shaking. -</p> - -<p> -“They want to drive me to it,” he said. “They want me to break a -blood-vessel; but I see through them, and I won’t be drawn.” -</p> - -<p> -He wiped his forehead, and looked anxiously up in my face. -</p> - -<p> -“You see it, don’t you?” he said. “The fools are envious of my inches. -But you ain’t, are you, being a woman?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, no,” I said, smiling, in a sort of ghastly spasm, in full -understanding of his mania. “No, no; or should I select you for my -champion in this? Let us go on, <i>please</i>. Was that—?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” he answered, the question that my fainting spirit shrunk from -formulating, “yes, it was the Captain—good riddance to a conceited -ass.” -</p> - -<p> -He strutted along, pluming himself on my praise. All that I have -stated—the truth about this smiling, damned Gehenna—I drew from him -then or thereafter. I cannot recall it now without a shudder like -death’s. -</p> - -<p> -Once that morning we came, in a retired corner, upon the prettiest, -greenest graveyard—the sweetest God’s-acre, God pity it! in all the -sad world. It was studded with quiet flowers, screened with fragrant -shrubs, thick with graves, <i>each a nameless grassy barrow</i>. What depth -of tragedy in it all! I cannot, I vow, dwell any longer on the -picture, but must cover the details of it at a gallop. -</p> - -<p> -I was nine weeks, before I found release, in this appalling hell—a -time the most stupendous of my life. I will acquit the Lady Sophia of -intending the worst; I cannot acquit her of implying it. Whether from -jealousy, or a true conviction as to the unpardonable nature of my -recreancy, she failed, at least, to assure the instruments of her -cruelty that my death-sentence was not intimated in the bond. It is -possible she may have been totally ignorant of the real character of -the place to which she condemned me. She is none the less responsible -for the conclusions the Rhadamanthus of that inferno elected to draw -from her dubiety. Anyhow, I am convinced that my destruction was -designed, before I had been there many days. -</p> - -<p> -In the meantime—O, my Alcide, pity thy Diane! What had she done to -merit this fate, the most awful that could befall a brilliant sanity? -Very, very soon that early buoyancy was like nothing but the memory of -a bright star, that had exploded and scattered as soon as realised. A -sickness, a deadly apprehension, took its place; a sense of some -creeping, circumventing terror, which hemmed me in, stealthy and -pitiless, concentrating my thoughts on a single point in this cursed -paradise. I was inoculated with the disease of the morbid intellects -about me. My reason suffered deliberate contamination by the -remorseless ghoul my keeper. No fewer than three times during my short -sojourn in his inferno did the corpse of a self-destroyer witness to -the success of his methods. They went to swell the bloody tally of -shrouds under the grass in the little graveyard; and, thinking of them -there, their awful waiting testimony, I would look up to find the evil -eye of their murderer fixed upon me in covert, lustful speculation. -</p> - -<p> -For long I remained incredulous that my wit could be utterly impotent -to devise a means to escape. Gradually, only, the sinister -watchfulness which guarded every outlet of this green prison, and the -fiendish incorruptibility of its warders, was bitten into my brain. -Pleas and graces were accepted for nothing but an encouragement to -unwelcome attentions, indeed. It was not supposed that one could be -insane and modest. Many sold their virtue for a little surcease from -tyranny, bartered their dearer than life for a poor extension of -living. At the same time, and for the same reason, a most rigid -embargo was placed on all communications with the outside world. Worse -than a Russian censorship doomed these utter exiles from hope. -</p> - -<p> -In the worst of my despair I had written to Patty, to de Crespigny, -begging them to intercede for me with the cruel woman, who yet <i>could</i> -not be aware of the inhuman character of her revenge. Finally, I wrote -to madam herself—an appeal that would have melted a heart of stone. -My cries were uttered into space. They were never allowed, in spite of -all specious pretence, to penetrate the boundaries of my doom. They -recoiled only upon my own fated head, precipitating its calamity, and -the swifter because I was persistent in justifying my birth-name to my -hateful would-be destroyer. -</p> - -<p> -The little craze they called Jimmy was my sole stay and buckler. He -attached himself to me vigorously, and by his quickness and -waspishness more than made up for his lack of inches. I never knew who -he was, or immured at whose instigation. There was warrant, anyhow, -for his detention; yet not sufficient, it appeared, for his “removal.” -His philosophy of madness was just a counterbuff to that of the -deceased Captain. If, in short, more than enough was less than -nothing, then less than nothing was more than enough; wherefore Jimmy, -twitted with being less than nothing, knew himself really to be -greatly better than most, though he could never get over the envy of -smaller souls in refusing him the credit of his stature. What is -apparently little is relatively great, he often assured me, while -bemoaning his inability to knock the truism into the thin asparagus -heads that shot above his own sturdy one. He spent the most of his -time, and I with him, in what was known as the workshop—a detached -ivy-grown shed, buried amongst trees, very private, and with a deep -well in it, and furnished with all sorts of dangerous tools for cranks -of a mechanical turn. There he wrought incessantly, for he was a -capable carpenter; and there, watching and helping him, I strove to -forget something of my misery. One morning, entering this shed, we -found a little group of employés gathered about the well, talking and -laughing, and fishing with a long grapnel. A partition separated us -from the obscene crew, whose movements, unobserved by them, we -crouched to watch. -</p> - -<p> -“A thousand to one it’s old Star-jelly,” whispered my companion. -“’Twas plain from the first the creature was booked.” -</p> - -<p> -They hauled it to the surface while he muttered—a sodden body caught -by its waistband and doubled backwards—and slopped their hideous -burden on the floor. The white sightless face settled backwards, as if -with a sigh of rest, and I could hardly refrain from a scream of -terror. I had known this poor thing for the few days since he had been -admitted—a wreck so torn, so noisome, so straining the remnant of -life through fretted lungs, it should have seemed a mockery to -precipitate its end. I had known, and never, till now seeing it -clothed in the white uniform of death, had recognised it. It was the -mad incubus of “Rupert’s Folly,” caught somehow tripping at last and -consigned to his doom. The red earl had succeeded by long waiting in -curing himself of this itch. He was one of a deadly persistent family. -</p> - -<p> -That night I could not even cry myself to sleep. -</p> - - -<p class="mt1"> -I don’t know how it was that I was at last driven to visit the Suicide -Tower. I had caught glimpses, remote in the grounds, of a picturesque, -creeper-hung pagoda set in flowering thickets; but had always, since -that first morning of deadly association with it, turned with loathing -from the sight. Now, somehow, by degrees, the thing began to impress -itself with a certain fascination on me. I felt drawn to it by a -horrible curiosity, none the less morbidly self-indulgent because I -knew that my jailer, a proselyte of the subtle Mesmer, had long been -practising to master my will and get me entirely under his influence. -Snuffing here, nibbling there, as it were, like a heifer approaching -in pretended unconsciousness the stranger in the field, I gradually -lost my power of resistance, the circumference of my orbit slowly -lessened, until, behold! one day the attraction found me helpless to -oppose it, and, with a little cry to myself, I yielded and went -rapidly towards the tower. As I approached the spot, I could hardly -feel my limbs; my soul, penetrated with a sort of exquisite nausea, -seemed already straining to leave the earth; a mist, luminous, vaguely -peopled, eddied before my eyes. Perhaps a confidence derived from the -possession of my duck-stone—which all this time I had been jealous to -preserve, using it even occasionally, in moments of prostration, for a -drug to my nerves—conduced to my undervaluing the force of -temptations to which I owned such a counter-charm. In any case, I made -so little resistance in the end, that the evil thing concealed amongst -the thick bushes by the tower, whence and whither he had drawn me by -his spells, must have chuckled to see me so easily netted. -</p> - -<p> -The place was perfectly silent and beautiful. A tinkle of water, a -twitter of birds reached my ears from some remote height. The tower -sprang from a circular platform of stone, went up loftily, and broke -at near its top into two or three little tiled flounces. Under the -lowest I could see an opening pierced through a rose trellis; and -right before me the unlatched door of the building was reached by a -shallow flight of steps. -</p> - -<p> -My heart was fluttering like a netted butterfly as I mounted them. -What sinister design could possibly obtain in this still and fragrant -enclosure? A flight of spiral stairs, going up the interior, was set -in a very bower of plumy palms, and ferns, and clambering rich mosses, -made greener by the light which entered through green <i>jalousies</i>. -Here and there tiny rills of water, lowering themselves down miniature -precipices, were fretted into spray that hung in the twinkling emerald -atmosphere and was showered on the leaves. Caged cunningly amidst the -foliage, birds of brilliant plumage chirped and flirted; or red -squirrels sprang and clung, staring at me with glossy eyes; or -lizards, liquid green as the sun through lime leaves, raised their -pulsing throats, and whisked and were gone. Once a snake, raising a -gorgeous enamelled head, lashed its thread of tongue on the glaze of -its little prison, seeming to taste my passing beauty in a wicked -lust. I felt quite secure and happy. Up and up I climbed, and -presently started singing softly, irresistibly, in response to the -growing rapture of my flight. New beauties were revealed with every -step, until in a moment, passing, at an angle, through a very thicket -of blossoms into white daylight, I saw the meaning, and tottered on -the brink of it all. -</p> - -<p> -I had emerged upon a little ledge, a foot in width, which ringed the -outside of the tower just below the first roof. I was standing there, -suddenly, instantly, with not so much as an inch of parapet between my -feet and the edge. Behind was the wall of the tower; below, a reeling -abyss and the bare, merciless pavement. Dazzled, irresistibly drawn -forward, I longed only to reach the stones and be at rest. But in that -terrible moment my talisman occurred to me. Swaying, half fainting, -fighting for every movement, I succeeded in drawing it from my pocket -and lifting it to my nostrils—and instantly my resistance was -relaxed, and I floated down on the wings of enchantment. -</p> - -<p> -When I opened my eyes, drugged and smiling, it was to the vision of -Dr. Peel standing before me like an awed and baffled demon. He dressed -his twitching features, and came and cringed. -</p> - -<p> -“Are—are you much hurt?” he stammered. -</p> - -<p> -“No, sir,” I murmured. “Not at all, I thank you.” -</p> - -<p> -“It was your skirts ballooned,” he said. “I could not have thought it -possible.” -</p> - -<p> -I sat up, reordering my hair. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you now?” I said quietly. “Such an escape could hardly come within -your calculations, I think.” -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean?” he began loudly, and as instantly collapsed again. -“You had no right to be there at all,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“Nor should I,” I replied, “but to show you that virtue may have a -familiar as well as vice, and one, too, capable of answering to a -wicked challenge.” -</p> - -<p> -I got to my feet as I spoke. He stared at me utterly disconcerted, -and, as I withdrew, followed me like a scourged dog. -</p> - -<p> -From that time he sought rather to preserve than to destroy me, and I -found myself, as one of the elect, locked into my room at night. He -had realised, I suppose, that wickedness could over-reach itself in -the chance entertainment of spirits potent beyond the worst it could -of itself evoke; and, though he still clung to me as a sort of hostage -for his own miserable salvation, made many abject efforts towards my -conciliation, amongst which I had great reason to reckon a relaxation -in the watchfulness which had hitherto dogged my every movement. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch14"> -XIV.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I AM RESCUED BY MY MONSTER</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Have</span> you not noticed, my little friend, how the wicked are always -the superstitious? It is because life is to them full of dark corners, -in which the unsuspected hides. The atheist will still be for baiting -a deity whose existence he denies; he will wring a response from a -vacuum, which failing, he fears to canvass emptiness for the reason. -</p> - -<p> -Dr. Peel knew well the impotence of virtue to conquer. He saw it of -such poor force in the world as to figure of no moment at all in a -contest with vice. He did not fear God, but he feared that the devil -was God, and vindictive where the harming of his protégées—of whom -he had no thought but that I must be one—was concerned. He had been -eye-witness of the, to him unaccountable, foiling of his project; and -it struck him as if he had fallen upon an ambush in one of those dark -corners. He shrunk back terrified, and thenceforth exchanged his -noisome attentions to me for an attitude of propitiation which was as -unwelcome, and even more stultifying, in seeming, to my hopes, -inasmuch as it included an increased jealous concern for my -safeguarding. But there, in the end, his service of his dark master -was made to recoil upon his own head, through his very scepticism of -the more divinely cunning power which works for good. He would lock -me, as I said, into my room at night, thereby securing me not only -from prowling evils, but an asylum in which I might ponder undisturbed -what plans I could of escape. And it was that security from -interruption which enabled me presently to realise on an opportunity -of which I was quite unexpectedly made the mistress. -</p> - -<p> -It fell early very cold and wintry that November, but the chill in my -heart was colder than any hailstones. Presently such an apathy of -despair found me that I would hardly leave my room all day, but would -sit in a sullen misery gazing, gazing from my unbarred open window -upon the fraction of stiffening world it commanded. It was at a front -angle of the house, pretty high above the ground; and under it the -stony drive went round an elbow of lofty trees to the fatal unseen -gates of the entrance beyond. -</p> - -<p> -One morning, after breakfast, I was seated there, when a chaise rolled -up to the steps of the door below, and a moment later Dr. Peel entered -and was driven rapidly away, on some fresh marauding devilry, I -conjectured. The vehicle, sped by a heart-whole curse from my lips, -had disappeared scarce a minute, when round the bend of the shrubs it -had taken came striding the oddest figure—an interloper by way of the -open portals, it seemed. Such an event had never, in my knowledge, -happened before. I stared, and roused myself, elate even over this -momentary grotesque vision from the world beyond. It was just a -stilt-walker, a monstrous pierrot, with floured absurd face and -conical cap, his legs, cased in linen trousers, rising an immense -height from the ground. As he came on, ridiculously gyrating, he blew -a pipe, and rattled at a little tabor that hung from his neck. In the -same moment he saw me where I stood, and danced up, rolling and -wallowing—for he was an incomprehensibly great creature for such a -trade—and broke into a mad, jerky little chaunt, half French, half -English, as he approached— -</p> - -<p> -“<i>O-ha, mamselle! Je vous trouve, je vous salue! A la fin çà, çà, -çà!</i> -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“‘Be’old the mountaineer,</p> -<p class="i2">He sik for edelweiss,</p> -<p class="i0">I have found my dear</p> -<p class="i2">Very high and very nice—<i>çà, çà, çà!</i>’”</p> -</div></div> - -<p> -He flicked off his cap—with a grin that showed, though against the -flour, a set of perfect teeth—and in three strides was at the window, -his eyes and huge white face above the level of the sill. Even in the -instant, as if the former were a cypher momentarily isolated for my -reading, I understood, and was stricken to stone. -</p> - -<p> -“The graveyard!” whispered the pierrot in that instant: “be at the -wall over against it at ten o’clock to-night”—and reeled away, to a -pantomime of grins and pirouettes, as the lodge-keeper came raging -round the corner in pursuit. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>O que nenni dà!</i>” cried the intruder, twisting and turning and -affecting to bend with laughter. “O, madame! O, fie! I am very -honourable z’jentlemans. Wat, I say! I make you good proposals to -marry. I display my parts, <i>v’là</i>!” -</p> - -<p> -He contorted himself, with absurd coquetry. “Wat!” he protested, -pausing; “madame declines of the ravishment? She does not move herself -to fly with me? Vair well”— He pretended of a sudden to espy his -pursuer, and pressing his cap to his breast, waltzed up to him. -</p> - -<p> -“Hey, my little fellow,” he cried (the lodge-keeper was at least as -big as Daniel Lambert), “it is for you, then. You know the best wat is -good. I will not abduct madame: I will not marry at all. It is vair -much satisfaction. You see me dance, <i>hein</i>? Come on, jolly -<i>garçon</i>!— -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“‘Love miscarries—heh?</p> -<p class="i0">When a man marries—heh?’</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="noindent"> -When a man’s single he live at his is—you spik French, but yes?” -</p> - -<p> -The lodge-keeper hawked up a glair of oaths, and discharged them. He -swore by all his gods that he would cut off the intruder by the legs, -unless he went out, and double quick, the way he had come. Then ensued -a comical scene. The pierrot, affecting to retreat after a brief -altercation, swerved suddenly and seated himself on the branch of a -tree— -</p> - -<p> -“O-ho!” he said, as the other came lumbering up, “it is vair well, but -I make up my mind. I refuse madame, it is true. You know to marry, -what it is? Listen, then— -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“‘At the end of one year one baby:</p> -<p class="i2">That is jolly-fun!’”</p> -</div></div> - -<p> -The lodge-keeper, cursing, made a snatch at the man’s stilts; but, -incredibly strong, he whipped them up out of reach, and held them so -horizontal. -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“‘At the end of two year two baby—</p> -<p class="i2">How it is a little serious!’”</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="noindent"> -he sang. -</p> - -<p> -The lodge-keeper swore and jumped, till he was running wet for all the -cold; but he was too fat a fox for these grapes. -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“‘At the end of three year three baby—</p> -<p class="i2">But that is the very devil,’”</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="noindent"> -bawled the pierrot ferociously, and clashed the stilts like great -castanets. -</p> - -<p> -Then he settled himself firmly. -</p> - -<p> -“‘One asks for bread,’” bellowed he; and suddenly flourishing his -right stilt, caught the lodge-keeper a stinging smack across the head -with it— -</p> - -<p> -“‘Another for soup,’” he yelled, and gave such a counter blow with his -left, that the lodge-keeper fairly reeled and went rolling over— -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“‘<i>L’aut’ qui demande à téter,</i></p> -<p class="i2"><i>Et les seins sont tarie,</i>’”</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="noindent"> -shouted the pierrot, and was up and out of sight in a moment, striding -like Talus. The infuriate lodge-keeper rose, when he had recovered -himself, to pursue; but he was too late. The pierrot had got clean -away. -</p> - -<p> -Not till all had been vanished many minutes did I awake from the -stunned trance into which I had been thrown by those few whispered -words. Then, still by the window, I sank upon the floor, and, -simultaneously, into a very reel and passion of ecstasy. -</p> - -<p> -How had he traced me? Whence devised this strange method of procuring -speech? Ah! as to that, there were no doubt experiences in his past -life still unrelated; and, after all, did he not always in a -measure—strictly in a measure—walk on stilts? This was only to -extend his wooden legs indefinitely. But after what secret practices, -and suspicions averted? For I held him still the creature of his -despicable master. My Gogo—for it was he! My Gogo, the great -resourceful, affectionate, crippled giant! It was inexpressibly -touching to me to know myself, the poor persecuted, wistful dupe of -Fate, still the cynosure of this burning soul—not forgotten, schemed -for, held the sacred object of its desire. All the time I had thought -myself abandoned, he had been weaving a ladder for my despair. Good -Gogo! Dear, kind, honest Caliban! He would save me yet—he would save -me; and the tears flowed from my eyes. How was he such an actor? It -was true I had known hitherto only one side of him—the saturnine—the -shadow of the great fallen rock. Ah, he could show a lighter for my -sake—little roguish sparklets twinkling in the sun of his hot -yearning. I loved him at that moment, and my tears fell for him and -myself. -</p> - -<p> -But, stay! What had he whispered? I must remember. At ten o’clock—the -wall over against the graveyard? Why had he so chosen—so nicely -specified? Did he know nothing of the patrol? Yes, likely; but it was -a desperate expedient, calculated upon a possible superstition, upon a -presumptive avoidance of so haunted a spot. I pressed my hands to my -wet forehead and tangled hair. He had dared and done all he could: the -rest was for me, whom he knew and could trust. I would not be -unworthy. I would answer to him wit for wit. -</p> - - -<p class="mt1"> -Half an hour later, serene and wicked as he could have wished, I took -my way, singing, into the grounds, and, unaccosted, sought that remote -quarter where the graveyard was situated. Still softly singing, I -pushed between the trees, and came out into the waste interval against -the boundary wall which was devoted to the watch. Stooping here to -pick some chance berries, I had not to wait a minute before the local -sentinel, as I had calculated, was upon me. I dropped my spray, with -an aspect of alarm that struggled into piteousness. -</p> - -<p> -“O, I am so sorry!” I said. -</p> - -<p> -The man—he was personable enough to make my task the less -nauseous—eyed me, insolent and masterful. -</p> - -<p> -“All right,” he said. “Blow me if you ain’t done it now. Why, don’t -you know as this here’s Prisoner’s Base, and you’re out of bounds?” -</p> - -<p> -I went up to him fearlessly, and taking his hands, muffled in great -hairy gloves, looked up into his face. I saw a spot of deeper colour -come into his cheeks, and he breathed fast. -</p> - -<p> -“Shall I confess,” I said, low and urgent, and glancing quickly about -me, “that I wanted to be caught?” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” he said, and showed his teeth in a twitching grin. -</p> - -<p> -“Hush!” I whispered. “I am in great despair. You know perfectly well I -am sane; I shall die if I am detained here longer.” -</p> - -<p> -“O! will you?” he responded. -</p> - -<p> -“Listen,” I said, flushing and hanging my head. “I offer you no money, -which I have not got. But there are things—other things—sold here, -which”— -</p> - -<p> -I tore my hands away, and, putting them to my face, fell back from -him. -</p> - -<p> -“Hey!” he said, in a thick whisper, and pursued me. “Why do you pick -<i>me</i> out for your favours, you little beauty?” -</p> - -<p> -I did not answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” he insisted. -</p> - -<p> -“If it has to be,” I muttered from my refuge, “you—O, don’t ask me!” -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, of twenty evils, choose the best-looking.” -</p> - -<p> -He gave a low chuckle. -</p> - -<p> -“Come along, where we can be private,” said he, and put a hand on me; -but I started back, affecting an agony of shame. -</p> - -<p> -“O! what have I said—what promised? Let me go. Don’t think any more -of it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Won’t I?” he said; and added threateningly: “You’ve given your -promise, remember.” -</p> - -<p> -I looked about me, and again upon my twined fingers. -</p> - -<p> -“To-night, then, at—at ten o’clock.” -</p> - -<p> -“Where?” -</p> - -<p> -“In the workshop.” -</p> - -<p> -“You can get out?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes; I have a way.” -</p> - -<p> -“That you have,” he said, coveting me with his eyes; “and a pretty -one, my darling.” -</p> - -<p> -I entreated him once more, in a passion of emotion— -</p> - -<p> -“If—if I consent, you’ll hold to your part of the bargain?” -</p> - -<p> -“Eh?” he questioned. -</p> - -<p> -“Help me to escape?” -</p> - -<p> -“No fear o’ my forgetting,” he answered. “You may lay to that.” -</p> - -<p> -I knew he meant to betray me in the double sense, and would have given -more than I feigned to barter at that moment for the leave to beguile -him to me, and slip a knife into his lying throat. But I tasted part -of my revenge in the thought of his freezing alone there by and by, in -the rendezvous to which my wits had decoyed him, while I went to my -other undisturbed. -</p> - -<p> -He was jealous of me, and suspicious still of so light a surrender. -But the prize was worth the risking; and in the end he let me go, -gloating over my stealthy retreat, as a cruel schoolmaster might watch -the slinking away of a delinquent whom he had ordered up for -punishment later. -</p> - -<p> -That night fell a harder frost, with glittering stars but no moon. -Early secured in my sanctum, I awaited the great moment in such an -indescribable agony of mind as I have never felt before or since. -Every step near my door was a tread upon a nerve. The stable clock, -when it rang out, clear and sonorous, the last quarter after nine, -seemed to brain me with its every stroke. I stole to the open window, -took intent stock of the quiet, seated myself, poised to spring, on -the sill, and passed my duck-stone at a little distance under my -nostrils. The next instant I had alighted safely on my feet, and -reeling against the wall beneath, stood a minute to recover. The next, -I was round the angle of the house, and sped into the dark -shrubberies, where were safety and concealment. -</p> - -<p> -Going very softly in my stockinged feet, and careful of my knowledge -not to penetrate the thicket until close upon the appointed place, I -reached my goal upon the stroke of the hour. -</p> - -<p> -“Well!” whispered a voice from the starlight. “I could trust you.” -</p> - -<p> -He had been stretched recumbent on the wall top, and now rose -cautiously to my view, no longer the whitened fool, but the true Gogo -of my affections. I looked up at him as from a well; and he swung his -long stilts over, as he sat, so that they rested on the ground -beneath. -</p> - -<p> -“Quick!” he muttered; “without a moment lost—swarm! I can’t bend.” -</p> - -<p> -Heaven knows how I did it—with no better show of grace than Lady -Sophia, I fear. But somehow I scrambled up, until he could reach my -hands, and haul me with a mighty power beside him. Then, once more, -swing went his legs, and there was the ladder for my descent on the -other side. -</p> - -<p> -I clung to him convulsively; I kissed his hands; I could not refrain -from sobbing. -</p> - -<p> -“O, Gogo!” I said; “what you have saved me from—O, Gogo, what!” -</p> - -<p> -His breath caught like a wounded lion’s. -</p> - -<p> -“Not yet,” he whispered. “There is far to go first!” -</p> - -<p> -“Put me down, then,” I answered, alert in the stress of things. -</p> - -<p> -“No,” he said. “On my back—quick!” -</p> - -<p> -“You are going to carry me?” -</p> - -<p> -“There are bloodhounds,” he replied. “There must be no tracks but the -stilts’—no scent for them to follow.” -</p> - -<p> -Then I understood the fulness of his plan; but still I lingered, -amazed. -</p> - -<p> -“I am not a child. What strength, though yours, could bear me so?” -</p> - -<p> -He showed me a long staff that leaned to him against the outer wall. -</p> - -<p> -“There is my third prop,” he said. “When I am driven, I can still seat -you upon a branch, and save the scent. The ground is iron, and”—he -struck his chest—“these ribs. Come, and let me wear my heart upon my -sleeve.” -</p> - -<p> -The next moment we were off. The great creature swayed beneath me like -a tree; but he never staggered or faltered, save periodically to rest -himself and me. The sweet night wind blew upon my face, cold and -colder. I snuggled from it into the vast nape of his neck, which was -like a mat for warmth. I had no idea or care whither he was taking me, -and the knowledge only that it was by roads deserted at this silent -hour. Still he held on, and, when frost and weariness threatened to -numb my brain, could spare a strong hand to imprison both mine lest I -fell. And still the flight endured, and I asked, could ask, no -question, not even when I grew penetrated by a dull consciousness of -ascent—of my comrade straining and toiling beneath me like a stricken -Sisyphus—of the groaning of the giant spirit in him who would not be -subdued. Then, at last, came a pause, and darkness and release; and I -felt myself swung gently down to rest upon a mat of scented leaves, -whose warmth and fragrance wooed me to such a sleep as I had never -known before. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch15"> -XV.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I BECOME AN INMATE OF “RUPERT’S FOLLY”</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">I awoke</span>, flushed and happy as a dormouse from its winter bed of -leaves. The world was good again, with all its potentialities of love -and freedom; the sun was somewhere seeking me; there was no ache, but -the sweet ache of memory, in my whole heart and body. Locality, I have -said before, has never influenced my temper. I make the only -reservation now of liberty to change it at my will. -</p> - -<p> -I remained some time, with my hands beneath my head, taking stock -motionlessly of my new surroundings. They were odd enough. I lay near -the wall, it seemed, of a sort of circular ground chamber or cellar, -roofed in at an inexplicable height above me. Twice, at intervals -between, projecting corbels appeared to show the one-time existence of -upper floors, which, having either rotted away or been removed, had -left the chamber of a height quite disproportionate with its ground -dimensions. In lieu of stairs, a make-shift ladder went up into the -roof at a crazy angle, and disappeared through a trap; but it started -from the ground so close to a rude fireplace in the wall, that its -butt was scorched, and more than one of the lower rungs snapped in its -socket. -</p> - -<p> -Over the floor itself were scattered tokens of some late or present -occupation—a common table, a rush chair or two, battered saucepans, a -greasy gridiron, and, hanging on the walls, a frowzy account of -clothes. A line, stretched across a segment of the room, had once held -suspended a litter of foul-washed clouts; but the string had broken, -and its filthy load been kicked aside or trodden into the floor, half -brick half muck, which paved the apartment. -</p> - -<p> -There were no windows, but, at irregular intervals, narrow loops such -as one sees in old castles; and the single ground opening was a -doorway, which let in just such a smear of daylight as served to -emphasise the uncleanness. -</p> - -<p> -Recognising in all this the reverse of familiar, I let my wondering -eyes travel round to the parts more contiguous to my bed, and so gave -a little pleased start and smile. There, like guardian posts to my -slumber, were the long stilts leaned against the wall, their straps -hanging loose; and pendent from a nail close by was the very clown’s -dress of my memory. I could have drawn it to me and kissed it; but, -contenting myself with conceding to it a sigh of affection, I sank -back and closed my eyes. Lying thus deliciously, half-submerged in a -very nest of dry fern, and with a heavy cloak for blanket over me, I -would delay luxuriously the moment of revelation; but it was very -evident, I thought, that Gogo had brought me to some wrecked and -deserted mill. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly, unable to rest longer, I peeped. He was going softly about -the hearth, preparing something at a little fire, whose every thicker -waft of smoke he would jealously dissipate with his hands. He still -feared observation, then! Watching him silently, my heart welled up -with a gush of love for the dear, patient, faithful monster. “Gogo!” I -said softly. -</p> - -<p> -He started, looked across, and came to me at once, stumping over the -floor in a rapture of response. He took a stool, and, sitting on it by -me, gazed eagerly into my face, his own—animal, sinful, and -divine—looking from a very burning bush of stubble. -</p> - -<p> -Smiling, in a drowsy warmth, I put out a hand, and let him imprison it -in his own. Ah, foolish little bird, so to commit thyself to the snare -of the fowler! I thought he would have killed it, and tore it back -fluttering and wounded. -</p> - -<p> -“O, how could you?” I cried. “I was so happy; and you have hurt me!” -</p> - -<p> -He leaned in a hoarse agony to me; his breath groaned in his chest. -</p> - -<p> -“O, come to me!” he implored, “while I make one mouthful of you!” -</p> - -<p> -Then, all in an instant, he was sobbing, and tearing at his short -hair, and crying incoherently— -</p> - -<p> -“What have I done?—to wound my dear! Ride me, flog me, use me, but -trust me no more. Bitter, bitter are the gods, who make a man -stiff-kneed for their sport! Not love or penance for me, never, never. -Never to kneel—to lie prone only for a show! O, child! it seems a -little thing not to kneel, but—ah, to see others pray and love, -yourself forbidden—what pity, what pity! I am the Olympian fool; I am -the ass and clown. Behold my livery!” -</p> - -<p> -He pointed to the dress on the wall, and hung his head and arms in a -very grief of despondency. But by now my hurt and little fright were -gone, and my heart touched again to softness. -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo,” I said, “give it me down, please.” And he looked up wondering, -and stirred and obeyed. -</p> - -<p> -“This, and this, and this,” I said, “in pledge of our one-day contract -before Jove, or Jehovah, when the maimed shall be made whole.” -</p> - -<p> -My tears dropped on it, as I kissed it three times and gave it back to -him. He received it wonderingly first, then sadly, and held it -drooping over his knees. -</p> - -<p> -“Whole!” he muttered. “Ay, I don’t question I shall find my legs in -Avalon; but can even Jove restore the rifled flower its honey?” -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly he cast himself down beside me, groaning like a bull. -</p> - -<p> -“O, little maid, little maid! I am a beggar, I am a beggar; but I want -no reversion of a used estate. Though my own goes lame, I am proud. -Give me new-minted money, that no man has worn in his pocket, or none -at all.” -</p> - -<p> -For a moment the great human urgency of the creature made me falter. I -owed him so much! could the devotion of my life more than repay him? -But, alas! it needed but a little reflection to see the fond -ridiculous picture the caricature it was. Had I the right even to risk -a new generation of Gogos? I saw myself in imagination walking abroad, -the proud convoyer of an uncountable number of little shock-headed -Dutch tumblers. Perhaps if our Sovereign King had received that -Carpenters’ Petition, and brought wooden legs into fashion, I might -have been tempted; but it was still the vogue to walk on one’s own -feet. -</p> - -<p> -I sat up, my lips twitching perilously near laughter. -</p> - -<p> -“Dear Gogo,” I said, “I am so thankful to you, and so sorry; and I -would not have said or done what I did, if I had known it would -disturb you so. Won’t you let me get up?” -</p> - -<p> -He scrambled to his feet—ah, fie upon the unmeant cruelty of the -word!—and stood knotting his great hands, while his breast heaved -stormily. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I think I was mad,” he roared suddenly. “Strike me! Stamp on -me! Bind me to a pillar, and let the eternal remorse batten on my -vitals! Whatever the spark at my tail, it started me up like a rocket: -and behold me at the end, a blackened and empty case!” -</p> - -<p> -He entreated me with his hands— -</p> - -<p> -“Ah, the pagan sight of you! Ah, your wild hair, growing from the fern -or melting into it! Ah, your face, the very flowering of a hamadryad! -It wrought a frenzy in my brain. Forgive me, forgive me! And I will -serve you seven times seven years, for the promise only to be -godfather to your last—your Benjamin!” -</p> - -<p> -He sank down on the stool, and, burying his face in his hands, was -silent. -</p> - -<p> -I thought a practical rescue of the situation best, and rising from my -bed, went to bestir myself over the fire, which was burning redly. -Moreover, a delectable odour had already reached my nostrils from the -little caldron he had hung there, and whose contents were beginning to -inspire me with a very lively curiosity. -</p> - -<p> -I turned to the poor sufferer. -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo, please, it is very sad; but if I am to go on being a hamadryad -I must be fed. Gogo, what is in the pot?” -</p> - -<p> -He lifted his head, with a sigh. -</p> - -<p> -“Snipe,” he said, most tragically. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! What else?” -</p> - -<p> -“A hare, a partridge, teal.” -</p> - -<p> -“O!” -</p> - -<p> -“Onions, potatoes, carrots.” -</p> - -<p> -“O—o!” -</p> - -<p> -“Larks, chestnuts”— -</p> - -<p> -“Be quiet, lest I cry. You are the best of creatures, and I am the -hungriest.” -</p> - -<p> -“Eat what you will. It is my <i>pot au feu</i>—nothing finished before the -next is added.” -</p> - -<p> -“I can wait no longer. You are the hermit of hermits. Who is your -commissariat-general?” -</p> - -<p> -“Who but the child your little friend.” -</p> - -<p> -“My”— -</p> - -<p> -“Miss Grant.” -</p> - -<p> -“Patty!” -</p> - -<p> -He had arisen, and come across to me. -</p> - -<p> -“She lays it in a hollow tree, twice a week, and twice a week I go -down by night and fetch it.” -</p> - -<p> -I stood gaping, staring at him. -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo! Where are we?” -</p> - -<p> -“In ‘Rupert’s Folly.’” -</p> - -<p> -“In—!” -</p> - -<p> -I gave a little cry. He seized me by the wrist, and dragged me towards -the opened door. -</p> - -<p> -“O, Gogo!” I choked, struggling and resisting, “we shall be seen.” -</p> - -<p> -“What does it matter if we are,” he said fiercely, “since you loathe -me?” -</p> - -<p> -I wept and fondled him, in an agony of fear. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t loathe you. You are my one stay and comfort. Gogo! Will you -give me back to that terror?” -</p> - -<p> -He fell squatting at my feet—it was his substitute for kneeling—and -clasped his arms about my skirt. -</p> - -<p> -“Beast!” he groaned; “I neither meant nor could help it. To play upon -your fears!—To taste love by deputy!—O, forgive me, forgive me!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” I said quietly, “for the second time and always, because of -what you have done. But I fear for myself now, and shall go on -fearing. Let me go—O, Gogo, let me escape into the woods, and break -my heart on frost and hunger rather than wrong.” -</p> - -<p> -Still clutching at me, with a look of horror, as if he felt the shadow -of his last hope eluding him, he scrambled erect again. -</p> - -<p> -“Hunger!” he said. “Think of the snipe and teal! Listen to me, Diana. -Before God, I will not offend again. Base, black coward that I am! -Before God, Diana!” -</p> - -<p> -I gazed at him intently. -</p> - -<p> -“Why have you brought me here, Gogo?” -</p> - -<p> -“Because,” he answered, “there was no nearer and surer refuge.” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t understand.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah, child! But you have not heard the story.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” I murmured, reassured, though still shy of him, “if you will -keep your promise and be good, you shall tell it me by and by.” -</p> - -<p> -He gave a great sigh, and, gently disengaging myself, I stole to the -door, while he followed me with his agitated eyes, and peered out. It -was Shole, indeed, and the familiar village green that I saw beneath -me, looking down the long wintry slope. Quiet and deserted in the -chill mists of dawn, no view apparently less tragic, less harmful, -could have greeted me. I returned to my companion, who received me -with a pathetic relief. He was quite pale and trembling. -</p> - -<p> -“If my arms had the reach of my heart!” he said. “Well, you have come -back; and so—for breakfast.” -</p> - -<p> -“Patty’s pot,” said I merrily. “The dear shall put new heart into me, -as her wont was.” -</p> - -<p> -He had bread, and some bottles of wine, a little of which I drank -mixed with water. It was the loveliest, most intoxicating meal; and, -when it was over, full of a new grace I bid Gogo to my side. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” said I, “tell me your story.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, first,” he said with a grunt, “for your safety here. It was the -astrologer’s, and now is ours. He was carried away in a thunderstorm, -on a red cloud.” -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean, Gogo, please?” -</p> - -<p> -“I repeat the common superstition. Anyhow, he is gone, and the place -is haunted and avoided since. Not a clown but myself will come within -a mile of it; and as for me, I have lived here for a month undisturbed -already.” -</p> - -<p> -“You? But I know where the poor wretch was taken, and where he died.” -</p> - -<p> -“In the asylum, eh? It is what I supposed; and the red earl comes to -his own. Tell me about it.” -</p> - -<p> -“By and by. I want to know first what brought you here.” -</p> - -<p> -“The wish to lose myself and be lost, where I could devise a plan for -your rescue.” -</p> - -<p> -“You knew where I had been taken, then?” -</p> - -<p> -“No perspicacity of mine. It was the common report. You had lost your -head over love unrequited, and it had become necessary to confine you -for a while.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, indeed! Go on.” -</p> - -<p> -“I hear your little white teeth clicking. Rest content. You are -avenged: he has married her.” -</p> - -<p> -I jumped to my feet. -</p> - -<p> -“He! de Crespigny?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -I burst into a shriek of laughter. -</p> - -<p> -“They were reconciled, then? O, the dear particular lady! Does he wipe -his boots on her? Did he take his love-potion very strong on the -wedding night?” -</p> - -<p> -“Very strong, no doubt,” said Gogo. And then suddenly he clasped my -skirt, and buried his face in it. -</p> - -<p> -“He would; it was his way,” he muttered. “O, girl, spare me and my -unhappiness—my broken dreams! Did you not know? I had always a -struggle to keep him from it. And now he will go down, down.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” I said, “while she clings to his legs, as fools drown -together.” -</p> - -<p> -“Would you not have had her try to save him?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, indeed.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! You are vindictive.” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t you hear me laughing?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes; like the devil.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is it? I should be mad indeed if I could applaud her. Do you bear in -mind what she has done to me? She is of the sort who make cruelty -their pander—a frowsy, garterless Jezebel. O, how I hate prudery! For -five years I longed to open the windows on it, and let the air in, and -whatever wholesome little devils beside. I declare I loathe myself to -be of her sex. Touch me, Gogo. Am I the same, or different? O, to be -sure! I wish her joy of her bargain—and him.” -</p> - -<p> -“She will pay. But for Noel, weak child of genius—leave me the sorrow -of my broken hopes, Diana.” -</p> - -<p> -“And nothing else? Why did he not meet me?” -</p> - -<p> -“He had not the courage at the last moment.” -</p> - -<p> -“And so, having cut the ground from under me, he stepped back, and -instigated madam to her little <i>coup de theâtre</i>, I suppose, and -helped her to push me over the precipice. And you—you sympathised -with and abetted him?” -</p> - -<p> -“Ay,” he said sorrowfully: “witness my long exile here, gnawing my -fingers in the hungry moonlight.” -</p> - -<p> -I sank upon the ground in a passion of tears, and he mingled his grief -with mine. -</p> - -<p> -“Child, I had loved him; and I had but to learn how he had abandoned -you, to leave him. I cursed him—cursed de Crespigny. Will Jove -forgive me? What matter, if I have saved you?” -</p> - -<p> -I lifted my drowned eyes and agonised arms. -</p> - -<p> -“Take me to Patty,” I cried, “and let me weep my soul out on her kind -little heart.” -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -“What!” I said; “you will not?” -</p> - -<p> -“She must not even know,” he said. “I could not trust her anxious -love. She must rest as she is, aware of my endless scheming, but not -of its fruits. Some day, perhaps. And in the meanwhile my lady is gone -honeymooning; there is no hope of appeal to her. A breath would -redeliver you to your fate, and perhaps a worse. Come, and tell me all -you have suffered, poor mistress.” -</p> - -<p> -I crept to his feet, and in broken tones gave him the history of my -misery, to the day, to the hour when he had appeared before me. -</p> - -<p> -“And you have not told me,” I said, “how that was.” -</p> - -<p> -“Once,” he answered, “after I had hidden and settled here, I was -spying through the telescope above—(Ay,” he interrupted himself, to -my exclamation, “they could be bold to capture the dying sorcerer, but -to meddle with his tools was beyond their courage)—when I was witness -of a characteristic little <i>affaire</i> on the green below. There were a -stilt-walker and his wench—a couple of the wandering tribe—a -long-legged bird of passage and his little <i>cocotte</i> of bright -plumage. I could see her glitter where I stood—could see her -spangles, and the ribbons float from her tambour as she danced. And -then suddenly my lord viscount was on the scene. He had been sporting, -and carried his gun. He had keepers with him (they were his own; not, -as might have seemed apter to his wits, Dr. Peel’s); and his dogs -‘pointed’ at the gipsy, I suppose. Anyhow, there was an altercation; -and the next I saw was the clown tipped up by his wooden heels, and -lying prone. They carried off the girl—willing or unwilling, it would -have needed a stronger telescope than the astrologer’s to discern—and -presently the poor stunned fool came to his senses and sat up. I could -see him try to gather his wits with his hand, plucking at his brow. He -was alone, who had been in company. Where were the rest—his ravished -mate, and the mob for whom she had tripped and sung? By and by I saw -him, with many starts and delays, unbuckle his stilts, and, having -shouldered them, hobble with slow, painful steps towards the village. -He disappeared, and till night I sat thinking of him, and of the -‘Contrat Social,’ which M. Rousseau wrote for the angels, and which, -therefore, you would not understand, Diana, though, for all my better -sense, I adore you. About dark I descended into the woods at the back -yonder; and there I came upon my stilt-walker seated dying against a -tree. Yes, he was dying. His fall had shattered some ribs, and driven -one into his lung, and death was already thawing the white snow on his -face into patches of blue. I carried him up to the tower, and eased -what I could of his agony, and received his last message to the world. -It is a callous world, this world of ’87; a world of serf and Satan -and Christianity crushed between. But I tell you I would rather give -that message than receive it: would rather be Gogo, the clown and -pariah, than the Viscount Salted with all his prospective acres. Well, -he died, and I took a spade, and buried him at the foot of the tree -where he had rested. Pray God it bears wholesome acorns, for why -should he wish to poison the swine his brothers? Then I inherited his -property; and a thought, an inspiration, occurred to me how I might -use it. Was I not wont to stump the country, like a halting orator? I -could stump it to higher purpose now—the purpose of your redemption. -Sure the spirit of the dead clown would uphold me, for was it not -privilege I fought? So, with no great practice necessary, I became a -stilt-walker; and presently ventured afield, starting by night, -reaping my little harvest of pence in the far villages by day, and -under cover of dark returning. Gradually I contracted my circuit, -hovering about your prison; and so, once upon a time, peering over the -wall in a wintry evening, spied your figure come and go in the light -of a high room. It might be yours! I must dare all, and cast the die. -Well, Fortune favours—the fortunate.” -</p> - -<p> -He ended, to a little silence. -</p> - -<p> -“Poor Gogo,” I said softly. “It is true, I do believe, that I am her -spoilt doll.” -</p> - -<p> -“And I,” he said, “her Dutch tumbler.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch16"> -XVI.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I PUT AN END TO ONE FOLLY</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Hanging</span> and wiving go by Destiny, which must be my excuse for -accepting the silken cord which was weaving for my neck all this time. -I knew no more than patient Griselda about my impending fate; yet -Destiny was not to be gainsaid because I seemed content to resolve -upon Gogo for my present welfare and protection. -</p> - -<p> -He, good monster, never alluded again, during all the days I was with -him, to his unhappy passion. He was slavish in his loyalty to his -word, and in his attentions to the poor creature so utterly in his -power. And if I could not but understand the significance of his sighs -and oglings and contortions, my feigned ignorance of those -hieroglyphics was undoubtedly the most merciful of all the tortures I -might have inflicted on him. Thinking of this, I find salve for -certain bruises on my conscience, which, nevertheless, were, I am -sure, quite unnecessarily self-inflicted. I acted for the best, and -with great pain to myself. He has admitted this since, though -confessing he was long in forgiving me. -</p> - -<p> -I was in the tower, in all, but four days, which, nevertheless, might -have been as many weeks for their tediousness. Gogo was an -incomparable slave and henchman, only his devotion necessarily lacked -the relish of publicity. If I could have had but one other to whom to -boast it, I could have endured it longer. But to be Single-heart’s -exclusive fetish, immured in his wigwam and appropriated to his sole -company, was what never appealed to me. Nor do I believe that it does -truthfully to any other. We are omnivorous; we can’t live on -spoon-meat alone; and there is an end of it. -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo,” I said once, “why are you so attached to me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” said he, throwing up his hands, after his fashion, with a sort -of protesting groan to the powers that be. “Because I am a creature of -surfaces and impressions; because, drawing my life from the great -external of all, it is my doom to worship externals. We talk of our -inheriting the world. Pooh! we are just an itch on the skin of this -monster, whose dark internals are as remote from us as our own hated -organs. Have we ever a thought of possessing our kingdom? Think with -what terror we contemplate a living burial. We are the dust of contact -between earth and sky; are bandied between space and matter, the dross -of one or the scum of the other. Love itself is but the measure of our -penetration. It is the propagation of superficies: it probes no -farther: and all the time is breathing in the air like a swimmer. Are -my eyes in my feet? Ask me why I hate the dark, and am attached to the -light—to the brightest gnat of an hour flying within it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you, sir,” said I. “And that is me, I suppose?” -</p> - -<p> -“That is you,” he said—“dancing on a window-pane, and wondering what -fate keeps you from the garden beyond.” -</p> - -<p> -“And you,” I said, “are the spider lurking in the window-corner, -<i>n’est ce pas</i>, and wondering what fate keeps you from devouring me. -Well, you are very complimentary; but, for my part, I would rather -have an hour’s dancing on the surface than possess all the world -that’s under.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ay,” he answered, “and that’s why I covet you.” -</p> - -<p> -Now, was he not an inexplicable creature, and, it must be said, a -depressing? Moreover, for all his advocacy of my cause, I could never -quite reconcile him to my view of madam. -</p> - -<p> -“Remember the day of the picture,” he would say; “and how she rebuked -us all by her attitude. If I testify to your martyrdom, Diana, I must -testify to hers that preceded it.” -</p> - -<p> -“She is welcome to the palm,” I cried. “And may she live long to -flaunt her conquest.” -</p> - -<p> -He did not answer; and so letting his dissent pass by default, put a -bar between us that was never quite surmounted. -</p> - -<p> -In the meanwhile, day followed day, and the frost held, and I was cold -and <i>ennuyée</i>; and still he delayed our flight on the score of peril. -I had come but poorly clad for the test, and I cried and shivered much -in our dismal refuge, where what fire we could afford must be kept low -from dread of the smoke betraying us. Present food we had, and some -wine that helped a little to comfort our dejection; and on the Friday -he was due, tramping fourteen miles thither and back over the hills, -to claim his fresh dole of the tree above Wellcot, where faithful -Patty—who was in his confidence as to his retreat, and the means -towards my salvation he hoped to make of it—was wont to conceal it. -Dear darling! How I longed to convey her a message; but he would not -hear of it. -</p> - -<p> -“Of all ephemera,” he said, “she is the very transparent-bodied fly, -the secrets of whose own heart she cannot help but reveal.” -</p> - -<p> -So I had to submit, and hold her sweet image in my arms o’ nights, -when the wind came in at the door and the stars crackled with cold. -But Gogo was right, I had to confess, when once from the deep woods -beyond Shole we heard the clanging of bloodhounds, and knew that my -enemies were vainly seeking the trail which had no existence. Then I -cowered low, and felt a new gush of affection for the resourceful -giant who was so wise in the singleness of his passion. -</p> - -<p> -Often by day I would climb up the ladder to the loft where the -astrologer’s telescope yet remained, commanding, like a disused -cannon, the house and village he had fancied under its dominion, and -there spend hours spying hungrily for what tokens of life the bitter -season afforded. They were not many or inspiriting; but they served at -least to keep me in touch with that world of my fellows that seemed -eternally lost to me. -</p> - -<p> -On the Friday I fell at Gogo’s feet. -</p> - -<p> -“Safe or unsafe,” I cried, “take me away! I can stand this loneliness -no longer.” -</p> - -<p> -His face was full of a sorrowful ecstasy. -</p> - -<p> -“And it was a garden to me,” he murmured; “blind that I am!” -</p> - -<p> -“I shall die,” I cried terribly, “and you will lay me with the dead -clown under the tree.” -</p> - -<p> -“So would you be for ever mine,” he continued, in a sort of dream. -</p> - -<p> -I shrunk from him, and seeing my look, he cast himself down on his -face before me. -</p> - -<p> -“Command me as you will,” he cried; “only never, never bid me from -serving you.” -</p> - -<p> -“You will go?” I sat back, eagerly canvassing him. “Why should I dream -of parting with you? Are not our fortunes pledged together, even if I -did not owe you the best of all gratitude? You are so wise and brave; -you will find a plan and a direction. Only I can stop here no -longer.—O, I can’t!—Gogo, take me away—to London—anywhere.” -</p> - -<p> -He raised himself. -</p> - -<p> -“Spare me this evening to forage,” he said, “so that to-morrow we can -at least start provided.” -</p> - -<p> -In deep night he left me, to go to the tree. It was the first time I -had been abandoned to my sole self. So long as I could discern his -figure, striding over the fields, like some unearthly goblin, on its -high stilts, I stood by the door gazing into the starlight. Then, when -I could see him no more, I sat down just within, my back to the vast -emptiness, and hugged and cried to myself against the long panic of -waiting. -</p> - -<p> -Not many minutes had I sat thus, when something—a footstep, a -shadow—seemed to fall upon my heart with a shock that stopped its -beating. Too terrified for look or utterance, I crouched low, hoping -the thing would pass, and leave me unobserved. -</p> - -<p> -“I have come, madam, to invite you to a safer asylum,” said a low and -musical voice. -</p> - -<p> -I gave an irresistible cry, suppressing it instinctively, even in its -emission, lest it should call back my faithful squire, from his long -toil across the fields, to a need which these gentle tones were far -from justifying. I struggled to my feet, and made myself as small as -possible against the wall. -</p> - -<p> -“Who are you?” I whispered. -</p> - -<p> -“An outcast like yourself,” answered the shadow; “a fellow-sufferer at -the hands of the very family to which you owe your misfortunes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Who are you?” I could only whisper again. -</p> - -<p> -“I am George Rowe,” it said. “Do you remember me? We have met once—an -ineffaceable impression to me. I have followed your career since; -unknown to you, have traced you by the flowers in your footsteps—yes, -even to that wicked place, and your flight from it. I have watched you -since from the woods below; have stood at this door at night and -listened to your breathing till I maddened; have sorely bided my time, -seeking to speak to you. I have tracked the honest tracker, your good -servant and saviour; and, while I applaud his devotion, must warn you -against the equivocal position in which your further acceptance of -that devotion may place you.” -</p> - -<p> -I could not see his face, but only the dusk of a comely form, as it -stood now before me. Well could I recall, indeed, “the good-humoured -gentleman in the grey coat,” who had once so espoused my childish -cause, and earned thereby the hatred of his kinsmen. My confidence was -returning to me with my wits. -</p> - -<p> -“You are very considerate for us,” I said deridingly. “Do you come as -madam your sister’s emissary, since you are so particular for my -character?” -</p> - -<p> -“Alas!” he said, “you do well to doubt me, being so related. But I am -an outlaw from all that house’s influence and consideration.” -</p> - -<p> -“An outlaw—you!” I murmured. -</p> - -<p> -“Ay,” he answered; “ruined, menaced, and driven forth to nurse my -wrongs in hiding.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, where?” I asked. -</p> - -<p> -“To the woods,” he answered, “like Robin Hood.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, an attractive asylum, sir, for distressed ladies,” I said. -</p> - -<p> -He replied, “Maid Marian thought so.” -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps she had an attachment there,” said I. “I miss the application -to myself.” -</p> - -<p> -He laughed softly. -</p> - -<p> -“Whether we fly from fear, or fly to love, we fly,” he said. “You may -hold your enemies too cheap, not knowing that my lord makes interest -with his sister, and for his own purposes, to subsidise your Dr. Peel. -For the sake of the secrets of the prison-house, he will not leave her -solus to the hue and cry. You have planted two dragon-heads in place -of the one you severed.” -</p> - -<p> -I shrunk before him. -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean? How do you know?” -</p> - -<p> -“By the token,” he said, “that he destined me to your fate, and I -answered with the better part of valour, which you will be wise to -imitate.” -</p> - -<p> -“To-morrow,” I muttered; “we had already decided.” -</p> - -<p> -“That is not all, nor enough,” he urged. “You may be Una, <i>with</i> a -rhinoceros, and that is not enough. My lord rides a thunder-bolt. It -is not enough to flee him; you must vanish—be no more.” -</p> - -<p> -Now all of a sudden—I know not how—his words seemed to wake me to -the fond illusion of my state. How, indeed, was I situated, with a -legless Caliban to show me how to run? I had been blinded, by Gogo’s -devotion, to the real nature of the presumption it had thought to -justify. What honest right had he to have undertaken so responsible a -deed, save he had provided for it to the last details? I felt suddenly -very naked and forlorn—shiftless and crying, like some poor exposed -child in the night. I clasped my fingers to the shadow, entreating it -in a broken voice— -</p> - -<p> -“What am I to do? Advise me, help me!” -</p> - -<p> -It moved upon me, soft, and swift, and irresistible. I felt my hands -imprisoned—seized as out of the grave into an assurance of human -warmth and sympathy. -</p> - -<p> -“For what else am I here?” demanded the fervent voice. “Have I not the -prior claim? Have you never thought of me in all these years—of what -you might be now, save for my interference?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” I whispered. “Indeed, indeed I am not one to forget.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” he said, “I am just a vagabond at last, and desperate in -romance; and you—your reason is forfeit, if not your life. Be under -no delusion about it; nor about the real impotence of this good fellow -to save you. Come with me, then, while there is time, and be my little -sister. I am lonely in the deep woods.” -</p> - -<p> -I did not move or speak, but I gazed up intently into the white bloom -of his face. The strangest thought was struggling for expression in -me—of some conscious gravitation, through all these years, towards an -affinity which had been shadowed out to me at that first and only -meeting. I felt no shyness, but only a restful confidence in his -company. Was not that strange? To be brother and sister, one and -indivisible in the candid sympathies of Nature. I recognised in a -moment that it was that ideal relationship which had always appealed -to me for the best and purest—that I could never be happy again -divorced from it. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly the tears were in my eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“If I could truly be your little sister,” I said, “and keep house for -you, as Gretel did for the gentle shepherd who had plucked her when a -flower.” -</p> - -<p> -He heaved a long sigh, full of rapture. -</p> - -<p> -“Quick, then! let me pluck my flower,” says he, “and run.” -</p> - -<p> -But now, at that, for some reason, a revulsion of feeling took me. I -sank down upon the ground away from him, and hid my face in my hands. -</p> - -<p> -“No, no,” I cried—“not yet, not now. O, leave me, <i>please</i>!” -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps he was wise to understand and temporise. Anyhow, he went, -though no farther than the door. -</p> - -<p> -For a moment I hated myself; for a moment I felt the basest thing on -earth. What use to reflect that reason and kindness were on my side: -that, since I could not cure a poor fond fool, it were no mercy, but -the contrary, to submit him to the continued infection of my presence? -I said so to myself, and saying it, saw his face returning—full of -light and eagerness—to learn the damning truth! To be held accursed -in that great heart! I could not, I could not! Poor Gogo! Had he not -given up everything for me? I would not desert him. Why should he not -come too? But no: I saw in the same instant that that was impossible, -since he himself had no thought, no wish, to be my brother. And -perhaps, if I went, I should never see him again. Well, would not that -be the best for him? Let me nurse my grief eternal, so long as he -found <i>his</i> cure in separation. It were better I should go. Freed of -this incubus, he would have no longer need to crouch and starve. The -world had no reason, so far as I knew, to identify him with my flight. -And now every hour he remained with me was an added peril to his -safety, his very existence! -</p> - -<p> -Quite wild, I rose to my feet and went panting to the shadow. -</p> - -<p> -“Take me away,” I said, “before he breaks my heart, returning.” -</p> - -<p> -He took my hand tight in his, drew me under the starlight, and -together we fled down the hill and into the woods. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch17"> -XVII.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I AM CONSIGNED TO A GREEN GRAVE</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">To</span> you, my dear Alcide, conscience is, I know, a disease, and virtue -its relapse. I do not, then, ask your sympathy, but only your -commiseration in that long struggle with my better self in which I was -now to engage—a struggle which found me child, and left me woman—a -struggle through whose intermittent deliriums moved ever the sorrowful -figure of my poor lost Gogo. -</p> - -<p> -Yet I must own that the oasis in which this destiny was to be -fulfilled figured for a period the greenest in all my desert career. -It was a dear time, in truth; a dear, abandoned, wonderful time, until -the inevitable disenchantment came. Alas! to take profit of your own -unselfishnesses is, with a stern Providence, to convert them into the -plainest of worldly transactions! -</p> - -<p> -No word passed between me and my companion as we hurried, deeper and -deeper, into the fathomless woods. Sure of foot and, it seemed, of -destination, he drew me unresisting by cloudy deeps of foliage, by -starlit alleys, by ways so thronged and massed with trunks as to seem -impenetrable. Often I shrunk before some imaginary charge of shadows; -often cried out in the silent rush of woodland things across our path. -There was no wind that could reach and buffet those packed -desolations; no frost, save where in the clearings it could find space -to bloom. And these, for precaution’s sake, we avoided, lest our -footsteps should betray us. On and on we sped, till my heart was sick -in my breast, and I cried out to rest and die. But he would not let me -stop. -</p> - -<p> -“Courage, little sister!” he cried; “we are within a cast of home.” -</p> - -<p> -We mounted, after that, a long and gentle hill, from whose sides the -trees fell away, till, on the summit, there was none. But here, sunk -deep in the crest, was, as I could discern, an ancient gravel pit, -whose slopes were rough with brake and brush to a giddy distance down. -</p> - -<p> -“Come,” he whispered, and clasped my hand secure. -</p> - -<p> -We descended by a path, that was no path to me, and, at the bottom, -stooped under a very thicket of bush, and gained once more a sense of -space and movement, but so deadly close-shut that for a little I dared -not stir. -</p> - -<p> -“Come,” whispered my companion again. “It is nothing but a cleft in -the hill, but so overgrown above that no mortal would guess it there.” -</p> - -<p> -Still I dared not move. When suddenly I felt his arm about me, and his -lips on mine. Then I started to myself with a shock of anger. -</p> - -<p> -“Is this to be a brother?” I cried. -</p> - -<p> -“What else,” he murmured, “to give his little sister confidence.” -</p> - -<p> -The low laugh with which he said it made my blood fire. I could have -struck him in my fury. -</p> - -<p> -“Go on!” I said, in a repressed voice. “I have come so far; I must -follow, I suppose.” -</p> - -<p> -“Will you not let me lead you?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“You may stumble in the dark.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not to the fall you think.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am sorry.” -</p> - -<p> -“Very well. Go on.” -</p> - -<p> -He went before, submissively. The gully cut straight, like a giant -furrow, through the hill. It was narrow and pitch-dark, sodden here -and there with dripping water, and always smelling like a vault. Not -once in its entire length, so far as I could see, did the dense mat of -overgrowth thin to that texture that a star of all the hosts above was -visible. -</p> - -<p> -At last he stopped so suddenly that I near fell against him. -</p> - -<p> -“Hush!” he whispered, “we are at the end. Can you see enough to follow -me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” I said; “my eyes are opened now.” -</p> - -<p> -He had hard work, I knew, to suppress a chuckle over my tragic tone. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, keep them so,” said he; and, elbowing up a great pad of -foliage, beckoned to me to pass. I obeyed, holding my skirts from him, -and in a moment discovered myself in the open once more. -</p> - -<p> -We had emerged, it seemed, high on the near perpendicular side of -another pit, or cutting. Right beneath us, shouldering the very steep -on which we were perched, was the thatched roof of a cottage, an open -skylight in the midst gaping at us scarce ten feet below. So close did -it invite us, in the bewildering starlight, that I was near springing, -on the thought, to gain its shelter. But my companion restrained me. -</p> - -<p> -“Wait,” he whispered drily. “A little of your discretion, please.” -</p> - -<p> -Doubtful of me, he let go his hold reluctantly, and stooping once more -under the curtain of foliage, dragged out a ladder, which was -concealed behind, and which he now, with infinite precaution, lowered -through the skylight till it rested. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” he said, “climb down, while I hold it firm.” -</p> - -<p> -It was the rudest thing; just slats nailed across a pole—a ladder for -bears, not men. But I was young and lithe, and quickly was down and -through, and standing, trembling over this finish to my adventure, on -the floor of a little dark, invisible room. And so, before I had time -to collect myself, the other was descended in my footsteps, and the -ladder hauled in and laid along the wall, and a little silence ensued. -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” said his voice at length, “you are safe at last, little -sister.” -</p> - -<p> -Then, I don’t know how it was, the tears would come. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, don’t you believe it?” he whispered, groping a step nearer. -</p> - -<p> -“Have you given me reason to?” I answered, shrinking from his touch, -and gulping down my sobs. -</p> - -<p> -He drew away at once. -</p> - -<p> -“The best reason in the world,” he said coldly, “since I have placed -my life in your hands—since I leave you here the means to escape, if -you will, and curry favour by betraying me.” -</p> - -<p> -I could have cried out on his cruelty, but dared not. -</p> - -<p> -“Understand, this is your sanctuary,” he went on, “prepared against -your coming, and which none, in their turn, will betray. The path to -it is sacred to me. No one will disturb you; you are secure as a bird -in its nest. There is a bed in a corner; rushlight and holder and -tinder-box on a table by. Light, and take possession. I must go and -reassure Portlock.” -</p> - -<p> -I heard him move softly over the floor; a trap opened somewhere, -letting in a momentary weak film of light, and he was gone. -</p> - -<p> -For a time I stood motionless, hearing the murmur of voices somewhere -below; then, suddenly panic-struck, groped for the table and tinder, -and shakily struck fire. The wick caught, flamed up and settled, and I -saw my possession. -</p> - -<p> -It was the tiniest, kindest little room, under a sloping roof, clean -and friendly, with a white bed. I was dazed and weary beyond -speculation. Leaving the light burning, I crept under the coverlet as -I was, and fell into a profound sleep. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch18"> -XVIII.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I BEGIN ANOTHER FOLLY</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">I opened</span> my eyes to a sense of utter restfulness and peace. A -feeling of green isolation, of a quiet and guarded security, such as -not all Gogo’s watchfulness could accomplish for me in the tower, came -instantly to comfort the first startled shock of my waking. Little -demure clouds drifted over the skylight; I heard a faint twitter of -birds on the hillside; there were woodland berries and flaming leaves -in my room; pictures, too; and a dozen pretty attentions to reassure -me. Sure he must have made very certain of his capture before he -decorated the cage so handsomely. And for how long, pray, had he held -his hand and aloof, biding his opportunity? He must have kept his -secret well, at least, for I had never known a hint of his presence. -</p> - -<p> -I smiled, and closed my eyes again. It was a most endearing thought, -the thought of that brotherly haunting, while I had been bemoaning my -abandonment by all the world. There was still that in me, then, to -attract admiration, to ensure my affinity with the strong and shapely. -I was sick to death of malformations, mental and bodily. What had -become of him? I had not reached the end of my resentment, but I did -not wish him to think it insurmountable; and I was certainly curious -to learn how far my romantic memory of him was justified. -</p> - -<p> -And, in the meantime, where was I? in what remote eyrie of the green -forest? For all I could see, I might be imprisoned in a well. -</p> - -<p> -I rose, and, after making my toilette, had paused undecided, wondering -what was to come next, when I heard his voice, very mock-humble, at -the trap— -</p> - -<p> -“Little sister, will you come down to breakfast?” -</p> - -<p> -The blood thrilled in my temples, but I hardened my heart, and -answered “Yes,” as frigid as a nun. -</p> - -<p> -He flung up the hatch at once, and for the first time I saw the ladder -going down into candlelight, whence a smell of warm dust and tallow -rose to my nostrils. He descended before me, and I followed, into the -leanest of little cellars, with a rough board on trestles in it and a -stool or two. The rafters were hung with cobwebs; there were a couple -of dismal dips in horn sconces on the walls; a closed door showed -dimly at the farther end, and that was all. -</p> - -<p> -I turned in amazement upon my companion, to find him regarding me with -a curious expression. But it sobered at once before my gaze. It was -not, indeed, now I came to con him, quite the expression of my memory. -The sweet humour of it had fallen, I could have thought, upon more -mocking times. There was a look in his face as if he had got to love -himself the better, the worse he had been depreciated by others; as if -injustice had somewhat crooked the old lines of chivalry. But for the -rest, he was as bronzed and comely as ever, as lithe and muscular; and -the common woodman’s dress (coarse grogram jacket and leggings to the -hips), which, whether for convenience or disguise, he had adopted, -showed off his fine figure to perfection. -</p> - -<p> -“Where is it, the breakfast?” I asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Cooking, by Portlock,” said he. “I’m waiting to pull it through.” -</p> - -<p> -He stood stooping, indeed, and holding a string in his hand, by what -looked like a black gap at the foot of the wall beyond the table. -</p> - -<p> -“To pull it through!” I cried out. “Are we to eat it here?” -</p> - -<p> -He turned his head, as he leaned, to scan me. -</p> - -<p> -“We can take it up under the skylight, if you like,” said he. -</p> - -<p> -“My room!” -</p> - -<p> -A violent retort was on my lips; but something in his face warned me, -and it died unuttered. For all his affected humility, there was a -masterfulness here I had not guessed. I realised on the instant that -I did not know, had never known him. It was not altogether a -disagreeable awakening. -</p> - -<p> -I sat down, silent, on one of the stools; and he addressed me again -quietly from his place— -</p> - -<p> -“Little sister, you have committed yourself to my care—very properly, -I think, and very properly trustful of an elder brother. Do you know -my age? I am thirty-four—just double your seventeen; and at least -worldly-wise enough to direct you.” -</p> - -<p> -“That is all very well,” I said, half stifled; “but why have you -brought me here?” -</p> - -<p> -“Have I not told you?” he answered. “To save you from a wolf, who -would have set his teeth in my little white lamb.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, you have not told me,” I cried; “and I am no more lamb of yours -than his; and anyhow, I had my shepherd already.” -</p> - -<p> -“A poor shepherd,” he said. “Witness his watchfulness!” -</p> - -<p> -I bit my lip, and said no more. For a moment I hated myself and -him—his specious reasonings, which had led me to abandon my honest, -good comrade and saviour. While I sat dumb, a low whistle sounded -through the wall; and instantly he turned to me. -</p> - -<p> -“You do not like your dining-parlour?” he said. “But, believe me, it -has a thousand conveniences of privacy, of which here is not the -least.” -</p> - -<p> -And, with the word, drawing on the string he held in his hand, he -brought a tray into light. It was packed with comestibles—bread, and -honey, and collops of venison that smelt royally; but, when he -transferred these to the table, I had no stomach for them, and pushed -away the plate he offered me. -</p> - -<p> -“What! You won’t eat?” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“I can’t breakfast in a sewer.” -</p> - -<p> -“Very well.” -</p> - -<p> -He fell to himself, without further delay, and with plenty of -appetite. I watched him out of the corners of my eyes, half maddened -already by the abstinence I had imposed on myself. He was dressed like -a forester, I have said; and now I observed that he affected the -manners of a forester, consciously, it would seem, effacing in himself -the more gentle observances. It may have been an effort to him; but, -anyhow, he tore his bread and gnawed his bones with the air of one -bred to the soil—with a set of perfect white teeth, too, it must be -conceded. And, while he despatched, throwing his litter on the board, -he continued talking to me fitfully. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” he said, “it is very convenient for such as we, who desire not -only to save our labour, but our lives certainly, and our self-respect -if possible. You don’t ask me where we are?” -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head in indifference. -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” he said, “you must know some time, when you might be more -curious; and short explanations suit me best. We are immured, child, -in a wall; and so long as we don’t betray ourselves, nothing can -betray us—not even into an acknowledgment of what one of us may owe -to the other.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am grateful to you,” I said coldly, and said no more. The truth is, -I was hardly listening to him, so intense had grown my desire that he -would coax me at last into eating something. -</p> - -<p> -He laughed, and, pushing his plate away, settled his fists on his -hips, and began, like a satisfied man, to troll a soft little song. I -could stand it no longer. -</p> - -<p> -“Give me a little piece,” I said, “and I will show you how collops -should be eaten.” -</p> - -<p> -“You mean,” he answered at once, “that you will show me how to behave. -But I have done with all that hypocrisy.” -</p> - -<p> -He rose with the words, having finished, and, to my anger and -astonishment, cleared the board, piecemeal and deliberately, and, -piling all on the tray, gave the signal for its withdrawal. It -disappeared instantly. Then he returned to his stool, and, pulling out -pipe and tobacco, began to smoke placidly. Fury overcame me. -</p> - -<p> -“Have you not forgotten to ask my permission?” I cried. -</p> - -<p> -“Punctilio in a sewer!” he answered, puffing; “that is hardly to be -expected.” -</p> - -<p> -I rose at once. -</p> - -<p> -“I wish to be by myself,” I said. -</p> - -<p> -He took his pipe from his lips. -</p> - -<p> -“You know the way. If you object to mine, there is the ladder in your -room—and the skylight—and all the forest to choose from”—and he -began to smoke again. -</p> - -<p> -I left him, without another word, and, ascending to my closet, dropped -the trap with a slam. It was an outrage beyond endurance. I threw -myself upon my bed, and wept tears of rage. What a fool I had been, -what a fool, to commit my destinies to a savage! I had thought romance -had come to find me, walking on two feet in the starlight, and all the -time it had been leaving me, stumping sorrowfully away on its poor -wooden legs. My soul gushed out in fresh mourning for the dear monster -I had wronged. -</p> - -<p> -More than once I rose, in the full determination to fly and rejoin -him. As often, the hopelessness of my position cast me down again. I -had no idea where I was; I dared not face the prospect of wandering, -lost and alone, in those savage solitudes. The wretch had played his -part well—and for what? Why for me. -</p> - -<p> -The thought, at last, quieted my grief—brought me to a little reason. -After all, I had been cold with him, something less than grateful. -What had brought him to repudiate the customs of his caste? I fell -into a fit of speculation. Perhaps it was in scorn of an order that -had basely disinherited him. His words had seemed to imply so. Perhaps -he had meant no more than to read me a lesson in feeling. -</p> - -<p> -I sighed. I was wilful and imperious, I knew, I said to myself. I had -been spoilt a little, perhaps, by admiration, and my better qualities -obscured. It was a wonder he could have seen anything to covet in me. -Was it my part to convince him of his mistake? -</p> - -<p> -I sighed again, and then rose and walked about. Every detail of the -tiny chamber was witness to the loving expectations he had formed of -me. What was I to do? How climb down and keep my place in my own eyes? -</p> - -<p> -He meant to leave me to resolve the question for myself, it appeared. -All day I waited and hungered, and not a sound of his footstep -approaching did I hear. At length, when it was dark, quite desperate -I took my candle, and, softly opening the trap, listened a moment, and -descended. The cellar was empty; only the board and stools, and -nothing else. I went swiftly scanning it, holding the light overhead. -I tried the door at the end; it was fast locked. Unless he had gone -out that way, there was no accounting for his disappearance. -</p> - -<p> -All at once I heard the thin mutter of voices—his and another’s, I -was sure. Seeking to localise them, I came upon the low hole in the -wall through which he had dragged the breakfast tray. I stooped, and -hearing, I thought, the whisper clearer, sunk to my knees and looked -through. Here was a passage, I found to my surprise, wide enough for a -man to creep by; and, beyond, it seemed, a faintly lighted room. As I -bent, I heard the chairs of the talkers drag, as if the two were -rising, and, fearful of discovery, fled on tiptoe to my room once -more, and, noiselessly closing the trap, stood panting and rigid by -it. To what dark mystery was I being made the innocent and unconscious -accessory? I felt suddenly bewildered and terrified. The light in my -hand swayed and leaped, evoking gusty phantoms on the wall. A wind -seemed to boom in my brain. I was really light-headed with hunger, I -think. Presently, from sheer giddiness, I threw myself on my bed once -more, and fell into a sort of waking stupor. -</p> - -<p> -In the midst, after how long I know not, a voice reached me. He was -summoning me, if I needed it, to supper. If I needed it! What cruelty! -He would not give my pride a chance. Half in fear, half fury, I turned -my face to the wall, and did not answer. -</p> - -<p> -He wasted no time on me. I heard him withdraw in a moment, whistling. -I had hoped he would think me escaped; would venture in, perhaps, -panic-struck, to encounter the full torrent of my indignation. But he -showed no concern whatever. He felt secure of his wretched little -trapped bird, I supposed. And he was justified—was justified. Then I -cried as I had never cried before. He might have had some patience, -some consideration. At last, quite famished and exhausted, I fell -asleep. -</p> - -<p> -I awoke, in full day, to find him standing over and regarding me. I -felt weak, and too utterly subdued to resent his presence as it -deserved. There was no pity in his eyes even then. I closed my own, -feeling my throat swell. -</p> - -<p> -“I thought you might be hungry,” he said. “Are you?” -</p> - -<p> -At that, for all my efforts, the tears came. -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t you know?” I said. “But I suppose you think to starve me into -submission.” -</p> - -<p> -“Submission to what?” said he. “You were offered food, and refused it. -But I have brought you some bread.” -</p> - -<p> -He held out to me a dry crust. I turned from it in anger. -</p> - -<p> -“O, very well!” said he, and was returning it to his pocket. -</p> - -<p> -Then physical need conquered me. I could not face the thought of -another day’s starvation. I sat up, and held out my hands. -</p> - -<p> -“If you will be so cruel,” I said. “Let me have it, please.” -</p> - -<p> -He gave it to me at once, stood by with a sort of sombre smile on his -face, while I appeased my ravenous first hunger. -</p> - -<p> -“That’s right,” he said. “Are you better? There was room for -improvement.” -</p> - -<p> -I did not answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, are you quite good now?” said he. -</p> - -<p> -My throat began to swell again. -</p> - -<p> -“You treat me like a child!” I cried. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” he said, “because it’s only little girls who quarrel with their -bread and butter.” -</p> - -<p> -“Haven’t you punished me enough already?” I said. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know,” he answered. “But, if more’s wanted, I hope it will be -with less smart to myself.” -</p> - -<p> -I laughed through my tears. -</p> - -<p> -“O, I mean nothing sentimental,” said he; “but only that, <i>my</i> room -being next to yours, and the common ladder to both conducting through -<i>your</i> room, I’ve been forced by your wilfulness to sleep all night -below in a chair. But we’ll remedy that somehow with a screen, and so -settle any question of precedence in going to bed.” -</p> - -<p> -I stared at him, half fearfully. -</p> - -<p> -“Why have you brought me here?” I whispered. -</p> - -<p> -“What! again?” he said, shaking a finger at me. -</p> - -<p> -“It seems, for no reason but to humble and abuse me. I was happy with -poor Gogo.” -</p> - -<p> -“Damn Gogo!” he said, in such a sudden heat that it brought a cry from -me. Then, all in an instant, to my amazement and distress, he had -fallen on his knees beside the bed. -</p> - -<p> -“What is Gogo to you, or you to him?” he cried, in a low, intense -voice. “Has he ruined himself for you as I have done? Has he risked -death, destruction, madness? pined for you in dreams, and plotted to -gain you waking, as I have ever since you, a child, took my reason by -storm, and bound it to you by golden chains?” -</p> - -<p> -His fervour and passion quite overwhelmed me. I could only cower, -trembling, before him. -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean?” I whispered. “How have you ruined yourself—for my -sake?” -</p> - -<p> -He caught at my hands. He was breathing fast and thick. -</p> - -<p> -“O, child, you don’t know!” he cried—“the peril that has dogged -you—the love that has foreseen and provided—not for a moment the -truth of how my heart bled to hurt you. Now—now! O, will you not come -to me and hear?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” I whispered, in a hurry of emotion. “For pity’s sake leave me! I -will come to you presently: I will, indeed.” -</p> - -<p> -He rose to his feet at once, commanding himself. He was all -changed—softened and transfigured. I felt swimming on the edge of a -whirlpool—fighting giddily against some helpless, rapturous plunge to -which I was being urged. I longed only for breathing time—some little -space to be alone in. -</p> - -<p> -He went and stood by the trap: “I will wait for you,” he said -hoarsely; and so descended, closed it behind him, and was gone. -</p> - -<p> -When, in an hour, I rejoined him, he was pacing the cellar like a -caged wolf. He uttered a glad exclamation upon seeing me, and took my -hand and led me to a stool. He was himself again, but with a new -strange wistfulness in his gaiety. -</p> - -<p> -“You will not mind the ‘sewer’ now?” said he. “And presently you will -ask me everything, and I will tell you.” -</p> - -<p> -He drew in our breakfast, by the same method as before; and I could at -last enjoy my collops with a free conscience and appetite. Then, our -meal over, he drew his stool beside me, and, without offering to -smoke, started upon his relation. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch19"> -XIX.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I AM MAID MARIAN</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -“<span class="sc">But</span>, first,” said he, kindling, “ask me where you are.” -</p> - -<p> -“Short explanations suit me best,” I said. “Immured in a wall. Is not -that enough?” -</p> - -<p> -“Quite, for me,” said he, “since you are here. But whose wall, now?” -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, in Ranger Portlock’s cottage,” said he, “buried, out of all -whooping, in the forest. Would you like to be introduced to your -host?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, if you please,” I said. “Will you call him in?” -</p> - -<p> -He laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“Mahomet will have to go to the mountain. You will understand why, -when you see it. Well, for this cottage. Did you mark its position in -the dark? Poor little bewildered brain—poor little brain! Harkee!” -(He was fondly touching and smoothing the hair on my temples.) “I -loved this Diana as a little girl. What a phenomenal brother, to be -sure! This cottage you are in, child—did you not observe?—lies -snuggled in the shoulder of the hill, warm as a baby in its mother’s -arm—as warm and as safe too. Its back wall here” (he turned and -tapped the plaster) “is just a windowless buttress, built strong -against any chance falling of the soil beyond. This” (he pointed to -the inner wall) “terminates the kitchen, and not the house itself, as -a body entering the building is meant to suppose. ’Tis a blind, as one -might call it, and not discernible from the outside to any but a -conjurer.” -</p> - -<p> -“And there?” I said, pointing to the closed door at the end. -</p> - -<p> -“That, madam,” said he, with some momentary return to dryness, “is -Bluebeard’s Chamber, if you please, and not at present in the articles -of discussion.” -</p> - -<p> -I was surprised—a little startled, perhaps—but said no more; and he -went on— -</p> - -<p> -“Well, now: this same cottage is a half-timbered structure, very -ancient, and as full of odd little compartments as a bureau. Where we -lie is its secret drawers, Diana, a nest of ’em—two below and two -over. And how to reach here, miss? Ay, there’s the master stroke you’d -never guess. No, ’tis no way by the door yonder.” -</p> - -<p> -“If you please, sir,” says I, “if ’twas left to my innocence to -decide, I should e’en choose the way the tray went.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, come and look,” says he, and made me go and stoop to the hole. -To my surprise, it was closed, and black. -</p> - -<p> -“’Twas not so I saw it last night,” I said, rising. -</p> - -<p> -“What!” cried he, “you were prowling, were you? Thank you kindly for -the hint”—and he gave a great laugh, but sobered in a moment. -</p> - -<p> -“Did you listen, then?” said he. -</p> - -<p> -“I was going to,” I answered; “but the moment I bent, your chairs -moved, and I was frightened, and ran away.” -</p> - -<p> -“That sounds frank,” said he. He sat musing a little. “You’re a child, -’tis true, mutable and thoughtless; but where could be the harm? If -the secret were mine only— Well, study for my confidence, and some -day, perhaps”— -</p> - -<p> -He broke off with a smile, which I had a difficulty to return. So -there <i>was</i> a mystery in reality. There and then I vowed a Delilah -oath to myself to get the better of it. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know what you mean,” I said; “I had no thought to surprise -any secrets. Is that the way through, indeed?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” he said; “fairly, it is. ’Tis pierced under the big copper in -the kitchen, which has a detachable grate to be pulled all out in one -piece. God knows the original use of this contrivance—this space in -the wall—unless ’twere always for the purpose that we”—(he checked -himself again). “Anyhow, ’tis utterly inaccessible else, save by way -of the skylight which your ladyship knows; and now you’re acquainted -with your prison, ask me further what you will.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Ranger</i> Portlock, did you say?” -</p> - -<p> -“Ay, ranger; once my brother’s keeper (not like Cain, unhappily), and -since promoted.” -</p> - -<p> -“You seem to love your brother.” -</p> - -<p> -“I have reason.” -</p> - -<p> -“And this Portlock is still in his service?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“And in <i>your</i> confidence?” -</p> - -<p> -“Ay, is he not! I must tell you I am a proper sportsman, madam, and -always more popular with Hardrough’s people than the noble verderer -himself. Well, I have taught them something here and there, and put -money in their pockets, maybe. Have no fear. Not Portlock nor any -other will betray us. I have my merry men of Down, who sink or swim -with me. And now I have my Maid Marian. What more? You shall see this -Portlock. Bear in mind he was once a thread-paper of a man. I have -known him since I was a boy. What else?” -</p> - -<p> -“Can you ask me?” I said low, hanging my head. “The reason—what you -hinted up there—why you are ruined and in hiding?” -</p> - -<p> -He ventured to put an arm about me. How could I refuse him, who was my -Bayard? Yet, when he told me, it was not all. He never to the end -acquainted me of what social dereliction of his had originally -delivered him into the earl his brother’s power, and placed him and -his remnant fortunes under the hand of that remorseless nobleman to -use and crush at his will. He never even admitted but indirectly that -stain on his birth, in which a high person was whispered to be -implicated, and which was at the root, perhaps, of all the trouble. -</p> - -<p> -“He always hated me,” he said of the Lord Herring; “and never more -than when he foresaw my succession in the death of his promising limb, -my nephew.” -</p> - -<p> -“What, is he dead?” I asked, astonished. -</p> - -<p> -“No,” he said, “but only rotten. He will never come into the title, -believe me.” -</p> - -<p> -“And you,” I said, curiously interested. “How will he keep you out, if -the worst should happen to him?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why,” he said, “he would threaten an inquiry, an exposure; and there -are those who, rather than suffer it, would countenance his quiet -disposal of me—have done so, perhaps, already. And there you come -in.” -</p> - -<p> -“Me!” I cried. -</p> - -<p> -“Child,” he responded, “how can I speak it without offence? You have -long been marked down by this man, my brother, for his prey. I have -known it, trust me, and writhed under the knowledge. But you were in -proper hands, and he must bide his opportunity. Believe me, he was no -privy to Sophia’s schemes of husbandry. Had he guessed, he would have -anticipated the end, so far as you was concerned, by carrying you away -by force. When he learned the truth at last, he was mad. But he -recovered his sanity on reflection. It was no bad thing to let you -ripen in that hell for his purposes—to subdue you by that torture to -his will. Then, when reduced, he would exchange your sweet person with -Dr. Peel for mine, would sell me to your place in the madhouse, so -killing his two birds with one wicked stone. But his plan miscarried. -I had a friend in the household—someone, a poor dancer, whom he had -used for a day and thrown aside. She revealed all to me, and I fled, -leaving him only my bitter curse for legacy. And I came here, into -hiding, to mature my plans for revenge—came back to Nature, -renouncing my kindred and all the vile social policies of a world I -had got to loathe. He had beggared me, and I would fleece the -plunderer. He had thought to debauch my love, and I would disappoint -him of even that moiety of his bargain. Have I done so? Judge, if he -loved me before, how he would spare me now, who have baffled his -schemes and stolen his dear! A knowledge of but half the truth has -already, in these few weeks, set him turning every stone to discover -where I lie; but I am well served by my friends. He would burn the -forest if he guessed the whole. As you regard me, as you value -yourself, child, concede nothing to chance—not so much as a peep over -the roof. Ay, I know your activity. But you must lie close as a hare -if you would be safe—through these first days of peril, at least. -Later, when the chase less presses, you may venture out, perhaps, by -the ladder; but always with infinite caution, as you love me. Little -sister, do you agree?” -</p> - -<p> -I buried my face in my hands. My whole heart cried out on the cruel -tyranny of a code that could let such monsters as this wreak their -passions on the pure and innocent, and yet find absolution. O, that I -could find a way, in the lawful junction of our fortunes, to vindicate -this dear oppressed creature, and establish him in his rights before -the world! I leaned to him, with wet eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“If you love <i>me</i> so, brother,” I murmured, “what made you behave so -cruel to me?” -</p> - -<p> -He gave a happy, low laugh, and tightened his hold. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, dear,” he said, “are not a woman’s extremes of love all for the -man who will beat her, or the man she can cherish and protect? I vow I -chose only my natural part.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” said I, “I’m glad you stopped short of the beating. It would -only have stiffened me, like cream.” -</p> - -<p> -“Whipt cream is very good with cherries,” said he, and bent to my -lips. -</p> - -<p> -But I started from him gaily, and leapt to my feet. -</p> - -<p> -“Come,” I said; “I’m waiting to be introduced to Mr. Portlock.” -</p> - -<p> -He laughed, and stretched himself, and, rising, stooped to the hole in -the wall and scratched with his finger, like a rat gnawing, on the -iron stop therein. In a little something was withdrawn, and a weak -wash of light flowed through. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” said he, “I will go first, and do you follow, little mouse.” -</p> - -<p> -He dropped on his hands and knees, and crawled in, and disappeared. It -was an attitude that lacked romance, and I was glad there was none -behind to witness my passing. But the journey was so short that I was -hardly in before my head was free on the farther side; and in a moment -George had helped me to my feet, and I saw our host. -</p> - -<p> -I saw nothing else, indeed. There were, I believe, the open range, and -herb-hung rafters, and settle and dresser of the ordinary cottager’s -kitchen. The huge creature before me absorbed three-fourths of the -field of my vision. I understood at once why Mahomet must come to the -mountain. -</p> - -<p> -He had an enormous tallowy face, had this person, with an expression -so excessively melting that it might have been said to be no -expression at all. He could have had no more intimacy with his own -skeleton than a hippopotamus. Ages ago he must have left it buried -within himself as useless, and turned his wits to balancing on the -twin globes of fat that were his legs. His eyes were slits, his nose a -wart, his mouth the mere orifice of a blow-pipe. If his neck by any -possibility had been broken, one might have stretched it till his head -touched the ceiling. -</p> - -<p> -I was conscious of George standing by watching me, and instinctively I -dropped a curtsey. Immediately the mountain rumbled, and dusted a -chair for my reception. It swung in his vast hand like a signboard -from an inn. Relatively, I had some fear of sitting on it; it looked -for a moment so like a doll’s. -</p> - -<p> -“Mr. Portlock,” I murmured, casting down my eyes, “I—I am your humble -servant, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -He bowed—bagged, would be the better expression. The whole weight of -his chin was against his recovery; but he managed it, with an effort. -</p> - -<p> -“You—you are very good to give me shelter,” said I. “I’m afraid -we—we shall crowd you dreadfully, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -A low gale vibrated in him somewhere. I seemed to be able to detach -certain indistinct utterances from it, of which “welcome: what can do: -Maid Marian” were the clearest. -</p> - -<p> -I made an effort to respond fitly—struggled, and was dumb. Then, in a -moment—I saw George with his hand to his mouth—the demon exploded in -me. -</p> - -<p> -“Were you—were you always like that?” I shrieked, and fell across my -chair-back, half hysteric. -</p> - -<p> -The poor fellow may have laughed himself—there was no guessing what -emotions that curtain of flesh concealed—but he looked, if anything, -more abashed than offended. -</p> - -<p> -“Hush!” said George, recovering himself, “or I must drag you back, -miss.” -</p> - -<p> -We shook, facing one another with gleaming eyes and teeth. -</p> - -<p> -“Didn’t I tell you,” he gasped, “that he was a thread-paper of a man -once?” -</p> - -<p> -He went and clapped a hand on the mountain’s shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -“Come, Johnny, no offence,” said he. “None knows better than her -ladyship that your heart’s in the right place.” -</p> - -<p> -I subdued myself by a vast effort, and rose, and went to conciliate -the poor creature. -</p> - -<p> -“Haven’t I reason to?” I said. “And—and I put my faith in you, sir; -and—and faith moves mountains”—and I was near off again. -</p> - -<p> -He shifted, and flushed faintly, and delivered himself once more. -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis the wittles—have done it.” -</p> - -<p> -“He means,” said George, “that he’s made up for lost time and -opportunities, since his promotion.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ay, ’twas the nerves,” went on the oracle—“kep’ me down—once. -Shook, I did—hear thunder. Walk a mile round—avoid row. When the -crows holloa’d—see funeral pass—turned blood water. ’Twas lack -ballast—that was it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course,” said George, “that was it. What a coward you was, Johnny, -in your thin time. D’you remember the day we shot the home covers, -with a great person for company, and the sky came raining cobwebs, so -that we were near stifled with ’em; and you stuck your head in a bush, -till we gave you with our ramrods something better than cobwebs to -roar about?” -</p> - -<p> -“Ay, I do,” said the mountain, and rumbled again. “Not much -cobweb—’bout me now.” -</p> - -<p> -Well, I told him that one couldn’t have too much of a good thing; and -very soon we were fast friends. But that morning George haled me back -into shelter before much was said; and afterwards our acquaintance -ripened by fits and starts. The very immobility of the creature was -our and his salvation. There was no conscious expression to betray -itself on that vast desert of a countenance. Periodically, he was -visited by the steward; fitfully, by units of the hunt which his -lordship sought to lay on his vanished brother’s trail. He was never, -so far as I knew, suspected; and with the deepening of winter the -chase slackened. -</p> - -<p> -And, in the meantime, what was I doing there, buried alive like a -recreant novice in the wall? Wilt thou believe, Alcide, that I, with -all my free aspirations, could have remained at peace in the little -prison for a day? Well, with rare excursions beyond, and those not -till I had been long immured, I lived there for more than a year, and -was near all the time as happy as a swallow under the eaves. It is -love makes the dimensions of our estate. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch20"> -XX.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I PUT AN END TO FOLLY NUMBER TWO</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">It</span> was not till early in the second spring of my idyll that the -clouds began to darken, and my conscience to stir uneasily in those -gloomy last hours before the final waking. Many things had contributed -to this state, some cardinal, but most, no doubt, indifferent—mere -little tributary streams which had come to swell the volume of my -disenchantment. Misunderstanding, alas! does not walk to challenge us -on the highway. It spies from behind hedges, and listens at keyholes; -and when at length its tally of grievances is made, we wonder at the -weight of the evidence it has accumulated. -</p> - -<p> -Late in the previous year I had been very ill. During the worst of my -disorder an unconscionable old hag, some withered afreet of the -forest, who was in the secret of our retreat, had been brought in to -attend me. She disappeared soon, thank God, in a whisk of sulphur; and -thereafter George nursed me devotedly. But, strangely enough, as I -grew convalescent I developed an odd impatience of him, which rose by -degrees to a real intolerance and dislike. That feeling abated as I -grew strong, but never to such degree as to make us again quite the -friends we had been. He made some study to propitiate me, even to the -extent of renouncing those ridiculous principles of “Nature,” which he -had affected to exchange for the whole sum of social accommodations. -It was a relief, though an aggravation, to have him refine himself -again out of a savage, since I no longer could find the entertainment -I once had in the dear <i>poseur</i>. Orson, in truth, was never so little -attractive as when, for the sake of tired love’s favour, he confessed -his ruggedness a humbug. His recantation, though welcome enough in one -way, only disillusioned me in another. So long as he had been -consistent, he was absolute; now his weakness had made me so. I -remembered the times when I had pleaded with him, and had found him -only more covetable in his inaccessibility to my arguments. -</p> - -<p> -“We can’t return to Nature, in the sense of rudeness,” I had often -said to him, “any more than we can recover our childhood. We have -grown out of it, and there’s an end. A man playing the child is only -sorry make-believe; or, if it isn’t, the man’s an idiot. Nature -herself, you see, isn’t stationary: she’s always refining on her first -conceptions.” -</p> - -<p> -“What!” he would protest, grumbling; “is all that hypocrisy of -‘breeding,’ that high <i>goût</i>, which is so fastidious in its appetite -for crawling meats, and rotten policies, and bruised virtues, Nature?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, to be sure,” I would answer: “’tis <i>human</i> nature—the fruits of -her desire to hasten her social apotheosis by a union with the sons of -God.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ay,” would growl my Timon—“the fruits of incontinence.” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t see it,” I would cry. “I can’t see but that a knife and fork -are in the right succession to a beak. We may use our fingers, you -will say. Would you wish me, sir, to fondle my love with the same -hands I tear my meat withal? No, you wouldn’t—except for the sake of -argument,—and therefore I protest I am the truer child of that little -liaison. <i>Vive la Nature!</i> say I; the Nature who is my mother, and the -God who is my father. They have taught me between them to study, in -studying myself, to make the gift of prettiness to my neighbours.” -</p> - -<p> -“And I swear you are a dutiful child,” he would answer, with the -readiness that made me love him. -</p> - -<p> -“O, believe me, sir!” I would cry; “there is nothing artificial about -the civilisation you have professed to renounce—as if that were -responsible for your downfall. On its main lines it always makes for -beauty”— -</p> - -<p> -“Which is truth, I suppose,” he would interrupt with a sneer. -</p> - -<p> -“Which is truth, as much as anything is,” I would reply. “Truth is -only a cant word for what we don’t understand; and, if we could get -to, there would be an end of all fun in the world.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, upon my word, you are a very learned minx!” he would crow; but I -would continue, not minding him— -</p> - -<p> -“If we had to start again from the beginning, don’t tell me but that -we should develop the very same conventions as now, or at least near -’em. Why, sir, not to lean our elbows on the table, for instance, -while we sup our tea, isn’t a tyrannous edict of society. ’Tis a -natural recognition of the unhandsome; a natural effort to qualify -ourselves for the better company we all look to some day. Don’t we all -feel that we are only rehearsing here for a greater piece? Well, for -my part, I don’t want to be damned in it. But you—you cry, like a -poor actor, ‘Leave me alone to my pipe and beer. I shall be all right -on the night itself!’” -</p> - -<p> -Then he would laugh bravo; and, pulling out his tobacco, silence me -with a kiss. -</p> - -<p> -But now—well, he had abdicated, and I ruled, that was the difference. -</p> - -<p> -There had been a time when I would have consolidated the understanding -between us by taking, on the first dawn of liberty, our friendship to -church. In those days, indeed, I even hinted as much to him, touching -upon the duty he owed me so to establish my innocence with the world. -Then he would fall back upon his cant of Nature; of vows dishonoured -in her sight; of laws that crossed the plainest mandate that ever she -had given to earth. And I must be content at the time, because we were -helpless outcasts together, because he was kind to me, because he -flattered me with a thousand attentions which made me forget the -equivocalness of my position. -</p> - -<p> -But now, at the last, it was he must sue and I be cold. For, under our -altered relations, I had come to recognise, though late, how wrong was -this continued communion, however platonic, between us. It was not -that I loved my brother less, but that I respected myself more. I had -been blinded by all the novelty and glamour. He was pagan at heart, I -saw, and I was at heart religious. My thoughts turned with affection -to the quiet nunnery at Wellcot. I longed to see my kind again, to -recover something of the world I had lost. I had no real faith in his -protestations, no real belief that, should it ever chance to him to -recover his rights—which, in truth, seemed impossible—he would claim -me to my legitimate share in them. And I found no room in my world for -a paradise of sinful loves. -</p> - -<p> -He sighed much, and was very pathetic, poor fellow, over my changed -attitude, and wearied me to death. Then he took to verse, and -depressed me more. He had a strange faculty for a sort of big-sounding -line, which he would invent and declaim in his odd moments while -engaged over mending his snares or sewing buttons on his gaiters. It -was quite impressive in its place, but was not exhilarating when -applied to <i>les amours</i>. -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“This world” (he declared once) “is but the weed-heap of the spheres,</p> -<p class="i0">Whereon we rot and fester, torn from the skies,</p> -<p class="i0">And are consumed in fire, to manure</p> -<p class="i0">And quicken old fields of heaven with new love.</p> -<p class="i0">O, sweet! wind with me on the damnéd pile,</p> -<p class="i0">So of our mingled dust shall blossom heaven”—</p> -</div></div> - -<p> -A romantic use to put your poor little Diana to, eh, my friend? But, -indeed, I would have none of it. I hate that fashion of decrying the -flesh, because your poet has a stomachache. My body is the only -certain God I know in the midst of these shadows. I cling to it, -worshipping it with all the pretty gifts I can think. When it goes, -where shall I be? Seeking and crying for it again through space. I -will not have it abused to such uses, my sweet body that I love so. -</p> - -<p> -Well, it had all vastly interested me once: the fond, comical -incongruity; the unexpected soul of my Nimrod revealing itself through -suffering. He did not, dear simpleton, in the least understand his own -inconsistency: how, loving all birds and beasts, as he professed to -do, and so claiming affinity with Nature, he could use and approve the -latest engines of civilisation for their slaughter. He called the red -deer “the spirit of the antlered tree,” and went to shoot it with a -gun. He made me a pretty waistcoat of squirrel skins (I went sweetly -befurred, indeed, throughout the cold winters), and dwelt lovingly on -the primeval romance of woodlands, meaning, in fact, that rapture of -flight and pursuit of visible things which alone appeals to the -unredeemed barbarian. In the end, to speak truth, his mad rhapsodies -came to remind me, only too uncomfortably, of the dead astrologer; and -I looked askance on what seemed a common derivation from a crazy -stock. -</p> - -<p> -But now, lest it appear that I attach too much importance to these -minor discords, let me relate of the much darker and more formidable -shadow which had arisen between us, and which, as the months but added -to its density, grew at last to be the insuperable barrier to our -reconciliation. -</p> - -<p> -It was the <i>secret</i> dividing us—the secret which I had once half -surprised, and to the existence of which he had virtually confessed, -only, it seemed, to torture me by withholding it. This much alone I -knew: that he went somehow practising, in his banishment, to be -revenged on the society which he held responsible for it. Often, at -first, I tried to coax the truth from him. He was not, for all his -love, to be beguiled. There were others concerned, he said, who by no -means shared his faith in my discretion; with whom, in fact, he had -come to open dispute on the subject of my continued sojourn in the -cottage, and whom, in the end, he had had to propitiate—seeing his -safety lay in their hands—by a vow to reveal nothing to me. -</p> - -<p> -I had no doubt, in my heart, but that these unknown were the “merry -men” of his boasting—woodmen, verderers, perhaps, who—treacherous to -the earl their master—were aiding and abetting the exile in those -very malpractices he concealed from me. I was right as to that, it -appeared; but what I could never understand was the nature of my -reputation with them: how they had so learned to misapprehend my -character for faith and loyalty. However, mistaken as they were, they -had nothing to complain of their leader’s constancy to his oath—a -constancy, alas! which I can only not commend because of its miserable -sequel. If he had only had the strength to trust me, neither would he -have lost his liberty, nor I been condemned to the torments of a quite -unmerited remorse. At this date of time, I can insist, with a clear -but sorrowful conscience, that the poor infatuated fool brought what -happened upon his own head. -</p> - -<p> -When I recognised at last that he was adamant to my pleadings, I -waived the subject, but not by any means my private concern in it. The -secret, I was naturally enough convinced, lay to be revealed behind -the locked door of that Bluebeard Chamber; and one night—after my -friend had gone out—I took a taper and my courage in hand, and -descended softly through the trap to investigate. -</p> - -<p> -After he had gone out, I say; and therein lay the key to my growing -apprehensions. For not many days had I been in hiding before I -discovered that my comrade was a night-walker. He would wait, -soft-shut into his room, until he fancied I was drowned in sleep, then -list-footed creep out and by the screen—which he had put up to -protect me—and either descend by way of the trap, or, less often, -mounting the ladder which communicated with the hidden gully, -disappear, and pull his means of exit after him. Then I would wait, -shivering and wondering through the whole gamut of formless fears, -till stupor overtook me, or perhaps by and by, after long hours, a -terrified half-consciousness of his stealthy return. -</p> - -<p> -Where did he thus nightly go? To what dark business or witches’ -frolic? I tormented my brain for the solution, and of my love and -loyalty could find none. But the poison of a yet-unrealised fear was -working in me early. -</p> - -<p> -Now, on this night, waking out of tormented dreams, I was on the -instant desperate to solve the mystery. But hardly had I crossed the -little cellar when a warning rumble from Portlock, seated in the room -beyond, told me that I was discovered. So this vast creature was in -the conspiracy! Quite panic-struck, I fled, and, mounting to my -room—found George there. He had returned, descending by the ladder, -during the minute of my absence. -</p> - -<p> -He made no allusion whatever to my escapade; but just laughed softly, -and took my cold hand in his, as I stood trembling and aghast before -him. -</p> - -<p> -“Poor little maid,” he said; “she has been dreaming”—and he led me to -my bed, and tucked me in warm, and left me with a kiss. -</p> - -<p> -I never thought it necessary to confess; but always after that, as I -came to learn, he descended by the trap and <i>bolted it behind him</i>. -</p> - -<p> -That did not assuage my fears, though it was some comfort henceforth -to be spared the pretence of blindness to his flittings—a comfort, I -think, to him as well as to me, though his silence on the main point -was not to be broken. Ah! if he had only had the courage to set my -mind at rest, before its fears grew to a frenzy beyond my control! -</p> - -<p> -Now, as time went on, my hearing grew morbidly acute—during the dark -hours of his nightly absences, when I was fastened lonely and -frightened into my attic, and sleep refused to come to me—to certain -shufflings and whisperings—sounds scarce to be distinguished from the -wind and the rain—which filtered to me from the depths below. -Sometimes it would seem a sough of blown voices; sometimes a -suggestion of <i>dragging</i>; sometimes the low rumble of a cart on the -turf, which set my pulses knocking in my ears. Then when, succeeding -an ominous silence, George’s step would come mounting stealthily by -the trap, on tiptoe thence to his room, I would shudder in the thought -of dreadful footprints going by my screen, and would feign the -deep-breathing of slumber, lest he should be moved to stop and call to -me softly in the voice I had not yet learned to resist. -</p> - -<p> -And so at last, out of all this torment of apprehension, out of the -sleepless waitings and breathless listenings, had emerged a spectre, -real and present in the end, to whose whispered hauntings I had long -struggled to close my ears; whose approach I had sought to stay, -beating my hands in air; whose name I had not dared to breathe to -myself. And it was <span class="sc">murder</span>. -</p> - -<p> -Yes, murder. So only, and only so, was logically expounded that -perverted creed of Nature. Livid, terrifying, his hands stained with -blood, I saw him in its ghastly glair; saw him savagely wreaking on -the social order the wrongs he had suffered at its hands; saw him -reverted to the beast he worshipped, tearing his kind, a common robber -and assassin. -</p> - -<p> -I will not say that I was convinced and overwhelmed in a breath. For -long the hideous shadow of the phantom was poor proof against the sun -of present love; would thin, attenuate to a mere gross mist in the -light of kind embraces, and honest laughter, and a manly candour—on -all, alas! but the subject that most corroded. Only when that later -spectre of our estrangement crept between, did it assume a dreadful -complexion, glooming through the other. And so, at last, the appalling -confirmation. -</p> - -<p> -It had been for weeks a terror to me to creep by the secret passage -into Portlock’s kitchen, on the rare occasions when my brief visits -there, for the sake of some small change and play of liberty, were -invited. For the hole entered close by the locked door, which had come -to figure to me for the seal on all most nameless horrors; and I could -not pass it by but with averted head, and nostrils held from -breathing, and a sickness like to the death I felt it contained. -Rather would I strain a little the chance of capture without; and -often now, when George was sleeping—for he lay late after his night -excursions—I would put the ladder to the hill, and climb, and wander -in the hidden furrow above, sometimes as far as the gravel-pit, and -there indulge my misery, daring even at the worst a thought of escape. -For at length, so far as we knew, the chase of us had ceased -altogether, and Portlock was no longer interrogated for possible -information. -</p> - -<p> -Wandering thus, greatly unhappy, my thoughts would often recur for -shelter to the peaceful nunnery; to my little loving Patty, the -dearest pleader of a sister’s repentance; most, and with a -self-humbling remorse, to the faithful, unexacting soul whom I had -deserted in the tower. What if I had been misled by specious arguments -to wound incurably where I had wrought to cure? Could I ever in that -case forgive the false advocate? O, surely there was a greater Nature -than she in whose name were perpetrated deeds of violence and -reprisal? There was the human, the humorous, the tolerant large -philosophy of being which Gogo had revealed in his story of himself. -<i>His</i> misfortunes had but made him forswear the false goddess in whom -weaker men sought to justify their passions. I could never think of -him but as the Pan of these later days—the poor limping Pan of our -era, beguiled into a hospital, and persuaded to an operation, and -shorn of his limp and his legs together. One might meet him begging on -a city bridge, and look wondering down for the song of the water in -the rushes that were not; one might read his hairy breast into dreams -of red dead bracken, and see his eyes, under their matted brows, like -little forest pools reflecting glimpses of the sky, and not guess who -he was, for he would never whine of better days. He always took -fortune like a fallen god, did Gogo. He always smelt sweet, did my -monster. And he had not erred in love before he found me. -</p> - -<p> -Could that be said of another? I was never quite able to forget that -discarded favourite who had warned a threatened brother and assisted -him to escape. Though I had never deigned to give the thought place in -my mind, the unacknowledged shadow of it, of what had been her -inducement to the act, slept in me, to rise presently and add its -quota of darkness to the whole. I was very unhappy—very forlorn and -tired and unhappy. -</p> - -<p> -But, on that morning, as it blew bitter cold without, and I longed for -the fire that was never ours in that chill cellar but by proxy of the -chimney-back, I brought myself to go down, and scratch out the signal -to Portlock to let me pass if it were practicable. He responded at -once, drawing away the grate; and I crept in and through, and stood up -on the farther side. Instantly a grumpy exclamation from him, as -instantly clapped back with his great hand on his mouth, took my eyes -to my skirt, whereto for a flash I had seen his directed. And there, -smearing the pale folds of it, was a long, foul streak of blood. -</p> - -<p> -“Where did this come from?” I cried in a dismayed voice, for the -moment too shocked to reflect. -</p> - -<p> -I fancied he shook upon his great gelatinous calves, that the little -eyes set in the vast oyster of his face were blinking shiftily, alert -to my movements while he turned over the dull masses of his brain for -an answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Rabbits—dinner,” at length he rumbled. -</p> - -<p> -But I had realised it all while he stuck fast. Desperate in my -heart-sickness, I made a hurried step to pass him; and instantly he -moved backwards, and filled the doorway into the little front parlour -by way of which I had hoped to escape into the forest. -</p> - -<p> -“Let me pass,” I cried wildly. “I want air.” -</p> - -<p> -He pointed to the copper. -</p> - -<p> -“Not safe. That way.” -</p> - -<p> -“I can’t,” I cried. “It was there I picked this up: you know it was.” -Then I quite lost my reason. “You are a murderer!” I shrieked. “You -are all murderers here! You rob and kill, and drag the poor bodies -through and hide them in the cellar behind the door. Let me pass—I -can’t live here—I can bear it no longer!” -</p> - -<p> -I raved and cried; I beat helplessly on that huge drum of flesh. It -stood stolid, insensible, completely stopping the aperture. -</p> - -<p> -“Go—ask cap’en,” was all it said. -</p> - -<p> -I fell back from him on the word. The sense of an immediate necessity -of self-control was flashed upon my consciousness. Above or -below—either way my passage was guarded. I was between the devil and -the deep sea; and, in an irrepressible burst of frenzy, I had -confessed myself, let slip my tortured demon, and so, perhaps, spoken -my own death-sentence. The terror of the thought drove out the lesser -loathing. I must temporise—finesse. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” I said, “I will. I will not rest now till I know.” -</p> - -<p> -The return by that foul sewer, the fearful issue by the closed door, -were experiences as horrible as any in my life. What crawling thread -might not be still drawing from the obscure reservoir beyond? What -hideous witness not fastening silent to me in the darkness, that it -might rise with my rising and shriek to the light for vengeance? But I -forced myself, in my mortal fear, to tread softly, and on very panic -tiptoe climbed from the hateful pit, and crossed the room above. I -paused a moment, on my shuddering way, for assurance of <i>his</i> steady -breathing; and then with cold deft hands set the ladder in place, and -mounted it, and, drawing it after me into the thicket, fled along the -passage. I had no thought of what I should do. I only wanted to -escape: to put as long a distance as possible between myself and that -spectre, confessed in all its blood-guiltiness at last. Half blinded, -torn by flint and briar, I broke at length through the farther -thicket, and sank, trembling and exhausted, upon the bank of the -gravel-pit beyond. -</p> - -<p> -I had sat there I know not how long, my face in my hands, the alarum -in my heart deafening me to all outward sounds—the storming trees -above; the cold sabre of the wind slashing into the bushes of my -refuge, as if it would lay me bare—when suddenly I felt the clinch of -a hand on my shoulder, and screamed, and looked up. Three fellows, in -a common livery, had descended softly upon me from above, and I was -captured without an effort. -</p> - -<p> -I rose, staggering, to my feet, my face like ashes, my poor hands -clasped in entreaty. But not a word could I force from my white lips. -</p> - -<p> -“You must come with us, miss, if you please,” said the man who held -me, civilly enough. -</p> - -<p> -“Where?” I made out to whisper. -</p> - -<p> -He pointed with a riding-whip. I followed the direction of his hand; -and there, on the rim of the pit above, silhouetted against the sky, -sat a single horseman. I had no reason to doubt who it was. Even at -that distance, the lank red jaw of him was sign enough of the fox. I -was trapped at last, and when I had thought myself securest. -</p> - -<p> -Now, I do not know what desperate resignation came to me all in a -moment. As well this way out as another. “Very well,” I said quietly, -“I will go with you.” -</p> - -<p> -They were surprised, I could see, by my submission, and all the more -alert, on its unexpected account, to hover about my going. But their -strong arms were not the less considerate, for that reason, to support -me, overwrought as I was, in my passage to the open daylight above; -and, almost before I realised it, I was standing before the Earl of -Herring. -</p> - -<p> -He sat as stiff and relentless in his saddle as an Attila, his red -eyes staring, a very wickedness of foretasted relish grinning in his -hungry teeth. A fourth servant in livery stood a little apart, holding -his own and the others’ horses. -</p> - -<p> -“So,” said the master, whispering as out of a dream, “you are caught -at last, my lady.” -</p> - -<p> -I felt for the first time a little flush come to my cheeks, and -answered his gaze resolutely. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know what you mean by ‘caught,’ my lord,” I said. “These are -not the days of King John.” -</p> - -<p> -He rubbed his gloved hand across his chin. -</p> - -<p> -“No, by God!” he said, with a hoarse chuckle. “But they are the days -of King Hardrough, by your leave.” -</p> - -<p> -“I have done no wrong.” -</p> - -<p> -“Tell that to my lady,” said he. -</p> - -<p> -“Jealousy has no ears.” -</p> - -<p> -He gave a hyæna laugh. -</p> - -<p> -“Misfortune has not chastened you, I see,” crowed he. -</p> - -<p> -“It has not tried to,” I said, “till this moment. Now you have seen -me, will you let me go, and ride back to tell Mrs. de Crespigny that -she has nothing more to fear from my rivalry?” -</p> - -<p> -He regarded me with a delighted humour. -</p> - -<p> -“When I go, you come with me.” -</p> - -<p> -“O no!” -</p> - -<p> -“O yes! straight back to Dr. Peel and his whippings.” -</p> - -<p> -“You will not—you will not!” I clasped my hands upon his knee in a -frenzy of terror. I was quite broken in a moment. “Don’t send me back -to that hell!” I implored. -</p> - -<p> -He lusted over my fear. He could not for long bring himself to ease -it. -</p> - -<p> -“What have you got to offer me to stay my hand?” he said at last. -</p> - -<p> -I was silent. -</p> - -<p> -“Harkee!” he said. “I will help you out. Will you give me my bastard -brother?” -</p> - -<p> -“He is my brother too; I swear it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Pish!” said he; “will you give up your paramour?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not if you call him by that name.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, there, I knew,” said he, “you was in hiding together somewhere. -Smoke the red earl, if you can. Call him by what name you will, and -lead me to him.” -</p> - -<p> -I hung my head, and burst into tears. -</p> - -<p> -“He has deceived me.” -</p> - -<p> -“What did I say?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not that—not that. If I betray him, ’tis only in the hope of his -being persuaded to some reformation. You will not work him evil?” -</p> - -<p> -“That I swear. ’Tis only that I want to keep him out of harm’s way.” -</p> - -<p> -I looked up, breathless. This assurance was at least a comfort. -</p> - -<p> -“What will you do with him?” -</p> - -<p> -“Leave that to me. The question is, what has he done with you?” -</p> - -<p> -How could I not answer him? To win my brother from this vileness—was -it not worth the sacrifice of myself? With many tears and falterings, -I told him the story of my sojourn in the verderer’s cottage; of the -secret chambers, and our life therein; finally, with bitter -reluctance, of the shadow that had risen to estrange us, and the -bloody confirmation of my fears that was to witness even now on my -gown. -</p> - -<p> -He grinned horribly over the revelation. -</p> - -<p> -“That Portlock!” he rejoiced to himself; “that Portlock! A good throat -for the hangman! But, for your murderings—I warrant ’tis a fatter -bone I’ve to pick with our gentleman.” -</p> - -<p> -He fell into a little musing, scowling fit; then, suddenly -dismounting, bade me get into his saddle. -</p> - -<p> -“Where are you going to take me?” I said. -</p> - -<p> -“Where,” he answered, “but to your cottage?” -</p> - -<p> -“O no!” I cried; “not back there!” -</p> - -<p> -“What!” he said, grinning; “is Madam Judas yet short of her price?” -</p> - -<p> -“What price have I taken? It is not to be Judas to betray brother to -brother for virtue’s sake.” -</p> - -<p> -He bent, in a sawing laugh. -</p> - -<p> -“How apt the jade is! Let me tell you, madam, that virtue is an inner -commodity, and spoils when too much on the lips.” -</p> - -<p> -He forced me to mount, signed to his fellows to follow, and, taking -the bridle, led me down the hill. -</p> - -<p> -“Now, for your price,” said he, as he walked. “Well, I would have bid -more for sound goods; but—what say ye?—you are happy on -relations—would you like to be my daughter?” -</p> - -<p> -I hung my head, without replying. It was true he was old enough to be -my father. This misery must cast me once more on the world, a prey to -all unimaginable evils. What chance else remained to me to protect -myself and make my fortune serve my honour? -</p> - -<p> -While I was still quietly weeping, we reached the cottage from the -front, and halted. The earl motioned, and his suite gathered round and -knocked on the door. In the silence that ensued we could hear the -sound as of an unwieldy beast within shuffling to and fro. The -verderer had seen us through the window, and knew himself for lost. -Presently one put his knee to the panels, whispering for orders. -</p> - -<p> -“Curse it, no,” hissed his master; “he may hear us.” -</p> - -<p> -“If he does, he cannot escape,” I murmured. “I pulled the ladder after -me.” -</p> - -<p> -With that he raised his hand, and the door crashed in. I caught one -glimpse of Portlock’s face—it was a mere white slab of terror—and -turned away. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” said the earl in my ear; but I shuddered from him. -</p> - -<p> -“I won’t—don’t ask me—it is not in the price!” -</p> - -<p> -He uttered an impatient oath, bade one of his men hastily to my side, -and himself, with the other three, strode into the cottage. -</p> - -<p> -I don’t know how long passed; it may have been minutes, and seemed an -hour. All the time a low snuffling reached me from the interior. The -bitter wind had loosened my hair, and I caught its strands to my ears, -to my eyes, and rocked in my saddle, trying to shut out everything. -Presently a man came forth, to join the other by my side. -</p> - -<p> -“Garamighty, Job!” muttered he; “his honour be cap’en of the gang, and -no mistake. You should see his larder.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! what’s in it?” asked the first. -</p> - -<p> -“Ten fat bucks, as I’m a saint,” answered the other. “We know now -where the pick o’ the herd’s gone to, eh?” -</p> - -<p> -I sat up, listening. -</p> - -<p> -“What larder?” I asked faintly; for, indeed, I knew of none. -</p> - -<p> -The man touched his hat, half deferential, half impudent. -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis through the secret passage your ladyship, so to speak, opened to -us—a locked door in the little cellar beyant.” -</p> - -<p> -I shrunk from him. -</p> - -<p> -“You said—what did you say was in it?” -</p> - -<p> -“What but a show of venison, miss—piled to the roof, one might say. -He must ’a made a ryle living out o’ deer-stealing, by your leave.” -</p> - -<p> -He had—and that was the whole truth of the secret he had withheld -from me! All the time I had been torturing my fears into madness, he -had been abroad in the midnight woods, murdering, not men, but deer; -in league with an ignoble crew for a paltry gain. This romance of a -social ostracism revenging itself on a social hypocrisy: savage, -melancholy, yielding to love only the troubled sweetness of its -soul—what did it confess itself at last? O, glorious, to be first -consul to a little republic of poachers! To vindicate one’s -independence by picking the pockets of the king! It was all explained -now—the whisperings, the draggings, the creaking carts—in that -butchers’ shambles, the secret store of a gang of deer-stealers. He -was no better than a cutpurse. In my bitter mortification, I could -have wept tears of shame. “I am justified of my act,” I cried to -myself. “Better that he should think me a traitor now, than live to -curse me for withholding my hand when there was time and opportunity -to save him!” -</p> - -<p> -Nevertheless, when they led him forth presently bound and quiet, I -could not face his eyes, but cowered before the unspoken reproach and -sorrow in them. He came up quite close to me. -</p> - -<p> -“It was your own fault,” I muttered in my hair. “Why would you never -tell me?” -</p> - -<p> -“I was wrong,” he said, quite simply. “You must forgive me for what I -have taken from you, Diana. If it is any comfort to you to know, the -poor little unrealised bond between us reconciles me to this—and all -that is to come.” -</p> - -<p> -I felt as if my heart broke then and there. I was conscious of the red -earl watching us. The other turned to him, with a laugh like death’s. -</p> - -<p> -“Take your reversion, brother,” said he. “As for me, I am for the -madhouse, I suppose.” -</p> - -<p> -At a grinding word, two of the men helped him to mount, and moved away -with him. I never saw him again. The other two entered the cottage, to -fetch and escort Mr. Portlock to his doom. I was left alone with his -lordship. -</p> - -<p> -My heart was broken. I left it scattered on the turf, with all the -fragments of the past. -</p> - -<p> -“Now, papa devil,” I said, with a shriek of laughter, “what about your -dutiful daughter?” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch21"> -XXI.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I AM METAMORPHOSED</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">I had</span> loved, and lost, and buried my dream of yesterday. It lay -fathoms deep in the green forest. From the moment of my resurrection I -knew myself for a changeling—a fairy creature quite other than the -soft, emotional child who had cried herself to sleep on last night’s -hearth. George was in his house of discipline; Portlock, with others, -transported; my past was broken for me beyond repair. Facing me -instead were the battlements and pinnacles of a new dominion, with -what infinite potentialities behind its walls! Conscience makes no -conquests. With my rebirth had come the lust to supply the -deficiencies of the old. I laid my love in its grave with tears and -kisses, and turned intrepid to the assault. -</p> - -<p> -Memory, my friend, makes men good critics, but bad romancers. I was -too indulgent of my kind to be the first: beauty invited me: I would -forget. Remorse is, indeed, of all self-indulgences the most useless. -It reconciles an offended Heaven to us no more than do tearful sighs -win a wife her husband’s condonation of an ill-cooked dinner. An -inch-narrow of reformation is better than an ell-broad of apology. Let -our sweetness of to-day, rather, be our experience of yesterday. The -gods find no entertainment in regrets. They shower their benefits on -the unminding; and in the gifts of the present we are justified of our -past actions. It is only when we are rich that we can afford to put up -tablets to our memories; whence follows that we cannot more honour the -dead than by taking our profit of the living. Well, once I had lived -<i>for</i> others; now I would live <i>on</i> them—a word of distinction and a -world of difference. -</p> - -<p> -His lordship took me straight to London, and gave me a little suite of -rooms in his fine house in Berkeley Square, where I was to remain -during the next three years, until, in fact, I was come legally of -age. He had decided, on reflection, that I was to be his niece. He was -a very great man, and this gift was only one of many in his disposal. -It was no business of mine how he accounted to the world for my title. -<i>My</i> interest was only to justify it, with a view to my position in -life when I was become marriageable. Wherefore I would consent to give -him none of my duty until he had drawn up a settlement in my favour, -to date from my majority. I had had enough of unprofitable bargains. -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps he would never have consented to this—for, like all covetous -pluralists, he was parsimonious—had not the death of the young -viscount about this time moved him to seek comfort in an artificial -relationship for the real one he had lost. In the hearts of the worst -of us, I suppose, such vacancies yearn to be filled; and so the poor -childless wretch took his opportunity, and adopted me. I hope I -acquitted myself properly for the favour; but, in truth, I could never -quite forgive him his treachery to his brother. -</p> - -<p> -In the meantime, I developed rapidly, and had my little court, quite -exclusive of <i>les convenances</i>. The ladies, of course, looked askance -at me; but what did I care? I had only to curtsey to my glass to -procure the reason. And they made their <i>modistes</i> their deputies in -paying me the sincerest flattery. Instead, I experienced the high -distinction of a whole <i>entourage</i> of carpet-knights—captains and -parsons and diplomatists unending—who came to ogle their own images -in my blue eyes, and, losing their heads like Narcissus from -giddiness, tumbled in by the score, until I was stocked as full under -each brow as an abbot’s pond. It was a rare sport to throw crumbs of -comfort to these gaping creatures, and see them rise and jostle one -another for the best pickings. I assure you, my friend, I was a queen -in my sphere, and had as much need to practise diplomacy. It was that -first attached me to politics—the knowledge of into what good coin -for bribery and the traffic of State secrets those pretty orbs might -be converted. So soon, sure, as amongst my parliamentary followers I -distinguished my favourites, I began to sift my political opinions, -and to work for the handsomest. I have traced my measures in both -Houses, believe me, my little monsieur: I have pulled some strings, -sitting in my boudoir, with results as far-reaching as St. Stephen’s. -Ah, well! they were days! But I will be true to myself in not -bewailing them. Memory, in my philosophy, is a very lean old pauper, -crumbling dried herbs into his broth. I never could abide mint sauce -unless plucked from the green. -</p> - -<p> -Chief among my favourites was a madcap young member, whose wit was -never so impertinent as when, flitting here and there for an -opportunity, it could prick the sides of some great parliamentary -bull, and elicit a roar for its pains. He was that Mr. Roper who, -indeed, went so far, on somebody’s instigation, as to tease the great -Mr. Pitt himself on certain measures introduced for the betterment of -the Roman Catholics, and who, in consequence, redeemed himself a -little, it was whispered, in the eyes of high personages with whom he -had long been in disgrace. His father was Robert Lord Beltower, that -deplorable old nobleman who was reported early in life to have staked -his honour on some trifling issue, and lost; and who always described -himself as living a posthumous life, since he had been carried off by -a petticoat in the fifteenth year of his age. Father and second son -(the heir to the title, Lord Roper of Loftus, was eminently -respectable and pious) were known as Bob Major and Bob Minor; and, -indeed, apart or together, could ring the changes on some very pretty -tunes. But the minor, who had been a scapegrace page at court and -early dismissed, was <i>my enfant gâté</i>, as well for his wit and -information as for a daring that recked nothing of the deuce itself. -He owned to no party, and as to his principles, “Why,” said he, “I -throw up my hat to the best shot, and that isn’t always to the -heavenly marksman. I have known the devil score some points in -charity.” -</p> - -<p> -He never truckled to me, which was perhaps one of the reasons of my -favour; but was like a licensed brother—a relationship I had come to -regard. Indeed, he most offended me by his outrageous independence of -my partialities. -</p> - -<p> -“Hey! Come, rogue, rogue!” sniggered his father to him once, on the -occasion of some abominable impertinence; “you go too far. What the -devil means this disrespect to our goddess? You’ll be pricked, egad, -one of these days, like that fellow Atlas, or Actæon, or what the -devil was his name, that was tore for his impudence.” -</p> - -<p> -The son bowed to the sire, quoting Slender’s words to Shallow: “‘I -will marry her, sir, at your request; but if there be no great love in -the beginning, yet Heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, -when we are married and have more occasion to know one another: I -hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt; but if you say “Marry -her,” I will marry her, that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely.’” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, you villain,” said his lordship, with a grin, “if you’re the -devil quoting Scripture, I’m done with you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Nay, sir,” said the other, “you flatter yourself. I quote no better -than my father.” -</p> - -<p> -“No better, you dog! And how?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, sir, wasn’t it you taught me that the more one sees of a woman -the less one respects her?” -</p> - -<p> -“I?” -</p> - -<p> -“’Twas <i>à propos</i> the Chudleigh, sir, you may remember, whom you met -at Ranelagh—in ’49, I think it was—undressed as Iphigenia. She came -clothed in little but her virtue, and caught a bad cold a-consequence. -You may have forgot the moral of your sermon, sir, but I, as a dutiful -son, have stored it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Hang you, Bob! What moral?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, sir, that a woman dreads exposure in nothing but her weakness to -stand the test of it. If she’s a peculiar fineness anywhere, she’ll -take some means to let you know.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then, sir,” cried I, with a flaming face, “I pride myself on nothing -so much as my hand!”—and I brought it down stingingly on his ear. -</p> - -<p> -“But I don’t want your hand,” he cried, stamping about, while his -father roared, “Didn’t I tell you as much?” -</p> - -<p> -Nevertheless, we were fast comrades, and together in some captivating -peccancies, of which I only learned to rue the publicity when they led -to my undoing. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Roper, as I have said, found a particular delight in galling—<i>on -somebody’s instigation</i>—the sides of the promoters of the new -pro-Papish Bills. Well, I will ask you, what did I owe to that Church? -Was it likely that my treatment at its hands had left any love between -us, or that I should wish its disabilities removed, who had suffered -so much from it muzzled? I had been educated, under its shadow, to a -full understanding of its juggleries and impostures. Now was the time, -the country being still in a ferment over its heir-apparent’s alleged -marriage with the Fitzherbert, to relate my experiences. -</p> - -<p> -There was at that date published in London a little fashionable -scapegrace of a paper called the <i>World</i>, the property of a Major -Topham, who made it the vehicle for such a <i>chronique scandaleuse</i> as -the town had never yet known; and in this paper I began (by preconcert -with my political ally) to disclose, over the signature “Angélique,” -the true story and circumstances of a certain beautiful young lady, -who had been practised upon, and in the very heart of Protestant -England, by a worse than Spanish Inquisition. The series, cautiously -as I began by handling it, made an immediate sensation, and was, you -may be sure, deftly engineered in the House by Mr. Roper for the -Opposition. Moreover, “Angélique”—which delighted me as much—gave -her sweet and melancholy name to a mourning gauze, which was so pretty -that I had to kill an aunt to give me a title to wear it. At the same -time her instant popularity made me tremble for my incognito, which, -nevertheless, I knew to be the major’s very best asset in a profitable -bargain. Still, not even his tact could altogether explain away the -association of ideas implied in Mr. Roper’s common friendship with me -and with that poor persecuted anonymity; and that I had made myself by -no means so secure as Junius was a fact disagreeably impressed upon me -on a certain evening. -</p> - -<p> -I had been entertaining late that night, when his lordship entered -unexpected. He came from St. James’s and from playing backgammon with -the king, and wore his orders on a pearl-silk coat and, for contrast, -a mighty scowling face over. I took no heed of him as he walked up the -room towards me, humping his shoulders, and acknowledging wintrily the -salutations of my little court, but went on laughing and rallying a -dear little ensign Percy, with whom I was in love just then, <i>pour -faire passer le temps</i>. However, the boy could not stand the -inquisition of the red eyes, and joked himself into other company, -with a blush and a bow to the ogre; at which I laughed, lolling back -in my chair. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, madam,” said Hardrough, knuckling his snuff-box softly, “when -you can vouchsafe me a moment of your attention.” -</p> - -<p> -I recognised the compelling tone in his voice, and rose, with a little -show of indolence. -</p> - -<p> -“O!” I said, yawning, “what sin has found me out now? I vow it can -never be so ugly as it looks.” -</p> - -<p> -He gave me his arm, mighty ceremonious, and, conducting me into an -antechamber, shut the door. -</p> - -<p> -“That is for you to prove,” he said, taking snuff, and stood glaring -into my soul. “So, madam,” he said, “you are for setting your little -teeth into the hands that have warmed you?” -</p> - -<p> -I sat down, fluttering my fan, and pretty pale, I daresay. But I was -not surprised. My conscience had pricked me at the first sight of his -face. He pulled from his pocket a copy of the damning sheet, and “Tell -me,” says he, “if His Majesty was justified in asking me if this did -not refer to some member of my family?” -</p> - -<p> -I did not answer, and he threw the paper on the floor. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, you are condemned,” he said drily; and at that I found my wits. -</p> - -<p> -“Condemned?” I cried. “By whom? Why, my lord, how can you, being of -the Court party and in Opposition, condemn an anti-papish tract?” -</p> - -<p> -“That is all very well,” he said acridly; “but the stone once set -rolling against a house, who knows who may be included in the ruin?” -</p> - -<p> -I knew very well, of course, to what he referred; for had he not been -subsidised by his sister (and during the time, too, when he had -figured hottest against Catholic emancipation) into overlooking the -establishment by her, in the very heart of his estate, of that -community of Sisters whose complicity in my abduction I was bent upon -exposing? And was I not aware, too, that the appointment he coveted to -a vacant garter trembled at the moment in the balance of such -revelations? O, I held some strings, my friend, you may believe! -though at present I had the opposite to any inducement to pull this -particular one. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, Nunky!” I cried, “is not this, your succour and protection of -madam’s poor victim, the best proof of your orthodoxy?” -</p> - -<p> -He regarded me grimly, but with some shadow of returning good-humour. -</p> - -<p> -“That’s true enough,” he said, “so long as you use <i>me</i>, if at all, -for no worse than to point the moral of <i>her</i> damnation.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why should I not? ’Tis my interest to, at least.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ha!” he said; “there you speak. And stap me if I love you the less -for it.” -</p> - -<p> -He took a turn or two, and came back grinning. -</p> - -<p> -“They’re damn clever, Di: there, I’ll admit they’re damn clever! But -’tis a perilous game you play, my girl; and you’ll do well to take -care you play it to none but your own interests.” -</p> - -<p> -He went off again, and returned. -</p> - -<p> -“Harkee!” he said; “there’s Beltower’s whelp, and—and I don’t care a -fig for your predilections. Work your oracle as you will; only be -faithful to me, and you won’t suffer for’t in the end.” -</p> - -<p> -He finished in such spirits that he was moved to show me a letter he -had received from his sister but a few days before. In it she -upbraided him for his treachery,—of which she only recently had -certain information—in converting his capture of me to such infamous -account; and called upon him, as he valued his soul, to turn his -Jezebel adrift again to her merited deserts. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Enfin</i>,” I said, handing him back the effusion, “for a respectable -lady she shows a vigorous vocabulary. She writes in London, I see.” -</p> - -<p> -He chuckled like a demon. -</p> - -<p> -“She writes in hell, and bites the more viciously for her roasting. -’Tis that fellow has led her here, dancing after some new fancy of -his; and, by God, she’s paid for her stubbornness, and must vent her -spite on someone.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” I said, “tell her so from me; and that, for my part, I’d -rather be Jezebel than what came to lap her blood.” -</p> - -<p> -At which he neighed, vowing he’d take me at my word. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch22"> -XXII.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I RUN ACROSS AN OLD FRIEND</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">It</span> has always been my fate to suffer most at the hands of my best -friends; and now it was to be my dearest, my little sister, who was to -shoot her arrow over the house and wound me. In innocence, Heaven -forgive her; and, in forgiving, answer to itself for making me the -unconscious instrument of its retribution. -</p> - -<p> -It was in the third year of my “minority,” and while in the full zest -of my conspiracy with young Roper, that one night we made up a party -for Vauxhall Gardens, and crossed from Whitehall Stairs—very merry -with French horns and lanterns and a little Roman boy, Ugolino, who -sang like an angel—to witness the new picture of a tempest in the -cascade house. This we had seen, and were gone for supper into one of -the boxes (which Bob called the loose boxes) in a retired corner of -the grove, when occurred the <i>contretemps</i> which was to change the -whole face of my fortunes. I had observed, without marking them, a -couple enter the adjoining booth, and was bawling my part in a catch, -while waiting for the chickens and cheesecakes, when a fellow put his -head round the partition, and, kissing his dirty hand with a leer, -“Beg pardon, leddies,” says he, “but I can supplement that ’ere chaunt -with a better”—and immediately, disappearing from sight, began to -bang the table beyond and to roar out a filthy ballad. -</p> - -<p> -Roper leapt to his feet—there was a crowd lingering by, attracted by -our merriment—and ran round to the front. -</p> - -<p> -“Stop, you sot!” screamed he, “or I’ll nail your ears to the table!” -</p> - -<p> -The fellow ceased dead, and in a moment came staggering out with a -furious face. He was a coarse, blotched ruffian, and as drunk as -David’s sow. -</p> - -<p> -“What, the ’ell,” said he, lurching up his words; “ain’t one song as -good as another in this here bordel, mister?” -</p> - -<p> -Bob struck like Harlequin, and the wretch went down. I had once before -heard the smack of flesh on flesh, and it made my blood jump. -</p> - -<p> -There was a fine uproar: we had all risen to our feet; and in the -midst I observed the girl (we had forgot the creature had a companion) -slip out of the box and away, taking advantage of the confusion to mix -with the crowd. I just saw her white face melt from me, and gave one -gasp, and started in pursuit. My companions called; but I took no -notice, and was lost in a moment. -</p> - -<p> -She was making for the Druid’s Walk, unheeding my cries in her -blindness. But in a little she began to falter, and then to sway, and -I came up with her, and caught her into my arms. -</p> - -<p> -“Patty!” I whispered, frantic, “Patty!” -</p> - -<p> -She looked at me quite dumb and bewildered, the poor thing; and then -sighed, and mechanically put her hair back from her temples. -</p> - -<p> -“Patty!” I urged again, “don’t you know me?” -</p> - -<p> -And at that, all of a sudden she had burst into tears, and was -clinging to me. -</p> - -<p> -“Is it you, Diana?” she sobbed, “really you at last? O, I have so -longed, since we came, and I knew you was here in London! Take me -away; don’t let me be carried back.” -</p> - -<p> -She was near choking me with her arms. -</p> - -<p> -“Hush!” I said. “What have they been doing with you? Pish, child! that -was never—no, no; with all your softness, you couldn’t be such a -fool. Who the deuce was it, then? Now, don’t answer; but come with me -where we can talk.” -</p> - -<p> -We were already being accosted and offered genteel squiring. The child -held to me, terrified, while I laughed, and convoyed her in safety to -the open, where we were lucky to encounter one of my party. -</p> - -<p> -“Is it over?” I asked. -</p> - -<p> -“O, faith!” he answered, quizzing my friend, “the manster’s floored; -and Parseus refreshing himself on Roman panch; and here, by my soul, -’s Andrameda come to give thanks to her presarver.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” I said, “Andromeda’s in better hands for the present; so you -must e’en take us where we can talk private, while you mount guard.” -</p> - -<p> -He looked mightily astonished; but, obeying, conducted us to the -farthest limits of the grounds—where was little company but the -keepers, put to restrain interlopers from the fields beyond—and there -set us on a seat, and withdrew. And the moment we were alone, I took -the girl and held her at arm’s length. -</p> - -<p> -She was the same as ever, though her figure grown a thought too full -for perfection, perhaps. But there were the soft, bashful eyes, and -the naïve face, too white under its dark hair, that I loved so well. -</p> - -<p> -“So,” I said, nodding my head, “we meet again, like the town and -country mice. And are you still under her dominion, you little brown -frump?” -</p> - -<p> -She could not have enough of wondering, and fondling me, and weeping; -but her inarticulateness filled me with a horrible foreboding. -</p> - -<p> -“What!” I cried, giving her a little shake; “don’t tell me, miss, -that—but, no, I won’t hear it! ’Tis grotesque beyond reason.” -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean?” she whispered. -</p> - -<p> -I looked searchingly into her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“No,” I said, reassured; “there are the same unborn babies there. But -who, then, was that brute you ran from?” -</p> - -<p> -She put her arms round my neck. -</p> - -<p> -“He—he is a groom of madam’s, and high in favour with her because a -good Catholic. She bids me listen to him; and—and I don’t know what -she means, Diana, or what he means. He is a coarse and violent -man—sometimes. But she forces me into his company, and to see the -town together. And O, Diana! I am almost sure he drinks too much.” -</p> - -<p> -I burst into a laugh. -</p> - -<p> -“You should be whipped for the slander, child. But I suspect the -truth. We don’t run but from those we have a partiality for. Watch -Moll and Meg at dragging-time in the fairs.” -</p> - -<p> -She cried “Diana!” and, looking up horrified into my face, read its -mockery, and, gasping out, “I am very unhappy,” fell away from me. -</p> - -<p> -“You poor little creature!” I cried, fiercely moved by her distress; -“if <i>you</i> don’t know what madam means, <i>I do</i>. ’Tis the way with the -quality to pension off their discarded fancies on Jack or Molly.” -</p> - -<p> -She showed by her manner that she did not understand me, but my -indignation would not let me explain. Moreover, I was too satisfied -with my own solution to wish it contradicted. -</p> - -<p> -“Never mind,” I said, stamping my foot. “Tell me everything—every -word.” -</p> - -<p> -Then it all came out in a flood: How, since my removal, madam had -visited more and more upon her innocent head the trespasses of her -poor little friend and sister; how this habit, vindictive at the best, -had grown into a very fury of spite (which I laughed much to hear -about) when de Crespigny’s wandering fancy had begun (as it inevitably -had) to turn from the hop-pole, which had invited it to be wreathed -about itself, to the ripe little sapling growing so snug beside; how, -in her jealousy, my lady had driven her below stairs, and at last made -her altogether consort with the servants as her proper peers, who had -only been lifted by her generosity out of the gutter; how, not content -with this, literal, debasement, she had thought further to soil her by -forcing upon her the reversion of her tipsy <i>cavaliere servente</i> (as, -anyhow, I chose to think him), a tyranny which had at last driven the -soft little creature to despair and rebellion. So she told me all, -though with less force and conviction, poor simplicity, than I have -chosen to put into her relation. -</p> - -<p> -“And you was gone—and how did you escape, Diana?—and I hated Mr. de -Crespigny as much as I hate this one—and it all makes no difference, -and I don’t know how I can bear it longer,” she cried, in a breath. -</p> - -<p> -“Very well, then,” I said, and looked sternly at her. “You must find -the courage to run away.” -</p> - -<p> -I had thought that the very suggestion would make her faint; but -instead, to my surprise, a rose of colour flew to her pale cheeks. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” she whispered. “If I only knew where!” -</p> - -<p> -O, fie on madam! She must have been a cruel task-mistress, indeed! -</p> - -<p> -“There!” I said, “you naughty little thing! But confess to me first -what you have heard tell about your sister.” -</p> - -<p> -“What does that matter,” she murmured, hanging her head, “when nothing -in the world can ever alter my love for you?” -</p> - -<p> -I took her in my arms, and touched her little simple toilette into -shape here and there. -</p> - -<p> -“You are very desperate, in truth, child. What do you say—will you -risk all, and come and be my duenna? You are older than I, sure, and -shall defend your little sister from slander. I will get the earl to -consent, if you will say yes.” -</p> - -<p> -She seemed beyond answering, but could only cling to me in a kind of -frenzied rapture. -</p> - -<p> -“And I will make a fine bird of my Jenny Wren,” I said, still busy -with her; “for she has a thousand pretty little modest graces which -will do me a vast credit in the dressing. You shall keep your natural -hair, miss, for powder, since the tax, is not <i>à la mode</i> with the -best; but a gentleman’s arm—<i>le cas échéant</i>—would never go round -this waist by three inches.” -</p> - -<p> -I peeped, with a smile, into her face. -</p> - -<p> -“O, if I only dared!” she sighed. -</p> - -<p> -“Sir Benjamin,” I cried, rising instantly, “escort us to the gates, -please, and call a coach.” -</p> - -<p> -An hour later I broke upon his lordship’s privacy. -</p> - -<p> -“Nunky,” I cried, “I want permission for a new toy, please.” -</p> - -<p> -He looked up askew. He was in the hands of his valet. -</p> - -<p> -“I have been taking thought for my reputation,” I said, “and desire a -duenna.” -</p> - -<p> -He screwed out a laugh and an oath. -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll have no old hags about.” -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis a young hag but a little older than myself. Will you let me?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, I won’t.” -</p> - -<p> -“It will please me.” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“It will spite Lady Sophia to death.” -</p> - -<p> -“Curse it, you viper! I’ll think about it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Very well. I’ll bring her to be introduced.” And, before he could -remonstrate, I was gone. -</p> - -<p> -We found him in demi-toilette when I returned, dragging my reluctant -baggage with me, like a lamb to the slaughter. She was as terrified as -if ’twere for him I coveted her, and not for myself. He started, -seeing her, and came and put his hand on her shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I vow,” said he, “’tis a toy for a king. Whence come you, -child? From my sister? She was wise to dismiss you, egad!” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch23"> -XXIII.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I AM MADE FORTUNE’S MISTRESS</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">I have</span> ruled myself all my life to be none but Fortune’s mistress. -Let who will question it, the gift of fine clothes has never bought my -independence. Honesty, as the little plant of that name tells us, may -go dressed in satin. And, as with me, so would I have it with my -sister. -</p> - -<p> -I was not long in discovering that I had erred in bringing her to -Berkeley Square, though I will not, for her sake, detail the processes -of my enlightenment. Let it suffice to say that the nobleman, my -guardian, was not exactly intellectual. He was one of those who, like -Tony Lumpkin, reckon beauty by bulk; and in that respect, it is -certain, Patty could more than fill my place with him. She had no -notion, of course, dear innocent, that she was being invited to do so. -She was all blindness and affection; but that made it none the less my -duty to save her the consequences of her own simplicity, seeing how it -was I had unwittingly brought it imperilled. The worldly may sneer and -welcome. That I <i>did</i> preserve her, and at the last cost to myself, is -the only proof needed of that same disinterested honesty which in the -beginning had welcomed her, without a selfish second thought, to its -arms. -</p> - -<p> -Now, the moment I realised my mistake, I set myself to combat its -results. I think I may say I gave my lord some <i>mauvais quarts -d’heure</i>. He, for his part, when I thought it time to throw off the -mask, did not spare me insult and brutality. In very disdain I will -not report the quarrel. And all the while the silly child its subject -trembled apart, in an atmosphere she felt but could not understand, -while the shepherdess and the butcher disputed for her possession. -</p> - -<p> -At length came the climax. One day, at the end of a furious scene, he -told me roundly that he had had enough of me, and that it would be -well for me to agree to commute my proposed settlement for—for what? -A sum that was less than a valet’s pension. I refused it; I refused -everything. Let that at least speak in my vindication. He assured me -that in that case I had nothing further to expect from him. The -dotard! Did he laugh when I told him, perfectly quietly, that I quite -understood that the debt was mine, and that I should pay it? Did he -still count himself the better tactician, when I affected to be -terrified over my own rashness, and to slink away from him to lament -and reconsider? -</p> - -<p> -I went straight to my bedroom, where for an hour or two I sat writing. -At the end, I despatched two letters, one to the <i>World</i>, one to Mr. -Roper, who lived hard by, and whose reply I set myself to await with -what philosophy I could muster. It came in a little; and then, -singing, I sought out Patty, in the pretty boudoir that was hers of -late. She flew to greet me, and coaxed me to a couch. The moment we -were seated, I hushed her head into my breast. -</p> - -<p> -“Patty,” I whispered, “do you love the earl?” -</p> - -<p> -I could feel her breath stop, then recover itself in wonder. -</p> - -<p> -“He is so good to us, Diana—like a father. And I had always lived in -such terror of his mere name. How easily we may be deceived.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, child,” I answered. “How easily—how easily.” -</p> - -<p> -Her pulses answered to my tone, I could feel again. She slipped upon -her knees before me, and clasping her hands looked up, dumbly -questioning, into my face. -</p> - -<p> -“You are so simple, <i>ma mignonette</i>; I hardly know how to tell you,” I -began pitifully. -</p> - -<p> -“Tell me! O, what, Diana? I am frightened.” -</p> - -<p> -“I wish you to be. Patty”—I took her two entreating hands into one of -mine, and with the other made a significant gesture—“all this—these -little costly gifts—has it never occurred to you, child, that they -are bribes”— I stopped. -</p> - -<p> -“To me?” she whispered, with a whole heart of astonishment. -</p> - -<p> -“To your honour, child.” -</p> - -<p> -“To—?” -</p> - -<p> -She gulped, and turned as pale as death. -</p> - -<p> -“He has promised to show you his Richmond cottage?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“To-night?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes. How did you know?” -</p> - -<p> -“Never mind. I know. You must not go.” -</p> - -<p> -“How can I help it? Diana!” -</p> - -<p> -She sunk down before me, quite helpless and unnerved. -</p> - -<p> -“Patty,” I said, “you have never ceased to love and trust your -sister?” -</p> - -<p> -“Never, never—you are before all the world to me. Diana! You will -find a way!” -</p> - -<p> -“If you are strong—yes. I have been alert and watchful, child, while -you never knew it. But he did; and he means to separate us; to rid -himself of the watch-dog, that he may seize the lamb. He has but this -moment told me I must go—with what coarseness and insult I will not -soil your ears by repeating. If you love your honour, as I love and -have sacrificed myself to save it, you must come with me.” -</p> - -<p> -“I will come”—she rose hurriedly to her feet. “How can I ever repay -you, sister? The old, wicked man! At once—Diana! let us fly at once!” -</p> - -<p> -“Hush! We must be circumspect. You don’t know— There, child, I will -die to save you.” -</p> - -<p> -She clung to me, in a gush of silent tears. Hastily I instructed -her—it was necessary in escaping to leave no trail—in my plan. It -was that, in an hour’s time, she should order out her barouche (there -was one put at her disposal), and, having driven to Grosvenor Gate, -alight and dismiss it, as if with the intention to walk in the park. -Thence she was to make her way on foot to Mrs. Trix’s toy-shop in -Piccadilly, and, having asked very privately to be shown into the -parlour, await me there, in whatever company she should find. -</p> - -<p> -She obeyed, heedful, in her panic, to the last details. Luckily, my -lord, being gone abroad to his lawyers, there were no prying eyes to -criticise her. No sooner was she driven off than—having collected -into a stocking all our jewels, and whatever money I could lay hands -on, which I hung from my waist out of sight—I stole forth by the back -way into the stables, and thence to the street, where I found a -hackney coach, and drove after my friend. -</p> - -<p> -I found her, as I had hoped, with Mr. Roper. He looked mighty serious -over our escapade, but informed me that he had loyally attended to my -instructions, and procured us a lodging, as for two country ladies who -had come up to view the sights, in as distant a part of the town as he -could compass on short notice. We went out immediately by a side door, -and, having all got into a coach that was in waiting, were driven to -Holborn, where we alighted, and thence, for precaution, walked to a -quiet house in Great Coram Street, near the Foundlings, where our -handsome escort left us, promising to call, at discretion, in a few -days, and recommending us in the meanwhile to lie as close as rabbits -in a furrow. -</p> - -<p> -He was as good as his word, coming in a week later, after dark, with a -face as long as a lawyer’s writ. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, madam,” he said, “you have cut the ground from under your own -feet with a vengeance.” -</p> - -<p> -I laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“You have been reading ‘Angélique’s’ Last Testament?” -</p> - -<p> -“Pray the Fates it may not be so indeed,” he said gravely; and, -pulling a paper out of his pocket, began to refer to it. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, do you not know,” said he, “that others besides our <i>Volpone</i> -are reported interested in that strange disappearance of a one-time -heir-presumptive to <i>Volpone’s</i> own title?” -</p> - -<p> -“Perfectly.” -</p> - -<p> -“And yet you go and put your head into the lion’s mouth?” -</p> - -<p> -“I would do more to expose a villain. I would go all lengths to right -an injured man. He is no more mad than I am.” -</p> - -<p> -“That seems probable.” -</p> - -<p> -He unfolded a second paper from the other, and pointing silently to a -paragraph, handed it to me. -</p> - -<p> -“The king” (I read from the <i>Gazette</i>) “has bestowed the vacant garter -upon the newly created Marquis of Synge;” and a little lower down: “It -is stated that the Earl of Herring has been relieved, at his own -request, of all offices which he held under the Crown. His lordship is -understood to have long contemplated a complete retirement from public -life.” -</p> - -<p> -I shrieked with laughter. I danced about the room, waving the paper -over my head. The noise I made brought up one of two gentlemen who -lived below. He put his head in at the door, with a leer and a grin: -“O, a thousand pardons!” said he; “I thought you was alone, and that -something had happened”—and he vanished. -</p> - -<p> -“He thought something had happened!” groaned Bob dismally; and, taking -the paper from me, he read out elsewhere: “His Majesty’s final -decision is supposed not unconnected with the <i>esclandres</i> of a -certain notorious lady, which have exercised the public curiosity for -some time past, and which culminated on Saturday sennight in an attack -too obvious in its direction to be overlooked.” -</p> - -<p> -I heard, glistening. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I told him I recognised my debt, and should pay him,” I said. -</p> - -<p> -Bob folded the papers, and returned them to his pocket. His mouth and -eyes were set in a kind of suffering smile. -</p> - -<p> -“You may know best how to play your hand for yourself,” he said. “God -preserve your partner, that’s all.” -</p> - -<p> -“What have you to fear?” -</p> - -<p> -“Your prudence, first of all—not a very trustworthy asset, if one may -judge by your apparent confidence in your fellow-lodgers.” -</p> - -<p> -“O! him that looked in!” I said. “I will answer there with my life.” -</p> - -<p> -He raised his eyebrows. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, that is the point,” said he. “Do you quite realise what you have -done, Diana?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, quite!” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, that is a comfort. It gives me a sort of confidence in my -future. So long as I can be played as live-bait for your capture, I -shall be spared, no doubt.” -</p> - -<p> -He came up to me, and spoke very earnestly— -</p> - -<p> -“Do you understand? He will try to trace you through me. If he -succeeds”— -</p> - -<p> -“There is an end of both of us,” I said cheerfully. -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” he answered, with admiration, “you are a game little partlet. -But remember, at least, that revenge which evokes retribution misses -the best half of itself. For that reason, if for no other, I must keep -away from you. This visit to-night, even—I only dared it after -infinite precautions. If you want me, write: I will risk some means to -see you. For the rest, live close as death, till some of this, at -least, is blown over. Your friend, the pretty simpleton, where is -she?” -</p> - -<p> -“In bed and asleep.” -</p> - -<p> -“Keep her there. Make a dormouse of her. My Lady Sophia is nosing for -her tracks, as my lord her brother for yours. Did you suppose she -would acquiesce quietly in the abduction of her handmaid? I tell you, -she has got wind of the truth; and there has been tempest in the house -of Herring. Keep her close. Above everything, cut all further -communication with the <i>World</i>—as you love yourself, and me a little, -perhaps, Diana.” -</p> - -<p> -“As I love the truth,” I said; and went up and kissed him. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” he sighed, “that is very pretty. But, believe me, the truth, as -represented by His Majesty, wishes your love at the devil before it -meddled in his family affairs.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch24"> -XXIV.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I FIND A FRIEND IN NEED</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">You</span> know the truth, <i>mon ami</i>—that the face which looked in at my -door was the face of my father. O, heavens, the reunion, so wonderful, -so pathetic! and the sequel, so interesting! Truly, through our living -fidelities do the gods chastise our worldliness. -</p> - -<p> -We had not been a day in the house when I ran across him in a passage. -He was, it appeared, one of two gentlemen who lodged below. He was -plainly, almost shabbily dressed; bloated a little; prematurely aged: -but I knew him instantly. Though eleven years had gone since my -childish eyes had last acknowledged and adored him, the instinct of -nature was too sure to be deceived. I gasped, I trembled, as he stood -ogling me; finally I threw myself into his arms. -</p> - -<p> -“Papa!” I cried; “papa!” -</p> - -<p> -“Hey!” he responded; “is that all?” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you not remember your little Diana?” I implored, in an ecstasy of -emotion. -</p> - -<p> -“Wait,” he said, and put a hand to his forehead. “It may be on my -notes. I’ve a damned bad memory.” -</p> - -<p> -The door of a room hard by stood open. He led me in, closed it, and -seated himself officially at a table. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” he said, “what mother?” -</p> - -<p> -The shock, my friend! I had remembered him so strong and -gallant—wicked, if you will; but then I had always pictured myself -the cherished pledge of his wickedness. And now, it appeared, I was -only one of a large family. Without a word, I turned my back upon him. -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t go,” he said, disturbed at that. “What name did you say?” -</p> - -<p> -I confronted him once more, sorrow and disdain battling in my face. -</p> - -<p> -“I said Diana.” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course,” he answered, beating his forehead; “the child of”— -</p> - -<p> -After all, it was a long lapse of time. I told him my mother’s name. -</p> - -<p> -“She was my one real love,” he said, shedding tears. “I recall her -among the peats of Killarney as if it were to-day. When she died (she -is dead, isn’t she?) I buried my heart in her grave. I have never -known a moment’s happiness since. Speak to me of her, Dinorah.” -</p> - -<p> -He followed me up a little later, when Patty was sitting with me, and -peeped round the door. -</p> - -<p> -“May I—daughter Di?” he said. I believe he had really in the interval -been looking among his notes, or letters, and with such benefit to his -memory that he felt secure, at least, in that monosyllabic compromise. -Blame my fond heart, thou <i>fripon</i>. I was softened even in my -desperate disillusionment by this half recognition. With a father, -fashionable and well-connected, possibly rich, to safeguard my -interests, I need no longer fear the light. -</p> - -<p> -Receiving no answer, he sidled himself into the room, and to a sofa, -on which he sat down. Patty, dropping her work, looked at him with all -her might of astonishment. -</p> - -<p> -“And is this dear child your sister?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” I answered; “from the very first.” -</p> - -<p> -“Twins?” he exclaimed. “I am very sure there is no such entry.” -</p> - -<p> -He sat frowning at the carpet for a little. Then, “Wait,” he said. “It -is my misfortune to serve small beer.” And with these enigmatic words -laid himself down and fell asleep. -</p> - -<p> -With his first snore, Patty flew over to me. -</p> - -<p> -“Who is it?” she whispered, frantic. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>It</i> is a wise father that knows his own child.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Father</i>?” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“Hush!” I answered; “yes.” And would say no more till he woke. -</p> - -<p> -He came to himself presently, in a properer sense of the word. During -the interval I had been curiously observing his condition. It was very -different in seeming from that of the spark of eleven years since. It -showed an assumption of finery, it is true; but the trappings were -tawdry and soiled, and the materials cheap. -</p> - -<p> -He sat up with a prodigious yawn, his face, in the midst, lapsing into -a watery, paternal smile. But it was evident at once that something of -the thread of memory was restored in him; and he began questioning me -much more shrewdly and to the point. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, ecod,” said he presently, “was it a fact that the sweep had -stole you? If I’d only learnt the truth before Charlie Buckster put a -bullet in himself. I’d a double pony on it with the man.” -</p> - -<p> -Then we got on famously. He cried much over his poor lost love, and -was so tender with me that he completely won me from my reserve, and I -ended by recounting to him the whole tale of my fortunes, even up to -the present moment. -</p> - -<p> -“That Herring!” he said: “a fine guardian to my girl! I knew the stoat -well in my time. Let him beware, now that she has found her natural -protector.” -</p> - -<p> -He swelled with indignation, as I with pleasure. -</p> - -<p> -“You have gifts, presents from him, no doubt,” he said fiercely. “What -do you say to my taking them all back, and throwing them in his face?” -</p> - -<p> -“I say, certainly not,” I answered. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah well!” he said, “you have got them, anyhow; and the thought will -wring his covetous soul.” -</p> - -<p> -At this moment a great voice roared, “Johnson, you devil!” down below -somewhere. -</p> - -<p> -My father got quickly to his feet. -</p> - -<p> -“Ay,” he answered, to my look; “’tis me, Di—the pseudonym I go by. -Fact is, child, I’m temporarily under a financial cloud, and forced to -eke out a living, while awaiting the moment of my complete restoration -to fortune, by service—that is to say, by taking it, hem!” -</p> - -<p> -“By taking service?” -</p> - -<p> -“Exactly. A sort of elegant cicerone and social introducer to a damned -old parvenu curmudgeon, who wants to learn at what lowest outlay to -himself he can pose as a gentleman. ’Tis tiresome, though in its way -amusing; but I really think I shall have to cut the old rascal on his -taste in liquor. For a palate like mine, you know—small beer and blue -ruin, faugh! You haven’t change for a guinea, my angelic?” -</p> - -<p> -“Johnson!” roared the voice again. -</p> - -<p> -“Coming, sir, coming!” cried my papa; and, seeing me unresponsive, -skipped out of the room. -</p> - -<p> -He was with us continually during the fortnight after our arrival; and -I had no least idea of the consequences awaiting me, when one -afternoon a hastily scribbled note, dated “<i>en route</i> for the -Continent,” was delivered at the house door by a porter, and sent up -to me. I read it, shrieked, and sank half fainting into a chair. -</p> - -<p> -“I have taken, dear daughter,” it said, “the entire responsibility for -our monetary affairs upon my own shoulders. To live on one’s capital -is, like the self-eating pelican, to devour the substance of the -unborn generations. Seeing how you appeared quite unaccountably -callous to the natural claims of your prospective family (for, with -your attractions, you cannot hope to escape one), I, as its -prospective grandfather, have asserted my prerogative by appropriating -our principal to its properest uses of investment. The stocking you -will find still reposing in its secret <i>cache</i> behind the hangings of -your dressing-table; but you will find it empty. Do not blame me, but -console yourself with the conviction that in a few weeks I shall be in -a position to return you your principal <i>at least trebled</i>. In the -meanwhile, accept the assurances of my love and protection.” -</p> - -<p> -Half dazed with the shock, I tottered, with Patty’s assistance, into -our bedroom. It was too true. The desperate wretch, seizing his -opportunity by night while we slept, had robbed us of everything. He -had left us not a sixpence. We were ruined. -</p> - -<p> -I tore my hair. I uttered cries and imprecations. I cursed Heaven, my -own fond gullibility, the cruelty of the fate that would not let me -live and be honest. Patty, poor fool, tried to calm me. I drove her -away with blows, and, in a reaction to fury, rushed downstairs and -into the room of the remaining lodger. -</p> - -<p> -“Where is my money, where are my jewels?” I shrieked. “You are his -accomplice. I will swear an information against you unless you tell.” -</p> - -<p> -He was a gross, coarse man, of a violent complexion. -</p> - -<p> -“Ho-ho!” he bellowed; “blackmail is it? Wait, while I call a witness.” -</p> - -<p> -He pulled the bell down, summoning our landlady. When she came, there -was an outrageous scene. Quite cowed in the end, I retreated to our -apartments, where, however, I was not to be left in peace. Within an -hour the harridan appeared with her bill, an extravagant one, which of -course I was unable to settle. The next morning, driven forth with -contumely, we were arrested at her suit, and carried to a -sponging-house. Thence, quite self-collected now in my desperation, I -despatched a note to Mr. Roper, who, without delay, good creature, -waited upon us. I told him the whole unreserved truth. -</p> - -<p> -“Very well,” he said, “I will quit you of this, child; and, for the -rest, find accommodation for you in humbler quarters till you can help -yourself. With your genius, that should not be long. You know my -circumstances, and that I cannot afford luxuries.” -</p> - -<p> -“I will work my fingers to the bone,” I said, with tears in my eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“Not quite so bad as that,” he answered. “Bones ain’t negotiable -assets. Have you ever thought on the stage, now, for a living?” -</p> - -<p> -“I believe, without much study, I could make an actress,” I said. -</p> - -<p> -“With none at all,” said he confidently. “I have a friend in Westley -of Drury Lane, and will see if he can put you in the way to a part. I -should fear the publicity, i’ faith, but that my lord has taken his -grievances to the Continent for an airing, and in the interval we are -safe to act.” -</p> - -<p> -Good loyal friend! He found us pretty snug quarters over a little shop -in Long Acre, where, keeping to our pseudonym of the Misses Rush, we -bided while he negotiated terms for me. He was successful, when once I -had been interviewed by the management; and, to cut short this -melancholy story, I made my first appearance on the boards as the -fairy Primrose in the Christmas masque of the <i>Dragon of Wantley</i>. I -had a little song to sing about a butterfly, which never failed to -bring down the house; and altogether, I was growing not unhappy in the -novelty of the venture, when that, with almost my life, was ended at a -blow. -</p> - -<p> -But first I must relate of the most surprising <i>contretemps</i> that ever -I was to experience, and which had the strangest and most immediate -bearing on my destinies. -</p> - -<p> -I had noticed frequently that the hind legs of the dragon would linger -unaccountably, when the absurd monster, on his way off the stage, -happened to pass me standing in the wings. This would lead to much -muffled recrimination from the forequarters, which, exhausted by their -antics, aimed only at getting to their beer; the consequence being -that one eventful night, what between the haulings and contortions, -the back seam of the creature split, and out there rolled before my -eyes—Gogo. -</p> - -<p> -He picked himself up immediately, and stood regarding me silently, -with a most doleful visage. My dear, I cannot describe what emotions -swept my soul in a little storm of laughter—the astonishment, the -pity, the bewilderment! In the midst, too confounded to arrange my -thoughts, I turned away, affecting not to recognise him; seeing which, -he uttered one enormous sigh, and stumped off to face the battery of -the stage-manager’s indignation. -</p> - -<p> -I must have put a world of feeling that night into my little song -about the poor butterfly, that was stripped of its wings by a cruel -boy, and so prevented from keeping its assignation with the rose, -insomuch that it moved a very beautiful lady, who was present in a -private box, to send for me that she might thank me in person. -</p> - -<p> -We had all of us, of course, heard of, and some of us remembered, -perhaps, chucking under the chin, the ravishing Mrs. Hart, who, from -pulling mugs of beer to the pinks of Drury Lane, had risen to be -<i>chère amie</i> to his excellency the British Ambassador at Naples, and, -quite recently, his lady. She had lately come to London, <i>à travers -tous les obstacles</i>, to be made an honest woman of, and it was she who -craved the introduction, to which you may be sure I responded with as -much alacrity as curiosity. I could have no doubt of her the moment I -entered the box, and made, with becoming naïveté, my little curtsey. -She was certainly very handsome, in spite of her twenty-seven years -and her large feet, though, I thought, lacking in grace. But her face -was beautifully formed, with a complexion of apple-blossoms, and red -lips a little swollen with kissing, and, to crown everything, a great -glory of chestnut hair. There were tears in her fine eyes as she -turned impulsively to address me— -</p> - -<p> -“La, you little darling, you’ve made me cry with your butterflies and -things. Come here while I buss you.” -</p> - -<p> -There was a gentleman sitting by her, foremost of two or three that -were in the box, and he made room for me with an indulgent smile. He -was a genial, precise-looking person, with a star on his right breast, -and the queue of his wig reaching down his back in long curls that -were gathered into a ribbon. I took him, rightly, to be Sir William, -the husband, and made him my demure bow as I passed. His lady gave me -a great kiss, in full view of the house, and taking a little jewel -from her bosom, pinned it into mine. -</p> - -<p> -“There,” she said, “wear this for Lady Hamilton, in token of the only -reel feeling she has come across in your beastly city.” -</p> - -<p> -Sir William put his hand on her arm. -</p> - -<p> -“My dear,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -She fanned herself boisterously. She had been disappointed, everyone -knew, in her designs to be received at court, and was to leave England -in a few days missing the coveted honour. Somehow she reminded me of -the “bouncing chit” that our gentlemen call a champagne bottle—she so -gushed and sparkled, and was a little large and loud. -</p> - -<p> -I made my acknowledgments quite prettily, and left the box; and, once -got outside, leaned for a moment against the wall, with a feeling of -mortal sickness come over me. For, as I retreated, I had come face to -face with those seated at the back—<i>and one of them was the Earl of -Herring</i>. -</p> - -<p> -Had he recognised me? He had not appeared to lift his eyes, even, as -he sat at discussion with his neighbour. And that might be the most -deadly sign of all. -</p> - -<p> -I don’t know how I got through the rest of my part. But that night I -clung to Patty as if she were my only support in a failing world. -</p> - -<p> -Morning brought some reassurance; and so, for a further evening or -two, finding myself still unmolested, I struggled to convince myself -that he had not seen, or that I was forgotten, and my fault passed -over. But all the time the terror lay at my heart. -</p> - -<p> -On the third evening, as I was entering the theatre, I encountered a -poor creature standing by the stage door. I went to him; I almost fell -upon his breast in my agitation. -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo!” I said, “Gogo!” and stood dumb and shame-stricken before him. -</p> - -<p> -He threw up his hands with that odd familiar gesture, with that -tempestuous sigh which found such an immediate response in my soul. -</p> - -<p> -“Are you not coming in?” I faltered. -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -“You are dismissed?” -</p> - -<p> -“I spoiled their dragon for them.” -</p> - -<p> -I burst into tears. -</p> - -<p> -“It was for me, dear. Do you see to what I have come? Forgive me, -Gogo.” -</p> - -<p> -“I can’t help myself,” he groaned. “You are my destiny.” -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo, I am frightened; I am in danger. Help me, Gogo.” -</p> - -<p> -The poor fellow smiled. -</p> - -<p> -“In everything but running away, Diana.” -</p> - -<p> -“And that is just where I want your help. Come to me: come and see me -to-morrow, Gogo, will you? O, Gogo, will you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t be foolish, Diana. At what time?” -</p> - -<p> -“You know my address?” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course I do.” -</p> - -<p> -“As early as early, then; the moment I am out of bed.” -</p> - -<p> -Strangely comforted, and looking to see if we were alone, I dropped a -tiny kiss on his rough cheek, and ran in gaily, wiping my eyes as I -went. -</p> - -<p> -That night I sang my little song with renewed feeling, and ended to a -burst of applause. As I was standing at the wings, flushed and -radiant, a note was put into my hand. I opened it, and read: “<i>You are -in danger. Don’t go home.</i>” -</p> - -<p> -I never learned who had sent it; some one, probably, from amongst the -few friends I could still number in that wicked household. It had been -handed in at the stage door by a messenger, and that was all I could -discover. The lights of my triumph were darkened. I knew myself at -last hunted—and alone. Why had I not bid my monster wait for me? But -it were idle now to moan. Despair gave me readiness. I finished my -part quite brilliantly, without a stumble, and chatted gaily, while -disrobing, with the poor pretty little <i>coryphée</i> who was my chief -friend in the dressing-rooms. By one pretext or another I detained her -until we were alone. Then, “Fanny,” I said, “keep mum; but I think it -unlikely I shall come here again.” -</p> - -<p> -She looked at me with her large grey eyes. We were much of a figure, -and not unlike in features. -</p> - -<p> -“O, Miss Rush!” she whispered. “And I’d ’oped always to ’ave you for a -friend.” -</p> - -<p> -“So you shall, Fanny,” I said: “but there are contingencies—you -understand?” -</p> - -<p> -Her lip was trembling. I think she wanted to tell me to keep good. -</p> - -<p> -“And so,” I said hastily, “as I have liked you so, I want to exchange -little presents with you, as a remembrance, if you will.” -</p> - -<p> -The poor child had often cast admiring eyes on a calash which it was -my habit to wear to the theatre, and which was indeed a very becoming -thing of crimson velvet and cherry-coloured lining, with a frame of -costly fur to the face. It had been given me by Bob, and certainly -nothing short of my present desperation would have brought me to part -with it; but it was, more than anything I wore of late, associated -with me; and necessity has no conscience. -</p> - -<p> -Fanny’s eyes sparkled against her will, as I held the thing out to -her. -</p> - -<p> -“O no, miss!” she entreated; “it’s too good for me, and I can’t give -you nothing the same in exchange.” -</p> - -<p> -“You shall give me your neckerchief,” I said; and, cutting the -discussion short, drove her away at length, with her pretty face in -the hood, and tears in her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -I gave her five minutes’ start, then followed her out, with a brain as -hot as my heart was shivering. “They must discover their mistake very -soon,” I thought, “and will be returning on their tracks.” -</p> - -<p> -However, I reached home, running by byways, in safety; and there, -quite unnerved now the terror was passed, threw myself into Patty’s -arms and told her everything. She was the sweet, simple counsel and -consoler she always was to grief, and distressed me only by some -concern she could not help showing for the fate of Fanny. -</p> - -<p> -“You try to make me out a devil,” I cried passionately. “They will let -her alone, of course, when they find she isn’t who they want.” -</p> - -<p> -We slept in one another’s arms that night, fearful of every sound in -the street. But morning brought the sun and Gogo—though the latter -inexcusably late to his appointment—and both were a heavenly joy to -me. -</p> - -<p> -I saw at once by his expression that he carried news; but he did not -speak. -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo!” I whispered. -</p> - -<p> -He uttered a strange sound, like a wounded beast, and turned his face -from me. -</p> - -<p> -“Did you exchange head-dresses with her last night?” he muttered. -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean?” -</p> - -<p> -My heart seemed to stop. -</p> - -<p> -“They said it was your hood. She was jostled by ruffians in the -street, it seems, and thrown under the traffic, and killed.” -</p> - -<p> -I fell on my knees before him, shuddering and hiding my face. -</p> - -<p> -“You didn’t mean <i>that</i>, Diana?” -</p> - -<p> -“Before God, no. I thought they would leave her when they found out.” -</p> - -<p> -He gave a heart-breaking sigh, and looked at me for the first time. -</p> - -<p> -“I wouldn’t go near the theatre again, if I was you. They’ll not judge -you as—as favourably as I, perhaps.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve done with the theatre. Fate is very cruel. No one understands me -or believes in me. At least, don’t tell Patty anything of this. I -think you will break my heart among you. How did you even know I was -threatened?” -</p> - -<p> -“Didn’t you tell me you were in danger?” -</p> - -<p> -I cried out to him in a sudden agony— -</p> - -<p> -“I <i>am</i> in danger. O, Gogo! for God’s sake tell me what I am to do!” -</p> - -<p> -Then the great human love of the creature went down before me. He -fondled me, with tears and broken exclamations; he swore himself once -more, through all eternity, through sin and sorrow, my bondman. -</p> - -<p> -Presently, without extenuation, I had confessed all to him; and he had -forgiven me; had admitted, even, that I had had the reason of a better -regard on my side. But as to what had happened to himself during the -long interval, he would tell me nothing as yet. -</p> - -<p> -“I am the ex-hind legs of a dragon,” he said, “that was conquered by -the Chevalière Primrose, and turned into two-thirds of a prince. I -date myself from the translation. The curtain’s down on all that was -before.” -</p> - -<p> -Now, when we came to discussing the ways and means for my escape from -a desperate situation, my dear resourceful monster was ready with a -suggestion at once. -</p> - -<p> -“The Hamilton,” said he, “sails from England in a day or two. She is -disposed, by the tokens, to make a pet of you. Why not go to her; -relate everything; throw yourself upon her charity, and ask to be -conveyed abroad in her suite?” -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo! When?” I cried. It was an inspiration. -</p> - -<p> -“No moment like the present.” -</p> - -<p> -“I will go. But you must come too, to protect me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course.” -</p> - -<p> -“And Patty?” -</p> - -<p> -“All three of us together. Pack your box, pay your bill, and be ready -while I wait. At the worst, ’tis something gained to shift your -quarters and cover your trail.” -</p> - -<p> -I demurred only at the bill; for, indeed, we needed every penny of our -ready money. But he settled the matter by paying it himself. -</p> - -<p> -“I have become of a saving disposition,” he said; “and whatever trifle -there be, you are its heir. This is only drawing on your -reversion”—and, indeed, he valued money at nothing at all. If he -could have picked a living from the earth, he would never have been to -the trouble of putting a penny in his pocket. -</p> - -<p> -In a little, all being prepared, we took a coach and drove to the -Ambassador’s hotel. My lady was fortunately at her toilette, and sent -down a surprised message, that, whatever the deuce I wanted, I was to -be shown up. I found her, tumbled a little abroad, in the hands of her -<i>perruquier</i>, whom she dismissed while she talked to me. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, child,” she said, “what a face! ’Tis as white, I vow, as the -wings of your butterfly. Out with your trouble now.” -</p> - -<p> -I threw myself at her feet. I made a clean breast of my story—of the -inhuman cruelty of which I was the destined victim; and I ended by -imploring her to let me and my friends enjoy the bounty of her -protection. She fired magnificently, as I had hoped she would, over -the recital. She embraced my cause impulsively and without a thought -for possible consequences to herself. -</p> - -<p> -“The infamous old fox!” she cried of my lord; “I was flattered by his -attentions, hang him! until I found they was of the worst consequence -to me as a lady of position. To think of the old beast wanting to -murder you because of a lampoon—pasquinades we call ’em in Italy! La, -child! if <i>I</i> answered so to every dig that’s made at me, I’d better -turn public executioner at once. Let’s keep our own characters clean -against the light being turned on ’em, say I; and, if we don’t, -there’s only ourselves to thank. It’s too late to talk of bein’ a lady -when the crowner comes to sit on our dirty stockin’s.” -</p> - -<p> -She made me repeat my little song to her, and cried over it again. -</p> - -<p> -“Trot up your friends,” she said, wiping her eyes. “There’s room for -you all here till we start for France—or Naples, if you will. Let me -see the old devil dare to follow you into this sancshery! We’ll be -even with him, gnashin’ his yellow teeth left behind. Go and fetch -’em. I want to see what they’re like.” -</p> - -<p> -And she gave me a tempest of a kiss, and pushed me out at the door. -</p> - - -<p class="mt1"> -<i>It is here we encounter that considerable lacuna in the Reminiscences -to which reference was made in the “Introductory.” An examination of -the MS. shows that the large section—of more than a hundred -pages—which related to Mrs. Please’s experiences during the terrific -period of the Revolution, and afterwards so far as the year</i> ’98, -<i>when the narrative is resumed, was at some time bodily removed, -whether with a view to separate publication</i> (<i>of which, however, no -proof can be found</i>), <i>or through one of those intermittent panics of -conscience to which the lady was subject, there is no evidence to -show. While this breach is to be regretted—from her editor’s point of -view, at least—it must be said that innumerable contemporary -references to Madame “Se-Plaire” enable us in some measure not only to -follow the career of that redoubtable adventuress</i> (<i>pace M. le Comte -de C——</i>), <i>but to supply to ourselves at least one presumptive -reason for her shyness, on reflection, of perpetuating certain of its -incidents. However, not to confuse matters, we will take our -stepping-stones in the order of their placing.</i> -</p> - -<p> -<i>It appears, then, that Mrs. Please and her friends were conveyed -safely in the Ambassador’s entourage, to Paris, where Madame the -Ambassador’s wife received, during the few days of her stay in the -French capital on her way to Italy, some salve to her hurt vanity in -the reception accorded her at the Tuileries by the queen, who took the -opportunity to intrust her with a letter to her sister of Naples. -Whether elated, indirectly, by the royal condescension, or electrified -by the state of the national atmosphere, or for whatever reason, -Diana, it appears, decided to remain where she was. She even, there is -some reason for believing, sought, in the character of a very loyal -little</i> moucharde, <i>to ingratiate herself with the queen, going so far -as to imply that Lady Hamilton had taken this delicate means of -placing in Her Majesty’s hands a counter-buff to Mr. Pitt, whom Miss -Diana had often seen in my lord of Herring’s house in Berkeley Square, -and whose sinister designs against France she was quite ready to -quote—or invent.</i> -</p> - -<p> -<i>However this may be, it seems certain that Her Majesty was -inexplicably so far from being prepossessed by her fair visitor’s fair -protégée, that</i> (<i>assuming even that she gave her her countenance at -the first</i>) <i>she did not hesitate long in turning upon her the coldest -of cold shoulders. We know at least that within a month of her arrival -in Paris, Diana</i> (<i>which always equals, be it understood, Diana</i> plus -<i>her two inseparables</i>) <i>had established herself, far from the -precincts of the court, in very good rooms in a house in the Rue St. -Jacques; where with characteristic suddenness and thoroughness she -announced her complete conversion to the principles of -ultra-republicanism. It must have been about this time, moreover, that -she found interest to return to the stage; for in addition to the -inclusion of her name in the bill of that stirring melodrama</i>, Les -Victimes Cloîtrées, <i>which set all fermenting Paris overflowing, -there exists that reference to her in the rather spiteful -Reminiscences of Adrienne Lavasse, which, I think, is worth -transcribing. “Mademoiselle Please,” says the actress, “was for a -little our</i> ingénue <i>at the Français. She was imported from England; -but, it must be confessed, had a pretty gift</i> [une belle facilité] -<i>for our tongue. One night, after a</i> mêlée <i>in the green-room, she -lifts her voice in a furious outcry about her having been ravished of -a neckerchief which had been given her by a fellow</i>-comédienne <i>in -London, and which, she declares, she would not have parted with for a -louis-d’or. But I never observed”</i> (<i>adds the little spitfire</i>) <i>“that -she took the trouble to replace it with another; from which it is -evident that it was not her modesty that she valued at so high a -figure.”</i> -</p> - -<p> -<i>How long Mrs. Please continued on the stage at this time</i> (<i>she -returned to it again later</i>) <i>is not certain. Probably her engagement -was terminated by that famous split in the company, when democratic -Talma and Vestris migrated to the Rue de Richelieu, bequeathing the -remnant honours of the old house in the Faubourg St. Germain to the -royalist Fleury, Dazincourt, and Company. What we</i> do <i>know is that -about this critical period a lucky</i> coup <i>in a State lottery -established our heroine on her feet, and that thenceforth she -flourished. She kept a little salon in those same historic rooms, -through which a regular progression of nationalists passed and -vanished. There, in their time, were to be seen Brissot, Guadet, -Gensonné, the Roman Roland, the handsome Barbaroux, Pétion, -Vergniaud, the sweet and indolent, in his ragged coat, Desmoulins, -Barrére, Billaud-Varennes, Barras. The order is significant of our -lady’s political, or politic, evolution. The life of the State, she -came to think, was only to be saved by ruthless amputation; and, -unfortunately, the disease was in the head. As the atmosphere -thickens, our glimpses of her become rarer and more lurid. She appears -once as the proprietress of a sort of</i> Mont de piété, <i>very private -and exclusive, in which she amassed good quantity of property, pledged -by the proscribed, who never returned to redeem it. Among these, -curiously, seems to have been her father, whom, as characteristically -as possible, she forgave and attempted to shelter, though without -avail, for he was guillotined. It was probably to propitiate the -Government for this filial dereliction that she reappeared on the -boards, in</i> ’93, <i>in that grotesque monument to the dulness of the -Sovereign People</i>, The Last Judgment of Kings; <i>and there, so far as -we can trace, ended her connection with the stage.</i> -</p> - -<p> -<i>During all this period, it is only fair to her to say, she seems to -have played the inflexible duenna to her little friend and adoratrice, -Miss Patty Grant, protecting the child from outside evil and her own -kind pliability, and, when she was called away from her side, -committing her to the care of that faithful and incorruptible monster, -the cripple.</i> -</p> - -<p> -<i>Towards the end of</i> ’93 <i>she appears to have been so far in favour -with the powers that she was despatched on a secret propagandist -mission to the Neapolitan States—a portentous departure. She was not -back in Paris again until the spring of</i> ’95, <i>when she returned to -find the Terror overthrown, its “tail” in process of being docked by -Sanson, and the</i> jeunesse dorée <i>patrolling the streets.</i> -</p> - -<p> -<i>Not much record of this journey remains, beyond the single weighty -fact that it brought her acquainted with the young revolutionary -enthusiast, Nicola Pissani, who accompanied her home by way of Tuscany -and Piedmont, propagating their gospel of Liberty on the road.</i> -</p> - -<p> -<i>We may perhaps be pardoned for thinking it probable that Mrs. Please, -on her return to Paris, would have recanted her extremist views, had -it not been for this romantic</i> exalté, <i>to whom, no doubt, she at the -time was sincerely attached. It is possible, indeed, that she did -persuade him of the necessity of an</i> open <i>recantation, in order that -she might consort with him the more safely in those measures which he, -and for his sake she, had at heart—the violent establishment of a -republic at Naples, to wit. For, for the moment, sanscullotism was out -of fashion, and propagandists at a discount. It made no difference to -her, apparently, that her former patroness and saviour was heart and -soul with the court of Ferdinand. She was of the Roman mettle, and -would have sacrificed her own child to Liberty—with Pissani. I swear -my heart bleeds for her; for</i> (<i>the truth has to be uttered</i>) <i>that -passionate young zealot was no sooner made free of the house in the -Rue St. Jacques, than he fell hopelessly entangled in the unconscious -meshes of poor blameless, lovable little Patty Grant. And, worse: Miss -Grant, without a thought of disloyalty to her friend and sister—who, -indeed, persistently, and perhaps justifiably, posed for no more than -the Neapolitan’s pious fellow-missionary—yielded her whole sweet soul -to him!</i> -</p> - -<p> -<i>Nothing was declared, or came of this at the time. Pissani went back -to Naples; the two—he and Diana: not he and another, you may be sure, -unless by stealth—corresponded regularly; the march of events -proceeded; our heroine managed, no doubt, to console herself, -provisionally, for the separation. Perhaps she may have been conscious -of an alteration in her friend; a hint of some sad preoccupation; the -bright eyes dulling, the white face growing ever a little more white -and drawn. If she did, she chose, while biding her time of -enlightenment, to attach any but the right reason to the change. She -seems to confess, indeed, that she had the suspicion. Like enough, in -that case, she indulged it for a perpetual stimulant to her romance, -which might have withered without. She was not one to bear tamely her -supplanting by another—least of all by the little humble slave of her -passions and caprices, of her kisses and disdains. And, in the -meantime, the years went over them, while she was studying to -ingratiate herself with the Directory, so that presently her house -knew again its succession of ministers and deputies—men who came to -lighten their leisure with a little interlude of love or wit. And so -we reach the crisis.</i> -</p> - -<p> -<i>Naples, about the middle of</i> ’98, <i>was in a last state of ferment. -Jacobinism threatened it within and without, the former but awaiting -the advance of the French under Championnet to arise and hand over the -city to its sympathisers. In September Nelson came sweeping to its -sea-gates in his</i> Vanguard; <i>in October General Mack posted from -Vienna to take command of its rabble army of resistance; in November -its king led another army to Rome, nominally to restore the Pope his -kingdom, and, having done some ineffective mischief, returned -ingloriously, to find his capital in a state of anarchy. Finally, in -December, the whole royal family sneaked on board the</i> Vanguard, <i>and -transferred itself</i> pro tempore <i>to Palermo, where it remained until -the danger was laid, when it returned to exact a bloody vengeance.</i> -</p> - -<p> -<i>Therewithin lies the whole tragedy of Pissani and a little English -maid. Early in the February of that year the man had written, hurried -and agitated, to Mrs. Please, to announce that the moment was ripe, -the tree of despotism tottering to its fall, to be replaced by the -more fruitful one of Liberty; and to urge her to come at once, if she -would see consummated the glorious work for which they had both -laboured so long and so self-sacrificially. No doubt that he believed -in her single-heartedness, as she, in another way, in his. He assured -her that she might be, if she would, a second Pucelle. He fired her -vanity: he rekindled her passion. With characteristic impetuosity, she -broke up her household, and</i> (<i>here figures either her blindness or -her imperious self-confidence</i>) <i>prepared to transport it, stock and -block, to the scene of her anticipated triumphs. She had no difficulty -in procuring passports. Indeed, there is reason to suppose that she -was intrusted with despatches for General Berthier, then occupying -Rome. At any rate she, in company with Mademoiselle Grant and her -inseparable Gogo, embarked at Marseilles for Civita Vecchia; were in -the Eternal City before the end of the month; and had thence, -travelling again by sea, reached Naples without accident by the middle -of March. Here, by preconcerted arrangement</i> (<i>as regarded only -herself and the Neapolitan, however</i>) <i>they were met by Pissani, who -conducted them in the first instance to a little cabaret in the dark -quarters near the Arsenal. And here, from the glooms of that dingy -rendezvous, Mrs. Please is pleased to enter again upon her own story.</i> -</p> - -<p class="sign2"> -<i>B. C.</i> -</p> - - -<p class="mt1"> -[<i>Note</i>.—To the curious in matters of personal appearance, the -following extract from the <i>Roper Correspondence</i> (Hicks & Beach, -London, 1832) may be of interest. The passage occurs in a -letter—dated Paris, January 1798—from the Hon. Robert Roper to his -cousin Lord Carillon, and runs as follows:— -</p> - -<p> -“I have renewed my acquaintance with the Please, who is twenty-seven, -and nothing if not the ripe fruit of her promise. Dost remember, Dick, -how she was your ‘Long-legged Hebe’? I tell you, sir, she is by Jove -out of Leda, a very Helen. She moults her years, like the swan her -father its feathers, and is always ready with a virgin bosom of down -for the next quilt. The same sprightly insolence; the same <i>perfect -irregularity</i> of feature—and conduct; the same zeal in making the -interests of others her own—and the profits thereof. Her face retains -its pretty <i>moue</i>; her hair has only ripened a little, like corn. She -is still slender, as we remember her—in everything now but the -essentials; still as pale, with the flawless eyebrows and bob-cherry -lips. I would be sentimental; but, alack! she tells me our past is put -away in a little bag like lavender. ‘Would you wish the gift of it, -sir,’ she says, ‘to lay among your bed-linen? ’Tis grown too scentless -for my use. <i>Il n’y a si bonne compagnie qu’on ne quitte.</i>’ O, Dick, -to be rebuked for one’s years, and by an immortal! O, Dick, for the -time ‘when wheat is green and hawthorn buds appear’! Why may not our -feet continue to dance with our hearts? I have a <i>débutante</i> always -within my breast, and because <i>I</i> am forty, <i>she</i> must be a wallflower -forsooth! -</p> - -<p> -“She has realised at last <i>la grande passion</i>, she tells me. She is -perfectly frank. <i>He</i> is gone elsewhere, and she only waits for his -whistle to follow. <i>This</i> to me! She has her little salon, as pretty -as a bonbon box, and a dozen of powdered ministers at her feet. The -morning after our meeting I breakfasted with her and her friend. You -recall the little soft brunette, with the motherly eyes and the -caressing bashfulness? She is still with her, the foil, as of old, to -her ladyship, and virgin soil to this day, I believe.... Madam took -her tea laced with a little <i>eau de vie</i>. There was a curious legless -monster in waiting: something between a dumb-waiter and a Covent -Garden porter. She defers to him in everything; and he growls.”] -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch25"> -XXV.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I DECLARE FOR THE KING</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">We</span> were landed upon the Mole, not far from the Castel Nuovo, a vast, -sullen pile like the Bastille, on whose ruins I had danced. It was a -dark and rainy night. Pissani, who had been squatted amongst some -boats down by the water, rose, came forward in two or three swift -strides, and exclaimed, in an eager, agitated undertone, “Mother of -God! You are accompanied?” -</p> - -<p> -I could not see his face, but my heart responded unerringly to the -dear remembered tones. I went quickly to him, and put up my hands to -his breast. -</p> - -<p> -“Nicola <i>mio</i>—my brother, my comrade!” I whispered, “by all that, -next to you, I hold most dear.” -</p> - -<p> -“What? Whom?” he asked, in a low voice of amazement. “Not—?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” I said, “by my servant and my sister. You called and I came, -Nicola, ‘bringing my sheaves with me.’” -</p> - -<p> -He was breathing fast, but he did not answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Are you not pleased,” I said, “that I give up everything for you and -to you; that I devote my best to the cause—our cause, Nicola; that at -the bidding of my brother I have moved my tent into the wilderness? -Are you not pleased with me?” -</p> - -<p> -“There is danger in the wilderness,” he muttered. “No, I am not -pleased.” -</p> - -<p> -I fell back with a little shiver. “No more for her than for me,” I -answered. -</p> - -<p> -“It is not the same,” he said; “it is not the same thing at all.” In -an instant he had gripped my wrist. “Send her back into safety. She -shall not risk her life here—by God, she shall not!” -</p> - -<p> -And then I think I understood. I was calm as death, and as cold. It -had needed but these few words to turn me into stone. My God! all my -fervour and self-sacrifice—and this for their reward! I laughed out -quite gaily— -</p> - -<p> -“O, <i>mon chéri</i>! in the rain and the dark? Are you mad? Please to -convey us to some shelter.” -</p> - -<p> -He hesitated a moment; then beckoned to Patty, who came running like a -dog to the whistle. Pissani turned his back as she approached. -</p> - -<p> -“Tell your servant to await your orders here,” he muttered; “and, for -you, follow me.” -</p> - -<p> -Patty stole by my side, dumb over her reception. The fool! the little -adorable traitress! How would she have chattered, teeth and heart, had -she seen my nails, hid under my cloak, dug into the soft palms they -were clinched on. Yet I had an admiration for her, even while I -crouched to spring. That she, self-obliterating, undemonstrative with -men, could all the time have been softly insinuating herself between -me and my love! I had not credited her with so much cleverness. -</p> - -<p> -Our sombre patriot led us to a little <i>osteria</i> in a sewer hard by, -where the rain beat on a lurid scrap of window, and a mutter of voices -from within seemed to mingle in a throaty discussion with a gurgling -water-pipe at our feet. There were two or three wine-drinkers revealed -as he pushed open the door—strangely respectable folk in these -incongruous surroundings. They but glanced up as we entered and passed -on by a stone passage to a little remote room, where were a bare table -and a single taper glimmering sickly on the wall. -</p> - -<p> -Pissani shut the door and faced us. He was very pale and grim; grown -sterner than my memory of him, but still the melancholy, romantic -brigand of my heart. For a moment he seemed unable to speak; and in -that moment I could see my little sister’s hand shake on the table on -which she had leaned it for support. The truth was confessed amongst -us all in that silence. And I—I knew it suddenly, instantly, for what -I had long suspected but struggled to conceal from myself; knew it for -the real solution of this my conscious unconscious caprice in bringing -Patty with me. It had been to force it, to satisfy myself of the best -or the worst, that I had acted as I had done. That I recognised now. -And, after all, I was the first to speak. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, M. Pissani,” I said, “it seems that one of us at least is <i>de -trop</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -His mouth twitched with nervousness. -</p> - -<p> -“She cannot help the cause,” he said. “She will only be in the way. -What is her use in this pass?” -</p> - -<p> -“Patty,” I said, turning on the child, “M. Pissani does not want you. -You can go back.” -</p> - -<p> -She looked at me, the helpless fool. Her lip trembled, and her eyes -filled with tears. But Pissani by that was smiling. -</p> - -<p> -“I do not want you, child, <i>I</i>?” he said, in a sick voice, and held -out his hands fondly to her across the table. “Ah, but we know better -the truth of our hearts! When the battle is won, then, O gentle my -love, that betakest thyself to love as the lark to heaven, come to me, -as you promised! But not now—not now, when the storm is in the air, -and this so dear shrine of my hopes might be struck and violated. You -have not changed, you could not change: it is enough, I have seen you. -Come now with me, Pattia, and I will take you back to the boat, to my -friends, that they may see you secured in Rome until I can send to you -and say, ‘It is time, most dear wife, it is time. Return to me, and -give thyself to be the mother of patriots!’” -</p> - -<p> -She moved, and gave a little sob. Her response was not to him but to -me—to the stunned questioning of my eyes. She had no wit but to utter -her whole self-condemnation in it. -</p> - -<p> -“Diana! I did not know! I have not been untrue to you.” -</p> - -<p> -I struck her on the mouth, and she staggered back, with that red lie -printed on it for the delectation of her paramour. She clutched at the -table, reeled, and sank down beside it moaning. It was too much. My -fury had flashed to an explosion in that wicked falsehood. -</p> - -<p> -Pissani, with a sudden and terrible cry at the sight of his mistress’s -disgrace, drew a knife from his hip, and leapt like a goat across the -table. Stumbling as he alighted, she caught him frantic round the -knees, and held him raging and snarling while he stabbed at the air in -his frenzy. I stood fallen back a little, white and scornful, but with -not a thrill of fear at my heart; and, so standing, saw how, in the -thick blindness of his rage, he was yet tender of her in his struggles -to free himself. And then in a moment he had fallen upon his knees, -the blade yet in his hand, and was kissing and caressing her, moaning -inarticulate love into her ear. She tried feebly to repulse him; to -drag herself away and towards me. I had always known that she was of -the fools who caress the hands that scourge them. But I sprang back, -loathing her neighbourhood. -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t come near me,” I cried. -</p> - -<p> -He had kissed the blood from her mouth to his own. He struck the spot -there with a furious hand, as he turned on me. -</p> - -<p> -“By this,” he said, “your death or mine!” -</p> - -<p> -I laughed scornfully. -</p> - -<p> -“So brutes revenge themselves on the innocence they have despoiled!” -</p> - -<p> -“It is a lie!” he raged; and, on the word, put a fierce arm about his -<i>wife</i>. “Believe it is a lie, thou!” -</p> - -<p> -But she was still struggling to reach me. -</p> - -<p> -“Diana! Not this end to all our love! Not this end to the high hopes -with which we came. It is not ourselves, but Liberty, sister. See, he -will be good; he will not hurt you” (she was groping eagerly for the -knife, which he ended by letting her secure). “I did not know,” she -cried, “I did not guess—until this moment I did not. I will never see -him again, if you wish. I will be no man’s wife to your hurt. Diana! -It is the truth!” -</p> - -<p> -I let her rave. I never took my eyes from his devil’s face. -</p> - -<p> -“So,” I said, deeper now, and with my hands upon my storming bosom, -“you would make your sacrifice to Reason, monsieur, in me—me! <i>My</i> -mission was to be the Pucelle’s, and her glorious fate, with which, I -suppose, you were to assure your little after-paradise of loves. O, a -grateful use for this poor heart, to be a stepping-stone to the -respectable amours of Monsieur and Madame Pissani! Only I renounce the -honour, as I renounce the cause of the paragon of taste who could -prefer that for this.” -</p> - -<p> -I tore at my dress. -</p> - -<p> -“You have made your choice,” I cried; “it is all said. Only think, -monsieur, think sometimes of what you have lost, before you talk of -the battle being won!” -</p> - -<p> -I hurried from the room, even as my false friend called to me again in -agony, “Diana! Believe me! Listen to me! O, what shall I do?” But, -even in my frenzy, I had the wit to pause the other side of the door, -listening for his response. -</p> - -<p> -“Thou shalt go back to Rome, my dearest, my heart,” he said. “Hearken -to me, my Pattia.” -</p> - -<p> -But she only sobbed dreadfully, “Not like this—not in this disgrace. -I must follow her, even if she kills me.” -</p> - -<p> -“By my soul, no,” he said; “for your life is mine.” -</p> - -<p> -I could hear them wrestling together; till, in a moment, he prevailed, -even before I had guessed he would. -</p> - -<p> -“Hush, my bird,” he panted softly; “there is one other way—if it must -be so indeed.” -</p> - -<p> -There followed a pause. I could have laughed in the mad joy of my -revenge. He was an upstart, this patriot; a son of the people. He -would commit her to his own—wive her, I most fervently prayed—and -deposit his jewel, this little pet of luxury, in the squalid cabin at -Camaldoli where he was born. He had often told me of it; of his early -experiences of the joys of life in a place where the peasant could not -fasten his coat against cold, or take refuge from the sun under a -tree, or borrow a stone from the hill for his paths, or renew his -starved patch with manure of leaves, or set a water-butt to catch the -showers, or be buried decently when he dropped at the plough-tail and -died, because buttons, and the shade of trees, and stones, and dead -leaves, and rain-water, and a dead peasant were all taxed alike—items -in a hundred other feudal impositions which left existence hardly its -own shadow to prevail by. And now these joys would be hers; for I knew -that she had not the strength to oppose him, though enough to damn her -own fool fortune by insisting on the Church’s sanction to her -possession of an estate of mud and wattles. I listened eagerly for the -next. -</p> - -<p> -“If thou wilt be my mother’s daughter?” he said. -</p> - -<p> -I could have clapped my hands. I hurried down the passage and out into -the night, fierce, burning, but with an exultation in my rage. The -sight of men risen, scared and listening, as I passed through the -wineshop, served to recall me to myself and to my danger. I was -outcast from these conspirators—if only they had known! -</p> - -<p> -With an effort I composed myself, and turned to them with a smile— -</p> - -<p> -“Messieurs, but the door is between me and the street!” -</p> - -<p> -One of them at that stepped forward, opened it, and gravely bowed me -forth. As gravely I stepped into the rain, and made without hurry for -the beach. -</p> - -<p> -So this was the end to all my exaltation, to my dreams of love and -sacrifice! I stamped in the puddles. “<i>Vive la tyrannie! vive les -Bourbons!</i>” I cried to myself as I sped on. So shamed, so wronged, so -spurned! was not the worst justified to me? I saw the shadow of my -loved monster standing solemn sentinel over the single trunk we had -brought with us. Our heavy baggage we had left in Rome. O, <i>mon -fidèle</i>! how at that moment I could have stormed my wounded heart out -on thy breast! -</p> - -<p> -“Canst thou lift it and follow me?” I said only. -</p> - -<p> -He answered, the dear Caliban, by obeying. -</p> - -<p> -“Whither?” he growled. -</p> - -<p> -I looked desperately about me. Near at hand it was all a tangle of -spars and sheds, and the rain driving between. But inland, the night -went up in glistening terraces, scattered constellations all shaken in -the thunder of a great city. Far south, what looked like the red light -of a forge alternately glared, and faded, and grew again, battling, it -seemed, with drowning flaws of tempest. It was the glimmering bonfires -of Vesuvius, those hot ashes of a consumed empire, from which, -according to Pissani, the phœnix Liberty was to arise. I laughed: -“Not yet, my poet, my friend; since thou choosest another than Pucelle -to breed thee thy patriots!” -</p> - -<p> -I turned to the north. There, upon a huddle of tall buildings, looming -near and enormous in the dark, the stars of the hills seemed to have -drifted down, clinging thickly over all, like primroses under a bank. -</p> - -<p> -“It is the royal palace,” said Gogo. -</p> - -<p> -“It is <i>our</i> way, then,” I panted, on fire. “Follow me, and quickly; -we are not safe here.” -</p> - -<p> -Along wharfs and causeways, plashing over the filthy stones, by -squalid alley and reeking wall, I fled and he pursued. I had no -lodestar save my hate; but it served. The growing scream and thunder -of the town drove towards us as we advanced; but few people in that -bitter night; until, skirting the massed buildings of the arsenal and -palace, we emerged suddenly through a little lane into the Strada di -St. Lucia, and paused a moment undecided and amazed. -</p> - -<p> -It was as if the devil had taken his glowing pencil and ruled off this -quarter of the city for his own. A noisome ravine of houses it was, -with life like a fiery torrent brawling along its bed. Song and tumult -and mad licence; fingers quick to stab, or to snap like castanets to a -dancing child; doorways that were the mouths of tributary sewers -vomiting filth and tatters into the main; fishermen, at their flaring -stalls, bawling crabs and oysters, <i>frutti di mare</i>—my God! what -fruit, and from what a sea that drained a shambles; women out in the -rain and the open, making their shameless toilettes, and screaming the -while such damnation by the calendar on their sister doxies for a -word, a retort, a mere flea-bite (the commonest experience, after all) -as to leave themselves, one would have thought, no vocabulary for the -more strenuous encounters of fists and claws; children swarming -everywhere in the double sense, and scattering shrill oaths like -vermin; rags and nakedness and insolence—a loafing melodrama—an -epitome of the worst squalor and viciousness in all Naples—such was -the district upon which we had alighted, the mid-ward of the -Lazzaroni. -</p> - -<p> -As we stood, a ruffian, swaggering past, swerved, and approached a -handsome, impudent face. Gogo, without a word, heaved his shoulder -between. But I had no fear. These Lazzari were the king’s friends—and -mine. I pushed aside my henchman. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Pour le roi!</i>” I cried, and pointed towards the palace. -</p> - -<p> -He understood, and whipped off his greasy hat. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Viva il re!</i>” he answered enthusiastically, showing his white teeth, -and motioned us to a street going eastwards up the hill. I saw and -recognised the same fellow once or twice afterwards. He was a Michele -di Laudo—Mad Michael, they called him—who, as chief of his -vagabonds, was to take a prominent part in the defence of the suburbs -against the French. -</p> - -<p> -We crossed the street under his protection, and on its farther side, -before waving us on, he bent and snatched a kiss. The rank sweet touch -of his lips was like a <i>visé</i> on my passport into hell. It seemed to -bring the blaze, the colour, the stench of the reeling streets -clashing to a focus in my brain, and it sent me speeding on half drunk -and half sick, loathing and hugging myself. I was an angel in Sodom, -running blindly for the refuge of God’s wing in a dazzle of roaring -lights, and confused by the glare, knowing not whether I turned to the -self I had left or to the self that was awaiting me. Gogo, straining -in my wake, panted as I hurried before him— -</p> - -<p> -“For every dog but the watch-dog, a bone.” -</p> - -<p> -I turned on him, with a stamp. -</p> - -<p> -“A bone! I am meat for your masters, I tell you.” -</p> - -<p> -“I serve no Pissani,” he said sullenly. -</p> - -<p> -I shook him in my anger. -</p> - -<p> -“Never breathe his name to me again, or we part.” -</p> - -<p> -“Very well,” he said. “I thought as much. He has got his deserts.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Has</i> he?” -</p> - -<p> -I glared at him one moment, then turned and sped on—up the street of -the Giant, passing the north flank of the palace, where sentries stood -on guard, and so into an open piazza, the Largho S. Ferdinando, into -which the palace itself stuck a shoulder, and where were churches and -the flaring portico of a theatre, and other buildings strangely fine -in their contiguity to the slums we had left. -</p> - -<p> -And here, amidst the wild drift and gabble of a throng less foul but -as aimless, we plunged and were absorbed, and stood together again to -breathe. -</p> - -<p> -All Naples, it seemed, was bent on shouting down its brother. -</p> - -<p> -“What next?” bawled Gogo in my ear. -</p> - -<p> -A handsome inn, the “Orient,” stood comparatively quiet and isolated -in an odd corner of the <i>Place</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“Rooms—there!” I answered. -</p> - -<p> -“Its exclusiveness makes it prominent,” boomed Gogo, with as much -dryness as he could put into a roar. -</p> - -<p> -I beckoned him on imperiously. -</p> - -<p> -<i>On n’a jamais bon marché de mauvaise marchandise.</i> -</p> - -<p> -In a little we were installed in comfortable rooms. -</p> - -<p> -“Now order wine,” I said, “and we will drink.” -</p> - -<p> -I sipped, while he sat on a stool at my feet, soothing the weariness -from them with a touch that was only my monster’s. The Chianti and the -sorcery of his hand began to drug me. -</p> - -<p> -“Drink you too,” I murmured. -</p> - -<p> -He reached for his glass. -</p> - -<p> -“To whom?” he said. “What are we now? It makes no difference; only I -must know.” -</p> - -<p> -“Death to all republics,” I cried, “and long life to the King of -Naples!” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” he said, between a groan and a sigh. “Well—the poor child—you -have cast her off, I suppose,” and he drained his glass. -</p> - -<p> -I stared at him a moment, then fell sobbing upon his shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -“You pity everyone but me,” I cried, “and my heart is broken.” -</p> - -<p> -“What, in the old place?” said he. -</p> - -<p> -But I was too miserable to retort; and half the night afterwards he -held me, fallen fast asleep, in his arms. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch26"> -XXVI.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I RENEW AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">For</span> three days I remained shut into my rooms at the “Orient,” not -daring to go out, a prey to the utmost nervousness and agitation. Do -not suppose that on that account I was the less determined in my plans -for vengeance. But revenge that lays itself open to retribution misses -the better half of itself. I remembered my old friend Mr. Roper’s -dictum, and beat my brains only for the means to strike with impunity. -I was not from the first without a design. The difficulty was to give -it practical effect; because for the moment I could not use Gogo. For -myself, under my assumed name, I might lie secure in this hiding. To -make <i>him</i> my carrier to the English Embassy would be to mark a sure -track to my retreat with every punch of his wooden legs. I dared not -let him out; I dared not even temporarily part with him in my peril; I -dared not come to a decision, while knowing that my life depended on a -wise one. For I was a renegade revolutionary—I could not blink the -fact. Though I had never hitherto actually set foot in Naples itself, -there must be many to know me by report for that apostle of the new -creed of equality who, but a few years before, had stumped their -country, winning converts. And now! the safety of many men—and women -too—was in my hands; and not Pissani, nor those others when they came -to learn, would have forgotten the nature of my secession, or the -significance of the threats which had accompanied it. If passion had -given me away, caution must redeem me. I had no faith in Patty’s power -to protect me. The occasion was too desperate; the interests involved -were too many. Pissani was a reformer before he was a lover. I <i>must</i> -be sacrificed, if possible, to the cause I had the means to betray. -</p> - -<p> -All day, peeping from behind the curtains of our windows, we saw the -piazza below like a seething cauldron of unrest. As significant of -that as anything were the out-at-elbows letter-writers under the -arcades of the old theatre of San Carlo, who, at a time when every man -feared to commit his simplest thoughts to paper, did less than enough -business to keep themselves in macaroni. They served to exhibit the -popular bankruptcy as well as the briefless advocates, who, from -thriving on the countless abuses of the law, found themselves -abandoned to the lawlessness they had created; as well as the -journalists, who, having been brought under a strict moral censorship, -starved as vampires might on a diet of milk; as well as the professors -and <i>savants</i>, who were hampered, it must be confessed, by a thousand -childish restrictions in their efforts to make life beautiful by -turning it inside out, and to teach men to follow in themselves, while -eating an omelet, the whole process of absorption and digestion; as -well as the bolder demagogues, who, mounted on steps or tubs, screamed -denunciations of their misgoverning sovereigns, under the transparent -veil of Claudius and Messalina, and called upon their hearers, by many -classical examples, to strike for liberty and political cleanliness. -At which the Lazzari laughed, understanding just so much that, if they -were to be no longer flea-bitten, they would be deprived of the -traditional luxury of scratching; and shaking their heads over that -new idea of equality, which was in fact so old an idea as to be -embodied in a popular proverb: “<i>Tu rubbi a me, io rubbo a te</i>,” which -one might expound: “‘If Taffy robs me, I rob Taffy’—so what the -devil’s all this fuss about?” Naples was rich in charitable -institutions for the encouragement of indolent beggary; and what sort -of a reform was it that sought to deprive an honest loafer of his -soup? And so to a man <i>they</i> held out for dirt, moral and material, -and for the king who assured them a continuance in both—a condition -of things which made revolution a very different affair from what it -had been in starving Paris. -</p> - -<p> -Since the date of my first visit in ’94 this ferment had been rising, -in spite of all efforts of the authorities to check it. As well try to -stop the decomposition of a dead body—for such was the national -credit. The foolish, vile queen, panic-sick that she was destined to -the fate of her better-meaning but as foolish sister in Paris, -persuaded her weak, common husband into a counter-blast to the -Terror—with as much effect as King James the First’s against smoking. -It is bad policy to try to suppress an evil by advertising it. -Self-martyrdom is the most popular of all notorieties. They -inaugurated a system of espionage, which in itself was an education to -conspirators; they read Jacobinism across the forehead of all -learning, and so alienated the intelligence which might have saved the -land; they crammed the filthy prisons with suspects, and broke the -hearts and fortunes of those who were the best leaven to corruption; -they made it criminal to wear scarlet waistcoats and long trousers; -finally, for some such dereliction, or one less momentous, they hung -up two or three respectable boys in a public square, varying the -entertainment by shooting down some scores of spectators who had -fallen into a panic at the noise of a distant musket-shot. And then, -having thrown their sacrifice on the flames of discontent, and so -lowered them, they settled down with an affectation of the strong arm, -and a blindness to the embers smouldering underneath. -</p> - -<p> -These had not ceased to smoulder, nevertheless, feeding on their new -fuel; and by and by the blaze was to come. -</p> - -<p> -<i>Eh bien! la voix du peuple est la voix de Dieu!</i> So they say; only, -unfortunately, here the Lazzari were the crack in it. It was a pretty -Naples I had come to. -</p> - -<p> -One afternoon, while looking out of the window, I saw a magnificent -equipage cross the square, and, turning the corner towards the palace, -disappear. I had been waiting during these long days for some such -vision, the nature of which now, if, indeed, the plaudits of the -loafers had not confirmed it in my mind, was established in the -glimpse of a bold, beautiful face which I obtained in its passing. On -the instant my resolution was made, and I ran to the table and hastily -scribbled off a note:— -</p> - -<div class="letter"> - -<p> -“<i>One whom you formerly befriended seeks your help and protection. She -is in possession of important secrets, which you cannot afford to -discard. Ask for her, under the name of Madame Lavasse, at the</i> -‘<i>Orient</i>.’” -</p> - -</div> - -<p> -I called Gogo, and hurriedly instructed him— -</p> - -<p> -“Lady Hamilton has just passed, driving to the palace. Her coach is -gilt, with four dapple-greys. Go secretly out by the back; make your -way there circumspectly, wait for her reappearance, and throw this in -at the window of her carriage. Then return here, but by a roundabout -way, and not till after dark. Be swift and sure. Everything—our -safety, our lives—depends on this opportunity.” -</p> - -<p> -He groaned out a little sigh: “And our honour, Diana? Think of the -time when we shall be damned together, before you betray the child.” -</p> - -<p> -I walked up and down in terrible agitation when he was gone. Betray! -Who had been the traitor, of us two? Not a drop of water for her, -though I were to lie in Abraham’s bosom! -</p> - -<p> -Night came, but no Gogo. Tortured with doubts and apprehensions, I -could neither eat nor rest. Had he too repented at last of his -loyalty, and abandoned me in my need? They all fell from me, those I -had succoured and most trusted. Sometimes, in my agony of mind, I -upbraided his selfishness, cursed my own irreclaimable fondness in -putting faith in man. I believed he had sold himself—whether to -cupidity or an emotion, what did it matter. At length, quite exhausted -by my passions, I fell asleep on my bed, dressed as I was. -</p> - -<p> -I slept far into the morning, and awoke to a consciousness of a -presence in the next room. Was it he, returned at last? Dazed, and -sick with excitement, I rose and ran to meet him. A lady only was -there, cloaked and mysterious. She lifted her veil, and showed me the -face I had desired. -</p> - -<p> -It had not, indeed, so much altered in these years as her person’s -amplitude. Conceive, my dear friend, the head of a Circe on the body -of a hippopotamus! Now I perceived Nature’s forethought in the gift of -those immense feet. They were disproportionate no longer. She had -grown colossal. The mountain had come to Mahomet. It was wonderful -how, in spite of all, she could have retained the general fine contour -of her features. One would have thought she could hardly have kept her -countenance, seeing the changes below. I certainly found it difficult -to keep mine, as I fell on my knees before her, and, catching at her -hands, hung my head. -</p> - -<p> -She stepped back from me, shaking the room. I understood then in a -moment that the old glamour was only to be recovered, if at all, with -discretion. -</p> - -<p> -“Now, madam,” she said, “being come at your request, I must ask you -for your reason, and as short as you’ll please to make it.” -</p> - -<p> -“My messenger”—I began. -</p> - -<p> -“Your messenger,” she interrupted me promptly, “is put under lock and -key till we know more about him and you. He got a cut on the cheek -before he was took by the guards; but that wasn’t my fault.” -</p> - -<p> -I buried my face in my hands. -</p> - -<p> -“I thank you, madam,” I said, with emotion. “He lies at least in -better security than I.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I won’t answer for that,” she replied, “till I come to hear -what you’re after.” -</p> - -<p> -I looked up. -</p> - -<p> -“O, madam, my benefactress!” I cried. “It is much to expect, perhaps; -but do you not know me?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, perfectly, madam!” she said, with a curtsey that made her balloon. -“We make it our pains to know all about our visitors. Believe me, you -was under surveillance from the moment you stepped ashore at the Mole. -It was not very likely, was it, that we should overlook the arrival of -her as seemed wishin’ to reap the discord she had sowed among us a -while back? Be sure we know you, madam, well enough, and the -reputation you built for yourself in Paris too!” -</p> - -<p> -Startled as I was, I had a difficulty to refrain from retorting that -my reputation would bear comparison with hers. But I bit my lip on the -temptation, and for the moment took refuge from everything in tears, -to which, however, she listened silent. -</p> - -<p> -“I did not refer to that,” I cried, looking up with clasped hands and -swimming eyes, “but to the goodness of a great and beautiful lady, who -once succoured a poor girl in distress.” -</p> - -<p> -“And I include that too in my knowledge,” said she; “and much -gratitude you’ve shown to the class as befriended you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Gratitude!” I cried. “O, believe me, that, until I reached here, I -never even guessed that, in conspiring against royalty, I was -conspiring against you, my saviour.” -</p> - -<p> -She sat down on a chair, near breaking it. -</p> - -<p> -“Didn’t you?” she said, gathering the folds of her cloak about her. -“Well, supposing you didn’t, what then? You ain’t goin’ to forego your -principles for a sentiment like that—don’t tell me.” -</p> - -<p> -“If you won’t believe me”—I murmured despairingly. -</p> - -<p> -“Why look here, Madame Lavasse, or Please, or whatever your damned -name is,” she said, shaking a hectoring finger at me, “one may help a -girl, but a woman helps herself, which I make no bones of guessing -you’ve managed to do pretty free. The question with you is whether -Jacobinism or royalty is going to pay best; and if you’re proposin’ to -change about and turn informer, no better moral than profit is at the -bottom of your little game, I’ll vow. Well, I don’t say but in that -case we’re open to treat; only I’ll ask you to drop the artless girl, -which don’t sit well on you at your age, and talk with me like one -woman of the world to another.” -</p> - -<p> -I rose to my feet with a burning face. -</p> - -<p> -“Go!” I said, with an imperious gesture; “insult me no more. Have I -not suffered wrong and outrage enough, but my heart must be made the -sport of every common”— -</p> - -<p> -“Highty-tighty, miss!” -</p> - -<p> -She rose in astonishment. For a moment she stood conning me, my -quivering lips and heaving bosom. Then of a sudden she smiled. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, perhaps”—she said. “There, I’ve a way of letting my tongue run -away with me; but it’s no example for you to follow. I should have -remembered the glass houses in the sayin’ before I twitted you with -your past. Only for sure, Diana Please, it can never be said against -me that I betrayed my love that betrayed me.” -</p> - -<p> -My rage was all gone. I dropped my head, with a sad little cry. The -sound of it brought her to my side. -</p> - -<p> -“Was he not your love,” she whispered—“him that came with you?” -</p> - -<p> -And I answered, “He was my love.” -</p> - -<p> -“Was—was,” she repeated. “Well—I see. They take other fancies.” -</p> - -<p> -“You was sold yourself—is it not true?” I muttered. -</p> - -<p> -“Ay,” she answered, and sighed. “But it was for gold.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>You</i> can forgive, then, and forget,” I said; “but not I—no, never.” -</p> - -<p> -“You would ruin him?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, and her.” -</p> - -<p> -“Bring him to the gallows?” -</p> - -<p> -“That is why I sent for you. You can trust me.” -</p> - -<p> -“And in the meantime you fear for yourself?” -</p> - -<p> -“I struck her. He tried to stab me. I cried, <i>Vive le Roi!</i> You know -what that means.” -</p> - -<p> -“Cry <i>Vive la Reine</i> for the future. ’Tis the sweet saint who suffers -most. Well, it seems the truth at last; and you have your -provocation—by God, you have! Only for me, having one different, to -help myself by you?—it goes against my stomach somehow. I wish it was -your principles instead of your jealousy.” -</p> - -<p> -“Help me in nothing but to some place of safety, where I can inform -and direct the court. <i>It</i> will not be troubled with your ladyship’s -scruples.” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you know? ’Tis so you have been taught to regard my sweet -queen, I suppose?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, madam!” I cried, “you know what made me an ardent pupil.” -</p> - -<p> -She stood musing upon me long and earnestly. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, perhaps,” she said at length, and sighed; “what a fool preacher -is Love, not to be able to keep his own faith! To drive woman for -refuge on woman—’tis like banishing your physician to the enemy’s -camp. Well”—she took my hands; I thought she was going to kiss me, -but she made no offer—“for myself, I don’t want to hear none of your -inculpations; but I’ll put you in train to satisfy your passions on -others that may. Will that suit you?” -</p> - -<p> -She turned before I could answer, and was going. -</p> - -<p> -“It must be soon,” I urged hoarsely, following her; “O, madam! don’t -you understand that it must be soon?” -</p> - -<p> -“Within an hour or two,” she said, over her shoulder. “Have no fear. -You are already protected—and watched.” -</p> - -<p> -I set myself, with what self-control I could, to await her return; -for, after our emotional confidences, I expected nothing less than -that she would come for me presently in person. But in that I was -mistaken, as was made evident in the ushering up to me by and by of a -very courtly young gentleman, of a shrewd, sallow visage, who informed -me, with a bow, that he was Love’s emissary. -</p> - -<p> -“His Majesty, sir,” I said, with a faint smile, and some intentional -ambiguity, “is well represented. Do we go to the palace?” -</p> - -<p> -“We go,” he said, “<i>to</i> the palace. Will madam be pleased to accept my -escort?” -</p> - -<p> -I took the arm he offered me. In view of some such contingency, I had -spent the interval in making my toilette agreeably to it. -</p> - -<p> -He conducted me out by the back way to the stables, where, in a little -court, we found an ordinary post-chaise, with two horses, awaiting us. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Faire comme on le juge à propos</i>,” murmured my companion; and, -seeing my trunk (pregnant with damning evidence) well secured in -front, he handed me in, followed himself, pulled down the blinds, and -gave the word. In an instant we were rolling over the stones. -</p> - -<p> -It was a very roundabout way, it seemed to me, that we took to the -palace; yet for long—so potent was my trust in myself as an emissary -of vengeance, and so engaging the chatter of my comrade—I suspected -no treachery. But at length, losing conscious sense, through the -thunder of the wheels, of a roar and racket which had once accompanied -it, I started as it were awake, and, in an immediate panic, peeped -from behind the blind nearest me. And then I saw that we had already -left the town, and were tearing along country roads. -</p> - -<p> -I half rose, with a cry: “The palace! This is not the way to it!” -</p> - -<p> -My companion seized my wrist in a grip of steel, forcing me to reseat -myself. -</p> - -<p> -“The very nearest, I can assure you, madam.” -</p> - -<p> -“You are taking me to prison?” -</p> - -<p> -“My faith! a prison that some would like,” he said, showing his teeth. -</p> - -<p> -I struggled with him. “Let me out! I will raise the country else!” -</p> - -<p> -He released me at once. -</p> - -<p> -“As madam wills. Madam will claim protection of her friends the -Jacobins? For me, I consult only her safety.” -</p> - -<p> -“What!” I panted at him, sinking back. “Tell me who are you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Luigi de’ Medici, at madam’s service,” he said, with a bow; “a name, -at least, that should be a guarantee of some worth.” -</p> - -<p> -“No doubt, sir; but, as a stranger, at your mercy”— -</p> - -<p> -“I have the honour to be, madam, the chief of the police.” -</p> - -<p> -The word awoke new frenzy in me. -</p> - -<p> -“My God! I am betrayed. For pity’s sake, sir, tell me where we go.” -</p> - -<p> -“I answered, madam, to the palace. I am a man of my word.” -</p> - -<p> -“What palace?” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! At length madam talks reason. To the Palace of Caserta, ten -leagues away.” -</p> - -<p> -I stared at him aghast. -</p> - -<p> -“To be immured there?” -</p> - -<p> -“Truly,” he said, “to be immured in a paradise, amongst fountains and -flowers! It is not like the inside of a wall.” -</p> - -<p> -“You are pleased to mock me, sir. But why am I brought so far?” -</p> - -<p> -“Madam shall ask of her mirror,” he said, with a charming grin. “Shall -I so abuse my office as to admit that His Majesty is susceptible; and -that Madame the English Ambassadress—who, nevertheless, is of a -perfect honour—is jealous for her friend the queen, and, perhaps, for -her own pre-eminence in beauty? Certainly not. It is quite enough to -say that Madame Lavasse, being in some danger of assassination in -Naples, is removed to a distance for her own security; to a place, in -short, whence she can direct the lightning, without exciting suspicion -of collusion with Jupiter.” -</p> - -<p> -He bent and looked into my face. -</p> - -<p> -“I vow, madam,” he said, “that the last frost of discretion must melt -in the fire of such beauty. Take my word for it, that the Queen of -Olympus never of her will would have admitted Venus to be of her -court.” -</p> - -<p> -This was very disarming, to be sure; and already, before we reached -Caserta, Signor de’ Medici was in possession of some preliminary -information that proved useful to him. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch27"> -XXVII.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I KNOW HOW TO WAIT</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Caserta</span> Palace was a sort of Versailles to the Palazzo Reale. It was -a fine, long, rectangular building, lofty and imposing in the -eighteenth century style of grand architecture, with marble colonnades -and innumerable windows. The town it dominated, being a royal town -<i>par excellence</i>, was comparatively clean and reposeful; and the -palace gardens were as extensive and as beautiful as any in the world. -</p> - -<p> -It was not, however, to a corner of this stately pile that I found -myself committed, but to rooms in the Casino of St. Lucius, which -stood in the park some two miles north of the main building, and -commanded a noble view, not only of the surrounding country, but of -the dark pruned alleys beset with white statues, and the terraces and -fountains and cascades of the gardens themselves—a lovely spot. And -here, for the moment secure and at peace, I resolved upon a life of -placid enchantment, treated like a queen’s hostage, and biding the -development of events. -</p> - -<p> -I had my little sleepy, soft-footed household—an old groom, a pretty -maid or two, and a quite delectable cook. No restrictions were placed -upon me; I was free to wander as I listed, and, indeed, had no -inducement to venture without the cordon of sentries who were my best -protection. The month was April, the most lovely in all Naples; and, -save when Capri, showing near and blue, gave indications of the -scirocco, I spent all my days out of doors. So tranquil was it, so -remote from the centres of ferment, I could have thought myself in -Avalon, though all the while and around the clouds of a coming tempest -were gathering to burst. As I loitered by those empty corridors of -green, smiling back the smiles of the unruffled statues, listening to -the drowsy thunder of the waters, seeing only for all tokens of human -life the little marionnettes of place swarming, quite distant and -minute, about the steps of the palace, France was preparing to launch -her legions on Naples both by land and sea; scared refugee cardinals -were trotting by the dozen into the city; Nelson, off Toulon, was -shaping his course, by way of Aboukir, to the arms of Mrs. Hart; -Ferdinand was tremblingly fastening his warlike greaves on his fat -shins; and, finally, Maria Carolina was making her bloody tally for -the hangman. And only of the last was I actively cognisant, seeing -that it was there alone lay my concern with the outer world. -</p> - -<p> -From time to time M. de’ Medici would visit me in this connection, -coming ingratiatory and quite lover-like to refresh his portfolio with -new names from my list, or to examine my correspondence, which was -entirely at his service. I had taken no half-measures. The spared -assassin comes to strike again, was my motto. -</p> - -<p> -“Have I not proved myself a sincere convert?” I said to him once. -</p> - -<p> -“Assuredly, most beautiful,” he answered; and fell to counting on his -fingers. “You have given us already certain proof of the guilty -complicity of—One: Signor Domenico Cirillo, professor of botany, -arborist, edenist, pupil of Jean Jacques, too delicate a flower for -this climate; two: Francesco Conforti, court theologian, a priest and -ambitious—nothing singular, but he will be beaten in the race for -power by a neck; three: Carlo Muscari; four: his excellency the -Marquis of Polvica, a lamentable case; five: Pasquale Baffi, professor -of dead languages, for which he will soon be literally qualified; six: -Gennaro Serra di Cassano, a very pretty young gentleman, late released -from confinement—but it is sometimes policy to spare the cub, if one -would learn the way to the dam; seven:—but, ’tis enough, madam: those -six will vindicate you.” -</p> - -<p> -“You are welcome to them, monsieur,” I said, “if only you would -exchange against them all my dear, indispensable Gogo.” -</p> - -<p> -At which, as usual, he shook his head, tightening his lips. -</p> - -<p> -“A bond of sentiment. You are better apart.” -</p> - -<p> -“At least you might acquaint me where he is?” -</p> - -<p> -“As to that, he is very safe and well cared for.” -</p> - -<p> -“In prison?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nominally—nominally, <i>ma belle</i>. But, observe—so are you, you know. -What then? There are prisons and prisons.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, if he is as well off as I?” I sighed. And, indeed, the -assurance was a wonderful comfort to me. -</p> - -<p> -As a matter of course he kept me constantly informed—though I never -questioned him—as to the career of the Pissanis, the head and front -of all offending. -</p> - -<p> -“Signor Nicola is our bell-wether,” he would say. “We have hung a -little invisible cymbal about his neck, which has the strange quality -of sounding only to us. O, we police are the latter-day fairies, -believe me! All unconsciously to himself, he calls the flock about -him; and we—we have nothing to do but keep count of them, till the -season of the butcher arrives. Then we shall see. I shall want, -perhaps, all the fingers of my own hands, and of yours too—my God, a -dainty tally! And madam, you ask—though your lips do not move? It is -very laughable, take my word. At once, since her marriage, the dear -little frog emulates the bull. O, fie, fie! Madam misreads me. Such a -scandal! I would say only that it has inoculated her with her -husband’s ambition; that she is become an enthusiast in the cause, -attending meetings, distributing tracts, haranguing multitudes in her -sweet round voice, that is like pelting giants with sugar-plums. Yes, -as madam implies, it is marvellous. What will not love do? But for me, -I am susceptible: I adore all beauty. I could wish the poor child -another embrace than the hangman’s.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, sir,” I answered, “you will have occasion, perhaps, to offer -her the alternative.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, fie!” he said. “Is not my heart engaged immutably? Otherwise—who -knows? It is a sad world.” -</p> - -<p> -It was a very dark and bitter one to me from the moment of his -revelations. So, she could be independent of me, and happy in her -independence! What a world of hypocrisy and double-dealing was exposed -in this her easy repudiation of my claims upon her! During all these -years that I had counted her my slave, she had been nursing her -schemes of treachery—been manœuvring, probably, to make me the -instrument of her conveyance to her lover’s arms. And now, no doubt, -they were laughing over their outwitting of me. Well, who laughs last -laughs best. -</p> - -<p> -One day I had a notable visit. Two ladies, walking through the -grounds, came upon me where I was seated in a grove of myrtle. One was -Lady Hamilton, very great and gorgeous in a shell-shaped hat <i>de -sparterie</i>, trimmed with butterflies and a violet ribbon knotted under -one ear; while the other, whom I did not know, a dowdy, ignoble old -figure with watery eyes, wore a plain <i>fichu-chemise</i>, and an immense -bonnet with a veil thrown back over it. They both stopped upon seeing -me, and Lady Hamilton beckoned. I rose, advanced, and curtsied. -</p> - -<p> -“Here, your Majesty,” said my friend, “is the very person herself.” -</p> - -<p> -Her Majesty! I paled and trembled; then ventured a glance from under -my lashes. Sure I was not to blame for my remissness. I vow I could -have thought my lady had brought her monthly nurse with her for an -airing in the country. The poor woman looked steeped in caudle, flocky -with child-beds, and no wonder. In some two dozen years out of her -forty-five or so she had borne near as many children. She had prayed -for an heir, and Heaven had sent her a tempest. The eternal lyings-in -had soured her temper, which was not further improved by neuralgia and -opium. Nursing, as she did, outside her litter, a perpetual ambition -to wear the breeches of government, it had been characteristically -mean of her husband to adopt this method to correct it. Yet, in spite -of all she had borne both from and to her lord, her vigour remained -unquenchable. Indeed, in a kingdom which annually abandoned some -twenty-five thousand babies to the foundlings, a child was the -cheapest present one could make to one’s favourite of the moment. Yet, -as I saw her now, she was the farthest from imposing or attractive. -Her legs were short, and her upper lip so long that her nose stood -nearer her forehead than her chin, on the former of which she wore a -single fat curl like a clock-spring. She put a hand to it two or three -times, before she addressed me, very quick and hoarse, in French. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Maria! Mais elle fait une bonne mine à mauvais jeu!</i> Come hither, -child. So this is our redoubtable little <i>moucharde</i>? We have need of -her in these days of the devil’s advocacy.” -</p> - -<p> -Her eyes looked injected; her flabby face puckered at the temples like -yellow milk skin. As I approached, she turned away in evident pain. -Lady Hamilton was all effusive attentions at once. She waved me to -stop, and supported her friend to the seat I had just occupied, -commiserating, explaining, and fondling in one. -</p> - -<p> -“O, my darling queen! It is the neuralgia that worries my sweet like a -dog. Lean on your Emma. Have you nothing, child—no salts, no drops?” -</p> - -<p> -I fetched a certain vinaigrette from my pocket, and bending before the -royal knees, snapped the stopper once or twice under the royal nose. -The effect was instantaneous. An expression of maudlin relief -succeeded to the strain. She lay breathing peacefully, with a smile on -her lips, until, after some minutes, she aroused herself with a sigh. -</p> - -<p> -“What was it, then? It is a Circe, with her witch’s face and her -potions!” -</p> - -<p> -But this was to trespass on the other’s domain. -</p> - -<p> -“Give it to me, if you please,” said Mrs. Hart coldly. “Her Majesty -would prefer to take it from my hand.” -</p> - -<p> -I returned it quietly to my pocket. -</p> - -<p> -“Nay, madam,” I said; “it is a remedy that must not be repeated.” -</p> - -<p> -She looked at me astounded; then broke into a forced laugh. “Hey-day! -We are pretty absolute, are we not?” But the queen, grown suddenly -very affable and communicative, put her aside with a hand which she -laid upon my arm— -</p> - -<p> -“We will not quarrel with our physician. She knows what she knows. -Moreover, for all her long exile and the little errors which she has -redeemed, she is of the great nation which we love. Is it not so, -child? and hast thou heard what are the best and latest news? None -other than that thy glorious captain, the supreme Nelson, has within -the last few days annihilated the French fleet at Aboukir! Ah! that -rose is from thy heart. It speaks the proud blood, the red rose of -England, mantling above all foolish sophistries. Thou canst not but -rejoice with us in the destruction of the enemies of thy race—of all -the world!” -</p> - -<p> -And then she and the other began a little litany of excommunication:— -</p> - -<p> -“Dogs and assassins!” -</p> - -<p> -“Despoilers of churches and women!” -</p> - -<p> -“Hordes of anti-Christ vomited from hell!” -</p> - -<p> -“Scum and rabble of an infamous democracy!” -</p> - -<p> -“Monsters of sacrilege!” -</p> - -<p> -“Cowards curst of God!” -</p> - -<p> -“Whom to slay is righteousness!” -</p> - -<p> -“To whom to give quarter is deadly sin!” -</p> - -<p> -“Subverters of all order and decency!” -</p> - -<p> -“The devil hang the lot!” said Lady Hamilton. -</p> - -<p> -The queen rose, quite refreshed and reinvigorated. Suddenly she was -holding me with a piercing look. Craft and villainy peeped out of her -little inflamed eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“I come to put a question to you, madam,” she said. “There is a lady -of our retinue—the Signora de Fonseca Pimentel. Your correspondence -contains no proof of her disloyalty to us?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, madam, or I should have informed M. de’ Medici,” I answered, in a -faint terror; but rallied immediately. “I know only that she is in -communication with the Signor Carafa since his escape.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ha!” -</p> - -<p> -The red eyes of the ferret closed a moment, then reopened to an -ineffable smile. She held out her hand to me to kiss. -</p> - -<p> -“We find you an invaluable physician, Madame Lavasse. To have eased a -poor queen—it is something; but to cure this land of its headache”— -</p> - -<p> -“Ah, madam!” I said, “there I yield to the hangman.” -</p> - -<p> -Both ladies burst out laughing as they moved away. The queen turned -and waved her hand. -</p> - -<p> -“You shall not be forgotten,” she cried; and I curtsied. -</p> - -<p> -A few days later M. de’ Medici called upon me. He read out a little -indictment he had prepared for my behoof— -</p> - -<p> -“Eleonora de Fonseca Pimentel, wife to Pasquale Tria de Solis, -Neapolitan officer, noble, now deceased: emotional; authoress of some -panegyrical sonnets to royalty and the age of gold; since suspect of -schemes for the education of the populace; shows a partiality for red; -advocates an appropriation of the Punch and Judy shows to the lessons -of national virtue; claims the liberty of the press to print her -halting rhapsodies;” (Monstrous!) “imputed sympathiser with Ettore -Carafa (son to the Duke of Andria, the king’s major-domo, and to the -duchess, Her Majesty’s mistress of the robes) in said Ettore’s late -conspiracy to print and distribute an Italian version of the ‘Rights -of Man,’ which conspiracy resulted in the execution of some companion -malignants, and the escape from Naples of said Ettore; finally, -convicted of corresponding with said fugitive, to the end of His -Majesty’s overthrow and the subversion of his government!” -</p> - -<p> -“Not convicted, M. de’ Medici.” -</p> - -<p> -“That is all one, most beautiful,” said the chief of police, folding -his paper. “Madame Lavasse’s word is as good as her bond.” -</p> - -<p> -Within a week the Pimentel was lodged in the prison of the Vicaria. -</p> - -<p> -That was in October; and thenceforward things moved fast, though -scarce quick enough for me, who was beginning to beat my wings against -the gilded bars of my cage. For what was all the national excitement -to me but a means to my personal vengeance? And I feared, feared that -while I lay aside for others’ use, my prey would find a means to -escape me. -</p> - -<p> -On the 22nd of September I had heard the guns of the citadels down -below in the bay welcoming Nelson’s arrival. The sound shook every -nerve in my restless heart, so that I could hardly eat or sleep that -night; and I laughed myself into hysterics over my little maid -Martita’s description of how Madame l’Ambassadrice d’Angleterre had -flown up the side of the <i>Vanguard</i>, and cast herself upon the breast -of her hero, who was a very little man, and quite unable to support so -much emotion. -</p> - -<p> -Still, thereafter, as day by day drums beat, and recruits were -gathered, and men hanged themselves to avoid serving, and the English -admiral was urging upon the poor fat, wind-blown king one of three -alternatives: To advance upon the French, and conquer; to die sword in -hand; or to remain and be kicked out—while all Naples was seething -and roaring in a vortex about my garden, the garden itself remained -silent and empty, an island in the midst of a whirlpool. -</p> - -<p> -But at last His Majesty <i>did</i> set out, and reaching actually as far as -Rome, while the republican general Championnet was falling back for a -spring, blustered naughtily for a little, killing a few Jews, -threatening the wounded enemy in the hospitals, committing to sack and -pillage the very sacred city he had come to relieve, and finally, upon -the approach of the concentrated French, deserting his demoralised -army, and pelting back, with all the might of his perspiring legs, to -where?—why, to Caserta. -</p> - -<p> -It was evening of the 19th of December, and a thunderstorm, to terrify -one to death in that desolate park, had broken over the town. All the -imprisoned electricity of months past seemed to me, as I stood -fascinated at an upper window of the Casino, to have torn itself free, -and to be hunting in and out of the trees for fugitives from its fury. -Far away and below the thousand eyes of the palace shut sickly to each -blaze, and blinked and were staring frightened again in the crash that -followed. The hand of an incensed God bent the proud necks of the -trees, and His wrath drove a roar of leaves and twigs criss-cross -about the alleys. It was the anarchy beginning. -</p> - -<p> -In the midst I saw two figures, cloaked and dusk, butt their way to -the door below; and a moment later Martita summoned me to receive -messengers from the palace. I went down, and found two officers, pale -and glaring, awaiting me in the parlour. The rain dripped from their -unbonneted locks; their hands were restless with their hats and -sword-hilts. I curtsied in wonder; and the elder, with a shaky, -conciliatory smile, addressed me. -</p> - -<p> -“You will pardon this intrusion, madam. The occasion is our excuse. -You have in your possession some charm, some restorative, by which Her -Majesty the queen has already greatly benefited?” -</p> - -<p> -“Assuredly, monsieur. It is in my pocket now.” -</p> - -<p> -“It is much needed at the moment. You will vouchsafe us the loan?” -</p> - -<p> -“You must forgive me, monsieur. Its virtue is incommunicable save by -the possessor.” -</p> - -<p> -“That is so? Then will madam, perhaps, administer it in person?” -</p> - -<p> -“To whom, monsieur? Monsieur will consider the night.” -</p> - -<p> -“Alas, madam! But to assure that this night shall not be endless—that -the sun of our hopes be not extinguished for ever?” -</p> - -<p> -“Pray, sir, have mercy on me. To whom do you allude?” -</p> - -<p> -“To His Majesty—no less.” -</p> - -<p> -“The king?” -</p> - -<p> -“He has but now ridden—been driven, would be truer—from Albano. For -the moment everything seems lost. Ferdinand is at the last extreme of -exhaustion and agitation. Madam will come to quiet him?” -</p> - -<p> -“I will come, monsieur.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! <i>Dio mercè! Questo benefizio è una grande grazia.</i>” -</p> - -<p> -We set out without delay. My companions took each an arm of me, -laughing very gallant scorn of the lightning and my fright thereat. -Between them, however, they bruised my poor shoulders horribly, in -their instinctive efforts to come together and clutch one another -whenever the thunder slammed. -</p> - -<p> -I was so dazed with the rain and uproar that I had little wit left me -to note my surroundings as they hurried me, blown and breathless, up a -flight of steps into a great hall, blazing with lights, thronged with -confusion. Courtiers, nobles, mud-stained soldiers; weeping women, -frightened maids—here they stood in gabbling, gesticulating groups, -which were constantly detaching and discharging units into other -groups, the whole contributing to a sum of frenzy which swayed the -candle-flames. And throughout, threading the frantic maze, went scared -pages and lackeys; all, from captain to scullion, looking for orders, -and receiving none. -</p> - -<p> -There were a few whispers, a few who observed and remarked upon me, as -my conductors forced me through the press, crying a passage to the -royal closet. -</p> - -<p> -“It is the beautiful English witch! <i>O, quanti vezzi!</i> They are going -to try to cure him like King David!” -</p> - -<p> -The opening and swinging-to of a door; as instant a muffling of the -tumult; the peace of a lofty anteroom, padded with thick carpets; a -muttered challenge, a muttered answer; the passage of a further -portal—and I was in the royal presence. -</p> - -<p> -Now, all my life I have had to battle with a fatal sense of humour. I -will simply undertake to relate the test to which it was here put. -</p> - -<p> -The room, shut away from all disturbance, was brilliantly lighted. In -the midst, at a gorgeous escritoire, sat a secretary in black, biting -a pen. Hard by stood a staff officer—in a glittering uniform, but -sopped and mud-splashed—who incessantly, with a white, nervous hand, -turned down and bit at his moustache, making a motion with his lips as -if he were talking to himself. The two all the time followed with -their eyes the movements of a third figure, the only other in the -room, which went to and fro, up and down, in a sort of tripping dance, -gabbling an eternal accompaniment the while to its own <i>chassé</i>, and -at odd moments ringing a little gilt bell which it carried in its -hand. This in itself, to be sure, was sufficiently remarkable; but O, -my friend, for the appearance of this eccentric, who indeed was no -other than the monarch himself. Cocked on the top of his large head -was a little tie-wig, which, for the last touch to disguise, he had -borrowed during his flight from the Duke of Ascoli, after exchanging -clothes with that peer, who was a much smaller man. The effect may be -imagined. His Majesty’s breeches’ ends were half-way up his thighs; -his waistcoat was a mere rope under his arm-pits; his coat-tails stuck -apart from the small of his back like ill-fitting wing-cases. Add to -this that he was pinned all over with holy pictures, and hung with -reliquaries and medals like a mountebank at a fair, and the picture is -complete. -</p> - -<p> -The lightning penetrated the ruddy blinds with no more than the silent -flicker of a ghost; but no glass could muffle the shattering reports -of the thunder, at every clap of which His Majesty whinnied and -crossed himself— -</p> - -<p> -“O Lord, spare Thine anointed! Beloved saints, be particular to point -out to Him where I am!” (ring). “This, you must know, is not my usual -cabinet; but I will withdraw to my own, if you desire it, though it is -in the hands of the decorators. There!—O!—San Gennaro, protect me! -Caution our Master of the risk of striking among the chimneys, lest -the levin brand, following a wrong course, enter this room instead of -another, and destroy me in mistake for a lesser man” (ring). “<i>Dio non -vóglia!</i> O, saints! I believe I am struck! No, it is my breeches -splitting. But they are Ascoli’s. Make no mistake, Lord. I am not -Ascoli. Take the breeches, but spare the king!” -</p> - -<p> -He shut his ears distracted to a louder boom, and immediately was off -again at a tangent— -</p> - -<p> -“O Lady of Loretto, plead for thy servant!” (crash). “<i>Mea maxima -culpa</i>—I will confess—if your Majesty will condescend to keep it to -yourself—I am really a stupid man” (loud ring)—“well meaning, holy -mother; well meaning, San Gennaro, but dull, as kings go, and -surrounded by greater fools than myself. I have been seventeen times a -father” (ring)—“at least” (loud ring), “and only once a husband” -(groan). “Fool though I be, I have propagated my race for the glory of -Holy Mother Church—and the confusion of the learned, her enemies. For -the sake of my family, Madonna, succour me!” -</p> - -<p> -He chattered so loud, racing up and down all the time, that I could -hear his every word where I stood, awaiting events, by the door. Once, -in a lull of the storm, he swooped round my way, and, suddenly -becoming aware of me, stopped as if petrified, then rattled out, in a -thick, gulping voice— -</p> - -<p> -“Do you know who I am, madam? Do you know who I am?” -</p> - -<p> -I curtsied profoundly. -</p> - -<p> -“Sire,” I murmured, “—such a little cloud—to hide the sun of -Majesty!” -</p> - -<p> -He stared at me, and down at himself. “I am the king,” he muttered; -“is it not so?” -</p> - -<p> -The officer hurried to him, and whispered in his ear. -</p> - -<p> -“Eh!” he exclaimed, “my wife’s physician? You find me very distraught, -madam, very overtasked. I am so constituted I never could abide -thunder”—and he was off again. -</p> - -<p> -“Monsieur,” I whispered, “if we could get him prostrated on a sofa.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” replied the officer, “for myself, it would be madness. But -you—you are beautiful—you may dare.” -</p> - -<p> -I did not hesitate, but, stealing catlike to a couch, took the -opportunity of His Majesty’s passing to seize him by his wing-cases, -and with such effect that in a moment he was sprawling on his back on -the cushions, with his legs in the air. Then, before he could protest -or avoid me, I had clapped the duck-stone to his nostrils. Instantly -the convulsion of his limbs relaxed, and a great sigh heaved itself -out of his depths. His wig had tumbled off; his brows were dark over -goggle eyes; he had a long, aquiline nose falling to a slack jaw. -Imagine all this revealing itself in an expression of the most perfect -contentment and idiocy. -</p> - -<p> -The soldier tiptoed across, and looked down scared. -</p> - -<p> -“God in heaven, madam!” he whispered, “what have you done to His -Majesty? He is not himself.” -</p> - -<p> -“Pardon me, monsieur,” I said; “never so much so.” -</p> - -<p> -He came round in about ten minutes, and gazed at me in a sort of -affectionate beatitude. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Dio mercè!</i>” he murmured; “I dreamt I was in purgatory, and awake -to find myself in paradise. Another dose—one more.” -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head. -</p> - -<p> -“Enough is as good as a feast.” -</p> - -<p> -“I will give thee a fortune for thy talisman.” -</p> - -<p> -“Its virtue lies in myself.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! Then the casket must be mine too.” -</p> - -<p> -He sat up suddenly, all rumpled, and bellowed out in a thick, slurred -voice,— -</p> - -<p> -“Away, dolts and rapscallions! What! are you prying and listening?” -</p> - -<p> -The secretary hurried to the door, and disappeared. The officer -lingered only to protest— -</p> - -<p> -“Affairs of urgency, sire”— -</p> - -<p> -“Pooh!” said the king. “I am attending to them.” -</p> - -<p> -I drew away. -</p> - -<p> -“Pardon me, sire”—I began, when a clap of thunder rattled the glass. -His Majesty ran at me whimpering— -</p> - -<p> -“You think to leave me? No, no, madam. I am but half recovered yet. I -must be watched, or I shall die. For yourself, you are as safe as in a -convent.” -</p> - -<p> -He drew himself up, and endeavoured to thrust his hand into the breast -of his waistcoat; but not finding any, caught at his braces instead. -</p> - -<p> -“Though all else be lost to Ferdinand, honour remains.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch28"> -XXVIII.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I RETURN TO NAPLES</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">What</span> a business I had with that father of babies—himself the -greatest baby of all! He would not let me leave him, but took my wits -to physic his irresolution as my duck-stone his nerves. As the night -sped darker and wilder, bringing distracted generals and ministers, -who, desperate to gather some clew out of chaos, would not be denied, -he clung ever closer to my presence beside him, goggling at me mutely -when faced by a poser, and laughing and applauding hysterically when I -supplied an answer to it. -</p> - -<p> -At last a cry rose in the palace that the French were got between Rome -and Naples, with only General Mack at Capua a little north of us to -oppose them. -</p> - -<p> -“He is not to be trusted,” cried poor Ferdinand, wringing his hands. -“He will sit down there and do nothing! Besides, I am not at war with -France!” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>He</i> is not everything,” I answered, ignoring the other fatuous -pretence. “Quick, now, and light a fire between!” -</p> - -<p> -“A fire!” said he, aghast. -</p> - -<p> -“To be sure,” said I—“the fire of a crusade. Call upon the whole -population north of us to fly to arms and exterminate the impious -invaders. Declare you are coming to their help, and bid them strive -their utmost in the meantime. It may be, in such a war of bigotry, -your peasants will do your chief work for you, leaving you no task but -to come presently and kill the wounded.” -</p> - -<p> -“But,” cried the king disconsolately, “they must know too well already -that I have run a—that I have thought it best to retire!” -</p> - -<p> -“Date your manifesto from Rome, sire, and it will give the lie -to—ahem! the truth. Quick! we will compose it together; and within an -hour you can have it flying north, east, and west.” -</p> - -<p> -He liked the idea. That thought of being reserved to give the -unhazardous <i>coup de grâce</i> tickled him sensibly. But, though we -acted upon it with all despatch, it was helpless to still the rumour -of coming disaster. The report of the king’s flight and of the army’s -demoralisation were too well confirmed. Hordes of robbers and -cut-throats rose, it is true, at the word; swarms that committed -woeful deeds of plunder and outrage and massacre, making the smiling -campagna a hell. But these were without concentration or discipline, -and as ready, when the lust had bitten in, to torture Italians as -French. -</p> - -<p> -And, in the meanwhile, courier after courier, racing to the palace -with distorted legends, finished the last self-control of the king, -and drove him near morning to order out his carriage for Naples. -</p> - -<p> -Even then, as he went thundering by the dark fields and long -glimmerings of the dawn, I was beside him. He would not part with -me—with “his councillor, his dear little nurse”—but lavished upon me -the wildest eulogies, the most reckless promises, while entreating me -all the time to sit tight against him, for his better sense of -security in the event of his dosing. And when he <i>did</i> dose, and fell -upon me—good Lord! it was a nightmare, like having a mattress for a -quilt, and with a voice! If his nod had failed to shake Olympus, his -snore might have uprooted it. -</p> - -<p> -Long before we reached the capital, the signs of a coming anarchy were -increasing about us most wild and threatening. Swarms of excited -countryfolk; strings of hard-driven carts loaded with household -furniture, shedding a tithe of their contents, to be crashed over or -spun aside by other pursuing wheels; haggard soldiers sobbing -children; cries, threats, <i>vivas</i>, furious banter—all went sweeping -in one flurry of uproar and motion towards the gates. Sometimes, when -we were recognised, it would be to a shout of jubilation: “<i>Ohi! O me -beato!</i> It is our king, our father, come to tell us the devils are -singed and scattered!” Sometimes it was to a vision of black menace, -that surged up, and showed a moment at the windows, and dropped behind -in a wake of curses; more often it was to evoke a scattering volley of -laughter, that broke into a regular sing-song refrain: “<i>Venne, vide e -fuggì, venne, vide e fuggì!</i> He came, he saw, he fled! Way for -Cæsar, way for Cæsar, who marches for Rome hind-first!” The -frightened, sweating postilions scourged their sweating cattle, -struggling to escape these gadflies, who nevertheless only clung and -stung and sung the thicker. But at last we won through, and were in -the city, and whipping for the royal palace through denser agitated -crowds, which still, through a prescriptive respect, offered no -effective bar to our progress. -</p> - -<p> -I will not say but that throughout this ordeal my blood did not come -and go the quicker. I will swear, at the same time, that I was always -more exhilarated than terrified. To be quit of my weary exile; to find -myself in the thick of events once more; best, to know that I had won -to active co-operation in my revenge the most powerful instrument of -all—these, at least, were a sufficient offset to the perils I must -encounter in my race to realise them. And it ended to our credit, when -all had been said and sung. We reached in safety the Palazzo Reale, -where were being enacted, in a more massed and vehement form, the -scenes of Caserta. The king, holding to my hand, drove a way for us, -with kicks and curses, through the throng. -</p> - -<p> -“Her Majesty!” he yelled. -</p> - -<p> -She was in her apartments, to which he hurried me, scattering maids of -honour like fowls. He shut the door upon her and me and himself alone. -</p> - -<p> -“My love!” he said. -</p> - -<p> -She was in like pass with himself. She was going up and down, -muttering entreaties to the saints, her stays stuck full of prayers -and pious ejaculations writ on scraps of paper. Every now and again -she would pluck out one of these in a spasm, dip it in a plate of -broth that stood on a table, and swallow it. -</p> - -<p> -“My soul!” murmured the king. -</p> - -<p> -She noticed us all in a moment, and stopped dead. -</p> - -<p> -“Who are you?” she demanded witheringly. -</p> - -<p> -“Angel of my heart, don’t you know your lord?” -</p> - -<p> -She advanced quickly, and whipped him this way and that. He was still -in Ascoli’s clothes. -</p> - -<p> -“Is this all they have left of you, you poor rag of royalty?” -</p> - -<p> -He tried a little bluster. -</p> - -<p> -“How now, madam! I adopted it for a disguise.” -</p> - -<p> -“What!” she said, “by revealing yourself? I should have thought that -one exposure had been enough.” -</p> - -<p> -“Hush!” he said, perspiring; “there is a witness.” -</p> - -<p> -“One!” she cried; “the whole nation!” and she left him for me. -</p> - -<p> -“What do <i>you</i> do here?” she demanded. -</p> - -<p> -The king put in a word. -</p> - -<p> -“I bring you your physician, madam—our physician. If it had not been -for her, your Ferdinando would have lost his mind.” -</p> - -<p> -“Better that than his kingdom,” she answered bitterly, and stood -scowling on me. “I understand, madam, I understand. I called you -Circe, and not, it seems, without excellent reason.” -</p> - -<p> -“I was persuaded, madam,” I said, raising my head. “My honour is as -precious to me as your Majesty’s. If you have no further use for me, I -beg your permission to withdraw.” -</p> - -<p> -At which, if you will believe me, this stormy queen ran to a chair, -and flinging herself down on it, began to weep violently. -</p> - -<p> -“I am deserted of all,” she cried; “in the hour of my tribulation they -all forsake and disown me.” -</p> - -<p> -The king skipped to her and fell on his knees before. -</p> - -<p> -“My soul,” he wept, “all is not yet lost. General Mack”— -</p> - -<p> -“General post,” she snapped. “What do you know of your own city, or of -the anarchy that reigns in it? It only needed this spark to the mine. -All <i>is</i> lost, I tell you. They are clamouring for a republic. We -shall be sacrificed like the King of France and my sister to the fury -of the Jacobins—I feel the knife at my neck—O! O!” -</p> - -<p> -She rose in a frenzy of horror, shuffling her billets like cards to -find a trump. “Gennaro, Valentino, Jeromio?” she whispered tearfully, -and ended by making a sippet of the hermit. He was old and a -misogynist. It was evident for some moments that he disagreed with -her. -</p> - -<p> -“Nothing remains to us,” she said at last, with a wry gulp, “but -flight. We have foreseen it for days. For days, while you have been -playing with tin trumpets, we have been transferring our royal effects -to the ships: pictures, plate, jewels; the specie from the banks; the -last soldi from the treasury. We have seen to everything, I and my -sweet darling Emma, my only, truest, and best of friends. Nelson but -awaits our signal to take us on board. You must give it him, at once, -for this night, do you hear?” -</p> - -<p> -“I will send a message by Ferreri,” said the king, rising, with a face -as scared now as her own. “I will send Ferreri at once,” and he -skipped to leave the room. -</p> - -<p> -“Stay!” she cried, in agitation. “Be sure to bind him to the last -privacy.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, poor me!” said the king, with a spasm of a smile. “Must I then -cheat my excise by smuggling my own orders through?” -</p> - -<p> -“It is no time for fooling,” cried his angry spouse. “My God! do you -not understand? Whether our plan should be suspected by Lazzari or -Jacobins, the result would be the same. To the one it would mean -desertion; to the other escape. They would combine at least to -frustrate it.” -</p> - -<p> -He stared, nodded sagely, and this time stole away on tiptoe, so that -the Lazzari in the square should not hear him, I suppose. I was -following, when the queen stopped me. Her expression in the act had -fallen a little piteous, like that of a smiling saint sitting on -spikes. -</p> - -<p> -“Has Circe, then, no ministrations for the anguished of her own sex?” -she asked. -</p> - -<p> -I hurried to her. “O, madam!” I cried, “if I might serve <i>you</i> alone!” -</p> - -<p> -Nevertheless, the whole present prospect dismayed me. Whither was it -their scheme to remove the court, and for how long? and in the -meantime, what Government was to represent it? I had immutably ranged -myself against my former party, burning my boats behind me. What, now, -if that party were to triumph, as I had already seen it triumph wholly -and tragically elsewhere? The tables of vengeance would be a trifle -turned, I thought. -</p> - -<p> -However, I gained some reassurance on this point from de’ Medici, upon -whom, in the midst of a distracted rush and scurry, I stumbled in the -course of the afternoon. -</p> - -<p> -“Hush!” he replied to my question. “Whisper it not in Gath. You are -indiscreet, most beautiful. Listen: <i>if</i> we go, it will be but as a -fowler withdraws from his nets, that the foolish birds may fly more -confident into the lure.” -</p> - -<p> -<i>If</i> we go! An event which happened in the morning resolved that -question for ever. Ferreri, the poor courier, was hardly sent on his -message (luckily a verbal one) when the suspecting mob fell upon him, -dragged him all torn and bleeding to the palace square, and there, -with savage cries: “A spy! a Jacobin spy,” despatched him with their -knives before the very eyes of the king, whom they had insisted should -be witness to this proof of their loyalty. The poor monarch tottered -back aghast into our midst; and from that moment the end was sure. -</p> - -<p> -As the day waned, the confusion in the palace waxed indescribable. -Tendency, no doubt, there was in the seeming chaos: I, as a stranger, -could do no more than commit myself blindly to the stream, resolved in -one matter alone—that I would not remain stranded and left behind. -All questions of precedence but in flight—of etiquette, of privacy -even—were blown to the winds. We were become a mere commonwealth of -terror. Great ladies issued puffing and lumbering from their -apartments, their arms loaded with goods and dresses, which they -tripped over like clowns as they ran; nervous warriors got entangled -in their swords, and lay gasping on their backs like dying fish. I -never laughed so much or so hysterically in my life. With all but the -almighty family itself it was <i>sauve qui peut</i>; and I was beginning to -formulate my own desperate plans, when de’ Medici whispered quick in -my ear— -</p> - -<p> -“Follow me without seeming to!” -</p> - -<p> -It had been impossible in that frantic crowd, had not my wits already -noted his every trick and mannerism. Fortunate in being utterly -unencumbered, I pursued the shadow. It led me by intricate ways, out -of the light into darkness, out of the tumult into silence, by a back -passage through the arsenal, and so down to the waterside, where a -little boat with dusk figures was waiting. Without ceremony we tumbled -in, and sat panting. -</p> - -<p> -“Any more?” said a voice in my own good English tongue. -</p> - -<p> -De’ Medici answered in the negative. -</p> - -<p> -“Give way, men!” cried the officer sharply. -</p> - -<p> -In an instant we were speeding for the bay. The lights quivered and -shrunk behind us; the uproar attenuated, and was drawn out to a -murmur. Yard by yard there swelled up before our eyes vast -ribbon-girded bulks, that rocked lazily on the tide, tracing intricate -patterns with their masts among the stars. To one of these, the -greatest, we galloped, and came round with a surge and hollow lap of -water under its quarter. The next moment we were aboard the -<i>Vanguard</i>. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch29"> -XXIX.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I STILL KNOW HOW TO WAIT</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">I sing</span> Palermo, “<i>la felice</i>,” the languorous, the sunny, the lotus -island to all shipwrecked mariners. O, those five days in the gulf!—a -hundred hours in which to think of nothing but one’s crimes, and one’s -mistake, saving the sinfulness, in not having been born a mermaid. I -declare I was not ill myself, except in the illness of others; but to -hear the groaning of the ship’s ribs mimicked a hundredfold by the -straining ribs of my companions was an eternal bone in my throat. As a -canary sings the louder the more we talk, so, as the ship talked, the -more fervent rose all round the chaunt of suffering— -</p> - -<p> -“O, San Gennaro, grant it passage! O, Santa Maria, I can give no more; -you have it all! Father of pity, I am like a squeezed wineskin!” -</p> - -<p> -Then, perhaps, from Lady Hamilton, mistaking, in her prostration, the -steward for the admiral: “O, my dear lord! though I cannot rise to -thank you, believe me that for all you have done my heart goes out to -you.” To which the honest sailor would respond, “Give it went, mum, -and take the basin.” -</p> - -<p> -In truth it seemed the stars fought against us with the sea. The -<i>Vanguard</i> itself was none too big a vessel. She was what they call, I -believe, a seventy-four with two tiers of guns—not a first-rater. I -saw her commander sometimes, in the glimpses of the moon. He was not -utterly impervious himself to the calls of the deep. His right arm was -gone, and the sleeve pinned to his breast. He had a gentle, sober -face, blind of one eye, and the scar of a late healed wound on his -forehead. Casually met, I should have taken him for a little mild -professor, who had once said Bo to a goose and been well pecked for -his pains. -</p> - -<p> -We had weighed anchor on the 22nd, and at once run into baffling -winds. The day before, the king had received on board a deputation -mixed of the marine, the city, and representatives of the Lazzari, who -were all aghast to learn that His Majesty projected a withdrawal to -his Sicilian capital. He was very short with them. When facts should -reassure him of their loyalty, he said, he would return. In the -meantime, he left General Pignatelli (a poor bemused creature) as his -regent to restore order. He said nothing of his wholesale plunder of -the public funds, and was only in a perspiration to escape before it -should be discovered. Then he went below, having lighted and flung -ashore the brand which was to set the city blazing. -</p> - -<p> -And the following day we sailed for Palermo, in a vessel as full of -royal livestock as if it had been a training ship for kings. Besides -their Majesties, and as many of their progeny as they could recollect -at the moment, there were on board the ineffable Hamiltons; English -Acton, their minister and the queen’s lover; princes of the blood -Castelcicala and Belmonte, and a few others of condition. Amongst us -all, from the first, there was little affectation of state, and none -of stateliness. It was just a scurry and tumble—an encumbering mass -of royalty, in the thick of which the unhappy crew were hard put to it -to find quarters. One of the poor children even died of sickness; and -the queen screamed lamentations over it whenever she could recall its -name. -</p> - -<p> -At length, more dead than alive, we were all pitchforked ashore out of -a battered hulk, and carried piecemeal through the city to the old -fortified palace at its southernmost end, where, for the next seven -months, was to be enacted the royal intermezzo in the tragedy of -Naples. -</p> - -<p> -Those months passed livelily enough for me. The king, what time he -could spare from his hunting and fishing and the building of a new -country lodge, was quite my devoted servant, paying my gambling -debts—when it sometimes grew beyond my own power to liquidate -them—and assigning me the new post, fruit of his own incomparable -invention, of stillroom maid to his royal person. He was not really a -bad-hearted man; and, if he could only have accomplished his eternal -wish to be left alone, and not bothered while others were arranging -his affairs for him, would probably have resumed his Neapolitan -dominions without vindictive bloodshed, when the way was once paved -and swept level for him. -</p> - -<p> -We heeded little (I except, in one main question, myself) the volcanic -throes which were wrenching that doomed town across the water while we -feasted and played. While Lazzaro and Jacobin, each dominant in his -turn, were flushing the kennels with blood; while imperious Nelson, -now promoted to his <i>Foudroyant</i>, was circling and swooping on and -off, issuing edicts, arrogating to himself the lead, in infatuated -touch all the time with his substantial mistress; while the French -were planting the Tree of Liberty in the palace square, and giving -birth, amidst song and jubilation, to the new republic; while, -following their withdrawal, Cardinal Ruffo was descending, with his -brutish swarms, upon the fated walls, which he was destined to retake -in the king’s name, the king himself was absorbed in ombre or -lansquenet, chuckling over charades, playing practical jokes upon the -most reverend Spanish señors of the place, guzzling and drinking, and -in every lazy way luxuriating in an utter self-abandonment to -pleasure. -</p> - -<p> -And indeed, in that wine-soft climate, there were many temptations to -him as to us all. We were like Boccaccio’s company, forgathered out of -range of the plague, and telling stories to pass the time. The -similarity of our condition, in fact, gave me an idea. I set my wits -to work, and became a public <i>raconteuse</i>. I invented and told in -those days more tales than I can remember, but a selection from which -the curious may find included in my <i>Des Royautés Depouillées</i>, -first published in Paris in 1806. -</p> - -<p> -The series became so popular, that poor Mrs. Hart found her nose quite -put out of joint in the matter of her own contributions to the fund of -gaiety. She might flop and pose like the most enormous of Greek -goddesses; she might assail our ears with her voice, for she had still -the remains of a very handsome one; or our hearts with her faculty for -mimicry, which, being ill-natured, went deeper. Once my début was -made, she must be content to play second fiddle; and that did not suit -her at all. The result was a coldness towards me, which, by inevitable -process, led to my disgrace with herself and her royal mistress, and -my dependence, as much for my interests as my safety, upon the favour -of the king. The court, in fact, became divided into the party of -Diana and the party of Emma, and was much more concerned over our -rivalry than over the ultimate destinies of the kingdom. -</p> - -<p> -It mattered little to me, so long as I could keep the interest alive -until the moment when my vengeance on a certain couple should be a -<i>fait accompli</i>. That once executed, the two Sicilies, for all I -cared, might disappear under the sea. O, believe me that Nicola -Pissani did an ill thing when he loosed an insulted mistress on his -track! -</p> - -<p> -It is not to be supposed that throughout those idle months I had once -lost sight of my purpose, or had failed to inform myself, through de’ -Medici, of the real progress of events. And when at last the end came, -and Ruffo with his bloody Calabrians was master of the city, and the -republic had collapsed like a rotten hoarding, I prepared my hands for -their share of the price to be exacted, and laughed to think how great -a fool he had been who claimed to represent Reason by yielding his -soul to the passion of a foolish face. -</p> - -<p> -Now, at this end, Naples had become a shambles. Shot and fire and -sharp steel, butchery and festering wounds and starvation, had left of -the “patriot” hosts but a little mean swarm, that rotted out its -remnant life in the prisons, awaiting the holocaust. Pissani and all -his high hopes were scattered. The gods had no desire to be worshipped -by Reason, missing their perquisites, as this “long-legged Hebe” might -well at the first have assured Liberty’s apostles, if they had not -been at the pains to discard her. She had been in Paris; had seen -Reason sit in the churches; had heard the millennium proclaimed, and -Olympus echo laughter. And what had been the result? Not till the -temples of superstition were razed in all the lands, not till Reason -sat in the fields, would the first glimmer of that golden dawn appear. -This she knew from the table-talk whispers of the new race, which had -decreed the old Titan Nature a vulgarity, and, having overthrown it in -the common hearts of men, dreaded nothing but the destruction of the -countless schools of sophistry on which its own lease of dominion -depended. And I, who had preached, who had been ardent again to preach -their crusade against a detestable lie, had been insulted by these -wise reformers, and been driven back to pour headstrong wine to the -gods of rank desire, and help them to hold the world a market to their -passions! O, Pissani had done well indeed! -</p> - -<p> -And yet he was not among the captured. -</p> - -<p> -One day, near the finish, de’ Medici accosted me alone in the palace -gardens. It was mid-June, and the scent of roses was thick in the air. -I looked in his face, and, for all the warmth and fragrance, my heart -was winter. -</p> - -<p> -“He still baffles you, monsieur?” -</p> - -<p> -“Most beautiful, the man is a fox, or perhaps already a ghost.” -</p> - -<p> -“Go on. You have something else to say.” -</p> - -<p> -A stealthy smile creased his mouth. -</p> - -<p> -“Keen as thou art fair. Know, then, that his wife is in our hands.” -</p> - -<p> -“Again, go on,” I whispered. I could hardly breathe. -</p> - -<p> -“We found her like a little torn rat in a sewer—ragged, half -starved.” He gulped, and looked up with a pallid grin. “Have I not -deserved? It is the better half of the bargain. Vouchsafe me my reward -in advance.” -</p> - -<p> -I paid no heed to his question, asking him only— -</p> - -<p> -“Where is she?” -</p> - -<p> -“In the Carmine.” -</p> - -<p> -“And a hostage?” -</p> - -<p> -He shivered, and hung his head. -</p> - -<p> -“I understand you, madam,” he muttered. “But she is dumb to all our -questions, to all our threats.” -</p> - -<p> -I turned away with a laugh. -</p> - -<p> -“And you are a humane man, monsieur, and a susceptible. Well, it is -not for me to teach the inquisitor his trade.” -</p> - -<p> -“Understand,” I said, facing round once more, “that I cannot rest, or -live, or love, while this remains unaccomplished.” -</p> - -<p> -He did not answer; but, standing irresolute a moment, shrugged his -shoulders and left me. -</p> - -<p> -But I knew at last that the moment was near. -</p> - - -<p class="mt1"> -On the 22nd of that same month the penalties of rivalry were ended for -Lady Hamilton by the arrival, in the <i>Foudroyant</i>, of the Lord -Admiral, who came to transport his mistress to Naples, as Her -Majesty’s deputy in the latest Reign of Terror inaugurated in that -capital. -</p> - -<p> -A fortnight later the king himself, taking me with him as his simpler -and nerve-doctor, and leaving the amiable English Ambassador behind to -play dry-nurse to his queen in Palermo—followed in the <i>Sea Horse</i>, -which, after a short fair passage, anchored in the bay. Thence, rather -to my annoyance, we were transhipped no farther than to the -<i>Foudroyant</i>—his mightiness being timid for the moment of venturing -into his distracted city—and, there, were scarcely on board before my -services were called into requisition in an odd enough connection. -</p> - -<p> -The king—Nelson and his <i>cara sposa</i> being gone ashore—was looking -idly out seawards over the taffrail of the quarter-deck, and -chattering desultorily with members of his suite behind him, when he -broke off abruptly to stare under his palm at some object in the -water, which, first seen at a distance, grew rapidly nearer, drifting -with the tide upon the ship. Then, in an instant, he gave a hoarse -scream; and, seeing him pointing and articulating confusedly, we all -ran to the side, and followed with our eyes the direction of his hand. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Vátene!</i>” he shrieked: “<i>è Caracciolo!</i>” and he shuddered down, so -that nothing but his nose and goggle eyes were peeping over the -railing. -</p> - -<p> -I held my breath, staring fascinated, while the others echoed his cry: -“<i>Caracciolo! è Caracciolo! O me miserábile, Caracciolo!</i>” in a -dozen accents of terror. -</p> - -<p> -I had heard of the poor scapegoat admiral,<a href="#fn2b" id="fn2a">[2]</a> whom Nelson—always -bearing a grudge against him for his better seamanship—had caused ten -days before to be hanged with every refinement of savagery, and -afterwards flung into the water. Now risen, it seemed, from its first -sleep on the floor of the bay, the sopt and dreary spectre was come -riding to sear the eyeballs of the master, whom it had failed to serve -only through being deeper pledged to humanity. Fouling our hawser, the -body swung upright, bobbing and reeling as if it were treading water. -Its hair and long beard swayed on its cheeks; its dead stiff eyes -stared unwinking in the spray; its arms were flung wide, as if -inviting its destroyer to a mocking embrace. Turning a moment, it -drifted loose, and went dancing towards the shore, where the poor -fishermen of Santa Lucia, who had loved the man, were to find and give -it Christian burial. -</p> - -<p> -The king staggered back. -</p> - -<p> -“Mother of saints!” he sobbed, “what does the creature want?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sire,” whispered a voice, “he asks for a consecrated grave.” -</p> - -<p> -“Give it him, give it him!” gasped His Majesty, and signed to me to -follow him below, where, however, I was not long in laying his -“horrors.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Enfin, mon père</i>,” I said, “the man, by his appearance, was only -asking your forgiveness.” -</p> - -<p> -“Magnificent,” he answered, with a shaky laugh. “He was certainly in -need of it”—and he turned to me gratefully, but with a rather scared -look. -</p> - -<p> -“Little agent of Providence, if thou hast ever a poor friend thou -wouldst save in the dark time coming, ask of my Majesty’s mercy, and -it will listen. There may be some who err through the mind’s nobility. -Of that I know nothing; only—only, I would have something to balance -my possible mistakes.” -</p> - -<p> -It was true enough, though the blood-lust was not long in mastering -him, when once, without risk to himself, he could taste the spice of -vengeance. Even while he spoke the depleting of the gaols and -prison-ships was begun, and the hurried trials, and the false -testimony, and the hangings. And the wail of the thousand doomed was -already mingling itself in the streets with the roar of a grand State -lottery, when at last we could venture ashore and to safe quarters in -the reconsecrated palace. -</p> - -<p> -We were all triumphant then, or about to be. I remember the last night -we spent on the <i>Foudroyant</i>. It was a full moon; and, seated under an -awning on the upper deck, Lady Hamilton sang “Rule Britannia,” with a -cockney fervour which must have pierced reassuringly to the ears of -the poor wretches imprisoned behind the floating walls that surrounded -us. She was always so much more than equal to the occasion, was Emma. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch30"> -XXX.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I AM JUSTIFIED IN MY POLICY</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">It</span> was a dark and gusty night when I issued forth with de’ Medici -from a side door of the palace. -</p> - -<p> -“She is condemned,” he had whispered to me a minute earlier. -</p> - -<p> -A needle of ice had seemed to enter my heart. The question my lips -could not ask had flown to my eyes. Comprehending it, he had caught at -his throat and lolled out his tongue grotesquely. To the same dumb -inquisitors he had answered, as confidently as if I had spoken, -“To-morrow.” -</p> - -<p> -Then I had found my voice, as if after a fit of choking— -</p> - -<p> -“And she has not spoken?” -</p> - -<p> -“And she has not spoken.” -</p> - -<p> -He had hesitated, before suggesting deprecatingly, “There remains only -to make your appeal to her in person.” -</p> - -<p> -I had struck my hands together, hearing that. -</p> - -<p> -“You might have forced her, had you chosen. Now, leaving it to me, our -bargain is dissolved.” -</p> - -<p> -“Madonna, you will not so requite my faithful services?” -</p> - -<p> -“I will answer nothing till I have seen her.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then what time like now?” he had replied desperately, “when she sits -buried alive in the darkness, with the spectre of to-morrow whispering -in her ear.” -</p> - -<p> -“It is well spoken, then. I will go.” -</p> - -<p> -The town was so full of reek and passion, that, most in the low -quarters it was necessary for us to traverse, I doubt if I could have -survived without him. But he was too well known and feared to leave my -safety much in question. Then the Lazzari and their allies of the -conquering army were such sworn blood-brothers, that it needed never -more than the smallest bone of dispute to set either tearing at the -other’s throat, whereby a flying petticoat, circumnavigating both, was -able to avoid shipwreck between. Indeed, we had committed more than -one red scrimmage to our wake by the time we were arrived, breathless -but whole, at the door of the Carmine. -</p> - -<p> -A roar and drift of torches surged upon us from a side alley at the -moment that we reached our goal. Here was a wave of passion broken -from the main wastes, and bearing forward on its crest a single victim -to its fury, whom it seemed about to fling against the sullen walls of -the prison. He was a mere boy, and his face as white as wax. By the -door stood a Calabrese sentry, armed with a musket and a great sabre, -and a rose in his hand, the gift thorn and all of some amorous -<i>contadina</i>. As the boy was hurled up the steps, “Smell to this, poor -lad,” said he; “art faint?”—and he thrust the rose violently against -the victim’s nostrils. The poor wretch staggered back, uttering a -horrible scream, his face bathed in blood. There had been a long pin -concealed among the petals, which had stung him almost to the brain. I -am not sentimental, but I shall hope some day to be to that Calabrese -in the relation of Lazarus to Dives. The mob, however, roared laughter -over the jest, clapping their victim with a certain good-humour on the -back, as we were all carried together in a confused struggle up the -steps and into a vaulted stone hall beyond. -</p> - -<p> -This stronghold, massive and mediæval, had only lately been the scene -of the treacherous massacre of a patriot garrison, and its stones were -yet mapped and mottled with the story of the deed. And since, being -made a State butchery, without regard to accommodation or cleanliness, -from every carrion Jacobin, it seemed, had emerged a living swarm, -predestined children of the grave, who haunted the corridors with -unclean cries, and showed ghastly visions of wounds and suffering at -the grates as we hurried by. It was a catacomb, in whose rotting lanes -of stone walked a hundred vampires, gloating over their huddled pens -of victims. -</p> - -<p> -Typical of the worst was the gaoler who, at de’ Medici’s summons, had -risen to attend us. This was a creature, like an obscene lank bird, -who hopped before us chuckling and pecking forward with his long nose, -as if as he went he sought the corners for offal. At his waist jingled -a bunch of keys, and often he cracked, after the Italian habit, a -thong of leather with a lash which he carried in one hand, his other -being occupied in holding aloft a flaring taper. He led us by a -descending passage, so narrow and so low that the flame of his torch -made sooty blotches on the roof as he advanced, into a murmuring -drain, at whose termination he at length paused before a door sunk in -the wall. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Guái a lei</i>, Messer de’ Medici,” he chuckled, as, groping for the -lock, he leered round at us. “Wait till, having opened, I can block -the passage. There is another here besides our little bird.” -</p> - -<p> -“Another?” -</p> - -<p> -“Courage, most excellent; ’tis but half a man when all’s said. He was -a State prisoner in the Vicaria, until the mob released him with the -rest. Then he disappeared, God knew whither; but he was retaken, with -a few more, in the prisoner Pissani’s company. Well then, his day will -come, no doubt; and in the meantime, waiting orders, we keep them -caged together.” -</p> - -<p> -De’ Medici grunted, rubbing his chin, “I should have been told; but, -hurry, friend.” -</p> - -<p> -The man waved him back. -</p> - -<p> -“Let me entreat messer, in case of an attempt.” -</p> - -<p> -The chief withdrew a little. -</p> - -<p> -“Open, and come thou too,” said he. “Madam would speak alone with the -condemned.” -</p> - -<p> -The key grated in the lock; the creature flung wide the door. -</p> - -<p> -“Pissani!” cried he, on a sharp note; and that was all. -</p> - -<p> -Even as he retreated, having uttered his cry, she stood in the -opening. A dank and mortal odour came with her, a reel of filthy -darkness unbroken but by the dim splotch of a tiny grating, which, set -in the wall opposite, made an aureole behind her head as she stood. -</p> - -<p> -God of mercy! It was a spectre from which I shrunk in instinctive -loathing. Had it ever been one with beauty, and with me? Its very -tattered gown seemed fallen into harsh, lean folds. Love must have -trodden, not sat, in those hollow eyes, so to discolour and bury them. -It was a just retribution—the more providential in that so squalid a -vision sickened my heart from sympathy. -</p> - -<p> -Yet, to break this withered reed! It seemed a despicable task for my -strong hands. They must withhold a little, caress a little first, with -whatever reluctance to themselves. Nevertheless, I could not but be -conscious how forced and artificial rung the tenderness I sought to -convey into my voice. -</p> - -<p> -“Patty—Patty Grant! I have come to offer you life and liberty!” -</p> - -<p> -The tiny smile that broke then from her lips was my first earnest of -her reality. The sigh she gave was such as a dead sleeper might yield -to the dawn of Judgment. Yet she did not move, or come to me, or show -one sign of the collapse I had expected and calculated on. And, as the -light of the flaring taper fell upon her figure, a new hate and -loathing surged in me, so that the persuasiveness with which I sought -to dress my tones shivered into a mockery of itself— -</p> - -<p> -“Did you not expect me? Did you not know that I hold your life in my -hands?” -</p> - -<p> -“Else why should you have left me to come to this, Diana?” -</p> - -<p> -I shrunk back. What new knowledge of herself, or me, was implied in -the chords of that wasted voice? Yet she smiled still, like one waking -out of a frightful dream. -</p> - -<p> -“Is it not strange, Diana, this end to all we have known and -experienced together? Do you remember the sundial, and the old green -garden, and the nuns in the sleepy village? We are Englishwomen, after -all, Diana. I should like to rest in England.” -</p> - -<p> -“It lies with yourself,” I answered, half choking. “You have but to -speak—I tell you, it needs but a word from you, and all this false -sacrifice is passed by and forgotten.” -</p> - -<p> -Her eyes had been fixed on some vision beyond me. Now in a moment they -were scorching my soul. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” she said, “and the word?” -</p> - -<p> -The shame of its utterance should be mine, she meant. If I had shrunk -from the challenge, it would have been to discredit my claim to the -greater wrong. -</p> - -<p> -“Where your husband lies hidden?” I said, with a cold fury at my -heart. -</p> - -<p> -“God forgive you,” she answered only, and fell back. -</p> - -<p> -Her assumption of the holier strength, of the worser grievance, stung -me to madness. I leapt and clutched her by the wrist. -</p> - -<p> -“Fool!” I shrieked; “do you know what you are bringing on yourself? Do -you know how they will kill you? It is not, as in Paris, a shock, and -a sob, and forgetfulness. They will push you from a ladder, and one -will spring and swing himself by your feet, and another leap upon your -shoulders, and squat there like a hideous toad, making sport for the -crowd. And you will be minutes choking and dying, and not one to pity -or relieve you!” -</p> - -<p> -Her eyes had a smile of agony in them; but still it was a smile, and I -could have torn myself in my impotence to change it. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah, yes, one!” she said; “my little unborn baby.” -</p> - -<p> -I sprang back. -</p> - -<p> -“Wretch! Your obstinacy murders it!” -</p> - -<p> -“It gives its life for its father!” -</p> - -<p> -Without sound or warning, she sank at my feet, and lay motionless, her -white face turned upward. -</p> - -<p> -A harsh jest was uttered at my shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -“Bravo! It is so they always think to sport with our feelings. But we -have an infallible medicine”—and the gaoler, coming from behind me, -cut across the senseless face with his whip. -</p> - -<p> -With a roar, a figure bounded out of the darkness of the cell, and -whirling long arms about the beast, fell with and upon him, and -battered out his brains upon the stone floor. It all passed in a -moment; and in that moment I knew my lost monster again, gaunt and -foul and tattered, yet even in his wasted strength a god, and -glorious. Then against a coming tumult and scurry of feet I flung my -body. -</p> - -<p> -“Back!” I shrieked; “the king gives me a life! I claim his—do you -hear? If by a hair it is injured, the bitter worse for you all!” -</p> - - -<p class="mt1"> -Sobbing, burning, in a flurry of passion, I threw myself, an hour -later in the palace, at the king’s knees. -</p> - -<p> -“Sire,” I cried, “I claim your royal promise. I ask mercy for a -friend.” -</p> - -<p> -Taken off his guard, bewitched, perhaps, “It is granted,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -Then he recovered himself, and laughed, and patted my shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Enfin</i>,” he said; “what has he done?” -</p> - -<p> -“He has killed a gaoler who was ill-treating a prisoner.” -</p> - -<p> -He startled, frowned, then laughed again, but less easily. -</p> - -<p> -“O, well,” he said, “a gaoler is no great matter. But I must know his -name first.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sire, it is my own servant Gogo, that you have robbed me of this long -time.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, him!” he said, relieved. “Well, perhaps, after all, we owe him a -gaoler or two.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch31"> -XXXI.<br> -<span class="chap_sub">I KNOW MY OWN HEART</span> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">I had</span> hardly got into the street before a hand touched my arm. I -turned and saw Gogo. -</p> - -<p> -“It was you,” he said, “won my deliverance this morning?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“From the king?” -</p> - -<p> -“From the king.” -</p> - -<p> -He said not a word more. I questioned him in my turn. -</p> - -<p> -“I sent you a message by the courier. Why did you not come direct to -me?” -</p> - -<p> -“I had business first. I answered, ‘If you will tell her that I will -witness for her and bring my report this evening, she will -understand.’” -</p> - -<p> -“I understood nothing but that you were in no hurry to thank me.” -</p> - -<p> -He made no reply. -</p> - -<p> -“It is only after a struggle with my pride, sir,” I continued, “that I -am here to keep your appointment. I think, perhaps, your business -might have kept better.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you? Well, perhaps, after all, you have a shallow wit.” -</p> - -<p> -I looked at him in dumb amaze. We were loitering on, to me aimlessly, -though I knew presently how all the time he had been rigidly enforcing -our direction. The city was in its hottest night-fever of excitement -over the executions that had taken place that day, in a mood already -too monstrous to take much heed of the shock and tattered prodigy that -stumped by my side. Once, passing a group, I caught a name, and -startled, and was hurrying on; but he snatched my wrist, and forced me -to linger, absorbing horror to the dregs. I knew his temper by that, -and to what I had delivered myself; but I never feared him so much as -when he would not speak. -</p> - -<p> -“Gogo,” I whispered suddenly, “you will give me credit for having -known nothing of your state all this time. Whenever I asked M. de’ -Medici, he assured me of your comfort and prosperity. I am not to -blame if he is a cursed liar.” -</p> - -<p> -He did not answer. -</p> - -<p> -“The moment I could,” I said, trembling, “I begged your life. It is -the dearest of all I know to me. Are you going to punish me for that?” -</p> - -<p> -Still no answer. -</p> - -<p> -“O!” I said, with a little rally to anger, “if you will not thank me, -at least you might say whether or not you received my enclosure this -morning?” -</p> - -<p> -“The money?” he muttered. “Yes, I received it.” -</p> - -<p> -I was moved to a little agitated laughter. -</p> - -<p> -“Is everything poisonous that comes from my hands? If you had spent a -little of it on food and clothes, my obligation to you would not have -been the less.” -</p> - -<p> -“I thought you sent it to me to pay your debts.” -</p> - -<p> -“What debts?” -</p> - -<p> -Again that grim silence. I feared him more than I can tell; feared him -so much that no thought of the conquering guile by which I had once -been wont to sway him occurred to me to use. I shivered, and drew my -cloak faster about me, and hurried by his side without another word. -</p> - -<p> -Whither was he bent? By the roaring quays, it seemed, towards the dark -prison from which, only a few hours earlier, she had gone to her -self-elected doom. -</p> - -<p> -“Not there!” I sobbed, struggling—“not there! What good can it do -now?” -</p> - -<p> -But he turned, short of reaching it, to his left, into a street -leading to the great square adjoining, where the gallows was erected; -and here, under the shadow of the fortress, stood a church with a -lofty tower. Stopping at a door which opened into the base of this -last, he tapped three times; and in a moment it yawned, and engulfed -us, and the tumult of the living town was become in our ears like the -murmur of the sea in a dead cavern. -</p> - -<p> -Our guide, taper in hand, went on before us. The sound of our -footsteps reeled and laughed behind, echoing up to unknown altitudes. -Ward of that little star of radiance, I had no terror so great as that -of its flashing away and committing me to the shadows that seemed -always dancing and clutching for me outside its circumference. And -then suddenly we were come to a narrow iron gate set in the stone, and -to the cowled, motionless figure of a monk who stood thereby. -</p> - -<p> -Without a word uttered by this spectre, the folds of its robe -contracted, and a long white hand was thrust forth palm upwards. Gogo -put a purse into it. -</p> - -<p> -“Bear witness, Diana,” he said, in a low voice, that boomed and -clanged among the stones, “that I deliver the account of my -stewardship to the last penny.” -</p> - -<p> -I was sobbing dreadfully, moved by some terror that had in it, -nevertheless, no thought of evil intended by him to myself. -</p> - -<p> -“You will take nothing from me?” I gasped. -</p> - -<p> -He addressed the monk. -</p> - -<p> -“It is enough?” -</p> - -<p> -The cowled head bent. -</p> - -<p> -“Then let us through, father, and alone.” -</p> - -<p> -The grate clanked. He gripped my arm, and, seizing the taper from the -sacristan, led me down a long flight of steps, through a low doorway, -into a crypt. And there, on the damp ground, full in our view, was -something lying, and a sheet over. -</p> - -<p> -“No, no!” I screamed. “You have tortured me enough already!” -</p> - -<p> -Never releasing my arm, he set the taper in a crevice, and dragged me -to the dreadful bed. -</p> - -<p> -“What!” he said, “are you afraid to look on your work?” -</p> - -<p> -And, pinning me forcibly, he bent and drew the cloth away. And side by -side with the other, I saw the dead face of Pissani. -</p> - -<p> -Without a word, I sank down where I stood, and he fell back from me. -</p> - -<p> -“O, woman!” he cried, in a terrible voice, “that you could talk of -your pride, with this lying at your heart!” -</p> - -<p> -He clasped his hands, and unclasped them, and struck his forehead, and -again writhed them together, as if his grief baffled him from speech. -Dragging my body towards him, I huddled cowering at his feet. -</p> - -<p> -“What!” he cried; “no word? no word?” -</p> - -<p> -I moaned, and moved my head in negative. -</p> - -<p> -“Grant he stabbed himself under the gallows,” he said, “since he found -he could not look on her agony and live. Are you the more guiltless of -his death?” -</p> - -<p> -Again I shook my head. -</p> - -<p> -“At least they are together,” he cried. “By so much you did them -service, sending her first. But the price, woman, the price!” -</p> - -<p> -I rose, blind, staggering, to my feet. -</p> - -<p> -“It was my honour. I will go and pay it, and die.” -</p> - -<p> -He caught at and held me. -</p> - -<p> -“To whom?” -</p> - -<p> -“To de’ Medici. Let me go. Only you could have saved me, and you will -not; and it is right.” -</p> - -<p> -Never quitting his hold, he turned from me, with a wild gesture of his -free arm. -</p> - -<p> -“It was her life or yours,” I said. “Make it my curse, if you will, -that I chose the dearer to me.” -</p> - -<p> -With a mad groan, he snatched me from my feet, and, holding me -fiercely against his breast, carried me out and to the foot of the -steps. -</p> - -<p class="center mt1"> -[The End] -</p> - - -<h2> -NOTES. -</h2> - -<p> -<a href="#fn1a" id="fn1b">[1]</a> -<b>Diana Please</b> Born <i>circa</i> 1770. -</p> - -<p> -<a href="#fn2a" id="fn2b">[2]</a> -<b>scapegoat admiral</b> The unhappy patriot Caracciolo, whose hurried -execution at the yardarm of the <i>Minerva</i> raised such a storm of -mingled protest and justification at the time. Madame Please’s -insinuation must be accepted, if at all, as characteristic; yet there -is no denying that Caracciolo’s court-martial (on a charge of -deserting his king; to which the culprit pleaded very reasonably that -it was his king who had deserted him), conviction by a narrow margin -of votes, vindictive sentence, and hasty despatch thereon, afforded -the great captain’s enemies the means to as unpleasant an indictment -as any they could bring against his conduct of this unhappy Naples -business. -</p> - - -<h2> -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES. -</h2> - -<p> -Minor spelling inconsistencies (<i>e.g.</i> caldron/cauldron, -counterbuff/counter-buff, gravel-pit/gravel pit, etc.) have been -preserved. -</p> - -<p> -Text version only: “#” is used to indicate bolded text. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<b>Alterations to the text</b>: -</p> - -<p> -Convert footnotes to endnotes. -</p> - -<p> -Silently correct a few punctuation errors (quotation mark pairings, -missing periods, etc.) -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Introductory] -</p> - -<p> -Change “so often mentioned in the text, from the <i>slavic</i>” to -<i>Slavic</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter VIII] -</p> - -<p> -(“She is <i>grern</i> ... She is become, it <i>appe-ars</i>,) to <i>grown</i> -and <i>appears</i>, respectively. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter IX] -</p> - -<p> -(“Why, you old <i>de-ar</i>?” said he.) to <i>dear</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter XVII] -</p> - -<p> -“then, suddenly <i>panicstruck</i>, groped for the table” to -<i>panic-struck</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter XXIV] -</p> - -<p> -“and, <i>unfortuntely</i>, the disease was in the head” to <i>unfortunately</i>. -</p> - -<p> -“At <i>anyrate</i> she, in company with Mademoiselle” to <i>any rate</i>. -</p> - -<p class="center mt1"> -[End of text] -</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EXTRAORDINARY CONFESSIONS OF DIANA PLEASE ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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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