initial commit of ebook 7892HEADmain

11 files changed, 66471 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/7892-0.txt b/7892-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a9b060a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/7892-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,15753 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Heart and Science, by Wilkie Collins
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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
+
+
+Title: Heart and Science
+       A Story of the Present Time
+
+Author: Wilkie Collins
+
+Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7892]
+Posting Date: July 29, 2009
+Last Updated: September 11, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEART AND SCIENCE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by James Rusk
+
+
+
+
+
+HEART AND SCIENCE
+
+A Story of the Present Time
+
+By Wilkie Collins
+
+
+
+TO
+
+SARONY
+
+(OF NEW YORK)
+
+ARTIST; PHOTOGRAPHER,
+
+AND
+
+GOOD FRIEND
+
+
+
+
+
+I. PREFACE TO READERS IN GENERAL
+
+
+You are the children of Old Mother England, on both sides of the
+Atlantic; you form the majority of buyers and borrowers of novels; and
+you judge of works of fiction by certain inbred preferences, which but
+slightly influence the other great public of readers on the continent of
+Europe.
+
+The two qualities in fiction which hold the highest rank in your
+estimation are: Character and Humour. Incident and dramatic situation
+only occupy the second place in your favour. A novel that tells no
+story, or that blunders perpetually in trying to tell a story--a novel
+so entirely devoid of all sense of the dramatic side of human life,
+that not even a theatrical thief can find anything in it to steal--will
+nevertheless be a work that wins (and keeps) your admiration, if it has
+Humour which dwells on your memory, and characters which enlarge the
+circle of your friends.
+
+I have myself always tried to combine the different merits of a good
+novel, in one and the same work; and I have never succeeded in keeping
+an equal balance. In the present story you will find the scales
+inclining, on the whole, in favour of character and Humour. This has not
+happened accidentally.
+
+Advancing years, and health that stands sadly in need of improvement,
+warn me--if I am to vary my way of work--that I may have little time
+to lose. Without waiting for future opportunities, I have kept your
+standard of merit more constantly before my mind, in writing this book,
+than on some former occasions.
+
+Still persisting in telling you a story--still refusing to get up in the
+pulpit and preach, or to invade the platform and lecture, or to take you
+by the buttonhole in confidence and make fun of my Art--it has been
+my chief effort to draw the characters with a vigour and breadth of
+treatment, derived from the nearest and truest view that I could get of
+the one model, Nature. Whether I shall at once succeed in adding to
+the circle of your friends in the world of fiction--or whether you will
+hurry through the narrative, and only discover on a later reading that
+it is the characters which have interested you in the story--remains to
+be seen. Either way, your sympathy will find me grateful; for, either
+way, my motive has been to please you.
+
+During its periodical publication correspondents, noting certain
+passages in “Heart and Science,” inquired how I came to think of writing
+this book. The question may be readily answered in better words than
+mine. My book has been written in harmony with opinions which have an
+indisputable claim to respect. Let them speak for themselves.
+
+
+     SHAKESPEARE’S OPINION.--“It was always yet the trick of our
+English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common.”
+ _(King Henry IV., Part II.)_
+
+     WALTER SCOTT’S OPINION--“I am no great believer in the extreme
+degree of improvement to be derived from the advancement of Science; for
+every study of that nature tends, when pushed to a certain extent, to
+harden the heart.” _(Letter to Miss Edgeworth.)_
+
+     FARADAY’S OPINION.--“The education of the judgment has for its
+first and its last step--Humility.” _(Lecture on Mental Education, at
+the Royal Institution.)_
+
+Having given my reasons for writing the book, let me conclude by telling
+you what I have kept out of the book.
+
+It encourages me to think that we have many sympathies in common; and
+among them, that most of us have taken to our hearts domestic pets.
+Writing under this conviction, I have not forgotten my responsibility
+towards you, and towards my Art, in pleading the cause of the harmless
+and affectionate beings of God’s creation. From first to last, you are
+purposely left in ignorance of the hideous secrets of Vivisection. The
+outside of the laboratory is a necessary object in my landscape--but I
+never once open the door and invite you to look in. I trace, in one of
+my characters, the result of the habitual practice of cruelty (no matter
+under what pretence) in fatally deteriorating the nature of man--and
+I leave the picture to speak for itself. My own personal feeling has
+throughout been held in check. Thankfully accepting the assistance
+rendered to me by Miss Frances Power Cobbe, by Mrs. H. M. Gordon, and by
+Surgeon-General Gordon, C.B., I have borne in mind (as they have borne
+in mind) the value of temperate advocacy to a good cause.
+
+With this, your servant withdraws, and leaves you to the story.
+
+
+
+
+II. TO READERS IN PARTICULAR.
+
+If you are numbered among those good friends of ours, who are especially
+capable of understanding us and sympathising with us, be pleased to
+accept the expression of our gratitude, and to pass over the lines that
+follow.
+
+But if you open our books with a mind soured by distrust; if you
+habitually anticipate inexcusable ignorance where the course of the
+story happens to turn on matters of fact; it is you, Sir or Madam, whom
+I now want.
+
+Not to dispute with you--far from it! I own with sorrow that your
+severity does occasionally encounter us on assailable ground. But there
+are exceptions, even to the stiffest rules. Some of us are not guilty
+of wilful carelessness: some of us apply to competent authority, when
+we write on subjects beyond the range of our own experience. Having thus
+far ventured to speak for my colleagues, you will conclude that I am
+paving the way for speaking next of myself. As our cousins in the United
+States say--that is so.
+
+In the following pages, there are allusions to medical practice at the
+bedside; leading in due course to physiological questions which connect
+themselves with the main interest of the novel. In traversing this
+delicate ground, you have not been forgotten. Before the manuscript went
+to the printer, it was submitted for correction to an eminent London
+surgeon, whose experience extends over a period of forty years.
+
+Again: a supposed discovery in connection with brain disease, which
+occupies a place of importance, is not (as you may suspect) the
+fantastic product of the author’s imagination. Finding his
+materials everywhere, he has even contrived to make use of Professor
+Ferrier--writing on the “Localisation of Cerebral Disease,” and closing
+a confession of the present result of post-mortem examination of brains
+in these words: “We cannot even be sure, whether many of the changes
+discovered are the cause or the result of the Disease, or whether the
+two are the conjoint results of a common cause.” Plenty of elbow room
+here for the spirit of discovery.
+
+On becoming acquainted with “Mrs. Gallilee,” you will find her
+talking--and you will sometimes even find the author talking--of
+scientific subjects in general. You will naturally conclude that it is
+“all gross caricature.” No; it is all promiscuous reading. Let me spare
+you a long list of books consulted, and of newspapers and magazines
+mutilated for “cuttings”--and appeal to examples once more, and for the
+last time.
+
+When “Mrs. Gallilee” wonders whether “Carmina has ever heard of
+the Diathermancy of Ebonite,” she is thinking of proceedings at a
+conversazione in honour of Professor Helmholtz (reported in the _Times_
+of April 12, 1881), at which “radiant energy” was indeed converted into
+“sonorous vibrations.” Again: when she contemplates taking part in
+a discussion on Matter, she has been slily looking into Chambers’s
+Encyclopaedia, and has there discovered the interesting conditions on
+which she can “dispense with the idea of atoms.” Briefly, not a word of
+my own invention occurs, when Mrs. Gallilee turns the learned side of
+her character to your worships’ view.
+
+I have now only to add that the story has been subjected to careful
+revision, and I hope to consequent improvement, in its present form of
+publication. Past experience has shown me that you have a sharp eye for
+slips of the pen, and that you thoroughly enjoy convicting a novelist,
+by post, of having made a mistake. Whatever pains I may have taken to
+disappoint you, it is quite likely that we may be again indebted to each
+other on this occasion. So, to our infinite relief on either side, we
+part friends after all.
+
+W. C.
+
+London: April 1883
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+The weary old nineteenth century had advanced into the last twenty years
+of its life.
+
+Towards two o’clock in the afternoon, Ovid Vere (of the Royal College of
+Surgeons) stood at the window of his consulting-room in London, looking
+out at the summer sunshine, and the quiet dusty street.
+
+He had received a warning, familiar to the busy men of our time--the
+warning from overwrought Nature, which counsels rest after excessive
+work. With a prosperous career before him, he had been compelled (at
+only thirty-one years of age) to ask a colleague to take charge of his
+practice, and to give the brain which he had cruelly wearied a rest of
+some months to come. On the next day he had arranged to embark for the
+Mediterranean in a friend’s yacht.
+
+An active man, devoted heart and soul to his profession, is not a man
+who can learn the happy knack of being idle at a moment’s notice. Ovid
+found the mere act of looking out of window, and wondering what he
+should do next, more than he had patience to endure.
+
+He turned to his study table. If he had possessed a wife to look after
+him, he would have been reminded that he and his study table had nothing
+in common, under present circumstances. Being deprived of conjugal
+superintendence, he broke though his own rules. His restless hand
+unlocked a drawer, and took out a manuscript work on medicine of his own
+writing. “Surely,” he thought, “I may finish a chapter, before I go to
+sea to-morrow?”
+
+His head, steady enough while he was only looking out of window, began
+to swim before he had got to the bottom of a page. The last sentences of
+the unfinished chapter alluded to a matter of fact which he had not yet
+verified. In emergencies of any sort, he was a patient man and a man of
+resource. The necessary verification could be accomplished by a visit to
+the College of Surgeons, situated in the great square called Lincoln’s
+Inn Fields. Here was a motive for a walk--with an occupation at the end
+of it, which only involved a question to a Curator, and an examination
+of a Specimen. He locked up his manuscript, and set forth for Lincoln’s
+Inn Fields.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+When two friends happen to meet in the street, do they ever look back
+along the procession of small circumstances which has led them both,
+from the starting-point of their own houses, to the same spot, at the
+same time? Not one man in ten thousand has probably ever thought of
+making such a fantastic inquiry as this. And consequently not one man in
+ten thousand, living in the midst of reality, has discovered that he is
+also living in the midst of romance.
+
+From the moment when the young surgeon closed the door of his house,
+he was walking blindfold on his way to a patient in the future who was
+personally still a stranger to him. He never reached the College of
+Surgeons. He never embarked on his friend’s yacht.
+
+What were the obstacles which turned him aside from the course that he
+had in view? Nothing but a series of trivial circumstances, occurring in
+the experience of a man who goes out for a walk.
+
+He had only reached the next street, when the first of the circumstances
+presented itself in the shape of a friend’s carriage, which drew up at
+his side. A bright benevolent face encircled by bushy white whiskers,
+looked out of the window, and a hearty voice asked him if he had
+completed his arrangements for a long holiday. Having replied to this,
+Ovid had a question to put, on his side.
+
+“How is our patient, Sir Richard?”
+
+“Out of danger.”
+
+“And what do the other doctors say now?”
+
+Sir Richard laughed: “They say it’s my luck.”
+
+“Not convinced yet?”
+
+“Not in the least. Who has ever succeeded in convincing fools? Let’s try
+another subject. Is your mother reconciled to your new plans?”
+
+“I can hardly tell you. My mother is in a state of indescribable
+agitation. Her brother’s Will has been found in Italy. And his daughter
+may arrive in England at a moment’s notice.”
+
+“Unmarried?” Sir Richard asked slyly.
+
+“I don’t know.”
+
+“Any money?”
+
+Ovid smiled--not cheerfully. “Do you think my poor mother would be in a
+state of indescribable agitation if there was _not_ money?”
+
+Sir Richard was one of those obsolete elderly persons who quote
+Shakespeare. “Ah, well,” he said, “your mother is like Kent in King
+Lear--she’s too old to learn. Is she as fond as ever of lace? and as
+keen as ever after a bargain?” He handed a card out of the carriage
+window. “I have just seen an old patient of mine,” he resumed, “in whom
+I feel a friendly interest. She is retiring from business by my advice;
+and she asks me, of all the people in the world, to help her in getting
+rid of some wonderful ‘remnants,’ at ‘an alarming sacrifice!’ My kind
+regards to your mother--and there’s a chance for her. One last word,
+Ovid. Don’t be in too great a hurry to return to work; you have plenty
+of spare time before you. Look at my wise dog here, on the front seat,
+and learn from him to be idle and happy.”
+
+The great physician had another companion, besides his dog. A friend,
+bound his way, had accepted a seat in the carriage. “Who is that
+handsome young man?” the friend asked as they drove away.
+
+“He is the only son of a relative of mine, dead many years since,” Sir
+Richard replied. “Don’t forget that you have seen him.”
+
+“May I ask why?”
+
+“He has not yet reached the prime of life; and he is on the way--already
+far on the way--to be one of the foremost men of his time. With a
+private fortune, he has worked as few surgeons work who have their bread
+to get by their profession. The money comes from his late father. His
+mother has married again. The second husband is a lazy, harmless
+old fellow, named Gallilee; possessed of one small attraction--fifty
+thousand pounds, grubbed up in trade. There are two little daughters,
+by the second marriage. With such a stepfather as I have described, and,
+between ourselves, with a mother who has rather more than her fair share
+of the jealous, envious, and money-loving propensities of humanity, my
+friend Ovid is not diverted by family influences from the close pursuit
+of his profession. You will tell me, he may marry. Well! if he gets a
+good wife she will be a circumstance in his favour. But, so far as I
+know, he is not that sort of man. Cooler, a deal cooler, with women than
+I am--though I am old enough to be his father. Let us get back to his
+professional prospects. You heard him ask me about a patient?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Very good. Death was knocking hard at that patient’s door, when I
+called Ovid into consultation with myself and with two other doctors
+who differed with me. It was one of the very rare cases in which the old
+practice of bleeding was, to my mind, the only treatment to pursue. I
+never told him that this was the point in dispute between me and the
+other men--and they said nothing, on their side, at my express request.
+He took his time to examine and think; and he saw the chance of saving
+the patient by venturing on the use of the lancet as plainly as I
+did--with my forty years’ experience to teach me! A young man with that
+capacity for discovering the remote cause of disease, and with that
+superiority to the trammels of routine in applying the treatment, has no
+common medical career before him. His holiday will set his health right
+in next to no time. I see nothing in his way, at present--not even a
+woman! But,” said Sir Richard, with the explanatory wink of one eye
+peculiar (like quotation from Shakespeare) to persons of the obsolete
+old time, _“we_ know better than to forecast the weather if a petticoat
+influence appears on the horizon. One prediction, however, I do risk.
+If his mother buys any of that lace--I know who will get the best of the
+bargain!”
+
+The conditions under which the old doctor was willing to assume the
+character of a prophet never occurred. Ovid remembered that he was going
+away on a long voyage--and Ovid was a good son. He bought some of the
+lace, as a present to his mother at parting; and, most assuredly, he got
+the worst of the bargain.
+
+His shortest way back to the straight course, from which he had deviated
+in making his purchase, led him into a by-street, near the flower and
+fruit market of Covent Garden. Here he met with the second in number of
+the circumstances which attended his walk. He found himself encountered
+by an intolerably filthy smell.
+
+The market was not out of the direct way to Lincoln’s Inn Fields. He
+fled from the smell to the flowery and fruity perfumes of Covent
+Garden, and completed the disinfecting process by means of a basket of
+strawberries.
+
+Why did a poor ragged little girl, carrying a big baby, look with such
+longing eyes at the delicious fruit, that, as a kind-hearted man, he had
+no alternative but to make her a present of the strawberries? Why did
+two dirty boyfriends of hers appear immediately afterwards with news of
+Punch in a neighbouring street, and lead the little girl away with them?
+Why did these two new circumstances inspire him with a fear that the
+boys might take the strawberries away from the poor child, burdened
+as she was with a baby almost as big as herself? When we suffer from
+overwrought nerves we are easily disturbed by small misgivings. The idle
+man of wearied mind followed the friends of the street drama to see what
+happened, forgetful of the College of Surgeons, and finding a new fund
+of amusement in himself.
+
+Arrived in the neighbouring street, he discovered that the Punch
+performance had come to an end--like some other dramatic performances
+of higher pretensions--for want of a paying audience. He waited at a
+certain distance, watching the children. His doubts had done them an
+injustice. The boys only said, “Give us a taste.” And the liberal little
+girl rewarded their good conduct. An equitable and friendly division of
+the strawberries was made in a quiet corner.
+
+Where--always excepting the case of a miser or a millionaire--is the man
+to be found who could have returned to the pursuit of his own affairs,
+under these circumstances, without encouraging the practice of the
+social virtues by a present of a few pennies? Ovid was not that man.
+
+Putting back in his breast-pocket the bag in which he was accustomed to
+carry small coins for small charities, his hand touched something which
+felt like the envelope of a letter. He took it out--looked at it with
+an expression of annoyance and surprise--and once more turned aside from
+the direct way to Lincoln’s Inn Fields.
+
+The envelope contained his last prescription. Having occasion to consult
+the “Pharmacopoeia,” he had written it at home, and had promised to send
+it to the patient immediately. In the absorbing interest of making
+his preparations for leaving England, it had remained forgotten in his
+pocket for nearly two days. The one means of setting this unlucky error
+right, without further delay, was to deliver his prescription himself,
+and to break through his own rules for the second time by attending to a
+case of illness--purely as an act of atonement.
+
+The patient lived in a house nearly opposite to the British Museum. In
+this northward direction he now set his face.
+
+He made his apologies, and gave his advice--and, getting out again
+into the street, tried once more to shape his course for the College
+of Surgeons. Passing the walled garden of the British Museum, he looked
+towards it--and paused. What had stopped him, this time? Nothing but a
+tree, fluttering its bright leaves in the faint summer air.
+
+A marked change showed itself in his face.
+
+The moment before he had been passing in review the curious little
+interruptions which had attended his walk, and had wondered humorously
+what would happen next. Two women, meeting him, and seeing a smile on
+his lips, had said to each other, “There goes a happy man.” If they had
+encountered him now, they might have reversed their opinion. They would
+have seen a man thinking of something once dear to him, in the far and
+unforgotten past.
+
+He crossed over the road to the side-street which faced the garden. His
+head drooped; he moved mechanically. Arrived in the street, he lifted
+his eyes, and stood (within nearer view of it) looking at the tree.
+
+Hundreds of miles away from London, under another tree of that gentle
+family, this man--so cold to women in after life--had made child-love,
+in the days of his boyhood, to a sweet little cousin long since numbered
+with the dead. The present time, with its interests and anxieties,
+passed away like the passing of a dream. Little by little, as the
+minutes followed each other, his sore heart felt a calming influence,
+breathed mysteriously from the fluttering leaves. Still forgetful of
+the outward world, he wandered slowly up the street; living in the old
+scenes; thinking, not unhappily now, the old thoughts.
+
+Where, in all London, could he have found a solitude more congenial to a
+dreamer in daylight?
+
+The broad district, stretching northward and eastward from the British
+Museum, is like the quiet quarter of a country town set in the midst of
+the roaring activities of the largest city in the world. Here, you can
+cross the road, without putting limb or life in peril. Here, when you
+are idle, you can saunter and look about, safe from collision with
+merciless straight-walkers whose time is money, and whose destiny is
+business. Here, you may meet undisturbed cats on the pavement, in the
+full glare of noontide, and may watch, through the railings of the
+squares, children at play on grass that almost glows with the lustre of
+the Sussex Downs. This haven of rest is alike out of the way of fashion
+and business; and is yet within easy reach of the one and the other.
+Ovid paused in a vast and silent square. If his little cousin had lived,
+he might perhaps have seen his children at play in some such secluded
+place as this.
+
+The birds were singing blithely in the trees. A tradesman’s boy,
+delivering fish to the cook, and two girls watering flowers at a window,
+were the only living creatures near him, as he roused himself and looked
+around.
+
+Where was the College? Where were the Curator and the Specimen? Those
+questions brought with them no feeling of anxiety or surprise. He
+turned, in a half-awakened way, without a wish or a purpose--turned, and
+listlessly looked back.
+
+Two foot-passengers, dressed in mourning garments, were rapidly
+approaching him. One of them, as they came nearer, proved to be an aged
+woman. The other was a girl.
+
+He drew aside to let them pass. They looked at him with the lukewarm
+curiosity of strangers, as they went by. The girl’s eyes and his met.
+Only the glance of an instant--and its influence held him for life.
+
+She went swiftly on, as little impressed by the chance meeting as the
+old woman at her side. Without stopping to think--without being capable
+of thought--Ovid followed them. Never before had he done what he was
+doing now; he was, literally, out of himself. He saw them ahead of him,
+and he saw nothing else.
+
+Towards the middle of the square, they turned aside into a street on the
+left. A concert-hall was in the street--with doors open for an afternoon
+performance. They entered the hall. Still out of himself, Ovid followed
+them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+A room of magnificent size; furnished with every conventional luxury
+that money can buy; lavishly provided with newspapers and books of
+reference; lighted by tall windows in the day-time, and by gorgeous
+chandeliers at night, may be nevertheless one of the dreariest places of
+rest and shelter that can be found on the civilised earth. Such places
+exist, by hundreds, in those hotels of monstrous proportions and
+pretensions, which now engulf the traveller who ends his journey on the
+pier or the platform. It may be that we feel ourselves to be strangers
+among strangers--it may be that there is something innately repellent in
+splendid carpets and curtains, chairs and tables, which have no social
+associations to recommend them--it may be that the mind loses its
+elasticity under the inevitable restraint on friendly communication,
+which expresses itself in lowered tones and instinctive distrust of
+our next neighbour; but this alone is certain: life, in the public
+drawing-room of a great hotel, is life with all its healthiest
+emanations perishing in an exhausted receiver.
+
+On the same day, and nearly at the same hour, when Ovid had left his
+house, two women sat in a corner of the public room, in one of the
+largest of the railway hotels latterly built in London.
+
+Without observing it themselves, they were objects of curiosity to their
+fellow-travellers. They spoke to each other in a foreign language.
+They were dressed in deep mourning--with an absence of fashion and a
+simplicity of material which attracted the notice of every other woman
+in the room. One of them wore a black veil over her gray hair. Her hands
+were brown, and knotty at the joints; her eyes looked unnaturally bright
+for her age; innumerable wrinkles crossed and re-crossed her skinny
+face; and her aquiline nose (as one of the ladies present took occasion
+to remark) was so disastrously like the nose of the great Duke of
+Wellington as to be an offensive feature in the face of a woman.
+
+The lady’s companion, being a man, took a more merciful view. “She can’t
+help being ugly,” he whispered. “But see how she looks at the girl with
+her. A good old creature, I say, if ever there was one yet.” The lady
+eyed him, as only a jealous woman can eye her husband, and whispered
+back, “Of course you’re in love with that slip of a girl!”
+
+She _was_ a slip of a girl--and not even a tall slip. At seventeen years
+of age, it was doubtful whether she would ever grow to a better height.
+
+But a girl who is too thin, and not even so tall as the Venus de’
+Medici, may still be possessed of personal attractions. It was not
+altogether a matter of certainty, in this case, that the attractions
+were sufficiently remarkable to excite general admiration. The fine
+colour and the plump healthy cheeks, the broad smile, and the regular
+teeth, the well-developed mouth, and the promising bosom which form
+altogether the average type of beauty found in the purely bred English
+maiden, were not among the noticeable charms of the small creature in
+gloomy black, shrinking into a corner of the big room. She had very
+little colour of any sort to boast of. Her hair was of so light a brown
+that it just escaped being flaxen; but it had the negative merit of
+not being forced down to her eyebrows, and twisted into the hideous
+curly-wig which exhibits a liberal equality of ugliness on the heads
+of women in the present day. There was a delicacy of finish in her
+features--in the nose and the lips especially--a sensitive changefulness
+in the expression of her eyes (too dark in themselves to be quite in
+harmony with her light hair), and a subtle yet simple witchery in
+her rare smile, which atoned, in some degree at least, for want of
+complexion in the face and of flesh in the figure. Men might dispute
+her claims to beauty--but no one could deny that she was, in the common
+phrase, an interesting person. Grace and refinement; a quickness of
+apprehension and a vivacity of movement, suggestive of some foreign
+origin; a childish readiness of wonder, in the presence of new
+objects--and perhaps, under happier circumstances, a childish
+playfulness with persons whom she loved--were all characteristic
+attractions of the modest stranger who was in the charge of the ugly old
+woman, and who was palpably the object of that wrinkled duenna’s devoted
+love.
+
+A travelling writing-case stood open on a table near them. In an
+interval of silence the girl looked at it reluctantly. They had been
+talking of family affairs--and had spoken in Italian, so as to keep
+their domestic secrets from the ears of the strangers about them. The
+old woman was the first to resume the conversation.
+
+“My Carmina, you really ought to write that letter,” she said; “the
+illustrious Mrs. Gallilee is waiting to hear of our arrival in London.”
+
+Carmina took up the pen, and put it down again with a sigh. “We only
+arrived last night,” she pleaded. “Dear old Teresa, let us have one day
+in London by ourselves!”
+
+Teresa received this proposal with undisguised amazement and alarm,
+
+“Jesu Maria! a day in London--and your aunt waiting for you all the
+time! She is your second mother, my dear, by appointment; and her house
+is your new home. And you propose to stop a whole day at an hotel,
+instead of going home. Impossible! Write, my Carmina--write. See, here
+is the address on a card:--‘Fairfield Gardens.’ What a pretty place
+it must be to live in, with such a name as that! And a sweet lady, no
+doubt. Come! Come!”
+
+But Carmina still resisted. “I have never even seen my aunt,” she said.
+“It is dreadful to pass my life with a stranger. Remember, I was only
+a child when you came to us after my mother’s death. It is hardly six
+months yet since I lost my father. I have no one but you, and, when I go
+to this new home, you will leave me. I only ask for one more day to be
+together, before we part.”
+
+The poor old duenna drew back out of sight, in the shadow of a
+curtain--and began to cry. Carmina took her hand, under cover of
+a tablecloth; Carmina knew how to console her. “We will go and see
+sights,” she whispered “and, when dinner-time comes, you shall have a
+glass of the Porto-porto-wine.”
+
+Teresa looked round out of the shadow, as easily comforted as a child.
+“Sights!” she exclaimed--and dried her tears. “Porto-porto-wine!” she
+repeated--and smacked her withered lips at the relishing words. “Ah,
+my child, you have not forgotten the consolations I told you of, when
+I lived in London in my young days. To think of you, with an English
+father, and never in London till now! I used to go to museums and
+concerts sometimes, when my English mistress was pleased with me. That
+gracious lady often gave me a glass of the fine strong purple wine. The
+Holy Virgin grant that Aunt Gallilee may be as kind a woman! Such a head
+of hair as the other one she cannot hope to have. It was a joy to dress
+it. Do you think I wouldn’t stay here in England with you if I could?
+What is to become of my old man in Italy, with his cursed asthma, and
+nobody to nurse him? Oh, but those were dull years in London! The black
+endless streets--the dreadful Sundays--the hundreds of thousands of
+people, always in a hurry; always with grim faces set on business,
+business, business! I was glad to go back and be married in Italy. And
+here I am in London again, after God knows how many years. No matter.
+We will enjoy ourselves to-day; and when we go to Madam Gallilee’s
+to-morrow, we will tell a little lie, and say we only arrived on the
+evening that has not yet come.”
+
+The duenna’s sense of humour was so tickled by this prospective view of
+the little lie, that she leaned back in her chair and laughed. Carmina’s
+rare smile showed itself faintly. The terrible first interview with the
+unknown aunt still oppressed her. She took up a newspaper in despair.
+“Oh, my old dear!” she said, “let us get out of this dreadful room, and
+be reminded of Italy!” Teresa lifted her ugly hands in bewilderment.
+“Reminded of Italy--in London?”
+
+“Is there no Italian music in London?” Carmina asked suggestively.
+
+The duenna’s bright eyes answered this in their own language. She
+snatched up the nearest newspaper.
+
+It was then the height of the London concert season. Morning
+performances of music were announced in rows. Reading the advertised
+programmes, Carmina found them, in one remarkable respect, all alike.
+They would have led an ignorant stranger to wonder whether any such
+persons as Italian composers, French composers, and English composers
+had ever existed. The music offered to the English public was music of
+exclusively German (and for the most part modern German) origin. Carmina
+held the opinion--in common with Mozart and Rossini, as well as other
+people--that music without melody is not music at all. She laid aside
+the newspaper.
+
+The plan of going to a concert being thus abandoned, the idea occurred
+to them of seeing pictures. Teresa, in search of information, tried her
+luck at a great table in the middle of the room, on which useful books
+were liberally displayed. She returned with a catalogue of the Royal
+Academy Exhibition (which someone had left on the table), and with the
+most universally well-informed book, on a small scale, that has ever
+enlightened humanity--modestly described on the title-page as an
+Almanac.
+
+Carmina opened the catalogue at the first page, and discovered a list of
+Royal Academicians. Were all these gentlemen celebrated painters? Out
+of nearly forty names, three only had made themselves generally known
+beyond the limits of England. She turned to the last page. The works of
+art on show numbered more than fifteen hundred. Teresa, looking over her
+shoulder, made the same discovery. “Our heads will ache, and our feet
+will ache,” she remarked, “before we get out of that place.” Carmina
+laid aside the catalogue.
+
+Teresa opened the Almanac at hazard, and hit on the page devoted
+to Amusements. Her next discovery led her to the section inscribed
+“Museums.” She scored an approving mark at that place with her
+thumbnail--and read the list in fluent broken English.
+
+The British Museum? Teresa’s memory of that magnificent building
+recalled it vividly in one respect. She shook her head. “More headache
+and footache, there!” Bethnal Green; Indian Museum; College of Surgeons;
+Practical Geology; South Kensington; Patent Museum--all unknown to
+Teresa. “The saints preserve us! what headaches and footaches in all
+these, if they are as big as that other one!” She went on with the
+list--and astonished everybody in the room by suddenly clapping her
+hands. Sir John Soane’s Museum, Lincoln’s Inn Fields. “Ah, but I
+remember that! A nice little easy museum in a private house, and all
+sorts of pretty things to see. My dear love, trust your old Teresa. Come
+to Soane!”
+
+In ten minutes more they were dressed, and on the steps of the hotel.
+The bright sunlight, the pleasant air, invited them to walk. On the same
+afternoon, when Ovid had set forth on foot for Lincoln’s Inn Fields,
+Carmina and Teresa set forth on foot for Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Trivial
+obstacles had kept the man away from the College. Would trivial
+obstacles keep the women away from the Museum?
+
+They crossed the Strand, and entered a street which led out of it
+towards the North; Teresa’s pride in her memory forbidding her thus far
+to ask their way.
+
+Their talk--dwelling at first on Italy, and on the memory of Carmina’s
+Italian mother--reverted to the formidable subject of Mrs. Gallilee.
+Teresa’s hopeful view of the future turned to the cousins, and drew
+the picture of two charming little girls, eagerly waiting to give their
+innocent hearts to their young relative from Italy. “Are there only
+two?” she said. “Surely you told me there was a boy, besides the girls?”
+ Carmina set her right. “My cousin Ovid is a great doctor,” she continued
+with an air of importance. “Poor papa used to say that our family would
+have reason to be proud of him.” “Does he live at home?” asked simple
+Teresa. “Oh, dear, no! He has a grand house of his own. Hundreds of
+sick people go there to be cured, and give hundreds of golden
+guineas.” Hundreds of golden guineas gained by only curing sick people,
+represented to Teresa’s mind something in the nature of a miracle: she
+solemnly raised her eyes to heaven. “What a cousin to have! Is he young?
+is he handsome? is he married?”
+
+Instead of answering these questions, Carmina looked over her shoulder.
+“Is this poor creature following us?” she asked.
+
+They had now turned to the right, and had entered a busy street leading
+directly to Covent Garden. The “creature” (who was undoubtedly following
+them) was one of the starved and vagabond dogs of London. Every now and
+then, the sympathies of their race lead these inveterate wanderers to
+attach themselves, for the time, to some human companion, whom their
+mysterious insight chooses from the crowd. Teresa, with the hard feeling
+towards animals which is one of the serious defects of the Italian
+character, cried, “Ah, the mangy beast!” and lifted her umbrella. The
+dog starred back, waited a moment, and followed them again as they went
+on.
+
+Carmina’s gentle heart gave its pity to this lost and hungry
+fellow-creature. “I must buy that poor dog something to eat,” she
+said--and stopped suddenly as the idea struck her.
+
+The dog, accustomed to kicks and curses, was ignorant of kindness.
+Following close behind her, when she checked herself, he darted away in
+terror into the road. A cab was driven by rapidly at the same moment.
+The wheel passed over the dog’s neck. And there was an end, as a man
+remarked looking on, of the troubles of a cur.
+
+This common accident struck the girl’s sensitive nature with horror.
+Helpless and speechless, she trembled piteously. The nearest open door
+was the door of a music-seller’s shop. Teresa led her in, and asked for
+a chair and a glass of water. The proprietor, feeling the interest in
+Carmina which she seldom failed to inspire among strangers, went the
+length of offering her a glass of wine. Preferring water, she soon
+recovered herself sufficiently to be able to leave her chair.
+
+“May I change my mind about going to the museum?” she said to her
+companion. “After what has happened, I hardly feel equal to looking at
+curiosities.”
+
+Teresa’s ready sympathy tried to find some acceptable alternative.
+“Music would be better, wouldn’t it?” she suggested.
+
+The so-called Italian Opera was open that night, and the printed
+announcement of the performance was in the shop. They both looked at
+it. Fortune was still against them. A German opera appeared on the bill.
+Carmina turned to the music-seller in despair. “Is there no music,
+sir, but German music to be heard in London?” she asked. The hospitable
+shopkeeper produced a concert programmed for that afternoon--the modest
+enterprise of an obscure piano-forte teacher, who could only venture to
+address pupils, patrons, and friends. What did he promise? Among other
+things, music from “Lucia,” music from “Norma,” music from “Ernani.”
+ Teresa made another approving mark with her thumb-nail; and Carmina
+purchased tickets.
+
+The music-seller hurried to the door to stop the first empty cab that
+might pass. Carmina showed a deplorable ignorance of the law of chances.
+She shrank from the bare idea of getting into a cab. “We may run over
+some other poor creature,” she said. “If it isn’t a dog, it may be
+a child next time.” Teresa and the music-seller suggested a more
+reasonable view as gravely as they could. Carmina humbly submitted to
+the claims of common sense--without yielding, for all that. “I know I’m
+wrong,” she confessed. “Don’t spoil my pleasure; I can’t do it!”
+
+The strange parallel was now complete. Bound for the same destination,
+Carmina and Ovid had failed to reach it alike. And Carmina had stopped
+to look at the garden of the British Museum, before she overtook Ovid in
+the quiet square.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+If, on entering the hall, Ovid had noticed the placards, he would have
+found himself confronted by a coincidence. The person who gave the
+concert was also the person who taught music to his half-sisters. Not
+many days since, he had himself assisted the enterprise, by taking
+a ticket at his mother’s request. Seeing nothing, remembering
+nothing--hurried by the fear of losing sight of the two strangers if
+there was a large audience--he impatiently paid for another ticket, at
+the doors.
+
+The room was little more than half full, and so insufficiently
+ventilated that the atmosphere was oppressive even under those
+circumstances. He easily discovered the two central chairs, in the
+midway row of seats, which she and her companion had chosen. There was a
+vacant chair (among many others) at one extremity of the row in front
+of them. He took that place. To look at her, without being
+discovered--there, so far, was the beginning and the end of his utmost
+desire.
+
+The performances had already begun. So long as her attention was
+directed to the singers and players on the platform, he could feast his
+eyes on her with impunity. In an unoccupied interval, she looked at the
+audience--and discovered him.
+
+Had he offended her?
+
+If appearances were to be trusted, he had produced no impression of any
+sort. She quietly looked away, towards the other side of the room.
+The mere turning of her head was misinterpreted by Ovid as an implied
+rebuke. He moved to the row of seats behind her. She was now nearer to
+him than she had been yet. He was again content, and more than content.
+The next performance was a solo on the piano. A round of applause
+welcomed the player. Ovid looked at the platform for the first time.
+In the bowing man, with a prematurely bald head and a servile smile,
+he recognized Mrs. Gallilee’s music-master. The inevitable inference
+followed. His mother might be in the room.
+
+After careful examination of the scanty audience, he failed to discover
+her--thus far. She would certainly arrive, nevertheless. My money’s
+worth for my money was a leading principle in Mrs. Gallilee’s life.
+
+He sighed as he looked towards the door of entrance. Not for long had
+he revelled in the luxury of a new happiness. He had openly avowed his
+dislike of concerts, when his mother had made him take a ticket for this
+concert. With her quickness of apprehension what might she not suspect,
+if she found him among the audience?
+
+Come what might of it, he still kept his place; he still feasted his
+eyes on the slim figure of the young girl, on the gentle yet spirited
+carriage of her head. But the pleasure was no longer pleasure without
+alloy. His mother had got between them now.
+
+The solo on the piano came to an end.
+
+In the interval that followed, he turned once more towards the entrance.
+Just as he was looking away again, he heard Mrs. Gallilee’s loud voice.
+She was administering a maternal caution to one of the children. “Behave
+better here than you behaved in the carriage, or I shall take you away.”
+
+If she found him in his present place--if she put her own clever
+construction on what she saw--her opinion would assuredly express itself
+in some way. She was one of those women who can insult another woman
+(and safely disguise it) by an inquiring look. For the girl’s sake, Ovid
+instantly moved away from her to the seats at the back of the hall.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee made a striking entrance--dressed to perfection; powdered
+and painted to perfection; leading her daughters, and followed by her
+governess. The usher courteously indicated places near the platform.
+Mrs. Galilee astonished him by a little lecture on acoustics, delivered
+with the sweetest condescension. Her Christian humility smiled, and call
+the usher, Sir. “Sound, sir, is most perfectly heard towards the centre
+of the auditorium.” She led the way towards the centre. Vacant places
+invited her to the row of seats occupied by Carmina and Teresa. She, the
+unknown aunt, seated herself next to the unknown niece.
+
+They looked at each other.
+
+Perhaps, it was the heat of the room. Perhaps, she had not perfectly
+recovered the nervous shock of seeing the dog killed. Carmina’s head
+sank on good Teresa’s shoulder. She had fainted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+“May I ask for a cup of tea, Miss Minerva?”
+
+“Delighted, I’m sure, Mr. Le Frank.”
+
+“And was Mrs. Gallilee pleased with the Concert?”
+
+“Charmed.”
+
+Mr. Le Frank shook his head. “I am afraid there was a drawback,”
+ he suggested. “You forget the lady who fainted. So alarming to the
+audience. So disagreeable to the artists.”
+
+“Take care, Mr. Le Frank! These new houses are flimsily built; they
+might hear you upstairs. The fainting lady is upstairs. All the elements
+of a romance are upstairs. Is your tea to your liking?”
+
+In this playfully provocative manner, Miss Minerva (the governess)
+trifled with the curiosity of Mr. Le Frank (the music-master), as the
+proverbial cat trifles with the terror of the captive mouse. The man
+of the bald head and the servile smile showed a polite interest in the
+coming disclosure; he opened his deeply-sunk eyes, and lazily lifted his
+delicate eyebrows.
+
+He had called at Mrs. Gallilee’s house, after the concert, to get
+a little tea (with a large infusion of praise) in the schoolroom. A
+striking personal contrast confronted him, in the face of the lady who
+was dispensing the hospitalities of the table. Mr. Le Frank’s plump
+cheeks were, in colour, of the obtrusively florid sort. The relics of
+yellow hair, still adhering to the sides of his head, looked as silkily
+frail as spun glass. His noble beard made amends for his untimely
+baldness. The glossy glory of it exhaled delicious perfumes; the keenest
+eyes might have tried in vain to discover a hair that was out of place.
+Miss Minerva’s eager sallow face, so lean, and so hard, and so long,
+looked, by contrast, as if it wanted some sort of discreet covering
+thrown over some part of it. Her coarse black hair projected like a
+penthouse over her bushy black eyebrows and her keen black eyes.
+Oh, dear me (as they said in the servants’ hall), she would never be
+married--so yellow and so learned, so ugly and so poor! And yet, if
+mystery is interesting, this was an interesting woman. The people about
+her felt an uneasy perception of something secret, ominously secret,
+in the nature of the governess which defied detection. If Inquisitive
+Science, vowed to medical research, could dissect firmness of will,
+working at its steadiest repressive action--then, the mystery of Miss
+Minerva’s inner nature might possibly have been revealed. As it was,
+nothing more remarkable exposed itself to view than an irritable temper;
+serving perhaps as safety-valve to an underlying explosive force, which
+(with strong enough temptation and sufficient opportunity) might yet
+break out.
+
+“Gently, Mr. Le Frank! The tea is hot--you may burn your mouth. How am
+I to tell you what has happened?” Miss Minerva dropped the playfully
+provocative tone, with infinite tact, exactly at the right moment. “Just
+imagine,” she resumed, “a scene on the stage, occurring in private life.
+The lady who fainted at your concert, turns out to be no less a person
+that Mrs. Gallilee’s niece!”
+
+The general folly which reads a prospectus and blindly speculates in
+shares, is matched by the equally diffused stupidity, which is incapable
+of discovering that there can be any possible relation between fiction
+and truth. Say it’s in a novel--and you are a fool if you believe it.
+Say it’s in a newspaper--and you are a fool if you doubt it. Mr. Le
+Frank, following the general example, followed it on this occasion a
+little too unreservedly. He avowed his doubts of the circumstance just
+related, although it was, on the authority of a lady, a circumstance
+occurring in real life! Far from being offended, Miss Minerva cordially
+sympathized with him.
+
+“It _is_ too theatrical to be believed,” she admitted; “but this
+fainting young person is positively the interesting stranger we have
+been expecting from Italy. You know Mrs. Gallilee. Hers was the first
+smelling-bottle produced; hers was the presence of mind which suggested
+a horizontal position. ‘Help the heart,’ she said; ‘don’t impede it.’
+The whole theory of fainting fits, in six words! In another moment,”
+ proceeded the governess making a theatrical point without suspecting
+it--“in another moment, Mrs. Gallilee herself stood in need of the
+smelling-bottle.”
+
+Mr. Le Frank was not a true believer, even yet. “You don’t mean _she_
+fainted!” he said.
+
+Miss Minerva held up the indicative forefinger, with which she
+emphasized instruction when her pupils required rousing. “Mrs.
+Gallilee’s strength of mind--as I was about to say, if you had listened
+to me--resisted the shock. What the effort must have cost her you will
+presently understand. Our interesting young lady was accompanied by a
+hideous old foreign woman who completely lost her head. She smacked
+her hands distractedly; she called on the saints (without producing the
+slightest effect)--but she mixed up a name, remarkable even in Italy,
+with the rest of the delirium; and _that_ was serious. Put yourself in
+Mrs. Gallilee’s place--”
+
+“I couldn’t do it,” said Mr. Le Frank, with humility.
+
+Miss Minerva passed over this reply without notice. Perhaps she was not
+a believer in the humility of musicians.
+
+“The young lady’s Christian name,” she proceeded, “is Carmina; (put
+the accent, if you please, on the _first_ syllable). The moment Mrs.
+Gallilee heard the name, it struck her like a blow. She enlightened the
+old woman, and asserted herself as Miss Carmina’s aunt in an instant.
+‘I am Mrs. Gallilee:’ that was all she said. The result”--Miss Minerva
+paused, and pointed to the ceiling; “the result is up there. Our
+charming guest was on the sofa, and the hideous old nurse was fanning
+her, when I had the honour of seeing them just now. No, Mr. Le Frank!
+I haven’t done yet. There is a last act in this drama of private life
+still to relate. A medical gentleman was present at the concert, who
+offered his services in reviving Miss Carmina. The same gentleman is now
+in attendance on the interesting patient. Can you guess who he is?”
+
+Mr. Le Frank had sold a ticket for his concert to the medical adviser of
+the family--one Mr. Null. A cautious guess in this direction seemed to
+offer the likeliest chance of success.
+
+“He is a patron of music,” the pianist began.
+
+“He hates music,” the governess interposed.
+
+“I mean Mr. Null,” Mr. Le Frank persisted.
+
+_“I_ mean--” Miss Minerva paused (like the cat with the mouse
+again!)--_“I_ mean, Mr. Ovid Vere.”
+
+What form the music-master’s astonishment might have assumed may be
+matter for speculation, it was never destined to become matter of fact.
+At the moment when Miss Minerva overwhelmed him with the climax of her
+story, a little, rosy, elderly gentleman, with a round face, a sweet
+smile, and a curly gray head, walked into the room, accompanied by two
+girls. Persons of small importance--only Mr. Gallilee and his daughters.
+
+“How d’ye-do, Mr. Le Frank. I hope you got plenty of money by the
+concert. I gave away my own two tickets. You will excuse me, I’m sure.
+Music, I can’t think why, always sends me to sleep. Here are your two
+pupils, Miss Minerva, safe and sound. It struck me we were rather in the
+way, when that sweet young creature was brought home. Sadly in want
+of quiet, poor thing--not in want of _us._ Mrs. Gallilee and Ovid, so
+clever and attentive, were just the right people in the right place. So
+I put on my hat--I’m always available, Mr. Le Frank; I have the great
+advantage of never having anything to do--and I said to the girls,
+‘Let’s have a walk.’ We had no particular place to go to--that’s another
+advantage of mine--so we drifted about. I didn’t mean it, but, somehow
+or other, we stopped at a pastry-cook’s shop. What was the name of the
+pastry-cook?”
+
+So far Mr. Gallilee proceeded, speaking in the oddest self-contradictory
+voice, if such a description is permissible--a voice at once high in
+pitch and mild in tone: in short, as Mr. Le Frank once professionally
+remarked, a soft falsetto. When the good gentleman paused to make his
+little effort of memory, his eldest daughter--aged twelve, and always
+ready to distinguish herself--saw her opportunity, and took the rest of
+the narrative into her own hands.
+
+Miss Maria, named after her mother, was one of the successful new
+products of the age we live in--the conventionally-charming child (who
+has never been smacked); possessed of the large round eyes that we see
+in pictures, and the sweet manners and perfect principles that we read
+of in books. She called everybody “dear;” she knew to a nicety how much
+oxygen she wanted in the composition of her native air; and--alas, poor
+wretch!--she had never wetted her shoes or dirtied her face since the
+day when she was born.
+
+“Dear Miss Minerva,” said Maria, “the pastry-cook’s name was Timbal. We
+have had ices.”
+
+His mind being now set at rest on the subject of the pastry-cook, Mr.
+Gallilee turned to his youngest daughter--aged ten, and one of the
+unsuccessful products of the age we live in. This was a curiously
+slow, quaint, self-contained child; the image of her father, with an
+occasional reflection of his smile; incurably stupid, or incurably
+perverse--the friends of the family were not quite sure which. Whether
+she might have been over-crammed with useless knowledge, was not a
+question in connection with the subject which occurred to anybody.
+
+“Rouse yourself, Zo,” said Mr. Gallilee. “What did we have besides
+ices?”
+
+Zoe (known to her father, by vulgar abbreviation, as “Zo”) took Mr.
+Gallilee’s stumpy red hand, and held hard by it as if that was the
+one way in which a dull child could rouse herself, with a prospect of
+success.
+
+“I’ve had so many of them,” she said; “I don’t know. Ask Maria.”
+
+Maria responded with the sweetest readiness. “Dear Zoe, you are so slow!
+Cheesecakes.”
+
+Mr. Gallilee patted Zoe’s head as encouragingly as if she had discovered
+the right answer by herself. “That’s right--ices and cheese-cakes,” he
+said. “We tried cream-ice, and then we tried water-ice. The children,
+Miss Minerva, preferred the cream-ice. And, do you know, I’m of their
+opinion. There’s something in a cream-ice--what do you think yourself of
+cream-ices, Mr. Le Frank?”
+
+It was one among the many weaknesses of Mr. Gallilee’s character to be
+incapable of opening his lips without, sooner or later, taking somebody
+into his confidence. In the merest trifles, he instinctively invited
+sympathy and agreement from any person within his reach--from a total
+stranger quite as readily as from an intimate friend. Mr. Le Frank,
+representing the present Court of Social Appeal, attempted to deliver
+judgment on the question of ices, and was interrupted without ceremony
+by Miss Minerva. She, too, had been waiting her opportunity to speak,
+and she now took it--not amiably.
+
+“With all possible respect, Mr. Gallilee, I venture to entreat that you
+will be a little more thoughtful, where the children are concerned. I
+beg your pardon, Mr. Le Frank, for interrupting you--but it is really
+a little too hard on Me. I am held responsible for the health of these
+girls; I am blamed over and over again, when it is not my fault, for
+irregularities in their diet--and there they are, at this moment,
+chilled with ices and cloyed with cakes! What will Mrs. Gallilee say?”
+
+“Don’t tell her,” Mr. Gallilee suggested.
+
+“The girls will be thirsty for the rest of the evening,” Miss Minerva
+persisted; “the girls will have no appetite for the last meal before
+bedtime. And their mother will ask Me what it means.”
+
+“My good creature,” cried Mr. Gallilee, “don’t be afraid of the girls’
+appetites! Take off their hats, and give them something nice for supper.
+They inherit my stomach, Miss Minerva--and they’ll ‘tuck in,’ as we used
+to say at school. Did they say so in your time, Mr. Le Frank?”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee’s governess and vulgar expressions were anomalies never to
+be reconciled, under any circumstances. Miss Minerva took off the hats
+in stern silence. Even “Papa” might have seen the contempt in her face,
+if she had not managed to hide it in this way, by means of the girls.
+
+In the silence that ensued, Mr. Le Frank had his chance of speaking, and
+showed himself to be a gentleman with a happily balanced character--a
+musician, with an eye to business. Using gratitude to Mr. Gallilee as a
+means of persuasion, he gently pushed the interests of a friend who was
+giving a concert next week. “We poor artists have our faults, my dear
+sir; but we are all earnest in helping each other. My friend sang for
+nothing at my concert. Don’t suppose for a moment that he expects it of
+me! But I am going to play for nothing at his concert. May I appeal to
+your kind patronage to take two tickets?” The reply ended appropriately
+in musical sound--a golden tinkling, in Mr. Le Frank’s pocket.
+
+Having paid his tribute to art and artists, Mr. Gallilee looked
+furtively at Miss Minerva. On the wise principle of letting well alone,
+he perceived that the happy time had arrived for leaving the room. How
+was he to make his exit? He prided himself on his readiness of resource,
+in difficulties of this sort, and he was equal to the occasion as
+usual--he said he would go to his club.
+
+“We really have a capital smoking-room at that club,” he said. “I do
+like a good cigar; and--what do _you_ think Mr. Le Frank?--isn’t a pint
+of champagne nice drinking, this hot weather? Just cooled with ice--I
+don’t know whether you feel the weather, Miss Minerva, as I do?--and
+poured, fizzing, into a silver mug. Lord, how delicious! Good-bye,
+girls. Give me a kiss before I go.”
+
+Maria led the way, as became the elder. She not only gave the kiss, but
+threw an appropriate sentiment into the bargain. “I do love you,
+dear papa!” said this perfect daughter--with a look in Miss Minerva’s
+direction, which might have been a malicious look in any eyes but
+Maria’s.
+
+Mr. Gallilee turned to his youngest child. “Well, Zo--what do _you_
+say?”
+
+Zo took her father’s hand once more, and rubbed her head against it like
+a cat. This new method of expressing filial affection seemed to interest
+Mr. Gallilee. “Does your head itch, my dear?” he asked. The idea was new
+to Zo. She brightened, and looked at her father with a sly smile. “Why
+do you do it?” Miss Minerva asked sharply. Zo clouded over again, and
+answered, “I don’t know.” Mr. Gallilee rewarded her with a kiss, and
+went away to champagne and the club.
+
+Mr. Le Frank left the schoolroom next. He paid the governess the
+compliment of reverting to her narrative of events at the concert.
+
+“I am greatly struck,” he said, “by what you told me about Mr. Ovid
+Vere. We may, perhaps, have misjudged him in thinking that he doesn’t
+like music. His coming to my concert suggests a more cheering view. Do
+you think there would be any impropriety in my calling to thank him?
+Perhaps it would be better if I wrote, and enclosed two tickets for my
+friend’s concert? To tell you the truth, I’ve pledged myself to dispose
+of a certain number of tickets. My friend is so much in request--it’s
+expecting too much to ask him to sing for nothing. I think I’ll write.
+Good-evening!”
+
+Left alone with her pupils, Miss Minerva looked at her watch. “Prepare
+your lessons for to-morrow,” she said.
+
+The girls produced their books. Maria’s library of knowledge was in
+perfect order. The pages over which Zo pondered in endless perplexity
+were crumpled by weary fingers, and stained by frequent tears. Oh, fatal
+knowledge! mercifully forbidden to the first two of our race, who shall
+count the crimes and stupidities committed in your name?
+
+Miss Minerva leaned back in her easy-chair. Her mind was occupied by the
+mysterious question of Ovid’s presence at the concert. She raised her
+keenly penetrating eyes to the ceiling, and listened for sounds from
+above.
+
+“I wonder,” she thought to herself, “what they are doing upstairs?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was as complete a mistress of the practice of domestic
+virtue as of the theory of acoustics and fainting fits. At dressing
+with taste, and ordering dinners with invention; at heading her table
+gracefully, and making her guests comfortable; at managing refractory
+servants and detecting dishonest tradespeople, she was the equal of
+the least intellectual woman that ever lived. Her preparations for the
+reception of her niece were finished in advance, without an oversight
+in the smallest detail. Carmina’s inviting bedroom, in blue, opened
+into Carmina’s irresistible sitting-room, in brown. The ventilation
+was arranged, the light and shade were disposed, the flowers were
+attractively placed, under Mrs. Gallilee’s infallible superintendence.
+Before Carmina had recovered her senses she was provided with a second
+mother, who played the part to perfection.
+
+The four persons, now assembled in the pretty sitting-room upstairs,
+were in a position of insupportable embarrassment towards each other.
+
+Finding her son at a concert (after he had told her that he hated music)
+Mrs. Gallilee, had first discovered him hurrying to the assistance of
+a young lady in a swoon, with all the anxiety and alarm which he might
+have shown in the case of a near and dear friend. And yet, when this
+stranger was revealed as a relation, he had displayed an amazement equal
+to her own! What explanation could reconcile such contradictions as
+these?
+
+As for Carmina, her conduct complicated the mystery.
+
+What was she doing at a concert, when she ought to have been on her way
+to her aunt’s house? Why, if she must faint when the hot room had not
+overpowered anyone else, had she failed to recover in the usual way?
+There she lay on the sofa, alternately flushing and turning pale when
+she was spoken to; ill at ease in the most comfortable house in London;
+timid and confused under the care of her best friends. Making all
+allowance for a sensitive temperament, could a long journey from Italy,
+and a childish fright at seeing a dog run over, account for such a state
+of things as this?
+
+Annoyed and perplexed--but yet far too prudent to commit herself
+ignorantly to inquiries which might lead to future embarrassment--Mrs.
+Gallilee tried suggestive small talk as a means of enlightenment. The
+wrinkled duenna, sitting miserably on satin supported by frail gilt
+legs, seemed to take her tone of feeling from her young mistress,
+exactly as she took her orders. Mrs. Gallilee spoke to her in English,
+and spoke to her in Italian--and could make nothing of the experiment in
+either case. The wild old creature seemed to be afraid to look at her.
+
+Ovid himself proved to be just as difficult to fathom, in another way
+
+He certainly answered when his mother spoke to him, but always briefly,
+and in the same absent tone. He asked no questions, and offered no
+explanations. The sense of embarrassment, on his side, had produced
+unaccountable changes. He showed the needful attention to Carmina,
+with a silent gentleness which presented him in a new character. His
+customary manner with ailing persons, women as well as men, was rather
+abrupt: his quick perception hurried him into taking the words out of
+their mouths (too pleasantly to give offence) when they were describing
+their symptoms. There he sat now, contemplating his pale little cousin,
+with a patient attention wonderful to see; listening to the commonplace
+words which dropped at intervals from her lips, as if--in his state of
+health, and with the doubtful prospect which it implied--there were no
+serious interests to occupy his mind.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee could endure it no longer.
+
+If she had not deliberately starved her imagination, and emptied her
+heart of any tenderness of feeling which it might once have possessed,
+her son’s odd behaviour would have interested instead of perplexing her.
+As it was, her scientific education left her as completely in the dark,
+where questions of sentiment were concerned, as if her experience of
+humanity, in its relation to love, had been experience in the cannibal
+islands. She decided on leaving her niece to repose, and on taking her
+son away with her.
+
+“In your present state of health, Ovid,” she began, “Carmina must not
+accept your professional advice.”
+
+Something in those words stung Ovid’s temper.
+
+“My professional advice?” he repeated. “You talk as if she was seriously
+ill!”
+
+Carmina’s sweet smile stopped him there.
+
+“We don’t know what may happen,” she said, playfully.
+
+“God forbid _that_ should happen!” He spoke so fervently that the women
+all looked at him in surprise.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee turned to her niece, and proceeded quietly with what she
+had to say.
+
+“Ovid is so sadly overworked, my dear, that I actually rejoice in his
+giving up practice, and going away from us to-morrow. We will leave you
+for the present with your old friend. Pray ring, if you want anything.”
+ She kissed her hand to Carmina, and, beckoning to her son, advanced
+towards the door.
+
+Teresa looked at her, and suddenly looked away again. Mrs. Gallilee
+stopped on her way out, at a chiffonier, and altered the arrangement of
+some of the china on it. The duenna followed on tiptoe--folded her thumb
+and two middle fingers into the palm of her hand--and, stretching out
+the forefinger and the little finger, touched Mrs. Gallilee on the back,
+so softly that she was unaware of it. “The Evil Eye,” Teresa whispered
+to herself in Italian, as she stole back to her place.
+
+Ovid lingered near his cousin: neither of them had seen what Teresa
+had done. He rose reluctantly to go. Feeling his little attentions
+gratefully, Carmina checked him with innocent familiarity as he left his
+chair. “I must thank you,” she said, simply; “it seems hard indeed that
+you, who cure others, should suffer from illness yourself.”
+
+Teresa, watching them with interest, came a little nearer.
+
+She could now examine Ovid’s face with close and jealous scrutiny. Mrs.
+Gallilee reminded her son that she was waiting for him. He had some last
+words yet to say. The duenna drew back from the sofa, still looking at
+Ovid: she muttered to herself, “Holy Teresa, my patroness, show me that
+man’s soul in his face!” At last, Ovid took his leave. “I shall call and
+see how you are to-morrow,” he said, “before I go.” He nodded kindly to
+Teresa. Instead of being satisfied with that act of courtesy, she wanted
+something more. “May I shake hands?” she asked. Mrs. Gallilee was a
+Liberal in politics; never had her principles been tried, as they
+were tried when she heard those words. Teresa wrung Ovid’s hand with
+tremulous energy--still intent on reading his character in his face. He
+asked her, smiling, what she saw to interest her. “A good man, I hope,”
+ she answered, sternly. Carmina and Ovid were amused. Teresa rebuked
+them, as if they had been children. “Laugh at some fitter time,” she
+said, “not now.”
+
+Descending the stairs, Mrs. Gallilee and Ovid met the footman. “Mr. Mool
+is in the library, ma’am,” the man said.
+
+“Have you anything to do, Ovid, for the next half-hour?” his mother
+asked.
+
+“Do you wish me to see Mr. Mool? If it’s law-business, I am afraid I
+shall not be of much use.”
+
+“The lawyer is here by appointment, with a copy of your late uncle’s
+Will,” Mrs. Gallilee answered. “You may have some interest in it. I
+think you ought to hear it read.”
+
+Ovid showed no inclination to adopt this proposal. He asked an idle
+question. “I heard of their finding the Will--are there any romantic
+circumstances?”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee surveyed her son with an expression of good-humoured
+contempt. “What a boy you are, in some things! Have you been reading a
+novel lately? My dear, when the people in Italy made up their minds, at
+last, to have the furniture in your uncle’s room taken to pieces, they
+found the Will. It had slipped behind a drawer, in a rotten old cabinet,
+full of useless papers. Nothing romantic (thank God!), and nothing
+(as Mr. Mool’s letter tells me) that can lead to misunderstandings or
+disputes.”
+
+Ovid’s indifference was not to be conquered. He left it to his mother to
+send him word if he had a legacy “I am not as much interested in it as
+you are,” he explained. “Plenty of money left to you, of course?” He was
+evidently thinking all the time of something else.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee stopped in the hall, with an air of downright alarm.
+
+“Your mind is in a dreadful state,” she said.
+
+“Have you really forgotten what I told you, only yesterday? The Will
+appoints me Carmina’s guardian.”
+
+He had plainly forgotten it--he started, when his mother recalled the
+circumstance. “Curious,” he said to himself, “that I was not reminded of
+it, when I saw Carmina’s rooms prepared for her.” His mother, anxiously
+looking at him, observed that his face brightened when he spoke of
+Carmina. He suddenly changed his mind.
+
+“Make allowances for an overworked man,” he said. “You are quite right.
+I ought to hear the Will read--I am at your service.”
+
+Even Mrs. Gallilee now drew the right inference at last. She made no
+remark. Something seemed to move feebly under her powder and paint. Soft
+emotion trying to find its way to the surface? Impossible!
+
+As they entered the library together, Miss Minerva returned to the
+schoolroom. She had lingered on the upper landing, and had heard the
+conversation between mother and son.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+The library at Fairfield Gardens possessed two special attractions,
+besides the books. It opened into a large conservatory; and it was
+adorned by an admirable portrait of Mrs. Gallilee, painted by her
+brother.
+
+Waiting the appearance of the fair original, Mr. Mool looked at the
+portrait, and then mentally reviewed the history of Mrs. Gallilee’s
+family. What he did next, no person acquainted with the habits of
+lawyers will be weak enough to believe. Mr. Mool blushed.
+
+Is this the language of exaggeration, describing a human anomaly on the
+roll of attorneys? The fact shall be left to answer the question. Mr.
+Mool had made a mistake in his choice of a profession. The result of the
+mistake was--a shy lawyer.
+
+Attended by such circumstances as these, the history of the family
+assumes, for the moment, a certain importance. It is connected with a
+blushing attorney. It will explain what happened on the reading of the
+Will. And it is sure beforehand of a favourable reception--for it is all
+about money.
+
+
+Old Robert Graywell began life as the son of a small farmer. He was
+generally considered to be rather an eccentric man; but prospered,
+nevertheless, as a merchant in the city of London. When he retired from
+business, he possessed a house and estate in the country, and a handsome
+fortune safely invested in the Funds.
+
+His children were three in number:--his son Robert, and his daughters
+Maria and Susan.
+
+The death of his wife, to whom he was devotedly attached, was the first
+serious calamity of his life. He retired to his estate a soured and
+broken man. Loving husbands are not always, as a necessary consequence,
+tender fathers. Old Robert’s daughters afforded him no consolation on
+their mother’s death. Their anxiety about their mourning dresses so
+disgusted him that he kept out of their way. No extraordinary interest
+was connected with their prospects in life: they would be married--and
+there would be an end of them. As for the son, he had long since placed
+himself beyond the narrow range of his father’s sympathies. In the first
+place, his refusal to qualify himself for a mercantile career had made
+it necessary to dispose of the business to strangers. In the second
+place, young Robert Graywell proved--without any hereditary influence,
+and in the face of the strongest discouragement--to be a born painter!
+One of the greatest artists of that day saw the boy’s first efforts, and
+pronounced judgment in these plain words: “What a pity he has not got
+his bread to earn by his brush!”
+
+On the death of old Robert, his daughters found themselves (to use their
+own expression) reduced to a trumpery legacy of ten thousand pounds
+each. Their brother inherited the estate, and the bulk of the
+property--not because his father cared about founding a family, but
+because the boy had always been his mother’s favourite.
+
+The first of the three children to marry was the eldest sister.
+
+Maria considered herself fortunate in captivating Mr. Vere--a man of
+old family, with a high sense of what he owed to his name. He had a
+sufficient income, and he wanted no more. His wife’s dowry was settled
+on herself. When he died, he left her a life-interest in his property
+amounting to six hundred a year. This, added to the annual proceeds
+of her own little fortune, made an income of one thousand pounds. The
+remainder of Mr. Vere’s property was left to his only surviving child,
+Ovid.
+
+With a thousand a year for herself, and with two thousand a year for her
+son, on his coming of age, the widowed Maria might possibly have been
+satisfied--but for the extraordinary presumption of her younger sister.
+
+Susan, ranking second in age, ranked second also in beauty; and yet, in
+the race for a husband, Susan won the prize!
+
+Soon after her sister’s marriage, she made a conquest of a Scotch
+nobleman, possessed of a palace in London, and a palace in Scotland, and
+a rent-roll of forty thousand pounds. Maria, to use her own expression,
+never recovered it. From the horrid day when Susan became Lady
+Northlake, Maria became a serious woman. All her earthly interests
+centred now in the cultivation of her intellect. She started on that
+glorious career, which associated her with the march of science. In only
+a year afterwards--as an example of the progress which a resolute woman
+can make--she was familiar with zoophyte fossils, and had succeeded in
+dissecting the nervous system of a bee.
+
+Was there no counter-attraction in her married life?
+
+Very little. Mr. Vere felt no sympathy with his wife’s scientific
+pursuits.
+
+On her husband’s death, did she find no consolation in her son? Let
+her speak for herself. “My son fills my heart. But the school, the
+university, and the hospital have all in turn taken his education out of
+my hands. My mind must be filled, as well as my heart.” She seized her
+exquisite instruments, and returned to the nervous system of the bee.
+
+In course of time, Mr. John Gallilee--“drifting about,” as he said of
+himself--drifted across the path of science.
+
+The widowed Mrs. Vere (as exhibited in public) was still a fine woman.
+Mr. Gallilee admired “that style”; and Mr. Gallilee had fifty thousand
+pounds. Only a little more, to my lord and my lady, than one year’s
+income. But, invested at four percent, it added an annual two thousand
+pounds to Mrs. Vere’s annual one thousand. Result, three thousand a
+year, encumbered with Mr. Gallilee. On reflection, Mrs. Vere
+accepted the encumbrance--and reaped her reward. Susan was no longer
+distinguished as the sister who had her dresses made in Paris; and Mrs.
+Gallilee was not now subjected to the indignity of getting a lift in
+Lady Northlake’s carriage.
+
+What was the history of Robert, during this interval of time? In two
+words, Robert disgraced himself.
+
+Taking possession of his country house, the new squire was invited to
+contribute towards the expense of a pack of hounds kept by subscription
+in the neighbourhood, and was advised to make acquaintance with his
+fellow-sportsmen by giving a hunt-breakfast. He answered very politely;
+but the fact was not to be concealed--the new man refused to encourage
+hunting: he thought that noble amusement stupid and cruel. For the same
+reason, he refused to preserve game. A last mistake was left to make,
+and he made it. After returning the rector’s visit, he failed to
+appear at church. No person with the smallest knowledge of the English
+character, as exhibited in an English county, will fail to foresee that
+Robert’s residence on his estate was destined to come, sooner or later,
+to an untimely end. When he had finished his sketches of the picturesque
+aspects of his landed property, he disappeared. The estate was not
+entailed. Old Robert--who had insisted on the minutest formalities
+and details in providing for his dearly-loved wife--was impenetrably
+careless about the future of his children. “My fortune has no value now
+in my eyes,” he said to judicious friends; “let them run through it all,
+if they please. It would do them a deal of good if they were obliged to
+earn their own living, like better people than themselves.” Left free to
+take his own way, Robert sold the estate merely to get rid of it. With
+no expensive tastes, except the taste for buying pictures, he became a
+richer man than ever.
+
+When their brother next communicated with them, Lady Northlake and Mrs.
+Gallilee heard of him as a voluntary exile in Italy. He was building a
+studio and a gallery; he was contemplating a series of pictures; and he
+was a happy man for the first time in his life.
+
+Another interval passed--and the sisters heard of Robert again.
+
+Having already outraged the sense of propriety among his English
+neighbours, he now degraded himself in the estimation of his family,
+by marrying a “model.” The letter announcing this event declared, with
+perfect truth, that he had chosen a virtuous woman for his wife. She sat
+to artists, as any lady might sit to any artist, “for the head only.”
+ Her parents gained a bare subsistence by farming their own little morsel
+of land; they were honest people--and what did brother Robert care for
+rank? His own grandfather had been a farmer.
+
+Lady Northlake and Mrs. Gallilee felt it due to themselves to hold a
+consultation, on the subject of their sister-in-law. Was it desirable,
+in their own social interests, to cast Robert off from that moment?
+
+Susan (previously advised by her kind-hearted husband) leaned to the
+side of mercy. Robert’s letter informed them that he proposed to live,
+and die, in Italy. If he held to this resolution, his marriage would
+surely be an endurable misfortune to his relatives in London. “Suppose
+we write to him,” Susan concluded, “and say we are surprised, but
+we have no doubt he knows best. We offer our congratulations to Mrs.
+Robert, and our sincere wishes for his happiness.”
+
+To Lady Northlake’s astonishment, Mrs. Gallilee adopted this indulgent
+point of view, without a word of protest. She had her reasons--but they
+were not producible to a relative whose husband had forty thousand a
+year. Robert had paid her debts.
+
+An income of three thousand pounds, even in these days, represents a
+handsome competence--provided you don’t “owe a duty to society.” In
+Mrs. Gallilee’s position, an income of three thousand pounds represented
+genteel poverty. She was getting into debt again; and she was meditating
+future designs on her brother’s purse. A charming letter to Robert
+was the result. It ended with, “Do send me a photograph of your lovely
+wife!” When the poor “model” died, not many years afterwards, leaving
+one little daughter, Mrs. Gallilee implored her brother to return to
+England. “Come, dearest Robert, and find consolation and a home, under
+the roof of your affectionate Maria.”
+
+But Robert remained in Italy, and was buried in Italy. At the date of
+his death, he had three times paid his elder sister’s debts. On
+every occasion when he helped her in this liberal way, she proved her
+gratitude by anticipating a larger, and a larger, and a larger legacy if
+she outlived him.
+
+Knowing (as the family lawyer) what sums of money Mrs. Gallilee had
+extracted from her brother, Mr. Mool also knew that the advances thus
+made had been considered as representing the legacy, to which she might
+otherwise have had some sisterly claim. It was his duty to have warned
+her of this, when she questioned him generally on the subject of the
+Will; and he had said nothing about it, acting under a most unbecoming
+motive--in plain words, the motive of fear. From the self-reproachful
+feeling that now disturbed him, had risen that wonderful blush which
+made its appearance on Mr. Mool’s countenance. He was actually ashamed
+of himself. After all, is it too much to have suggested that he was a
+human anomaly on the roll of attorneys?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee made her appearance in the library--and Mr. Mool’s
+pulse accelerated its beat. Mrs. Gallilee’s son followed her into the
+room--and Mr. Mool’s pulse steadied itself again. By special arrangement
+with the lawyer, Ovid had been always kept in ignorance of his mother’s
+affairs. No matter how angry she might be in the course of the next few
+minutes, she could hardly express her indignation in the presence of her
+son.
+
+Joyous anticipation has the happiest effect on female beauty. Mrs.
+Gallilee looked remarkably well, that day. Having rather a round and
+full face, she wore her hair (coloured from youthful nature) in a fringe
+across her forehead, balanced on either side by clusters of charming
+little curls. Her mourning for Robert was worthy of its Parisian origin;
+it showed to perfect advantage the bloom of her complexion and the
+whiteness of her neck--also worthy of their Parisian origin. She looked
+like a portrait of the period of Charles the Second, endowed with life.
+
+“And how do you do, Mr. Mool? Have you been looking at my ferns?”
+
+The ferns were grouped at the entrance, leading from the library to the
+conservatory. They had certainly not escaped the notice of the lawyer,
+who possessed a hot-house of his own, and who was an enthusiast in
+botany. It now occurred to him--if he innocently provoked embarrassing
+results--that ferns might be turned to useful and harmless account as a
+means of introducing a change of subject. “Even when she hasn’t spoken a
+word,” thought Mr. Mool, consulting his recollections, “I have felt her
+eyes go through me like a knife.”
+
+“Spare us the technicalities, please,” Mrs. Gallilee continued, pointing
+to the documents on the table. “I want to be exactly acquainted with the
+duties I owe to Carmina. And, by the way, I naturally feel some interest
+in knowing whether Lady Northlake has any place in the Will.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee never said “my sister,” never spoke in the family
+circle of “Susan.” The inexhaustible sense of injury, aroused by that
+magnificent marriage, asserted itself in keeping her sister at the full
+distance implied by never forgetting her title.
+
+“The first legacy mentioned in the Will,” said Mr. Mool, “is a legacy
+to Lady Northlake.” Mrs. Gallilee’s face turned as hard as iron. “One
+hundred pounds,” Mr. Mool continued, “to buy a mourning ring.”’ Mrs.
+Gallilee’s eyes became eloquent in an instant, and said as if in words,
+“Thank Heaven!”
+
+“So like your uncle’s unpretending good sense,” she remarked to her son.
+“Any other legacy to Lady Northlake would have been simply absurd. Yes,
+Mr. Mool? Perhaps my name follows?”
+
+Mr. Mool cast a side-look at the ferns. He afterwards described his
+sensations as reminding him of previous experience in a dentist’s chair,
+at the awful moment when the operator says “Let me look,” and has his
+devilish instrument hidden in his hand. The “situation,” to use the
+language of the stage, was indeed critical enough already. Ovid added to
+the horror of it by making a feeble joke. “What will you take for your
+chance, mother?”
+
+Before bad became worse, Mr. Mool summoned the energy of despair. He
+wisely read the exact words of the Will, this time: “‘And I give and
+bequeath to my sister, Mrs. Maria Gallilee, one hundred pounds.”’
+
+Ovid’s astonishment could only express itself in action. He started to
+his feet.
+
+Mr. Mool went on reading. “‘Free of legacy duty, to buy a mourning
+ring--“’
+
+“Impossible!” Ovid broke out.
+
+Mr. Mool finished the sentence. “‘And my sister will understand the
+motive which animates me in making this bequest.”’ He laid the Will on
+the table, and ventured to look up. At the same time, Ovid turned to
+his mother, struck by the words which had been just read, and eager to
+inquire what their meaning might be.
+
+Happily for themselves, the two men never knew what the preservation of
+their tranquillity owed to that one moment of delay.
+
+If they had looked at Mrs. Gallilee, when she was first aware of
+her position in the Will, they might have seen the incarnate Devil
+self-revealed in a human face. They might have read, in her eyes and on
+her lips, a warning hardly less fearful than the unearthly writing on
+the wall, which told the Eastern Monarch of his coming death. “See
+this woman, and know what I can do with her, when she has repelled her
+guardian angel, and her soul is left to ME.”
+
+But the revelation showed itself, and vanished. Her face was composed
+again, when her son and her lawyer looked at it. Her voice was under
+control; her inbred capacity for deceit was ready for action. All those
+formidable qualities in her nature, which a gentler and wiser training
+than hers had been might have held in check--by development of
+preservative influences that lay inert--were now driven back to their
+lurking-place; leaving only the faintest traces of their momentary
+appearance on the surface. Her breathing seemed to be oppressed; her
+eyelids drooped heavily--and that was all.
+
+“Is the room too hot for you?” Ovid asked.
+
+It was a harmless question, but any question annoyed her at that moment.
+“Nonsense!” she exclaimed irritably.
+
+“The atmosphere of the conservatory is rich in reviving smells,” Mr.
+Mool remarked. “Do I detect, among the delightful perfumes which reach
+us, the fragrant root-stock of the American fern? If I am wrong, Mrs.
+Gallilee, may I send you some of the sweet-smelling Maidenhair from my
+own little hot-house?” He smiled persuasively. The ferns were already
+justifying his confidence in their peace-making virtues, turned
+discreetly to account. Those terrible eyes rested on him mercifully.
+Not even a covert allusion to his silence in the matter of the legacy
+escaped her. Did the lawyer’s artlessly abrupt attempt to change the
+subject warn her to be on her guard? In any case, she thanked him with
+the readiest courtesy for his kind offer. Might she trouble him in the
+meantime to let her see the Will?
+
+She read attentively the concluding words of the clause in which her
+name appeared--“My sister will understand the motive which animates
+me in making this bequest”--and then handed back the Will to Mr.
+Mool. Before Ovid could ask for it, she was ready with a plausible
+explanation. “When your uncle became a husband and a father,” she said,
+“those claims on him were paramount. He knew that a token of remembrance
+(the smaller the better) was all I could accept, if I happened to
+outlive him. Please go on, Mr. Mool.”
+
+In one respect, Ovid resembled his late uncle. They both belonged to
+that high-minded order of men, who are slow to suspect, and therefore
+easy to deceive. Ovid tenderly took his mother’s hand.
+
+“I ought to have known it,” he said, “without obliging you to tell me.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee did _not_ blush. Mr. Mool did.
+
+“Go on!” Mrs. Gallilee repeated. Mr. Mool looked at Ovid. “The next
+name, Mr. Vere, is yours.”
+
+“Does my uncle remember me as he has remembered my mother?” asked Ovid.
+
+“Yes, sir--and let me tell you, a very pretty compliment is attached to
+the bequest. ‘It is needless’ (your late uncle says) ‘to leave any more
+important proof of remembrance to my nephew. His father has already
+provided for him; and, with his rare abilities, he will make a second
+fortune by the exercise of his profession.’ Most gratifying, Mrs.
+Gallilee, is it nor? The next clause provides for the good old
+housekeeper Teresa, and for her husband if he survives her, in the
+following terms--”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was becoming impatient to hear more of herself. “We may, I
+think, pass over that,” she suggested, “and get to the part of it
+which relates to Carmina and me. Don’t think I am impatient; I am only
+desirous--”
+
+The growling of a dog in the conservatory interrupted her. “That
+tiresome creature!” she said sharply; “I shall be obliged to get rid of
+him!”
+
+Mr. Mool volunteered to drive the dog out of the conservatory. Mrs.
+Gallilee, as irritable as ever, stopped him at the door.
+
+“Don’t, Mr. Mool! That dog’s temper is not to be trusted. He shows it
+with Miss Minerva, my governess--growls just in that way whenever he
+sees her. I dare say he smells you. There! Now he barks! You are only
+making him worse. Come back!”
+
+Being at the door, gentle Mr. Mool tried the ferns as peace-makers once
+more. He gathered a leaf, and returned to his place in a state of meek
+admiration. “The flowering fern!” he said softly.
+
+“A really fine specimen, Mrs. Gallilee, of the Osmunda Regalis. What
+a world of beauty in this bipinnate frond! One hardly knows where the
+stalk ends and the leaf begins!”
+
+The dog, a bright little terrier, came trotting into the library He
+saluted the company briskly with his tail, not excepting Mr. Mool. No
+growl, or approach to a growl, now escaped him. The manner in which
+he laid himself down at Mrs. Gallilee’s feet completely refuted her
+aspersion on his temper. Ovid suggested that he might have been provoked
+by a cat in the conservatory.
+
+Meanwhile, Mr. Mool turned over a page of the Will, and arrived at the
+clauses relating to Carmina and her guardian.
+
+“It may not be amiss,” he began, “to mention, in the first place, that
+the fortune left to Miss Carmina amounts, in round numbers, to one
+hundred and thirty thousand pounds. The Trustees--”
+
+“Skip the Trustees,” said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Mr. Mool skipped.
+
+“In the matter of the guardian,” he said, “there is a preliminary
+clause, in the event of your death or refusal to act, appointing Lady
+Northlake--”
+
+“Skip Lady Northlake,” said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Mr. Mool skipped.
+
+“You are appointed Miss Carmina’s guardian, until she comes of age,” he
+resumed. “If she marries in that interval--”
+
+He paused to turn over a page. Not only Mrs. Gallilee, but Ovid also,
+now listened with the deepest interest.
+
+“If she marries in that interval, with her guardian’s approval--”
+
+“Suppose I don’t approve of her choice?” Mrs. Gallilee interposed.
+
+Ovid looked at his mother--and quickly looked away again. The restless
+little terrier caught his eye, and jumped up to be patted. Ovid was
+too pre-occupied to notice this modest advance. The dog’s eyes and ears
+expressed reproachful surprise. His friend Ovid had treated him rudely
+for the first time in his life.
+
+“If the young lady contracts a matrimonial engagement of which you
+disapprove,” Mr. Mool answered, “you are instructed by the testator to
+assert your reasons in the presence of--well, I may describe it, as
+a family council; composed of Mr. Gallilee, and of Lord and Lady
+Northlake.”
+
+“Excessively foolish of Robert,” Mrs. Gallilee remarked. “And what, Mr.
+Mool, is this meddling council of three to do?”
+
+“A majority of the council, Mrs. Gallilee, is to decide the question
+absolutely. If the decision confirms your view, and if Miss Carmina
+still persists in her resolution notwithstanding--”
+
+“Am I to give way?” Mrs. Gallilee asked.
+
+“Not until your niece comes of age, ma’am. Then, she decides for
+herself.”
+
+“And inherits the fortune?”
+
+“Only an income from part of it--if her marriage is disapproved by her
+guardian and her relatives.”
+
+“And what becomes of the rest?”
+
+“The whole of it,” said Mr. Mool, “will be invested by the Trustees, and
+will be divided equally, on her death, among her children.”
+
+“Suppose she leaves no children?”
+
+“That case is provided for, ma’am, by the last clause. I will only say
+now, that you are interested in the result.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee turned swiftly and sternly to her son. “When I am dead and
+gone,” she said, “I look to you to defend my memory.”
+
+“To defend your memory?” Ovid repeated, wondering what she could
+possibly mean.
+
+“If I do become interested in the disposal of Robert’s fortune--which
+God forbid!--can’t you foresee what will happen?” his mother inquired
+bitterly. “Lady Northlake will say, ‘Maria intrigued for this!’”
+
+Mr. Mool looked doubtfully at the ferns. No! His vegetable allies were
+not strong enough to check any further outpouring of such family feeling
+as this. Nothing was to be trusted, in the present emergency, but the
+superior authority of the Will.
+
+“Pardon me,” he said; “there are some further instructions, Mrs.
+Gallilee, which, as I venture to think, exhibit your late brother’s
+well-known liberality of feeling in a very interesting light. They
+relate to the provision made for his daughter, while she is residing
+under your roof. Miss Carmina is to have the services of the best
+masters, in finishing her education.”
+
+“Certainly!” cried Mrs. Gallilee, with the utmost fervour.
+
+“And the use of a carriage to herself, whenever she may require it.”
+
+“No, Mr. Mool! _Two_ carriages--in such a climate as this. One open, and
+one closed.”
+
+“And to defray these and other expenses, the Trustees are authorized to
+place at your disposal one thousand a year.”
+
+“Too much! too much!”
+
+Mr. Mool might have agreed with her--if he had nor known that Robert
+Graywell had thought of his sister’s interests, in making this excessive
+provision for expenses incurred on his daughter’s account.
+
+“Perhaps, her dresses and her pocket money are included?” Mrs. Gallilee
+resumed.
+
+Mr. Mool smiled, and shook his head. “Mr. Graywell’s generosity has no
+limits,” he said, “where his daughter is concerned. Miss Carmina is to
+have five hundred a year for pocket-money and dresses.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee appealed to the sympathies of her son. “Isn’t it
+touching?” she said. “Dear Carmina! my own people in Paris shall make
+her dresses. Well, Mr. Mool?”
+
+“Allow me to read the exact language of the Will next,” Mr. Mool
+answered. “‘If her sweet disposition leads her into exceeding her
+allowance, in the pursuit of her own little charities, my Trustees are
+hereby authorized, at their own discretion, to increase the amount,
+within the limit of another five hundred pounds annually.’ It sounds
+presumptuous, perhaps, on my part,” said Mr. Mool, venturing on a modest
+confession of enthusiasm, “but one can’t help thinking, What a good
+father! what a good child!”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee had another appropriate remark ready on her lips, when the
+unlucky dog interrupted her once more. He made a sudden rush into the
+conservatory, barking with all his might. A crashing noise followed the
+dog’s outbreak, which sounded like the fall of a flower-pot.
+
+Ovid hurried into the conservatory--with the dog ahead of him, tearing
+down the steps which led into the back garden.
+
+The pot lay broken on the tiled floor. Struck by the beauty of the
+flower that grew in it, he stooped to set it up again. If, instead of
+doing this, he had advanced at once to the second door, he would have
+seen a lady hastening into the house; and, though her back view only was
+presented, he could hardly have failed to recognize Miss Minerva. As it
+was, when he reached the door, the garden was empty.
+
+He looked up at the house, and saw Carmina at the open window of her
+bedroom.
+
+The sad expression on that sweet young face grieved him. Was she
+thinking of her happy past life? or of the doubtful future, among
+strangers in a strange country? She noticed Ovid--and her eyes
+brightened. His customary coldness with women melted instantly: he
+kissed his hand to her. She returned the salute (so familiar to her
+in Italy) with her gentle smile, and looked back into the room. Teresa
+showed herself at the window. Always following her impulses without
+troubling herself to think first, the duenna followed them now. “We are
+dull up here,” she called out. “Come back to us, Mr. Ovid.” The words
+had hardly been spoken before they both turned from the window. Teresa
+pointed significantly into the room. They disappeared.
+
+Ovid went back to the library.
+
+“Anybody listening?” Mr. Mool inquired.
+
+“I have not discovered anybody, but I doubt if a stray cat could have
+upset that heavy flower-pot.” He looked round him as he made the reply.
+“Where is my mother?” he asked.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee had gone upstairs, eager to tell Carmina of the handsome
+allowance made to her by her father. Having answered in these terms, Mr.
+Mool began to fold up the Will--and suddenly stopped.
+
+“Very inconsiderate, on my part,” he said; “I forgot, Mr. Ovid, that you
+haven’t heard the end of it. Let me give you a brief abstract. You
+know, perhaps, that Miss Carmina is a Catholic? Very natural--her poor
+mother’s religion. Well, sir, her good father forgets nothing. All
+attempts at proselytizing are strictly forbidden.”
+
+Ovid smiled. His mother’s religious convictions began and ended with the
+inorganic matter of the earth.
+
+“The last clause,” Mr. Mool proceeded, “seemed to agitate Mrs. Gallilee
+quite painfully. I reminded her that her brother had no near relations
+living, but Lady Northlake and herself. As to leaving money to my lady,
+in my lord’s princely position--”
+
+“Pardon me,” Ovid interposed, “what is there to agitate my mother in
+this?”
+
+Mr. Mool made his apologies for not getting sooner to the point, with
+the readiest good-will. “Professional habit, Mr. Ovid,” he explained.
+“We are apt to be wordy--paid, in fact, at so much a folio, for so many
+words!--and we like to clear the ground first. Your late uncle ends
+his Will, by providing for the disposal of his fortune, in two possible
+events, as follows: Miss Carmina may die unmarried, or Miss Carmina
+(being married) may die without offspring.”
+
+Seeing the importance of the last clause now, Ovid stopped him again.
+“Do I remember the amount of the fortune correctly?” he asked. “Was it a
+hundred and thirty thousand pounds?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And what becomes of all that money, if Carmina never marries, or if she
+leaves no children?”
+
+“In either of those cases, sir, the whole of the money goes to Mrs.
+Gallilee and her daughters.”’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+Time had advanced to midnight, after the reading of the Will--and Ovid
+was at home.
+
+The silence of the quiet street in which he lived was only disturbed by
+the occasional rolling of carriage wheels, and by dance-music from the
+house of one of his neighbours who was giving a ball. He sat at his
+writing-table, thinking. Honest self-examination had laid out the
+state of his mind before him like a map, and had shown him, in its true
+proportions, the new interest that filled his life.
+
+Of that interest he was now the willing slave. If he had not known
+his mother to be with her, he would have gone back to Carmina when
+the lawyer left the house. As it was, he had sent a message upstairs,
+inviting himself to dinner, solely for the purpose of seeing Carmina
+again--and he had been bitterly disappointed when he heard that Mr. and
+Mrs. Gallilee were engaged, and that his cousin would take tea in her
+room. He had eaten something at this club, without caring what it was.
+He had gone to the Opera afterwards, merely because his recollections of
+a favourite singing-lady of that season vaguely reminded him of Carmina.
+And there he was, at midnight, on his return from the music, eager for
+the next opportunity of seeing his cousin, a few hours hence--when he
+had arranged to say good-bye at the family breakfast-table.
+
+To feel this change in him as vividly as he felt it, could lead to
+but one conclusion in the mind of a man who was incapable of purposely
+deceiving himself. He was as certain as ever of the importance of rest
+and change, in the broken state of his health. And yet, in the face of
+that conviction, his contemplated sea-voyage had already become one of
+the vanished illusions of his life!
+
+His friend had arranged to travel with him, that morning, from London
+to the port at which the yacht was waiting for them. They were hardly
+intimate enough to trust each other unreservedly with secrets. The
+customary apology for breaking an engagement was the alternative that
+remained. With the paper on his desk and with the words on his mind, he
+was yet in such a strange state of indecision that he hesitated to write
+the letter!
+
+His morbidly-sensitive nerves were sadly shaken. Even the familiar
+record of the half-hour by the hall clock startled him. The stroke
+of the bell was succeeded by a mild and mournful sound outside the
+door--the mewing of a cat.
+
+He rose, without any appearance of surprise, and opened the door.
+
+With grace and dignity entered a small black female cat; exhibiting, by
+way of variety of colour, a melancholy triangular patch of white over
+the lower part of her face, and four brilliantly clean white paws. Ovid
+went back to his desk. As soon as he was in his chair again, the cat
+jumped on his shoulder, and sat there purring in his ear. This was the
+place she occupied, whenever her master was writing alone. Passing one
+day through a suburban neighbourhood, on his round of visits, the young
+surgeon had been attracted by a crowd in a by-street. He had rescued his
+present companion from starvation in a locked-up house, the barbarous
+inhabitants of which had gone away for a holiday, and had forgotten the
+cat. When Ovid took the poor creature home with him in his carriage,
+popular feeling decided that the unknown gentleman was “a rum ‘un.” From
+that moment, this fortunate little member of a brutally-slandered race
+attached herself to her new friend, and to that friend only. If Ovid had
+owned the truth, he must have acknowledged that her company was a relief
+to him, in the present state of his mind.
+
+When a man’s flagging purpose is in want of a stimulant, the most
+trifling change in the circumstances of the moment often applies the
+animating influence. Even such a small interruption as the appearance of
+his cat rendered this service to Ovid. To use the common and expressive
+phrase, it had “shaken him up.” He wrote the letter--and his patient
+companion killed the time by washing her face.
+
+His mind being so far relieved, he went to bed--the cat following him
+upstairs to her bed in a corner of the room. Clothes are unwholesome
+superfluities not contemplated in the system of Nature. When we are
+exhausted, there is no such thing as true repose for us until we are
+freed from our dress. Men subjected to any excessive exertion--fighting,
+rowing, walking, working--must strip their bodies as completely as
+possible, or they are nor equal to the call on them. Ovid’s knowledge
+of his own temperament told him that sleep was not to be hoped for,
+that night. But the way to bed was the way to rest notwithstanding, by
+getting rid of his clothes.
+
+With the sunrise he rose and went out.
+
+He took his letter with him, and dropped it into the box in his friend’s
+door. The sooner he committed himself to the new course that he had
+taken, the more certain he might feel of not renewing the miserable and
+useless indecision of the past night. “Thank God, that’s done!” he
+said to himself, as he heard the letter fall into the box, and left the
+house.
+
+After walking in the Park until he was weary, he sat down by the
+ornamental lake, and watched the waterfowl enjoying their happy lives.
+
+Wherever he went, whatever he did, Carmina was always with him. He
+had seen thousands of girls, whose personal attractions were far more
+remarkable--and some few among them whose manner was perhaps equally
+winning. What was the charm in the little half-foreign cousin that had
+seized on him in an instant, and that seemed to fasten its subtle hold
+more and more irresistibly with every minute of his life? He was content
+to feel the charm without caring to fathom it. The lovely morning light
+took him in imagination to her bedside; he saw here sleeping peacefully
+in her new room. Would the time come when she might dream of him?
+He looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock. The breakfast-hour at
+Fairfield Gardens had been fixed for eight, to give him time to catch
+the morning train. Half an hour might be occupied in walking back to
+his own house. Add ten minutes to make some change in his dress--and
+he might set forth for his next meeting with Carmina. No uneasy
+anticipation of what the family circle might think of his sudden change
+of plan troubled his mind. A very different question occupied him. For
+the first time in his life, he wondered what dress a woman would wear at
+breakfast time.
+
+He opened his house door with his own key. An elderly person, in a
+coarse black gown, was seated on the bench in the hall. She rose,
+and advanced towards him. In speechless astonishment, he confronted
+Carmina’s faithful companion--Teresa.
+
+“If you please, I want to speak to you,” she said, in her best English.
+Ovid took her into his consulting-room. She wasted no time in apologies
+or explanations. “Don’t speak!” she broke out. “Carmina has had a bad
+night.”
+
+“I shall be at the house in half an hour!” Ovid eagerly assured her.
+
+The duenna shook her forefinger impatiently. “She doesn’t want a doctor.
+She wants a friend, when I am gone. What is her life here? A new life,
+among new people. Don’t speak! She’s frightened and miserable. So young,
+so shy, so easily startled. And I must leave her--I must! I must! My old
+man is failing fast; he may die, without a creature to comfort him, if
+I don’t go back. I could tear my hair when I think of it. Don’t speak!
+It’s _my_ business to speak. Ha! I know, what I know. Young doctor,
+you’re in love with Carmina! I’ve read you like a book. You’re quick to
+see, sudden to feel--like one of my people. _Be_ one of my people. Help
+me.”
+
+She dragged a chair close to Ovid, and laid her hand suddenly and
+heavily on his arm.
+
+“It’s not my fault, mind; _I_ have said nothing to disturb her. No! I’ve
+made the best of it. I’ve lied to her. What do I care? I would lie like
+Judas Iscariot himself to spare Carmina a moment’s pain. It’s such a
+new life for her--try to see it for yourself--such a new life. You and I
+shook hands yesterday. Do it again. Are you surprised to see me? I asked
+your mother’s servants where you lived; and here I am--with the cruel
+teeth of anxiety gnawing me alive when I think of the time to come. Oh,
+my lamb! my angel! she’s alone. Oh, my God, only seventeen years old,
+and alone in the world! No father, no mother; and soon--oh, too soon,
+too soon--not even Teresa! What are you looking at? What is there so
+wonderful in the tears of a stupid old fool? Drops of hot water. Ha! ha!
+if they fall on your fine carpet here, they won’t hurt it. You’re a good
+fellow; you’re a dear fellow. Hush! I know the Evil Eye when I see
+it. No more of that! A secret in your ear--I’ve said a word for you
+to Carmina already. Give her time; she’s not cold; young and innocent,
+that’s all. Love will come--I know, what I know--love will come.”
+
+She laughed--and, in the very act of laughing, changed again. Fright
+looked wildly at Ovid out of her staring eyes. Some terrifying
+remembrance had suddenly occurred to her. She sprang to her feet.
+
+“You said you were going away,” she cried. “You said it, when you left
+us yesterday. It can’t be! it shan’t be! You’re not going to leave
+Carmina, too?”
+
+Ovid’s first impulse was to tell the whole truth. He resisted the
+impulse. To own that Carmina was the cause of his abandonment of the
+sea-voyage, before she was even sure of the impression she had
+produced on him, would be to place himself in a position from which
+his self-respect recoiled. “My plans are changed,” was all he said to
+Teresa. “Make your mind easy; I’m not going away.”
+
+The strange old creature snapped her fingers joyously. “Good-bye! I
+want no more of you.” With those cool and candid words of farewell, she
+advanced to the door--stopped suddenly to think--and came back. Only a
+moment had passed, and she was as sternly in earnest again as ever.
+
+“May I call you by your name?” she asked.
+
+“Certainly!”
+
+“Listen, Ovid! I may not see you again before I go back to my husband.
+This is my last word--never forget it. Even Carmina may have enemies!”
+
+What could she be thinking of? “Enemies--in my mother’s house!” Ovid
+exclaimed. “What can you possibly mean?”
+
+Teresa returned to the door, and only answered him when she had opened
+it to go.
+
+“The Evil Eye never lies,” she said. “Wait--and you will see.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was on her way to the breakfast-room, when her son entered
+the house. They met in the hall. “Is your packing done?” she asked.
+
+He was in no humour to wait, and make his confession at that moment.
+“Not yet,” was his only reply.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee led the way into the room. “Ovid’s luggage is not ready
+yet,” she announced; “I believe he will lose his train.”
+
+They were all at the breakfast table, the children and the governess
+included. Carmina’s worn face, telling its tale of a wakeful night,
+brightened again, as it had brightened at the bedroom window, when she
+saw Ovid. She took his hand frankly, and made light of her weary looks.
+“No, my cousin,” she said, playfully; “I mean to be worthier of my
+pretty bed to-night; I am not going to be your patient yet.” Mr.
+Gallilee (with this mouth full at the moment) offered good advice. “Eat
+and drink as I do, my dear,” he said to Carmina; “and you will sleep as
+I do. Off I go when the light’s out--flat on my back, as Mrs. Gallilee
+will tell you--and wake me if you can, till it’s time to get up. Have
+some buttered eggs, Ovid. They’re good, ain’t they, Zo?” Zo looked
+up from her plate, and agreed with her father, in one emphatic word,
+“Jolly!” Miss Minerva, queen of governesses, instantly did her duty.
+“Zoe! how often must I tell you not to talk slang? Do you ever hear
+your sister say ‘Jolly?’” That highly-cultivated child, Maria, strong
+in conscious virtue, added her authority in support of the protest.
+“No young lady who respects herself, Zoe, will ever talk slang.” Mr.
+Gallilee was unworthy of such a daughter. He muttered under his
+breath, “Oh, bother!” Zo held out her plate for more. Mr. Gallilee was
+delighted. “My child all over!” he exclaimed. “We are both of us good
+feeders. Zo will grow up a fine woman.” He appealed to his stepson to
+agree with him. “That’s your medical opinion, Ovid, isn’t it?”
+
+Carmina’s pretty smile passed like rippling light over her eyes and
+her lips. In her brief experience of England, Mr. Gallilee was the one
+exhilarating element in family life.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee’s mind still dwelt on her son’s luggage, and on the
+rigorous punctuality of railway arrangements.
+
+“What is your servant about?” she said to Ovid. “It’s his business to
+see that you are ready in time.”
+
+It was useless to allow the false impression that prevailed to continue
+any longer. Ovid set them all right, in the plainest and fewest words.
+
+“My servant is not to blame,” he said. “I have written an apology to my
+friend--I am not going away.”
+
+For the moment, this astounding announcement was received in silent
+dismay--excepting the youngest member of the company. After her father,
+Ovid was the one other person in the world who held a place in Zo’s odd
+little heart. Her sentiments were now expressed without hesitation
+and without reserve. She put down her spoon, and she cried, “Hooray!”
+ Another exhibition of vulgarity. But even Miss Minerva was too
+completely preoccupied by the revelation which had burst on the family
+to administer the necessary reproof. Her eager eyes were riveted on
+Ovid. As for Mr. Gallilee, he held his bread and butter suspended
+in mid-air, and stared open-mouthed at his stepson, in helpless
+consternation.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee always set the right example. Mrs. Gallilee was the first
+to demand an explanation.
+
+“What does this extraordinary proceeding mean?” she asked.
+
+Ovid was impenetrable to the tone in which that question was put. He had
+looked at his cousin, when he declared his change of plan--and he was
+looking at her still. Whatever the feeling of the moment might be,
+Carmina’s sensitive face expressed it vividly. Who could mistake the
+faintly-rising colour in her cheeks, the sweet quickening of light in
+her eyes, when she met Ovid’s look? Still hardly capable of estimating
+the influence that she exercised over him, her sense of the interest
+taken in her by Ovid was the proud sense that makes girls innocently
+bold. Whatever the others might think of his broken engagement, her
+artless eyes said plainly, “My feeling is happy surprise.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee summoned her son to attend her, in no friendly voice.
+She, too, had looked at Carmina--and had registered the result of her
+observation privately.
+
+“Are we to hear your reasons?” she inquired.
+
+Ovid had made the one discovery in the world, on which his whole heart
+was set. He was so happy, that he kept his mother out of his secret,
+with a masterly composure worthy of herself.
+
+“I don’t think a sea-voyage is the right thing for me,” he answered.
+
+“Rather a sudden change of opinion,” Mrs. Gallilee remarked.
+
+Ovid coolly agreed with her. It _was_ rather sudden, he said.
+
+The governess still looked at him, wondering whether he would provoke an
+outbreak.
+
+After a little pause, Mrs. Gallilee accepted her son’s short
+answer--with a sudden submission which had a meaning of its own. She
+offered Ovid another cup of tea; and, more remarkable yet, she turned
+to her eldest daughter, and deliberately changed the subject. “What are
+your lessons, my dear, to-day?” she asked, with bland maternal interest.
+
+By this time, bewildered Mr. Gallilee had finished his bread and
+butter. “Ovid knows best, my dear,” he said cheerfully to his wife. Mrs.
+Gallilee’s sudden recovery of her temper did not include her husband.
+If a look could have annihilated that worthy man, his corporal presence
+must have vanished into air, when he had delivered himself of his
+opinion. As it was, he only helped Zo to another spoonful of jam. “When
+Ovid first thought of that voyage,” he went on, “I said, Suppose he’s
+sick? A dreadful sensation isn’t it, Miss Minerva? First you seem to
+sink into your shoes, and then it all comes up--eh? You’re _not_ sick
+at sea? I congratulate you! I most sincerely congratulate you! My dear
+Ovid, come and dine with me to-night at the club.” He looked doubtfully
+at his wife, as he made that proposal. “Got the headache, my dear? I’ll
+take you out with pleasure for a walk. What’s the matter with her, Miss
+Minerva? Oh, I see! Hush! Maria’s going to say grace.--Amen! Amen!”
+
+They all rose from the table.
+
+Mr. Gallilee was the first to open the door. The smoking-room at
+Fairfield Gardens was over the kitchen; he preferred enjoying his cigar
+in the garden of the Square. He looked at Carmina and Ovid, as if he
+wanted one of them to accompany him. They were both at the aviary,
+admiring the birds, and absorbed in their own talk. Mr. Gallilee
+resigned himself to his fate; appealing, on his way out, to somebody to
+agree with him as usual. “Well!” he said with a little sigh, “a cigar
+keeps one company.” Miss Minerva (absorbed in her own thoughts) passed
+near him, on her way to the school-room with her pupils. “You would find
+it so yourself, Miss Minerva--that is to say, if you smoked, which of
+course you don’t. Be a good girl, Zo; attend to your lessons.”
+
+Zo’s perversity in the matter of lessons put its own crooked
+construction on this excellent advice. She answered in a whisper, “Give
+us a holiday.”
+
+The passing aspirations of idle minds, being subject to the law of
+chances, are sometimes fulfilled, and so exhibit poor human wishes in a
+consolatory light. Thanks to the conversation between Carmina and Ovid,
+Zo got her holiday after all.
+
+
+Mrs. Gallilee, still as amiable as ever, had joined her son and her
+niece at the aviary. Ovid said to his mother, “Carmina is fond of birds.
+I have been telling her she may see all the races of birds assembled in
+the Zoological Gardens. It’s a perfect day. Why shouldn’t we go!”
+
+The stupidest woman living would have understood what this proposal
+really meant. Mrs. Gallilee sanctioned it as composedly as if Ovid and
+Carmina had been brother and sister. “I wish I could go with you,” she
+said, “but my household affairs fill my morning. And there is a lecture
+this afternoon, which I cannot possibly lose. I don’t know, Carmina,
+whether you are interested in these things. We are to have the
+apparatus, which illustrates the conversion of radiant energy into
+sonorous vibrations. Have you ever heard, my dear, of the Diathermancy
+of Ebonite? Not in your way, perhaps?”
+
+Carmina looked as unintelligent as Zo herself. Mrs. Gallilee’s
+science seemed to frighten her. The Diathermancy of Ebonite, by some
+incomprehensible process, drove her bewildered mind back on her old
+companion. “I want to give Teresa a little pleasure before we part,” she
+said timidly; “may she go with us?”
+
+“Of course!” cried Mrs. Gallilee. “And, now I think of it, why shouldn’t
+the children have a little pleasure too? I will give them a holiday.
+Don’t be alarmed, Ovid; Miss Minerva will look after them. In the
+meantime, Carmina, tell your good old friend to get ready.”
+
+Carmina hastened away, and so helped Mrs. Gallilee to the immediate
+object which she had in view--a private interview with her son.
+
+Ovid anticipated a searching inquiry into the motives which had led
+him to give up the sea voyage. His mother was far too clever a woman to
+waste her time in that way. Her first words told him that his motive was
+as plainly revealed to her as the sunlight shining in at the window.
+
+“That’s a charming girl,” she said, when Carmina closed the door behind
+her. “Modest and natural--quite the sort of girl, Ovid, to attract a
+clever man like you.”
+
+Ovid was completely taken by surprise, and owned it by his silence. Mrs.
+Gallilee went on in a tone of innocent maternal pleasantry.
+
+“You know you began young,” she said; “your first love was that poor
+little wizen girl of Lady Northlake’s who died. Child’s play, you will
+tell me, and nothing more. But, my dear, I am afraid I shall require
+some persuasion, before I quite sympathize with this new--what shall I
+call it?--infatuation is too hard a word, and ‘fancy’ means nothing. We
+will leave it a blank. Marriages of cousins are debatable marriages,
+to say the least of them; and Protestant fathers and Papist mothers do
+occasionally involve difficulties with children. Not that I say, No. Far
+from it. But if this is to go on, I do hesitate.”
+
+Something in his mother’s tone grated on Ovid’s sensibilities. “I don’t
+at all follow you,” he said, rather sharply; “you are looking a little
+too far into the future.”
+
+“Then we will return to the present,” Mrs. Gallilee replied--still with
+the readiest submission to the humour of her son.
+
+On recent occasions, she had expressed the opinion that Ovid would do
+wisely--at his age, and with his professional prospects--to wait a few
+years before he thought of marrying. Having said enough in praise of her
+niece to satisfy him for the time being (without appearing to be meanly
+influenced, in modifying her opinion, by the question of money), her
+next object was to induce him to leave England immediately, for the
+recovery of his health. With Ovid absent, and with Carmina under her
+sole superintendence, Mrs. Gallilee could see her way to her own private
+ends.
+
+“Really,” she resumed, “you ought to think seriously of change of air
+and scene. You know you would not allow a patient, in your present state
+of health, to trifle with himself as your are trifling now. If you don’t
+like the sea, try the Continent. Get away somewhere, my dear, for your
+own sake.”
+
+It was only possible to answer this, in one way. Ovid owned that his
+mother was right and asked for time to think. To his infinite relief,
+he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Miss Minerva entered the
+room--not in a very amiable temper, judging by appearances.
+
+“I am afraid I disturb you,” she began.
+
+Ovid seized the opportunity of retreat. He had some letters to write--he
+hurried away to the library.
+
+“Is there any mistake?” the governess asked, when she and Mrs. Gallilee
+were alone.
+
+“In what respect, Miss Minerva?”
+
+“I met your niece, ma’am, on the stairs. She says you wish the children
+to have a holiday.”
+
+“Yes, to go with my son and Miss Carmina to the Zoological Gardens.”
+
+“Miss Carmina said I was to go too.”
+
+“Miss Carmina was perfectly right.”
+
+The governess fixed her searching eyes on Mrs. Gallilee. “You really
+wish me to go with them?” she said.
+
+“I do.”
+
+“I know why.”
+
+In the course of their experience, Mrs. Gallilee and Miss Minerva had
+once quarrelled fiercely--and Mrs. Gallilee had got the worst of it.
+She learnt her lesson. For the future she knew how to deal with her
+governess. When one said, “I know why,” the other only answered, “Do
+you?”
+
+“Let’s have it out plainly, ma’am,” Miss Minerva proceeded. “I am not
+to let Mr. Ovid” (she laid a bitterly strong emphasis on the name, and
+flushed angrily)--“I am not to let Mr. Ovid and Miss Carmina be alone
+together.”
+
+“You are a good guesser,” Mrs. Gallilee remarked quietly.
+
+“No,” said Miss Minerva more quietly still; “I have only seen what you
+have seen.”
+
+“Did I tell you what I have seen?”
+
+“Quite needless, ma’am. Your son is in love with his cousin. When am I
+to be ready?”
+
+The bland mistress mentioned the hour. The rude governess left the room.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee looked at the closing door with a curious smile. She had
+already suspected Miss Minerva of being crossed in love. The suspicion
+was now confirmed, and the man was discovered.
+
+“Soured by a hopeless passion,” she said to herself. “And the object
+is--my son.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+On entering the Zoological Gardens, Ovid turned at once to the right,
+leading Carmina to the aviaries, so that she might begin by seeing the
+birds. Miss Minerva, with Maria in dutiful attendance, followed them.
+Teresa kept at a little distance behind; and Zo took her own erratic
+course, now attaching herself to one member of the little party, and now
+to another.
+
+When they reached the aviaries the order of march became confused;
+differences in the birds made their appeal to differences in the
+taste of the visitors. Insatiably eager for useful information, that
+prize-pupil Maria held her governess captive at one cage; while Zo
+darted away towards another, out of reach of discipline, and good Teresa
+volunteered to bring her back. For a minute, Ovid and his cousin were
+left alone. He might have taken a lover’s advantage even of that small
+opportunity. But Carmina had something to say to him--and Carmina spoke
+first.
+
+“Has Miss Minerva been your mother’s governess for a long time?” she
+inquired.
+
+“For some years,” Ovid replied. “Will you let me put a question on my
+side? Why do you ask?”
+
+Carmina hesitated--and answered in a whisper, “She looks ill-tempered.”
+
+“She _is_ ill-tempered,” Ovid confessed. “I suspect,” he added with a
+smile, “you don’t like Miss Minerva.”
+
+Carmina attempted no denial; her excuse was a woman’s excuse all over:
+“She doesn’t like _me.”_
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+“I have been looking at her. Does she beat the children?”
+
+“My dear Carmina! do you think she would be my mother’s governess if she
+treated the children in that way? Besides, Miss Minerva is too well-bred
+a woman to degrade herself by acts of violence. Family misfortunes have
+very materially lowered her position in the world.”
+
+He was reminded, as he said those words, of the time when Miss Minerva
+had entered on her present employment, and when she had been the object
+of some little curiosity on his own part. Mrs. Gallilee’s answer, when
+he once asked why she kept such an irritable woman in the house, had
+been entirely satisfactory, so far as she herself was concerned: “Miss
+Minerva is remarkably well informed, and I get her cheap.” Exactly
+like his mother! But it left Miss Minerva’s motives involved in utter
+obscurity. Why had this highly cultivated woman accepted an inadequate
+reward for her services, for years together? Why--to take the event of
+that morning as another example--after plainly showing her temper to her
+employer, had she been so ready to submit to a suddenly decreed holiday,
+which disarranged her whole course of lessons for the week? Little
+did Ovid think that the one reconciling influence which adjusted these
+contradictions, and set at rest every doubt that grew out of them, was
+to be found in himself. Even the humiliation of watching him in his
+mother’s interest, and of witnessing his devotion to another woman,
+was a sacrifice which Miss Minerva could endure for the one inestimable
+privilege of being in Ovid’s company.
+
+Before Carmina could ask any more questions a shrill voice, at its
+highest pitch of excitement, called her away. Zo had just discovered
+the most amusing bird in the Gardens--the low comedian of the feathered
+race--otherwise known as the Piping Crow.
+
+Carmina hurried to the cage as if she had been a child herself. Seeing
+Ovid left alone, the governess seized _her_ chance of speaking to him.
+The first words that passed her lips told their own story. While Carmina
+had been studying Miss Minerva, Miss Minerva had been studying Carmina.
+Already, the same instinctive sense of rivalry had associated, on
+a common ground of feeling, the two most dissimilar women that ever
+breathed the breath of life.
+
+“Does your cousin know much about birds?” Miss Minerva began.
+
+The opinion which declares that vanity is a failing peculiar to the sex
+is a slander on women. All the world over, there are more vain men in it
+than vain women. If Ovid had not been one of the exceptions to a general
+rule among men, or even if his experience of the natures of women had
+been a little less limited, he too might have discovered Miss Minerva’s
+secret. Even her capacity for self-control failed, at the moment when
+she took Carmina’s place. Those keen black eyes, so hard and cold
+when they looked at anyone else--flamed with an all-devouring sense of
+possession when they first rested on Ovid. “He’s mine. For one golden
+moment he’s mine!” They spoke--and, suddenly, the every-day blind
+was drawn down again; there was nobody present but a well-bred woman,
+talking with delicately implied deference to a distinguished man.
+
+“So far, we have not spoken of the birds,” Ovid innocently answered.
+
+“And yet you seemed to be both looking at them!” She at once covered
+this unwary outbreak of jealousy under an impervious surface of
+compliment. “Miss Carmina is not perhaps exactly pretty, but she is a
+singularly interesting girl.”
+
+Ovid cordially (too cordially) agreed. Miss Minerva had presented
+her better self to him under a most agreeable aspect. She
+tried--struggled--fought with herself--to preserve appearances. The
+demon in her got possession again of her tongue. “Do you find the young
+lady intelligent?” she inquired.
+
+“Certainly!”
+
+Only one word--spoken perhaps a little sharply. The miserable woman
+shrank under it. “An idle question on my part,” she said, with the
+pathetic humility that tries to be cheerful. “And another warning, Mr.
+Vere, never to judge by appearances.” She looked at him, and returned to
+the children.
+
+Ovid’s eyes followed her compassionately. “Poor wretch!” he thought.
+“What an infernal temper, and how hard she tries to control it!” He
+joined Carmina, with a new delight in being near her again. Zo was still
+in ecstasies over the Piping Crow. “Oh, the jolly little chap! Look
+how he cocks his head! He mocks me when I whistle. Buy him,” cried Zo,
+tugging at Ovid’s coat tails in the excitement that possessed her; “buy
+him, and let me take him home with me!”
+
+Some visitors within hearing began to laugh. Miss Minerva opened her
+lips; Maria opened her lips. To the astonishment of both of them the
+coming rebuke proved to be needless.
+
+A sudden transformation to silence and docility had made a new creature
+of Zo, before they could speak--and Ovid had unconsciously worked the
+miracle. For the first time in the child’s experience, he had suffered
+his coat tails to be pulled without immediately attending to her. Who
+was he looking at? It was only too easy to see that Carmina had got
+him all to herself. The jealous little heart swelled in Zo’s bosom.
+In silent perplexity she kept watch on the friend who had never
+disappointed her before. Little by little, her slow intelligence began
+to realise the discovery of something in his face which made him look
+handsomer than ever, and which she had never seen in it yet. They all
+left the aviaries, and turned to the railed paddocks in which the larger
+birds were assembled. And still Zo followed so quietly, so silently,
+that her elder sister--threatened with a rival in good behaviour--looked
+at her in undisguised alarm.
+
+Incited by Maria (who felt the necessity of vindicating her character)
+Miss Minerva began a dissertation on cranes, suggested by the birds with
+the brittle-looking legs hopping up to her in expectation of something
+to eat. Ovid was absorbed in attending to his cousin; he had provided
+himself with some bread, and was helping Carmina to feed the birds. But
+one person noticed Zo, now that her strange lapse into good behaviour
+had lost the charm of novelty. Old Teresa watched her. There was
+something plainly troubling the child in secret; she had a mind to know
+what it might be.
+
+Zo approached Ovid again, determined to understand the change in him if
+perseverance could do it. He was talking so confidentially to Carmina,
+that he almost whispered in her ear. Zo eyed him, without daring to
+touch his coat tails again. Miss Minerva tried hard to go on composedly
+with the dissertation on cranes. “Flocks of these birds, Maria, pass
+periodically over the southern and central countries of Europe”--Her
+breath failed her, as she looked at Ovid: she could say no more.
+Zo stopped those maddening confidences; Zo, in desperate want of
+information, tugged boldly at Carmina’s skirts this time.
+
+The young girl turned round directly. “What is it, dear?”
+
+With big tears of indignation rising in her eyes, Zo pointed to Ovid. “I
+say!” she whispered, “is he going to buy the Piping Crow for you?”
+
+To Zo’s discomfiture they both smiled. She dried her eyes with her
+fists, and waited doggedly for an answer. Carmina set the child’s mind
+at ease very prettily and kindly; and Ovid added the pacifying influence
+of a familiar pat on her cheek. Noticed at last, and satisfied that
+the bird was not to be bought for anybody, Zo’s sense of injury
+was appeased; her jealousy melted away as the next result. After a
+pause--produced, as her next words implied, by an effort of memory--she
+suddenly took Carmina into her confidence.
+
+“Don’t tell!” she began. “I saw another man look like Ovid.”
+
+“When, dear?” Carmina asked--meaning, at what past date.
+
+“When his face was close to yours,” Zo answered--meaning, under what
+recent circumstances.
+
+Ovid, hearing this reply, knew his small sister well enough to foresee
+embarrassing results if he allowed the conversation to proceed. He took
+Carmina’s arm, and led her a little farther on.
+
+Miss Minerva obstinately followed them, with Maria in attendance, still
+imperfectly enlightened on the migration of cranes. Zo looked round, in
+search of another audience. Teresa had been listening; she was present,
+waiting for events. Being herself what stupid people call “an oddity,”
+ her sympathies were attracted by this quaint child. In Teresa’s opinion,
+seeing the animals was very inferior, as an amusement, to exploring Zo’s
+mind. She produced a cake of chocolate, from a travelling bag which she
+carried with her everywhere. The cake was sweet, it was flavoured with
+vanilla, and it was offered to Zo, unembittered by advice not to
+be greedy and make herself ill. Staring hard at Teresa, she took an
+experimental bite. The wily duenna chose that propitious moment to
+present herself in the capacity of a new audience.
+
+“Who was that other man you saw, who looked like Mr. Ovid?” she asked;
+speaking in the tone of serious equality which is always flattering to
+the self-esteem of children in intercourse with elders. Zo was so proud
+of having her own talk reported by a grown-up stranger, that she even
+forgot the chocolate. “I wanted to say more than that,” she announced.
+“Would you like to hear the end of it?” And this admirable foreign
+person answered, “I should very much like.”
+
+Zo hesitated. To follow out its own little train of thought, in
+words, was no easy task to the immature mind which Miss Minerva had so
+mercilessly overworked. Led by old Dame Nature (first of governesses!)
+Zo found her way out of the labyrinth by means of questions.
+
+“Do you know Joseph?” she began.
+
+Teresa had heard the footman called by his name: she knew who Joseph
+was.
+
+“Do you know Matilda?” Zo proceeded.
+
+Teresa had heard the housemaid called by her name: she knew who Matilda
+was. And better still, she helped her little friend by a timely guess
+at what was coming, presented under the form of a reminder. “You saw Mr.
+Ovid’s face close to Carmina’s face,” she suggested.
+
+Zo nodded furiously--the end of it was coming already.
+
+“And before that,” Teresa went on, “you saw Joseph’s face close to
+Matilda’s face.”
+
+“I saw Joseph kiss Matilda!” Zo burst out, with a scream of triumph.
+“Why doesn’t Ovid kiss Carmina?”
+
+A deep bass voice, behind them, answered gravely: “Because the governess
+is in the way.” And a big bamboo walking-stick pointed over their heads
+at Miss Minerva. Zo instantly recognised the stick, and took it into her
+own hands.
+
+Teresa turned--and found herself in the presence of a remarkable man.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+In the first place, the stranger was almost tall enough to be shown as a
+giant; he towered to a stature of six feet six inches, English measure.
+If his immense bones had been properly covered with flesh, he might have
+presented the rare combination of fine proportions with great height. He
+was so miserably--it might almost be said, so hideously--thin that his
+enemies spoke of him as “the living skeleton.” His massive forehead,
+his great gloomy gray eyes, his protuberant cheek-bones, overhung
+a fleshless lower face naked of beard, whiskers, and moustache. His
+complexion added to the startling effect which his personal appearance
+produced on strangers. It was of the true gipsy-brown, and, being darker
+in tone than his eyes, added remarkably to the weird look, the dismal
+thoughtful scrutiny, which it was his habit to fix on persons talking
+with him, no matter whether they were worthy of attention or not. His
+straight black hair hung as gracelessly on either side of his hollow
+face as the hair of an American Indian. His great dusky hands, never
+covered by gloves in the summer time, showed amber-coloured nails on
+bluntly-pointed fingers, turned up at the tips. Those tips felt like
+satin when they touched you. When he wished to be careful, he could
+handle the frailest objects with the most exquisite delicacy. His dress
+was of the recklessly loose and easy kind. His long frock-coat descended
+below his knees; his flowing trousers were veritable bags; his lean and
+wrinkled throat turned about in a widely-opened shirt-collar, unconfined
+by any sort of neck-tie. He had a theory that a head-dress should
+be solid enough to resist a chance blow--a fall from a horse, or the
+dropping of a loose brick from a house under repair. His hard black hat,
+broad and curly at the brim, might have graced the head of a bishop, if
+it had not been secularised by a queer resemblance to the bell-shaped
+hat worn by dandies in the early years of the present century. In one
+word he was, both in himself and in his dress, the sort of man whom no
+stranger is careless enough to pass without turning round for a second
+look. Teresa, eyeing him with reluctant curiosity, drew back a step, and
+privately reviled him (in the secrecy of her own language) as an ugly
+beast! Even his name startled people by the outlandish sound of it.
+Those enemies who called him “the living skeleton” said it revealed his
+gipsy origin. In medical and scientific circles he was well and widely
+known as--Doctor Benjulia.
+
+Zo ran away with his bamboo stick. After a passing look of gloomy
+indifference at the duenna, he called to the child to come back.
+
+She obeyed him in an oddly indirect way, as if she had been returning
+against her will. At the same time she looked up in his face, with an
+absence of shyness which showed, like the snatching away of his stick,
+that she was familiarly acquainted with him, and accustomed to take
+liberties. And yet there was an expression of uneasy expectation in her
+round attentive eyes. “Do you want it back again?” she asked, offering
+the stick.
+
+“Of course I do. What would your mother say to me, if you tumbled over
+my big bamboo, and dashed out your brains on this hard gravel walk?”
+
+“Have you been to see Mama?” Zo asked.
+
+“I have _not_ been to see Mama--but I know what she would say to me if
+you dashed out your brains, for all that.”
+
+“What would she say?”
+
+“She would say--Doctor Benjulia, your name ought to be Herod.”’
+
+“Who was Herod?”
+
+“Herod was a Royal Jew, who killed little girls when they took away his
+walking-stick. Come here, child. Shall I tickle you?”
+
+“I knew you’d say that,” Zo answered.
+
+When men in general thoroughly enjoy the pleasure of talking nonsense
+to children, they can no more help smiling than they can help breathing.
+The doctor was an extraordinary exception to this rule; his grim face
+never relaxed--not even when Zo reminded him that one of his favourite
+recreations was tickling her. She obeyed, however, with the curious
+appearance of reluctant submission showing itself once more. He put two
+of his soft big finger-tips on her spine, just below the back of her
+neck, and pressed on the place. Zo started and wriggled under his touch.
+He observed her with as serious an interest as if he had been conducting
+a medical experiment. “That’s how you make our dog kick with his leg,”
+ said Zo, recalling her experience of the doctor in the society of the
+dog. “How do you do it?”
+
+“I touch the Cervical Plexus,” Doctor Benjulia answered as gravely as
+ever.
+
+This attempt at mystifying the child failed completely. Zo considered
+the unknown tongue in which he had answered her as being equivalent to
+lessons. She declined to notice the Cervical Plexus, and returned to the
+little terrier at home. “Do you think the dog likes it?” she asked.
+
+“Never mind the dog. Do _you_ like it?”
+
+“I don’t know.”
+
+Doctor Benjulia turned to Teresa. His gloomy gray eyes rested on her, as
+they might have rested on any inanimate object near him--on the railing
+that imprisoned the birds, or on the pipes that kept the monkey-house
+warm. “I have been playing the fool, ma’am, with this child,” he said;
+“and I fear I have detained you. I beg your pardon.” He pulled off his
+episcopal hat, and walked grimly on, without taking any further notice
+of Zo.
+
+Teresa made her best courtesy in return. The magnificent civility of the
+ugly giant daunted, while it flattered her. “The manners of a prince,”
+ she said, “and the complexion of a gipsy. Is he a nobleman?”
+
+Zo answered, “He’s a doctor,”--as if that was something much better.
+
+“Do you like him?” Teresa inquired next.
+
+Zo answered the duenna as she had answered the doctor: “I don’t know.”
+
+In the meantime, Ovid and his cousin had not been unobservant of what
+was passing at a little distance from them. Benjulia’s great height, and
+his evident familiarity with the child, stirred Carmina’s curiosity.
+
+Ovid seemed to be disinclined to talk of him. Miss Minerva made herself
+useful, with the readiest politeness. She mentioned his odd name, and
+described him as one of Mrs. Gallilee’s old friends. “Of late years,”
+ she proceeded, “he is said to have discontinued medical practice, and
+devoted himself to chemical experiments. Nobody seems to know much about
+him. He has built a house in a desolate field--in some lost suburban
+neighbourhood that nobody can discover. In plain English, Dr. Benjulia
+is a mystery.”
+
+Hearing this, Carmina appealed again to Ovid.
+
+“When I am asked riddles,” she said, “I am never easy till the answer
+is guessed for me. And when I hear of mysteries, I am dying to have them
+revealed. You are a doctor yourself. Do tell me something more!”
+
+Ovid might have evaded her entreaties by means of an excuse. But her
+eyes were irresistible: they looked him into submission in an instant.
+
+“Doctor Benjulia is what we call a Specialist,” he said. “I mean that
+he only professes to treat certain diseases. Brains and nerves are
+Benjulia’s diseases. Without quite discontinuing his medical practice,
+he limits himself to serious cases--when other doctors are puzzled, you
+know, and want him to help them. With this exception, he has certainly
+sacrificed his professional interests to his mania for experiments in
+chemistry. What those experiments are, nobody knows but himself. He
+keeps the key of his laboratory about him by day and by night. When the
+place wants cleaning, he does the cleaning with his own hands.”
+
+Carmina listened with great interest: “Has nobody peeped in at the
+windows?” she asked.
+
+“There are no windows--only a skylight in the roof.”
+
+“Can’t somebody get up on the roof, and look in through the skylight?”
+
+Ovid laughed. “One of his men-servants is said to have tried that
+experiment,” he replied.
+
+“And what did the servant see?”
+
+“A large white blind, drawn under the skylight, and hiding the whole
+room from view. Somehow, the doctor discovered him--and the man was
+instantly dismissed. Of course there are reports which explain the
+mystery of the doctor and his laboratory. One report says that he
+is trying to find a way of turning common metals into gold. Another
+declares that he is inventing some explosive compound, so horribly
+destructive that it will put an end to war. All I can tell you is, that
+his mind (when I happen to meet him) seems to be as completely absorbed
+as ever in brains and nerves. But, what they can have to do with
+chemical experiments, secretly pursued in a lonely field, is a riddle to
+which I have thus far found no answer.
+
+“Is he married?” Carmina inquired.
+
+The question seemed to amuse Ovid. “If Doctor Benjulia had a wife, you
+think we might get at his secrets? There is no such chance for us--he
+manages his domestic affairs for himself.”
+
+“Hasn’t he even got a housekeeper?”
+
+“Not even a housekeeper!”
+
+While he was making that reply, he saw the doctor slowly advancing
+towards them. “Excuse me for one minute,” he resumed; “I will just speak
+to him, and come back to you.”
+
+Carmina turned to Miss Minerva in surprise.
+
+“Ovid seems to have some reason for keeping the tall man away from us,”
+ she said. “Does he dislike Doctor Benjulia?”
+
+But for restraining motives, the governess might have gratified her
+hatred of Carmina by a sharp reply. She had her reasons--not only after
+what she had overheard in the conservatory, but after what she had seen
+in the Gardens--for winning Carmina’s confidence, and exercising over
+her the influence of a trusted friend. Miss Minerva made instant use of
+her first opportunity.
+
+“I can tell you what I have noticed myself,” she said confidentially.
+“When Mrs. Gallilee gives parties, I am allowed to be present--to see
+the famous professors of science. On one of these occasions they were
+talking of instinct and reason. Your cousin, Mr. Ovid Vere, said it was
+no easy matter to decide where instinct ended and reason began. In
+his own experience, he had sometimes found people of feeble minds, who
+judged by instinct, arrive at sounder conclusions than their superiors
+in intelligence, who judged by reason. The talk took another turn--and,
+soon after, Doctor Benjulia joined the guests. I don’t know whether you
+have observed that Mr. Gallilee is very fond of his stepson?”
+
+Oh, yes! Carmina had noticed that. “I like Mr. Gallilee,” she said
+warmly; “he is such a nice, kind-hearted, natural old man.”
+
+Miss Minerva concealed a sneer under a smile. Fond of Mr. Gallilee? what
+simplicity! “Well,” she resumed, “the doctor paid his respects to the
+master of the house, and then he shook hands with Mr. Ovid; and then
+the scientific gentlemen all got round him, and had learned talk. Mr.
+Gallilee came up to his stepson, looking a little discomposed. He spoke
+in a whisper--you know his way?--‘Ovid, do you like Doctor Benjulia?
+Don’t mention it; I hate him.’ Strong language for Mr. Gallilee, wasn’t
+it? Mr. Ovid said, ‘Why do you hate him?’ And poor Mr. Gallilee answered
+like a child, ‘Because I do.’ Some ladies came in, and the old gentleman
+left us to speak to them. I ventured to say to Mr. Ovid, ‘Is that
+instinct or reason?’ He took it quite seriously. ‘Instinct,’ he
+said--‘and it troubles me.’ I leave you, Miss Carmina, to draw your own
+conclusion.”
+
+They both looked up. Ovid and the doctor were walking slowly away from
+them, and were just passing Teresa and the child. At the same moment,
+one of the keepers of the animals approached Benjulia. After they had
+talked together for a while, the man withdrew. Zo (who had heard it all,
+and had understood a part of it) ran up to Carmina, charged with news.
+
+“There’s a sick monkey in the gardens, in a room all by himself!” the
+child cried. “And, I say, look there!” She pointed excitedly to Benjulia
+and Ovid, walking on again slowly in the direction of the aviaries.
+“There’s the big doctor who tickles me! He says he’ll see the poor
+monkey, as soon as he’s done with Ovid. And what do you think he said
+besides? He said perhaps he’d take the monkey home with him.”
+
+“I wonder what’s the matter with the poor creature?” Carmina asked.
+
+“After what Mr. Ovid has told us, I think I know,” Miss Minerva
+answered. “Doctor Benjulia wouldn’t be interested in the monkey unless
+it had a disease of the brain.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+Ovid had promised to return to Carmina in a minute. The minutes passed,
+and still Doctor Benjulia held him in talk.
+
+Now that he was no longer seeking amusement, in his own dreary way,
+by mystifying Zo, the lines seemed to harden in the doctor’s fleshless
+face. A scrupulously polite man, he was always cold in his politeness.
+He waited to have his hand shaken, and waited to be spoken to. And
+yet, on this occasion, he had something to say. When Ovid opened the
+conversation, he changed the subject directly.
+
+“Benjulia! what brings You to the Zoological Gardens?”
+
+“One of the monkeys has got brain disease; and they fancy I might like
+to see the beast before they kill him. Have you been thinking lately of
+that patient we lost?”
+
+Not at the moment remembering the patient, Ovid made no immediate reply.
+The doctor seemed to distrust his silence.
+
+“You don’t mean to say you have forgotten the case?” he resumed. “We
+called it hysteria, not knowing what else it was. I don’t forgive the
+girl for slipping through our fingers; I hate to be beaten by Death, in
+that way. Have you made up your mind what to do, on the next occasion?
+Perhaps you think you could have saved her life if you had been sent
+for, now?”
+
+“No, indeed, I am just as ignorant--”
+
+“Give ignorance time,” Benjulia interposed, “and ignorance will become
+knowledge--if a man is in earnest. The proper treatment might occur to
+you to-morrow.”
+
+He held to his idea with such obstinacy that Ovid set him right, rather
+impatiently. “The proper treatment has as much chance of occurring
+to the greatest ass in the profession,” he answered, “as it has of
+occurring to me. I can put my mind to no good medical use; my work has
+been too much for me. I am obliged to give up practice, and rest--for a
+time.”
+
+Not even a formal expression of sympathy escaped Doctor Benjulia. Having
+been a distrustful friend so far, he became an inquisitive friend now.
+“You’re going away, of course,” he said. “Where to? On the Continent?
+Not to Italy--if you really want to recover your health!”
+
+“What is the objection to Italy?”
+
+The doctor put his great hand solemnly on his young friend’s shoulder.
+“The medical schools in that country are recovering their past
+reputation,” he said. “They are becoming active centres of physiological
+inquiry. You will be dragged into it, to a dead certainty. They’re sure
+to try what they can strike out by collision with a man like you. What
+will become of that overworked mind of yours, when a lot of professors
+are searching it without mercy? Have you ever been to Canada?”
+
+“No. Have you?”
+
+“I have been everywhere. Canada is just the place for you, in this
+summer season. Bracing air; and steady-going doctors who leave the fools
+in Europe to pry into the secrets of Nature. Thousands of miles of land,
+if you like riding. Thousands of miles of water, if you like sailing.
+Pack up, and go to Canada.”
+
+What did all this mean? Was he afraid that his colleague might stumble
+on some discovery which he was in search of himself? And did the
+discovery relate to his own special subject of brains and nerves? Ovid
+made an attempt to understand him.
+
+“Tell me something about yourself, Benjulia,” he said. “Are you
+returning to your regular professional work?”
+
+Benjulia struck his bamboo stick emphatically on the gravel-walk.
+“Never! Unless I know more than I know now.”
+
+This surely meant that he was as much devoted to his chemical
+experiments as ever? In that case, how could Ovid (who knew nothing of
+chemical experiments) be an obstacle in the doctor’s way? Baffled thus
+far, he made another attempt at inducing Benjulia to explain himself.
+
+“When is the world to hear of your discoveries?” he asked.
+
+The doctor’s massive forehead gathered ominously into a frown, “Damn the
+world!” That was his only reply.
+
+Ovid was not disposed to allow himself to be kept in the dark in this
+way. “I suppose you are going on with your experiments?” he said.
+
+The gloom of Benjulia’s grave eyes deepened: they stared with a stern
+fixedness into vacancy. His great head bent slowly over his broad
+breast. The whole man seemed to be shut up in himself. “I go on a way of
+my own,” he growled. “Let nobody cross it.”
+
+After that reply, to persist in making inquiries would only have ended
+in needlessly provoking an irritable man. Ovid looked back towards
+Carmina. “I must return to my friends,” he said.
+
+The doctor lifted his head, like a man awakened. “Have I been rude?” he
+asked. “Don’t talk to me about my experiments. That’s my raw place,
+and you hit me on it. What did you say just now? Friends? who are your
+friends?” He rubbed his hand savagely over his forehead--it was a way he
+had of clearing his mind. “I know,” he went on. “I saw your friends just
+now. Who’s the young lady?” His most intimate companions had never heard
+him laugh: they had sometimes seen his thin-lipped mouth widen drearily
+into a smile. It widened now. “Whoever she is,” he proceeded, “Zo
+wonders why you don’t kiss her.”
+
+This specimen of Benjulia’s attempts at pleasantry was not exactly
+to Ovid’s taste. He shifted the topic to his little sister. “You were
+always fond of Zo,” he said.
+
+Benjulia looked thoroughly puzzled. Fondness for anybody was, to all
+appearance, one of the few subjects on which he had not qualified
+himself to offer an opinion. He gave his head another savage rub, and
+returned to the subject of the young lady. “Who is she?” he asked again.
+
+“My cousin,” Ovid replied as shortly as possible.
+
+“Your cousin? A girl of Lady Northlake’s?”
+
+“No: my late uncle’s daughter.”
+
+Benjulia suddenly came to a standstill. “What!” he cried, “has that
+misbegotten child grown up to be a woman?”’
+
+Ovid started. Words of angry protest were on his lips, when he perceived
+Teresa and Zo on one side of him, and the keeper of the monkeys on the
+other. Benjulia dismissed the man, with the favourable answer which
+Zo had already reported. They walked on again. Ovid was at liberty to
+speak.
+
+“Do you know what you said of my cousin, just now?” he began.
+
+His tone seemed to surprise the doctor. “What did I say?” he asked.
+
+“You used a very offensive word. You called Carmina a ‘misbegotten
+child.’ Are you repeating some vile slander on the memory of her
+mother?”
+
+Benjulia came to another standstill. “Slander?” he repeated--and said no
+more.
+
+Ovid’s anger broke out. “Yes!” he replied. “Or a lie, if you like, told
+of a woman as high above reproach as your mother or mine!”
+
+“You are hot,” the doctor remarked, and walked on again. “When I was in
+Italy--” he paused to calculate, “when I was at Rome, fifteen years
+ago, your cousin was a wretched little rickety child. I said to Robert
+Graywell, ‘Don’t get too fond of that girl; she’ll never live to grow
+up.’ He said something about taking her away to the mountain air. I
+didn’t think, myself, the mountain air would be of any use. It seems
+I was wrong. Well! it’s a surprise to me to find her--” he waited, and
+calculated again, “to find her grown up to be seventeen years old.” To
+Ovid’s ears, there was an inhuman indifference in his tone as he said
+this, which it was impossible not to resent, by looks, if not in words.
+Benjulia noticed the impression that he had produced, without in the
+least understanding it. “Your nervous system’s in a nasty state,” he
+remarked; “you had better take care of yourself. I’ll go and look at the
+monkey.”
+
+His face was like the face of the impenetrable sphinx; his deep bass
+voice droned placidly. Ovid’s anger had passed by him like the passing
+of the summer air. “Good-bye!” he said; “and take care of those nasty
+nerves. I tell you again--they mean mischief.”
+
+Not altogether willingly, Ovid made his apologies. “If I have
+misunderstood you, I beg your pardon. At the same time, I don’t think I
+am to blame. Why did you mislead me by using that detestable word?”
+
+“Wasn’t it the right word?”
+
+“The right word--when you only wanted to speak of a poor sickly child!
+Considering that you took your degree at Oxford--”
+
+“You could expect nothing better from the disadvantages of my
+education,” said the doctor, finishing the sentence with the grave
+composure that distinguished him. “When I said ‘misbegotten,’ perhaps
+I ought to have said ‘half-begotten’? Thank you for reminding me. I’ll
+look at the dictionary when I get home.”
+
+Ovid’s mind was not set at ease yet. “There’s one other thing,” he
+persisted, “that seems unaccountable.” He started, and seized Benjulia
+by the arm. “Stop!” he cried, with a sudden outburst of alarm.
+
+“Well?” asked the doctor, stopping directly. “What is it?”
+
+“Nothing,” said Ovid, recoiling from a stain on the gravel walk, caused
+by the remains of an unlucky beetle, crushed under his friend’s heavy
+foot. “You trod on the beetle before I could stop you.”
+
+Benjulia’s astonishment at finding an adult male human being (not in a
+lunatic asylum) anxious to spare the life of a beetle, literally struck
+him speechless. His medical instincts came to his assistance. “You had
+better leave London at once,” he suggested. “Get into pure air, and be
+out of doors all day long.” He turned over the remains of the beetle
+with the end of his stick. “The common beetle,” he said; “I haven’t
+damaged a Specimen.”
+
+Ovid returned to the subject, which had suffered interruption through
+his abortive little act of mercy. “You knew my uncle in Italy. It seems
+strange, Benjulia, that I should never have heard of it before.”
+
+“Yes; I knew your uncle; and,” he added with especial emphasis, “I knew
+his wife.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Well, I can’t say I felt any particular interest in either of them.
+Nothing happened afterwards to put me in mind of the acquaintance till
+you told me who the young lady was, just now.
+
+“Surely my mother must have reminded you?”
+
+“Not that I can remember. Women in her position don’t much fancy talking
+of a relative who has married”--he stopped to choose his next words. “I
+don’t want to be rude; suppose we say married beneath him?”
+
+Reflection told Ovid that this was true. Even in conversation with
+himself (before the arrival in England of Robert’s Will), his mother
+rarely mentioned her brother--and still more rarely his family. There
+was another reason for Mrs. Gallilee’s silence, known only to herself.
+Robert was in the secret of her debts, and Robert had laid her under
+heavy pecuniary obligations. The very sound of his name was revolting to
+his amiable sister: it reminded her of that humiliating sense, known in
+society as a sense of gratitude.
+
+Carmina was still waiting--and there was nothing further to be gained by
+returning to the subject of her mother with such a man as Benjulia. Ovid
+held out his hand to say good-bye.
+
+Taking the offered hand readily enough, the doctor repeated his odd
+question--“I haven’t been rude, have I?”--with an unpleasant appearance
+of going through a form purely for form’s sake. Ovid’s natural
+generosity of feeling urged him to meet the advance, strangely as it had
+been made, with a friendly reception.
+
+“I am afraid it is I who have been rude,” he said. “Will you go back
+with me, and be introduced to Carmina?”
+
+Benjulia made his acknowledgments in his own remarkable way. “No, thank
+you,” he said, quietly, “I’d rather see the monkey.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+In the meantime, Zo had become the innocent cause of a difference of
+opinion between two no less dissimilar personages than Maria and the
+duenna.
+
+Having her mind full of the sick monkey, the child felt a natural
+curiosity to see the other monkeys who were well. Amiable Miss Minerva
+consulted her young friend from Italy before she complied with Zo’s
+wishes. Would Miss Carmina like to visit the monkey-house? Ovid’s
+cousin, remembering Ovid’s promise, looked towards the end of the walk.
+He was not returning to her--he was not even in sight. Carmina resigned
+herself to circumstances, with a little air of pique which was duly
+registered in Miss Minerva’s memory.
+
+Arriving at the monkey-house, Teresa appeared in a new character. She
+surprised her companions by showing an interest in natural history.
+
+“Are they all monkeys in that big place?” she asked. “I don’t know much
+about foreign beasts. How do they like it, I wonder?”
+
+This comprehensive inquiry was addressed to the governess, as the most
+learned person present. Miss Minerva referred to her elder pupil with
+an encouraging smile. “Maria will inform you,” she said. “Her studies
+in natural history have made her well acquainted with the habits of
+monkeys.”
+
+Thus authorised to exhibit her learning, even the discreet Maria
+actually blushed with pleasure. It was that young lady’s most
+highly-prized reward to display her knowledge (in imitation of her
+governess’s method of instruction) for the benefit of unfortunate
+persons of the lower rank, whose education had been imperfectly carried
+out. The tone of amiable patronage with which she now imparted useful
+information to a woman old enough to be her grandmother, would have made
+the hands of the bygone generation burn to box her ears.
+
+“The monkeys are kept in large and airy cages,” Maria began; “and the
+temperature is regulated with the utmost care. I shall be happy to point
+out to you the difference between the monkey and the ape. You are
+not perhaps aware that the members of the latter family are called
+‘Simiadae,’ and are without tails and cheek-pouches?”
+
+Listening so far in dumb amazement, Teresa checked the flow of
+information at tails and cheek-pouches.
+
+“What gibberish is this child talking to me?” she asked. “I want to know
+how the monkeys amuse themselves in that large house?”
+
+Maria’s perfect training condescended to enlighten even this state of
+mind.
+
+“They have ropes to swing on,” she answered sweetly; “and visitors feed
+them through the wires of the cage. Branches of trees are also placed
+for their diversion; reminding many of them no doubt of the vast
+tropical forests in which, as we learn from travellers, they pass in
+flocks from tree to tree.”
+
+Teresa held up her hand as a signal to stop. “A little of You, my young
+lady, goes a long way,” she said. “Consider how much I can hold, before
+you cram me at this rate.”
+
+Maria was bewildered, but nor daunted yet. “Pardon me,” she pleaded; “I
+fear I don’t quite understand you.”
+
+“Then there are two of us puzzled,” the duenna remarked. _“I_ don’t
+understand _you._ I shan’t go into that house. A Christian can’t be
+expected to care about beasts--but right is right all the world over.
+Because a monkey is a nasty creature (as I have heard, not even good
+to eat when he’s dead), that’s no reason for taking him out of his
+own country and putting him into a cage. If we are to see creatures in
+prison, let’s see creatures who have deserved it--men and women, rogues
+and sluts. The monkeys haven’t deserved it. Go in--I’ll wait for you at
+the door.”
+
+Setting her bitterest emphasis on this protest, which expressed
+inveterate hostility to Maria (using compassion for caged animals as the
+readiest means at hand), Teresa seated herself in triumph on the nearest
+bench.
+
+A young person, possessed of no more than ordinary knowledge, might have
+left the old woman to enjoy the privilege of saying the last word. Miss
+Minerva’s pupil, exuding information as it were at every pore in her
+skin, had been rudely dried up at a moment’s notice. Even earthly
+perfection has its weak places within reach. Maria lost her temper.
+
+
+“You will allow me to remind you,” she said, “that intelligent curiosity
+leads us to study the habits of animals that are new to us. We place
+them in a cage--”
+
+Teresa lost _her_ temper.
+
+“You’re an animal that’s new to me,” cried the irate duenna. “I never
+in all my life met with such a child before. If you please, madam
+governess, put this girl into a cage. My intelligent curiosity wants to
+study a monkey that’s new to me.”
+
+It was fortunate for Teresa that she was Carmina’s favourite and friend,
+and, as such, a person to be carefully handled. Miss Minerva stopped
+the growing quarrel with the readiest discretion and good-feeling. She
+patted Teresa on the shoulder, and looked at Carmina with a pleasant
+smile. “Worthy old creature! how full of humour she is! The energy of
+the people, Miss Carmina. I often remark the quaint force with which
+they express their ideas. No--not a word of apology, I beg and pray.
+Maria, my dear, take your sister’s hand, and we will follow.” She put
+her arm in Carmina’s arm with the happiest mixture of familiarity and
+respect, and she nodded to Carmina’s old companion with the cordiality
+of a good-humoured friend.
+
+Teresa was not further irritated by being kept waiting for any length of
+time. In a few minutes Carmina joined her on the bench.
+
+“Tired of the beasts already, my pretty one?”
+
+“Worse than tired--driven away by the smell! Dear old Teresa, why did
+you speak so roughly to Miss Minerva and Maria?”
+
+“Because I hate them! because I hate the family! Was your poor father
+demented in his last moments, when he trusted you among these detestable
+people?”
+
+Carmina listened in astonishment. “You said just the contrary of the
+family,” she exclaimed, “only yesterday!”
+
+Teresa hung her head in confusion. Her well-meant attempt to reconcile
+Carmina to the new life on which she had entered was now revealed as a
+sham, thanks to her own outbreak of temper. The one honest alternative
+left was to own the truth, and put Carmina on her guard without alarming
+her, if possible.
+
+“I’ll never tell a lie again, as long as I live,” Teresa declared. “You
+see I didn’t like to discourage you. After all, I dare say I’m more
+wrong than right in my opinion. But it _is_ my opinion, for all that.
+I hate those women, mistress and governess, both alike. There! now it’s
+out. Are you angry with me?”
+
+“I am never angry with you, my old friend; I am only a little vexed.
+Don’t say you hate people, after only knowing them for a day or two!
+I am sure Miss Minerva has been very kind--to me, as well as to you. I
+feel ashamed of myself already for having begun by disliking her.”
+
+Teresa took her young mistress’s hand, and patted it compassionately.
+“Poor innocent, if you only had my experience to help you! There are
+good ones and bad ones among all creatures. I say to you the Gallilees
+are bad ones! Even their music-master (I saw him this morning) looks
+like a rogue. You will tell me the poor old gentleman is harmless,
+surely. I shall not contradict that--I shall only ask, what is the use
+of a man who is as weak as water? Oh, I like him, but I distinguish!
+I also like Zo. But what is a child--especially when that beastly
+governess has muddled her unfortunate little head with learning? No, my
+angel, there’s but one person among these people who comforts me, when I
+think of the day that will part us. Ha! do I see a little colour coming
+into your cheeks? You sly girl! you know who it is. _There_ is what I
+call a Man! If I was as young as you are, and as pretty as you are--”
+
+A warning gesture from Carmina closed Teresa’s lips. Ovid was rapidly
+approaching them.
+
+He looked a little annoyed, and he made his apologies without mentioning
+the doctor’s name. His cousin was interested enough in him already to
+ask herself what this meant. Did he really dislike Benjulia, and had
+there been some disagreement between them?
+
+“Was the tall doctor so very interesting?” she ventured to inquire.
+
+“Not in the least!” He answered as if the subject was disagreeable to
+him--and yet he returned to it. “By-the-by, did you ever hear Benjulia’s
+name mentioned, at home in Italy?”
+
+“Never! Did he know my father and mother?”
+
+“He says so.”
+
+“Oh, do introduce me to him!”
+
+“We must wait a little. He prefers being introduced to the monkey
+to-day. Where are Miss Minerva and the children?”
+
+Teresa replied. She pointed to the monkey-house, and then drew Ovid
+aside. “Take her to see some more birds, and trust me to keep the
+governess out of your way,” whispered the good creature. “Make love--hot
+love to her, doctor!”
+
+In a minute more the cousins were out of sight. How are you to make love
+to a young girl, after an acquaintance of a day or two? The question
+would have been easily answered by some men. It thoroughly puzzled Ovid.
+
+“I am so glad to get back to you!” he said, honestly opening his mind to
+her. “Were you half as glad when you saw me return?”
+
+He knew nothing of the devious and serpentine paths by which love finds
+the way to its ends. It had not occurred to him to approach her with
+those secret tones and stolen looks which speak for themselves. She
+answered with the straightforward directness of which he had set the
+example.
+
+“I hope you don’t think me insensible to your kindness,” she said. “I am
+more pleased and more proud than I can tell you.”
+
+“Proud!” Ovid repeated, not immediately understanding her.
+
+“Why not?” she asked. “My poor father used to say you would be an honour
+to the family. Ought I not to be proud, when I find such a man taking so
+much notice of me?”
+
+She looked up at him shyly. At that moment, he would have resigned all
+his prospects of celebrity for the privilege of kissing her. He made
+another attempt to bring her--in spirit--a little nearer to him.
+
+“Carmina, do you remember where you first saw me?”
+
+“How can you ask?--it was in the concert-room. When I saw you there,
+I remembered passing you in the large Square. It seems a strange
+coincidence that you should have gone to the very concert that Teresa
+and I went to by accident.”
+
+Ovid ran the risk, and made his confession. “It was no coincidence,” he
+said. “After our meeting in the Square I followed you to the concert.”
+
+This bold avowal would have confused a less innocent girl. It only took
+Carmina by surprise.
+
+“What made you follow us?” she asked.
+
+Us? Did she suppose he had followed the old woman? Ovid lost no time
+in setting her right. “I didn’t even see Teresa,” he said. “I followed
+You.”
+
+She was silent. What did her silence mean? Was she confused, or was she
+still at a loss to understand him? That morbid sensitiveness, which was
+one of the most serious signs of his failing health, was by this time
+sufficiently irritated to hurry him into extremities. “Did you ever
+hear,” he asked, “of such a thing as love at first sight?”
+
+She started. Surprise, confusion, doubt, succeeded each other in rapid
+changes on her mobile and delicate face. Still silent, she roused her
+courage, and looked at him.
+
+If he had returned the look, he would have told the story of his first
+love without another word to help him. But his shattered nerves unmanned
+him, at the moment of all others when it was his interest to be bold.
+The fear that he might have allowed himself to speak too freely--a
+weakness which would never have misled him in his days of health and
+strength--kept his eyes on the ground. She looked away again with a
+quick flush of shame. When such a man as Ovid spoke of love at first
+sight, what an instance of her own vanity it was to have thought that
+his mind was dwelling on _her!_ He had kindly lowered himself to the
+level of a girl’s intelligence, and had been trying to interest her by
+talking the language of romance. She was so dissatisfied with herself
+that she made a movement to turn back.
+
+He was too bitterly disappointed, on his side, to attempt to prolong the
+interview. A deadly sense of weakness was beginning to overpower him. It
+was the inevitable result of his utter want of care for himself. After a
+sleepless night, he had taken a long walk before breakfast; and to
+these demands on his failing reserves of strength, he had now added the
+fatigue of dawdling about a garden. Physically and mentally he had no
+energy left.
+
+“I didn’t mean it,” he said to Carmina sadly; “I am afraid I have
+offended you.”
+
+“Oh, how little you know me,” she cried, “if you think that!”
+
+This time their eyes met. The truth dawned on her--and he saw it.
+
+He took her hand. The clammy coldness of his grasp startled her. “Do you
+still wonder why I followed you?” he asked. The words were so faintly
+uttered that she could barely hear them. Heavy drops of perspiration
+stood on his forehead; his face faded to a gray and ghastly
+whiteness--he staggered, and tried desperately to catch at the branch
+of a tree near them. She threw her arms round him. With all her little
+strength she tried to hold him up. Her utmost effort only availed to
+drag him to the grass plot by their side, and to soften his fall. Even
+as the cry for help passed her lips, she saw help coming. A tall man was
+approaching her--not running, even when he saw what had happened; only
+stalking with long strides. He was followed by one of the keepers of the
+gardens. Doctor Benjulia had his sick monkey to take care of. He kept
+the creature sheltered under his long frock-coat.
+
+“Don’t do that, if you please,” was all the doctor said, as Carmina
+tried to lift Ovid’s head from the grass. He spoke with his customary
+composure, and laid his hand on the heart of the fainting man, as coolly
+as if it had been the heart of a stranger. “Which of you two can run the
+fastest?” he asked, looking backwards and forwards between Carmina and
+the keeper. “I want some brandy.”
+
+The refreshment room was within sight. Before the keeper quite
+understood what was required of him, Carmina was speeding over the grass
+like Atalanta herself.
+
+Benjulia looked after her, with his usual grave attention. “That wench
+can run,” he said to himself, and turned once more to Ovid. “In his
+state of health, he’s been fool enough to over-exert himself.” So he
+disposed of the case in his own mind. Having done that, he remembered
+the monkey, deposited for the time being on the grass. “Too cold for
+him,” he remarked, with more appearance of interest than he had shown
+yet. “Here, keeper! Pick up the monkey till I’m ready to take him
+again.” The man hesitated.
+
+“He might bite me, sir.”
+
+“Pick him up!” the doctor reiterated; “he can’t bite anybody, after
+what I’ve done to him.” The monkey was indeed in a state of stupor.
+The keeper obeyed his instructions, looking half stupefied himself: he
+seemed to be even more afraid of the doctor than of the monkey. “Do you
+think I’m the Devil?” Benjulia asked with dismal irony. The man looked
+as if he would say “Yes,” if he dared.
+
+Carmina came running back with the brandy. The doctor smelt it first,
+and then took notice of her. “Out of breath?” he said.
+
+“Why don’t you give him the brandy?” she answered impatiently.
+
+“Strong lungs,” Benjulia proceeded, sitting down cross-legged by Ovid,
+and administering the stimulant without hurrying himself. “Some girls
+would not have been able to speak, after such a run as you have had. I
+didn’t think much of you or your lungs when you were a baby.”
+
+“Is he coming to himself?” Carmina asked.
+
+“Do you know what a pump is?” Benjulia rejoined. “Very well; a pump
+sometimes gets out of order. Give the carpenter time, and he’ll put it
+right again.” He let his mighty hand drop on Ovid’s breast. _“This_ pump
+is out of order; and I’m the carpenter. Give me time, and I’ll set it
+right again. You’re not a bit like your mother.”
+
+Watching eagerly for the slightest signs of recovery in Ovid’s face,
+Carmina detected a faint return of colour. She was so relieved that she
+was able to listen to the doctor’s oddly discursive talk, and even to
+join in it. “Some of our friends used to think I was like my father,”
+ she answered.
+
+“Did they?” said Benjulia--and shut his thin-lipped mouth as if he was
+determined to drop the subject for ever.
+
+Ovid stirred feebly, and half opened his eyes.
+
+Benjulia got up. “You don’t want me any longer,” he said. “Now, Mr.
+Keeper, give me back the monkey.” He dismissed the man, and tucked
+the monkey under one arm as if it had been a bundle. “There are your
+friends,” he resumed, pointing to the end of the walk. “Good-day!”
+
+Carmina stopped him. Too anxious to stand on ceremony, she laid her hand
+on his arm. He shook it off--not angrily: just brushing it away, as he
+might have brushed away the ash of his cigar or a splash of mud in the
+street.
+
+“What does this fainting fit mean?” she asked timidly. “Is Ovid going to
+be ill?”
+
+“Seriously ill--unless you do the right thing with him, and do it at
+once.” He walked away. She followed him, humbly and yet resolutely.
+“Tell me, if you please,” she said, “what we are to do.”
+
+He looked back over his shoulder. “Send him away.”
+
+She returned, and knelt down by Ovid--still slowly reviving. With a fond
+and gentle hand, she wiped the moisture from his forehead.
+
+“Just as we were beginning to understand each other!” she said to
+herself, with a sad little sigh.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+Two days passed. In spite of the warnings that he had received, Ovid
+remained in London.
+
+The indisputable authority of Benjulia had no more effect on him than
+the unanswerable arguments of Mrs. Gallilee. “Recent circumstances” (as
+his mother expressed it) “had strengthened his infatuated resistance to
+reason.” The dreaded necessity for Teresa’s departure had been hastened
+by a telegram from Italy: Ovid felt for Carmina’s distress with
+sympathies which made her dearer to him than ever. On the second morning
+after the visit to the Zoological Gardens, her fortitude had been
+severely tried. She had found the telegram under her pillow, enclosed in
+a farewell letter. Teresa had gone.
+
+“My Carmina,--I have kissed you, and cried over you, and I am writing
+good-bye as well as my poor eyes will let me. Oh, my heart’s darling, I
+cannot be cruel enough to wake you, and see you suffer! Forgive me for
+going away, with only this dumb farewell. I am so fond of you--that is
+my only excuse. While he still lives, my helpless old man has his claim
+on me. Write by every post, and trust me to write back--and remember
+what I said when I spoke of Ovid. Love the good man who loves _you;_ and
+try to make the best of the others. They cannot surely be cruel to the
+poor angel who depends on their kindness. Oh, how hard life is--”
+
+The paper was blotted, and the rest was illegible.
+
+The miserable day of Teresa’s departure was passed by Carmina in the
+solitude of her room: gently and firmly, she refused to see anyone. This
+strange conduct added to Mrs. Gallilee’s anxieties. Already absorbed in
+considering Ovid’s obstinacy, and the means of overcoming it, she was
+now confronted by a resolute side in the character of her niece, which
+took her by surprise. There might be difficulties to come, in managing
+Carmina, which she had not foreseen. Meanwhile, she was left to act on
+her own unaided discretion in the serious matter of her son’s failing
+health. Benjulia had refused to help her; he was too closely occupied
+in his laboratory to pay or receive visits. “I have already given my
+advice” (the doctor wrote). “Send him away. When he has had a month’s
+change, let me see his letters; and then, if I have anything more to
+say, I will tell you what I think of your son.”
+
+Left in this position, Mrs. Gallilee’s hard self-denial yielded to the
+one sound conclusion that lay before her. The only influence that could
+be now used over Ovid, with the smallest chance of success, was the
+influence of Carmina. Three days after Teresa’s departure, she invited
+her niece to take tea in her own boudoir. Carmina found her reading. “A
+charming book,” she said, as she laid it down, “on a most interesting
+subject, Geographical Botany. The author divides the earth into
+twenty-five botanical regions--but, I forget; you are not like Maria;
+you don’t care about these things.”
+
+“I am so ignorant,” Carmina pleaded. “Perhaps, I may know better when I
+get older.” A book on the table attracted her by its beautiful binding.
+She took it up. Mrs. Gallilee looked at her with compassionate good
+humour.
+
+“Science again, my dear,” she said facetiously, “inviting you in a
+pretty dress! You have taken up the ‘Curiosities of Coprolites.’ That
+book is one of my distinctions--a presentation copy from the author.”
+
+“What are Coprolites?” Carmina asked, trying to inform herself on the
+subject of her aunt’s distinctions.
+
+Still good-humoured, but with an effort that began to appear, Mrs.
+Gallilee lowered herself to the level of her niece.
+
+“Coprolites,” she explained, “are the fossilised indigestions of extinct
+reptiles. The great philosopher who has written that book has discovered
+scales, bones, teeth, and shells--the undigested food of those
+interesting Saurians. What a man! what a field for investigation! Tell
+me about your own reading. What have you found in the library?”
+
+“Very interesting books--at least to me,” Carmina answered. “I have
+found many volumes of poetry. Do you ever read poetry?”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee laid herself back in her chair, and submitted patiently
+to her niece’s simplicity. “Poetry?” she repeated, in accents of
+resignation. “Oh, good heavens!”
+
+Unlucky Carmina tried a more promising topic. “What beautiful flowers
+you have in the drawing-room!” she said.
+
+“Nothing remarkable, my dear. Everybody has flowers in their
+drawing-rooms--they are part of the furniture.”
+
+“Did you arrange them yourself, aunt?”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee still endured it. “The florist’s man,” she said, “does all
+that. I sometimes dissect flowers, but I never trouble myself to arrange
+them. What would be the use of the man if I did?” This view of the
+question struck Carmina dumb. Mrs. Gallilee went on. “By-the-by, talking
+of flowers reminds one of other superfluities. Have you tried the piano
+in your room? Will it do?”
+
+“The tone is quite perfect!” Carmina answered with enthusiasm. “Did
+you choose it?” Mrs. Gallilee looked as if she was going to say “Good
+Heavens!” again, and perhaps to endure it no longer. Carmina was too
+simple to interpret these signs in the right way. Why should her aunt
+not choose a piano? “Don’t you like music?” she asked.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee made a last effort. “When you see a little more of
+society, my child, you will know that one _must_ like music. So again
+with pictures--one _must_ go to the Royal Academy Exhibition. So
+again--”
+
+Before she could mention any more social sacrifices, the servant came in
+with a letter, and stopped her.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee looked at the address. The weary indifference of her
+manner changed to vivid interest, the moment she saw the handwriting.
+“From the Professor!” she exclaimed. “Excuse me, for one minute.” She
+read the letter, and closed it again with a sigh of relief. “I knew
+it!” she said to herself. “I have always maintained that the albuminoid
+substance of frog’s eggs is insufficient (viewed as nourishment) to
+transform a tadpole into a frog--and, at last, the Professor owns that
+I am right. I beg your pardon, Carmina; I am carried away by a subject
+that I have been working at in my stolen intervals for weeks past. Let
+me give you some tea. I have asked Miss Minerva to join us. What is
+keeping her, I wonder? She is usually so punctual. I suppose Zoe has
+been behaving badly again.”
+
+In a few minutes more, the governess herself confirmed this maternal
+forewarning of the truth. Zo had declined to commit to memory “the
+political consequences of the granting of Magna Charta”--and now stood
+reserved for punishment, when her mother “had time to attend to it.”
+ Mrs. Gallilee at once disposed of this little responsibility. “Bread and
+water for tea,” she said, and proceeded to the business of the evening.
+
+“I wish to speak to you both,” she began, “on the subject of my son.”
+
+The two persons addressed waited in silence to hear more. Carmina’s
+head drooped: she looked down. Miss Minerva attentively observed Mrs.
+Gallilee. “Why am I invited to hear what she has to say about her son?”
+ was the question which occurred to the governess. “Is she afraid
+that Carmina might tell me about it, if I was not let into the family
+secrets?”
+
+Admirably reasoned, and correctly guessed!
+
+Mrs. Gallilee had latterly observed that the governess was insinuating
+herself into the confidence of her niece--that is to say, into the
+confidence of a young lady, whose father was generally reported to
+have died in possession of a handsome fortune. Personal influence, once
+obtained over an heiress, is not infrequently misused. To check the
+further growth of a friendship of this sort (without openly offending
+Miss Minerva) was an imperative duty. Mrs. Gallilee saw her way to the
+discreet accomplishment of that object. Her niece and her governess
+were interested--diversely interested--in Ovid. If she invited them both
+together, to consult with her on the delicate subject of her son,
+there would be every chance of exciting some difference of opinion,
+sufficiently irritating to begin the process of estrangement, by keeping
+them apart when they had left the tea-table.
+
+“It is most important that there should be no misunderstanding among
+us,” Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. “Let me set the example of speaking
+without reserve. We all three know that Ovid persists in remaining in
+London--”
+
+She paused, on the point of finishing the sentence. Although she _had_
+converted a Professor, Mrs. Gallilee was still only a woman. There did
+enter into her other calculations, the possibility of exciting some
+accidental betrayal of her governess’s passion for her son. On alluding
+to Ovid, she turned suddenly to Miss Minerva. “I am sure you will excuse
+my troubling you with family anxieties,” she said--“especially when they
+are connected with the health of my son.”
+
+It was cleverly done, but it laboured under one disadvantage. Miss
+Minerva had no idea of what the needless apology meant, having no
+suspicion of the discovery of her secret by her employer. But to feel
+herself baffled in trying to penetrate Mrs. Gallilee’s motives was
+enough, of itself, to put Mrs. Gallilee’s governess on her guard for the
+rest of the evening.
+
+“You honour me, madam, by admitting me to your confidence”--was what she
+said. “Trip me up, you cat, if you can!”--was what she thought.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee resumed.
+
+“We know that Ovid persists in remaining in London, when change of air
+and scene are absolutely necessary to the recovery of his health. And we
+know why. Carmina, my child, don’t think for a moment that I blame you!
+don’t even suppose that I blame my son. You are too charming a person
+not to excuse, nay even to justify, any man’s admiration. But let us (as
+we hard old people say) look the facts in the face. If Ovid had not seen
+you, he would be now on the health-giving sea, on his way to Spain and
+Italy. You are the innocent cause of his obstinate indifference, his
+most deplorable and dangerous disregard of the duty which he owes to
+himself. He refuses to listen to his mother, he sets the opinion of his
+skilled medical colleague at defiance. But one person has any influence
+over him now.” She paused again, and tried to trip up the governess once
+more. “Miss Minerva, let me appeal to You. I regard you as a member of
+our family; I have the sincerest admiration of your tact and good sense.
+Am I exceeding the limits of delicacy, if I say plainly to my niece,
+Persuade Ovid to go?”
+
+If Carmina had possessed an elder sister, with a plain personal
+appearance and an easy conscience, not even that sister could have
+matched the perfect composure with which Miss Minerva replied.
+
+“I don’t possess your happy faculty of expressing yourself, Mrs.
+Gallilee. But, if I had been in your place, I should have said to the
+best of my poor ability exactly what you have said now.” She bent her
+head with a graceful gesture of respect, and looked at Carmina with a
+gentle sisterly interest while she stirred her tea.
+
+At the very opening of the skirmish, Mrs. Gallilee was defeated. She had
+failed to provoke the slightest sign of jealousy, or even of
+ill-temper. Unquestionably the most crafty and most cruel woman of the
+two--possessing the most dangerously deceitful manner, and the most
+mischievous readiness of language--she was, nevertheless, Miss Minerva’s
+inferior in the one supreme capacity of which they both stood in need,
+the capacity for self-restraint.
+
+She showed this inferiority on expressing her thanks. The underlying
+malice broke through the smooth surface that was intended to hide it.
+“I am apt to doubt myself,” she said; “and such sound encouragement as
+yours always relieves me. Of course I don’t ask you for more than a word
+of advice. Of course I don’t expect _you_ to persuade Ovid.”
+
+“Of course not!” Miss Minerva agreed. “May I ask for a little more sugar
+in my tea?”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee turned to Carmina.
+
+“Well, my dear? I have spoken to you, as I might have spoken to one
+of my own daughters, if she had been of your age. Tell me frankly, in
+return, whether I may count on your help.”
+
+Still pale and downcast, Carmina obeyed. “I will do my best, if you wish
+it. But--”
+
+“Yes? Go on.”
+
+She still hesitated. Mrs. Gallilee tried gentle remonstrance. “My child,
+surely you are not afraid of me?”
+
+She was certainly afraid. But she controlled herself.
+
+“You are Ovid’s mother, and I am only his cousin,” she resumed. “I don’t
+like to hear you say that my influence over him is greater than yours.”
+
+It was far from the poor girl’s intention; but there was an implied
+rebuke in this. In her present state of irritation, Mrs. Gallilee felt
+it.
+
+“Come! come!” she said. “Don’t affect to be ignorant, my dear, of what
+you know perfectly well.”
+
+Carmina lifted her head. For the first time in the experience of the
+two elder women, this gentle creature showed that she could resent an
+insult. The fine spirit that was in her fired her eyes, and fixed them
+firmly on her aunt.
+
+“Do you accuse me of deceit?” she asked.
+
+“Let us call it false modesty,” Mrs. Gallilee retorted.
+
+Carmina rose without another word--and walked out of the room.
+
+In the extremity of her surprise, Mrs. Gallilee appealed to Miss
+Minerva. “Is she in a passion?”
+
+“She didn’t bang the door,” the governess quietly remarked.
+
+“I am not joking, Miss Minerva.”
+
+“I am not joking either, madam.”
+
+The tone of that answer implied an uncompromising assertion of equality.
+You are not to suppose (it said) that a lady drops below your level,
+because she receives a salary and teaches your children. Mrs. Gallilee
+was so angry, by this time, that she forgot the importance of preventing
+a conference between Miss Minerva and her niece. For once, she was the
+creature of impulse--the overpowering impulse to dismiss her insolent
+governess from her hospitable table.
+
+“May I offer you another cup of tea?”
+
+“Thank you--no more. May I return to my pupils?”
+
+“By all means!”
+
+Carmina had not been five minutes in her own room before she heard a
+knock at the door. Had Mrs. Gallilee followed her? “Who is there?” she
+asked. And a voice outside answered,
+
+“Only Miss Minerva!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+“I am afraid I have startled you?” said the governess, carefully closing
+the door.
+
+“I thought it was my aunt,” Carmina answered, as simply as a child.
+
+“Have you been crying?”
+
+“I couldn’t help it, Miss Minerva.”
+
+“Mrs. Gallilee spoke cruelly to you--I don’t wonder at your feeling
+angry.”
+
+Carmina gently shook her head. “I have been crying,” she explained,
+“because I am sorry and ashamed. How can I make it up with my aunt?
+Shall I go back at once and beg her pardon? I think you are my friend,
+Miss Minerva. Will you advise me?”
+
+It was so prettily and innocently said that even the governess was
+touched--for a moment. “Shall I prove to you that I am your friend?” she
+proposed. “I advise you not to go back yet to your aunt--and I will tell
+you why. Mrs. Gallilee bears malice; she is a thoroughly unforgiving
+woman. And I should be the first to feel it, if she knew what I have
+just said to you.”
+
+“Oh, Miss Minerva! you don’t think that I would betray your confidence?”
+
+“No, my dear, I don’t. I felt attracted towards you, when we first met.
+You didn’t return the feeling--you (very naturally) disliked me. I am
+ugly and ill-tempered: and, if there is anything good in me, it doesn’t
+show itself on the surface. Yes! yes! I believe you are beginning to
+understand me. If I can make your life here a little happier, as time
+goes on, I shall be only too glad to do it.” She put her long yellow
+hands on either side of Carmina’s head, and kissed her forehead.
+
+The poor child threw her arms round Miss Minerva’s neck, and cried
+her heart out on the bosom of the woman who was deceiving her. “I have
+nobody left, now Teresa has gone,” she said. “Oh, do try to be kind to
+me--I feel so friendless and so lonely!”
+
+Miss Minerva neither moved nor spoke. She waited, and let the girl cry.
+
+Her heavy black eyebrows gathered into a frown; her sallow face deepened
+in colour. She was in a state of rebellion against herself. Through all
+the hardening influences of the woman’s life--through the fortifications
+against good which watchful evil builds in human hearts--that innocent
+outburst of trust and grief had broken its way; and had purified for a
+while the fetid inner darkness with divine light. She had entered the
+room, with her own base interests to serve. In her small sordid way she,
+like her employer, was persecuted by debts--miserable debts to sellers
+of expensive washes, which might render her ugly complexion more
+passable in Ovid’s eyes; to makers of costly gloves, which might show
+Ovid the shape of her hands, and hide their colour; to skilled workmen
+in fine leather, who could tempt Ovid to look at her high instep, and
+her fine ankle--the only beauties that she could reveal to the only
+man whom she cared to please. For the time, those importunate creditors
+ceased to threaten her. For the time, what she had heard in the
+conservatory, while they were reading the Will, lost its tempting
+influence. She remained in the room for half an hour more--and she left
+it without having borrowed a farthing.
+
+“Are you easier now?”
+
+“Yes, dear.”
+
+Carmina dried her eyes, and looked shyly at Miss Minerva. “I have been
+treating you as if I had a sister,” she said; “you don’t think me too
+familiar, I hope?”
+
+“I wish I was your sister, God knows!”
+
+The words were hardly out of her mouth before she was startled by her
+own fervour. “Shall I tell you what to do with Mrs. Gallilee?” she said
+abruptly. “Write her a little note.”
+
+“Yes! yes! and you will take it for me?”
+
+Carmina’s eyes brightened through her tears, the suggestion was such a
+relief! In a minute the note was written: “My dear Aunt, I have behaved
+very badly, and I am very much ashamed of it. May I trust to your kind
+indulgence to forgive me? I will try to be worthier of your kindness
+for the future; and I sincerely beg your pardon.” She signed her name in
+breathless haste. “Please take it at once!” she said eagerly.
+
+Miss Minerva smiled. “If I take it,” she said, “I shall do harm instead
+of good--I shall be accused of interfering. Give it to one of the
+servants. Not yet! When Mrs. Gallilee is angry, she doesn’t get over
+it so soon as you seem to think. Leave her to dabble in science first,”
+ said the governess in tones of immeasurable contempt. “When she has
+half stifled herself with some filthy smell, or dissected some wretched
+insect or flower, she may be in a better humour. Wait.”
+
+Carmina thought of the happy days at home in Italy, when her father
+used to laugh at her little outbreaks of temper, and good Teresa only
+shrugged her shoulders. What a change--oh, me, what a change for the
+worse! She drew from her bosom a locket, hung round her neck by a thin
+gold chain--and opened it, and kissed the glass over the miniature
+portraits inside. “Would you like to see them?” she said to Miss
+Minerva. “My mother’s likeness was painted for me by my father; and then
+he had his photograph taken to match it. I open my portraits and look at
+them, while I say my prayers. It’s almost like having them alive again,
+sometimes. Oh, if I only had my father to advise me now--!” Her
+heart swelled--but she kept back the tears: she was learning that
+self-restraint, poor soul, already! “Perhaps,” she went on, “I ought
+not to want advice. After that fainting-fit in the Gardens, if I can
+persuade Ovid to leave us, I ought to do it--and I will do it!”
+
+Miss Minerva crossed the room, and looked out of window. Carmina had
+roused the dormant jealousy; Carmina had fatally weakened the good
+influences which she had herself produced. The sudden silence of her new
+friend perplexed her. She too went to the window. “Do you think it would
+be taking a liberty?” she asked.
+
+“No.”
+
+A short answer--and still looking out of window! Carmina tried
+again. “Besides, there are my aunt’s wishes to consider. After my bad
+behaviour--”
+
+Miss Minerva turned round from the window sharply. “Of course! There
+can’t be a doubt of it.” Her tone softened a little. “You are young,
+Carmina--I suppose I may call you by your name--you are young and
+simple. Do those innocent eyes of yours ever see below the surface?”
+
+“I don’t quite understand you.”
+
+“Do you think your aunt’s only motive in wishing Mr. Ovid Vere to leave
+London is anxiety about his health? Do you feel no suspicion that she
+wants to keep him away from You?”
+
+Carmina toyed with her locket, in an embarrassment which she was quite
+unable to disguise. “Are you afraid to trust me?” Miss Minerva asked.
+That reproach opened the girl’s lips instantly.
+
+“I am afraid to tell you how foolish I am,” she answered. “Perhaps, I
+still feel a little strangeness between us? It seems to be so formal to
+call you Miss Minerva. I don’t know what your Christian name is. Will
+you tell me?”
+
+Miss Minerva replied rather unwillingly. “My name is Frances. Don’t call
+me Fanny!”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Because it’s too absurd to be endured! What does the mere sound of
+Fanny suggest? A flirting, dancing creature--plump and fair, and playful
+and pretty!” She went to the looking-glass, and pointed disdainfully to
+the reflection of herself. “Sickening to think of,” she said, “when you
+look at that. Call me Frances--a man’s name, with only the difference
+between an i and an e. No sentiment in it; hard, like me. Well, what was
+it you didn’t like to say of yourself?”
+
+Carmina dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s no use asking me what I
+do see, or don’t see, in my aunt,” she answered. “I am afraid we shall
+never be--what we ought to be to each other. When she came to that
+concert, and sat by me and looked at me--” She stopped, and shuddered
+over the recollection of it.
+
+Miss Minerva urged her to go on--first, by a gesture; then by a
+suggestion: “They said you fainted under the heat.”
+
+“I didn’t feel the heat. I felt a horrid creeping all over me. Before I
+looked at her, mind!--when I only knew that somebody was sitting next to
+me. And then, I did look round. Her eyes and my eyes flashed into each
+other. In that one moment, I lost all sense of myself as if I was dead.
+I can only tell you of it in that way. It was a dreadful surprise to
+me to remember it--and a dreadful pain--when they brought me to myself
+again. Though I do look so little and so weak, I am stronger than
+people think; I never fainted before. My aunt is--how can I say it
+properly?--hard to get on with since that time. Is there something
+wicked in my nature? I do believe she feels in the same way towards me.
+Yes; I dare say it’s imagination, but it’s as bad as reality for all
+that. Oh, I am sure you are right--she does want to keep Ovid out of my
+way!”
+
+“Because she doesn’t like you?” said Miss Minerva. “Is that the only
+reason you can think of?”
+
+“What other reason can there be?”
+
+The governess summoned her utmost power of self-restraint. She needed
+it, even to speak of the bare possibility of Carmina’s marriage to Ovid,
+as if it was only a matter of speculative interest to herself.
+
+“Some people object to marriages between cousins,” she said. “You
+are cousins. Some people object to marriages between Catholics and
+Protestants. You are a Catholic--” No! She could not trust herself to
+refer to him directly; she went on to the next sentence. “And there
+might be some other reason,” she resumed.
+
+“Do you know what that is?” Carmina asked.
+
+“No more than you do--thus far.”
+
+She spoke the plain truth. Thanks to the dog’s interruption, and to the
+necessity of saving herself from discovery, the last clauses of the Will
+had been read in her absence.
+
+“Can’t you even guess what it is?” Carmina persisted.
+
+“Mrs. Gallilee is very ambitious,” the governess replied: “and her son
+has a fortune of his own. She may wish him to marry a lady of high
+rank. But--no--she is always in need of money. In some way, money may be
+concerned in it.”
+
+“In what way?” Carmina asked.
+
+“I have already told you,” Miss Minerva answered, “that I don’t know.”
+
+Before the conversation could proceed, they were interrupted by the
+appearance of Mrs. Gallilee’s maid, with a message from the schoolroom.
+Miss Maria wanted a little help in her Latin lesson. Noticing Carmina’s
+letter, as she advanced to the door, it struck Miss Minerva that the
+woman might deliver it. “Is Mrs. Gallilee at home?” she asked. Mrs.
+Gallilee had just gone out. “One of her scientific lectures, I suppose,”
+ said Miss Minerva to Carmina. “Your note must wait till she comes back.”
+
+The door closed on the governess--and the lady’s-maid took a liberty.
+She remained in the room; and produced a morsel of folded paper,
+hitherto concealed from view. Smirking and smiling, she handed the paper
+to Carmina.
+
+“From Mr. Ovid, Miss.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+“Pray come to me; I am waiting for you in the garden of the Square.”
+
+In those two lines, Ovid’s note began and ended. Mrs. Gallilee’s
+maid--deeply interested in an appointment which was not without
+precedent in her own experience--ventured on an expression of sympathy,
+before she returned to the servants’ hall. “Please to excuse me, Miss;
+I hope Mr. Ovid isn’t ill? He looked sadly pale, I thought. Allow me to
+give you your hat.” Carmina thanked her, and hurried downstairs.
+
+Ovid was waiting at the gate of the Square--and he did indeed look
+wretchedly ill.
+
+It was useless to make inquiries; they only seemed to irritate him. “I
+am better already, now you have come to me.” He said that, and led the
+way to a sheltered seat among the trees. In the later evening-time the
+Square was almost empty. Two middle-aged ladies, walking up and down
+(who considerately remembered their own youth, and kept out of the way),
+and a boy rigging a model yacht (who was too closely occupied to notice
+them), were the only persons in the enclosure besides themselves.
+
+“Does my mother know that you have come here?” Ovid asked.
+
+“Mrs. Gallilee has gone out. I didn’t stop to think of it, when I got
+your letter. Am I doing wrong?”
+
+Ovid took her hand. “Is it doing wrong to relieve me of anxieties that I
+have no courage to endure? When we meet in the house either my mother or
+her obedient servant, Miss Minerva, is sure to interrupt us. At last, my
+darling, I have got you to myself! You know that I love you. Why can’t I
+look into your heart, and see what secrets it is keeping from me? I try
+to hope; but I want some little encouragement. Carmina! shall I ever
+hear you say that you love me?”
+
+She trembled, and turned away her head. Her own words to the governess
+were in her mind; her own conviction of the want of all sympathy between
+his mother and herself made her shrink from answering him.
+
+“I understand your silence.” With those words he dropped her hand, and
+looked at her no more.
+
+It was sadly, not bitterly spoken. She attempted to find excuses; she
+showed but too plainly how she pitied him. “If I only had myself to
+think of--” Her voice failed her. A new life came into his eyes, the
+colour rose in his haggard face: even those few faltering words had
+encouraged him!
+
+She tried again to make him understand her. “I am so afraid of
+distressing you, Ovid; and I am so anxious not to make mischief between
+you and your mother--”
+
+“What has my mother to do with it?”
+
+She went on, without noticing the interruption. “You won’t think me
+ungrateful? We had better speak of something else. Only this evening,
+your mother sent for me, and--don’t be angry!--I am afraid she might be
+vexed if she knew what you have been saying to me. Perhaps I am wrong?
+Perhaps she only thinks I am too young. Oh, Ovid, how you look at me!
+Your mother hasn’t said in so many words--”
+
+“What has she said?”
+
+In that question she saw the chance of speaking to him of other
+interests than the interests of love.
+
+“You must go away to another climate,” she said; “and your mother tells
+me I must persuade you to do it. I obey her with a heavy heart. Dear
+Ovid, you know how I shall miss you; you know what a loss it will be to
+me, when you say good-bye--but there is only one way to get well again.
+I entreat you to take that way! Your mother thinks I have some influence
+over you. Have I any influence?”
+
+“Judge for yourself,” he answered. “You wish me to leave you?”
+
+“For your own sake. Only for your own sake.”
+
+“Do you wish me to come back again?”
+
+“It’s cruel to ask the question!”
+
+“It rests with you, Carmina. Send me away when you like, and where you
+like. But, before I go, give me my one reason for making the sacrifice.
+No change will do anything for me, no climate will restore my
+health--unless you give me your love. I am old enough to know myself; I
+have thought of it by day and by night. Am I cruel to press you in this
+way? I will only say one word more. It doesn’t matter what becomes of
+me--if you refuse to be my wife.”
+
+Without experience, without advice--with her own heart protesting
+against her silence--the restraint that she had laid on herself grew
+harder and harder to endure. The tears rose in her eyes. He saw them;
+they embittered his mind against his mother. With a darkening face he
+rose, and walked up and down before her, struggling with himself.
+
+“This is my mother’s doing,” he said.
+
+His tone terrified her. The dread, present to her mind all through the
+interview, of making herself a cause of estrangement between mother and
+son, so completely overcame her that she even made an attempt to defend
+Mrs. Gallilee! At the first words, he sat down by her again. For a
+moment, he scrutinised her face without mercy--and then repented of his
+own severity.
+
+“My poor child,” he said, “you are afraid to tell me what has happened.
+I won’t press you to speak against your own inclinations. It would be
+cruel and needless--I have got at the truth at last. In the one hope of
+my life, my mother is my enemy. She is bent on separating us; she shall
+not succeed. I won’t leave you.”
+
+Carmina looked at him. His eyes dropped before her, in confusion and
+shame.
+
+“Are you angry with me?” she asked.
+
+No reproaches could have touched his heart as that question touched it.
+“Angry with you? Oh, my darling, if you only knew how angry I am with
+myself! It cuts me to the heart to see how I have distressed you. I am
+a miserable selfish wretch; I don’t deserve your love. Forgive me, and
+forget me. I will make the best atonement I can, Carmina. I will go away
+to-morrow.”
+
+Under hard trial, she had preserved her self-control. She had resisted
+him; she had resisted herself. His sudden submission disarmed her in an
+instant. With a low cry of love and fear she threw her arms round his
+neck, and laid her burning cheek against his face. “I can’t help it,”
+ she whispered; “oh, Ovid, don’t despise me!” His arms closed round
+her; his lips were pressed to hers. “Kiss me,” he said. She kissed him,
+trembling in his embrace. That innocent self-abandonment did not plead
+with him in vain. He released her--and only held her hand. There was
+silence between them; long, happy silence.
+
+He was the first to speak again. “How can I go away now?” he said.
+
+She only smiled at that reckless forgetfulness of the promise, by which
+he had bound himself a few minutes since. “What did you tell me,” she
+asked playfully, “when you called yourself by hard names, and said you
+didn’t deserve my love?” Her smile vanished softly, and left only a
+look of tender entreaty in its place. “Set me an example of firmness,
+Ovid--don’t leave it all to me! Remember what you have made me say.
+Remember”--she only hesitated for a moment--“remember what an interest I
+have in you now. I love you, Ovid. Say you will go.”
+
+He said it gratefully. “My life is yours; my will is yours. Decide for
+me, and I will begin my journey.”
+
+She was so impressed by her sense of this new responsibility, that she
+answered him as gravely as if she had been his wife. “I must give you
+time to pack up,” she said.
+
+“Say time to be with You!”
+
+She fell into thought. He asked if she was still considering when
+to send him away. “No,” she said; “it isn’t that. I was wondering at
+myself. What is it that makes a great man like you so fond of me?”
+
+His arm stole round her waist. He could just see her in the darkening
+twilight under the trees; the murmuring of the leaves was the only sound
+near them--his kisses lingered on her face. She sighed softly. “Don’t
+make it too hard for me to send you away!” she whispered. He raised her,
+and put her arm in his. “Come,” he said, “we will walk a little in the
+cool air.”
+
+They returned to the subject of his departure. It was still early in the
+week. She inquired if Saturday would be too soon to begin his journey.
+No: he felt it, too--the longer they delayed, the harder the parting
+would be.
+
+“Have you thought yet where you will go?” she asked.
+
+“I must begin with a sea-voyage,” he replied. “Long railway journeys,
+in my present state, will only do me harm. The difficulty is where to
+go to. I have been to America; India is too hot; Australia is too far.
+Benjulia has suggested Canada.”
+
+As he mentioned the doctor’s name, her hand mechanically pressed his
+arm.
+
+“That strange man!” she said. “Even his name startles one; I hardly know
+what to think of him. He seemed to have more feeling for the monkey than
+for you or me. It was certainly kind of him to take the poor creature
+home, and try what he could do with it. Are you sure he is a great
+chemist?”
+
+Ovid stopped. Such a question, from Carmina, sounded strange to him.
+“What makes you doubt it?” he said.
+
+“You won’t laugh at me, Ovid?”
+
+“You know I won’t!”
+
+“Now you shall hear. We knew a famous Italian chemist at Rome--such
+a nice old man! He and my father used to play piquet; and I looked at
+them, and tried to learn--and I was too stupid. But I had plenty of
+opportunities of noticing our old friend’s hands. They were covered
+with stains; and he caught me looking at them. He was not in the least
+offended; he told me his experiments had spotted his skin in that way,
+and nothing would clean off the stains. I saw Doctor Benjulia’s
+great big hands, while he was giving you the brandy--and I remembered
+afterwards that there were no stains on them. I seem to surprise you.”
+
+“You do indeed surprise me. After knowing Benjulia for years, I have
+never noticed, what you have discovered on first seeing him.”
+
+“Perhaps he has some way of cleaning the stains off his hands.”
+
+Ovid agreed to this, as the readiest means of dismissing the subject.
+Carmina had really startled him. Some irrational connection between the
+great chemist’s attention to the monkey, and the perplexing purity of
+his hands, persisted in vaguely asserting itself in Ovid’s mind.
+His unacknowledged doubts of Benjulia troubled him as they had never
+troubled him yet. He turned to Carmina for relief.
+
+“Still thinking, my love?”
+
+“Thinking of you,” she answered. “I want you to promise me
+something--and I am afraid to ask it.”
+
+“Afraid? You don’t love me, after all!”
+
+“Then I will say it at once! How long do you expect to be away?”
+
+“For two or three months, perhaps.”
+
+“Promise to wait till you return, before you tell your mother--”
+
+“That we are engaged?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You have my promise, Carmina; but you make me uneasy.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“In my absence, you will be under my mother’s care. And you don’t like
+my mother.”
+
+Few words and plain words--and they sorely troubled her.
+
+If she owned that he was right, what would the consequence be? He might
+refuse to leave her. Even assuming that he controlled himself, he would
+take his departure harassed by anxieties, which might exercise the worst
+possible influence over the good effect of the journey. To prevaricate
+with herself or with him was out of the question. That very evening she
+had quarrelled with his mother; and she had yet to discover whether Mrs.
+Gallilee had forgiven her. In her heart of hearts she hated deceit--and
+in her heart of hearts she longed to set his mind at ease. In that
+embarrassing position, which was the right way out? Satan persuaded Eve;
+and Love persuaded Carmina. Love asked if she was cruel enough to make
+her heart’s darling miserable when he was so fond of her? Before she
+could realise it, she had begun to deceive him. Poor humanity! poor
+Carmina!
+
+“You are almost as hard on me as if you were Doctor Benjulia himself!”
+ she said. “I feel your mother’s superiority--and you tell me I don’t
+like her. Haven’t you seen how good she has been to me?”
+
+She thought this way of putting it irresistible. Ovid resisted,
+nevertheless. Carmina plunged into lower depths of deceit immediately.
+
+“Haven’t you seen my pretty rooms--my piano--my pictures--my china--my
+flowers? I should be the most insensible creature living if I didn’t
+feel grateful to your mother.”
+
+“And yet, you are afraid of her.”
+
+She shook his arm impatiently. “I say, No!”
+
+He was as obstinate as ever. “I say, Yes! If you’re not afraid, why do
+you wish to keep our engagement from my mother’s knowledge?”
+
+His reasoning was unanswerable. But where is the woman to be found who
+is not supple enough to slip through the stiff fingers of Reason? She
+sheltered herself from his logic behind his language.
+
+“Must I remind you again of the time when you were angry?” she rejoined.
+“You said your mother was bent on separating us. If I don’t want her to
+know of our engagement just yet--isn’t that a good reason?” She rested
+her head caressingly on his shoulder. “Tell me,” she went on, thinking
+of one of Miss Minerva’s suggestions, “doesn’t my aunt look to a higher
+marriage for you than a marriage with me?”
+
+It was impossible to deny that Mrs. Gallilee’s views might justify that
+inquiry. Had she not more than once advised him to wait a few years--in
+other words, to wait until he had won the highest honours of his
+profession--before he thought of marrying at all? But Carmina was too
+precious to him to be humiliated by comparisons with other women, no
+matter what their rank might be. He paid her a compliment, instead of
+giving her an answer.
+
+“My mother can’t look higher than you,” he said. “I wish I could feel
+sure, Carmina--in leaving you with her--that I am leaving you with a
+friend whom you trust and love.”
+
+There was a sadness in his tone that grieved her. “Wait till you come
+back,” she replied, speaking as gaily as she could. “You will be ashamed
+to remember your own misgivings. And don’t forget, dear, that I have
+another friend besides your mother--the best and kindest of friends--to
+take care of me.”
+
+Ovid heard this with some surprise. “A friend in my mother’s house?” he
+asked.
+
+“Certainly!”
+
+“Who is it?”
+
+“Miss Minerva.”
+
+“What!” His tone expressed such immeasurable amazement, that Carmina’s
+sense of justice was roused in defence of her new friend.
+
+“If I began by wronging Miss Minerva, I had the excuse of being a
+stranger,” she said, warmly. “You have known her for years, and you
+ought to have found out her good qualities long since! Are all men
+alike, I wonder? Even my kind dear father used to call ugly women the
+inexcusable mistakes of Nature. Poor Miss Minerva says herself she
+is ugly, and expects everybody to misjudge her accordingly. I don’t
+misjudge her, for one. Teresa has left me; and you are going away next.
+A miserable prospect, Ovid, but not quite without hope. Frances--yes, I
+call her by her Christian name, and she calls me by mine!--Frances will
+console me, and make my life as happy as it can be till you come back.”
+
+Excepting bad temper, and merciless cultivation of the minds of
+children, Ovid knew of nothing that justified his prejudice against
+the governess. Still, Carmina’s sudden conversion inspired him with
+something like alarm. “I suppose you have good reasons for what you tell
+me,” he said.
+
+“The best reasons,” she replied, in the most positive manner.
+
+He considered for a moment how he could most delicately inquire what
+those reasons might be. But valuable opportunities may be lost, even
+in a moment. “Will you help me to do justice to Miss Minerva?” he
+cautiously began.
+
+“Hush!” Carmina interposed. “Surely, I heard somebody calling to me?”
+
+They paused, and listened. A voice hailed them from the outer side of
+the garden. They started guiltily. It was the voice of Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+“Carmina! are you in the Square?”
+
+“Leave it to me,” Ovid whispered. “We will come to you directly,” he
+called back.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was waiting for them at the gate. Ovid spoke, the moment
+they were within sight of each other. “You will have no more cause to
+complain of me,” he said cheerfully; “I am going away at the end of the
+week.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee’s answer was addressed to Carmina instead of to her son.
+“Thank you, my dear,” she said, and pressed her niece’s hand.
+
+It was too dark to see more of faces than their shadowy outline. The
+learned lady’s tone was the perfection of amiability. She sent Ovid
+across the road to knock at the house-door, and took Carmina’s arm
+confidentially. “You little goose!” she whispered, “how could you
+suppose I was angry with you? I can’t even regret your mistake, you have
+written such a charming note.”
+
+Ovid was waiting for them in the hall. They went into the library. Mrs.
+Gallilee enfolded her son in a fervent motherly embrace.
+
+“This completes the enjoyment of a most delightful evening,” she said.
+“First a perfect lecture--and then the relief of overpowering anxiety
+about my son. I suppose your professional studies, Ovid, have never
+taken you as high as the Interspacial Regions? We were an immense
+audience to-night, to hear the Professor on that subject, and I really
+haven’t recovered it yet. Fifty miles above us--only fifty miles--there
+is an atmosphere of cold that would freeze the whole human family to
+death in a second of time. Moist matter, in that terrific emptiness,
+would explode, and become stone; and--listen to this, Carmina--the
+explosion itself would be frozen, and produce no sound. Think of serious
+people looking up in that dreadful direction, and talking of going to
+Heaven. Oh, the insignificance of man, except--I am going to make a
+joke, Ovid--except when he pleases his old mother by going away for the
+benefit of his health! And where are you going? Has sensible Carmina
+advised you? I agree with her beforehand, whatever she has said.”
+
+Ovid informed his mother of Benjulia’s suggestion, and asked her what
+she thought of it.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee’s overflowing geniality instantly flooded the absent
+doctor. He was rude, he was ugly; but what an inestimable friend! what
+admirable advice! In Ovid’s state of health he must not write letters;
+his mother would write and thank the doctor, and ask for introductions
+to local grandees who occupied a position in colonial society. She
+seized the newspaper: a steamer for Canada sailed from Liverpool on
+Saturday. Ovid could secure his cabin the next morning (“amidships, my
+dear, if you can possibly get it”), and could leave London by Friday’s
+train. In her eagerness to facilitate his departure, she proposed to
+superintend the shutting up of his house, in his absence, and to arrange
+the disposal of the servants, if he considered it worth while to keep
+them. She even thought of the cat. The easiest way to provide for
+the creature would be of course to have her poisoned; but Ovid was so
+eccentric in some things, that practical suggestions were thrown away on
+him. “Sixpence a week for cat’s meat isn’t much,” cried Mrs. Gallilee in
+an outburst of generosity. “We will receive the cat!”
+
+Ovid made his acknowledgments resignedly. Carmina could see that Mrs.
+Gallilee’s overpowering vitality was beginning to oppress her son.
+
+“I needn’t trouble you, mother,” he said. “My domestic affairs were all
+settled when I first felt the necessity of getting rest. My manservant
+travels with me. My housemaid and kitchenmaid will go to their friends
+in the country; the cook will look after the house; and her nephew, the
+little page, is almost as fond of the cat as I am. If you will send for
+a cab, I think I will go home. Like other people in my wretched state, I
+feel fatigued towards night-time.”
+
+His lips just touched Carmina’s delicate little ear, while his mother
+turned away to ring the bell. “Expect me to-morrow,” he whispered. “I
+love you!--love you!--love you!” He seemed to find the perfection of
+luxury in the reiteration of those words.
+
+When Ovid had left them, Carmina expected to hear something of her
+aunt’s discovery in the Square.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee’s innocence was impenetrable. Not finding her niece in the
+house, she had thought of the Square. What could be more natural than
+that the cousins should take an evening walk, in one of the prettiest
+enclosures in London? Her anticipation of Ovid’s recovery, and her
+admiration of Carmina’s powers of persuasion appeared, for the time, to
+be the only active ideas in that comprehensive mind. When the servant
+brought in the tray, with the claret and soda-water, she sent for Miss
+Minerva to join them, and hear the good news; completely ignoring the
+interruption of their friendly relations, earlier in the evening. She
+became festive and facetious at the sight of the soda-water. “Let us
+imitate the men, Miss Minerva, and drink a toast before we go to bed.
+Be cheerful, Carmina, and share half a bottle of soda-water with me. A
+pleasant journey to Ovid, and a safe return!” Cheered by the influences
+of conviviality, the friend of Professors, the tender nurse of
+half-developed tadpoles, lapsed into learning again. Mrs. Gallilee
+improvised an appropriate little lecture on Canada--on the botany of the
+Dominion; on the geology of the Dominion; on the number of gallons of
+water wasted every hour by the falls of Niagara. “Science will set it
+all right, my dears; we shall make that idle water work for us, one of
+these days. Good-night, Miss Minerva! Dear Carmina, pleasant dreams!”
+
+Safe in the solitude of her bedroom, the governess ominously knitted her
+heavy eyebrows.
+
+“In all my experience,” she thought, “I never saw Mrs. Gallilee in such
+spirits before. What mischief is she meditating, when she has got rid of
+her son?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+The lapse of a few hours exercised no deteriorating influence on Mrs.
+Gallilee’s amiability.
+
+On the next day, thanks to his mother’s interference, Ovid was left in
+the undisturbed enjoyment of Carmina’s society. Not only Miss Minerva,
+but even Mr. Gallilee and the children, were kept out of the way with a
+delicately-exercised dexterity, which defied the readiest suspicion to
+take offence. In one word, all that sympathy and indulgence could do to
+invite Ovid’s confidence, was unobtrusively and modestly done. Never had
+the mistress of domestic diplomacy reached her ends with finer art.
+
+In the afternoon, a messenger delivered Benjulia’s reply to Mrs.
+Gallilee’s announcement of her son’s contemplated journey--despatched by
+the morning’s post. The doctor was confined to the house by an attack of
+gout. If Ovid wanted information on the subject of Canada, Ovid must go
+to him, and get it. That was all.
+
+“Have you ever been to Doctor Benjulia’s house?” Carmina asked.
+
+“Never.”
+
+“Then all you have told me about him is mere report? Now you will find
+out the truth! Of course you will go?”
+
+Ovid felt no desire to make a voyage of exploration to Benjulia’s
+house--and said so plainly. Carmina used all her powers of persuasion to
+induce him to change his mind. Mrs. Gallilee (superior to the influence
+of girlish curiosity) felt the importance of obtaining introductions
+to Canadian society, and agreed with her niece. “I shall order the
+carriage,” she said, assuming a playfully despotic tone; “and, if you
+don’t go to the doctor--Carmina and I will pay him a visit in your
+place.”
+
+Threatened, if he remained obstinate, with such a result as this, Ovid
+had no alternative but to submit.
+
+The one order that could be given to the coachman was to drive to the
+village of Hendon, on the north-western side of London, and to trust to
+inquiries for the rest of the way. Between Hendon and Willesden, there
+are pastoral solitudes within an hour’s drive of Oxford Street--wooded
+lanes and wild-flowers, farms and cornfields, still unprofaned by the
+devastating brickwork of the builder of modern times. Following winding
+ways, under shadowing trees, the coachman made his last inquiry at a
+roadside public-house. Hearing that Benjulia’s place of abode was now
+within half a mile of him, Ovid set forth on foot; leaving the driver
+and the horses to take their ease at their inn.
+
+He arrived at an iron gate, opening out of a lonely lane.
+
+There, in the middle of a barren little field, he saw Benjulia’s
+house--a hideous square building of yellow brick, with a slate roof. A
+low wall surrounded the place, having another iron gate at the entrance.
+The enclosure within was as barren as the field without: not even an
+attempt at flower-garden or kitchen-garden was visible. At a distance
+of some two hundred yards from the house stood a second and smaller
+building, with a skylight in the roof, which Ovid recognised (from
+description) as the famous laboratory. Behind it was the hedge which
+parted Benjulia’s morsel of land from the land of his neighbour.
+Here, the trees rose again, and the fields beyond were cultivated. No
+dwellings, and no living creatures appeared. So near to London--and yet,
+in its loneliness, so far away--there was something unnatural in the
+solitude of the place.
+
+Led by a feeling of curiosity, which was fast degenerating into
+suspicion, Ovid approached the laboratory, without showing himself in
+front of the house. No watch-dog barked; no servant appeared on the
+look-out for a visitor. He was ashamed of himself as he did it, but (so
+strongly had he been impressed by Carmina’s observation of the doctor)
+he even tried the locked door of the laboratory, and waited and
+listened! It was a breezy summer-day; the leaves of the trees near him
+rustled cheerfully. Was there another sound audible? Yes--low and faint,
+there rose through the sweet woodland melody a moaning cry. It paused;
+it was repeated; it stopped. He looked round him, not quite sure whether
+the sound proceeded from the outside or the inside of the building. He
+shook the door. Nothing happened. The suffering creature (if it was
+a suffering creature) was silent or dead. Had chemical experiment
+accidentally injured some living thing? Or--?
+
+He recoiled from pursuing that second inquiry. The laboratory had,
+by this time, become an object of horror to him. He returned to the
+dwelling-house.
+
+He put his hand on the latch of the gate, and looked back at the
+laboratory. He hesitated.
+
+That moaning cry, so piteous and so short-lived, haunted his ears. The
+idea of approaching Benjulia became repellent to him. What he might
+afterwards think of himself--what his mother and Carmina might think
+of him--if he returned without having entered the doctors’ house, were
+considerations which had no influence over his mind, in its present
+mood. The impulse of the moment was the one power that swayed him. He
+put the latch back in the socket. “I won’t go in,” he said to himself.
+
+It was too late. As he turned from the house a manservant appeared
+at the door--crossed the enclosure--and threw the gate open for Ovid,
+without uttering a word.
+
+They entered the passage. The speechless manservant opened a door on the
+right, and made a bow, inviting the visitor to enter. Ovid found himself
+in a room as barren as the field outside. There were the plastered
+walls, there was the bare floor, left exactly as the builders had
+left them when the house was finished. After a short absence, the man
+appeared again. He might be depressed in spirits, or crabbed in temper:
+the fact remained that, even now, he had nothing to say. He opened
+a door on the opposite side of the passage--made another bow--and
+vanished.
+
+“Don’t come near me!” cried Benjulia, the moment Ovid showed himself.
+
+The doctor was seated in an inner corner of the room; robed in a long
+black dressing-gown, buttoned round his throat, which hid every part
+of him below his fleshless face, except his big hands, and his tortured
+gouty foot. Rage and pain glared in his gloomy gray eyes, and shook
+his clenched fists, resting on the arms of an easy chair. “Ten thousand
+red-hot devils are boring ten thousand holes through my foot,” he said.
+“If you touch the pillow on my stool, I shall fly at your throat.” He
+poured some cooling lotion from a bottle into a small watering-pot, and
+irrigated his foot as if it had been a bed of flowers. By way of further
+relief to the pain, he swore ferociously; addressing his oaths to
+himself, in thunderous undertones which made the glasses ring on the
+sideboard.
+
+Relieved, in his present frame of mind, to have escaped the necessity
+of shaking hands, Ovid took a chair, and looked about him. Even here
+he discovered but little furniture, and that little of the heavy
+old-fashioned sort. Besides the sideboard, he perceived a dining-table,
+six chairs, and a dingy brown carpet. There were no curtains on the
+window, and no pictures or prints on the drab-coloured walls. The empty
+grate showed its bleak black cavity undisguised; and the mantelpiece had
+nothing on it but the doctor’s dirty and strong-smelling pipe. Benjulia
+set down his watering-pot, as a sign that the paroxysm of pain had
+passed away. “A dull place to live in, isn’t it?” In those words he
+welcomed the visitor to his house.
+
+Irritated by the accident which had forced him into the repellent
+presence of Benjulia, Ovid answered in a tone which matched the doctor
+on his own hard ground.
+
+“It’s your own fault if the place is dull. Why haven’t you planted
+trees, and laid out a garden?”
+
+“I dare say I shall surprise you,” Benjulia quietly rejoined; “but I
+have a habit of speaking my mind. I don’t object to a dull place; and I
+don’t care about trees and gardens.”
+
+“You don’t seem to care about furniture either,” said Ovid.
+
+Now that he was out of pain for awhile, the doctor’s innate
+insensibility to what other people might think of him, or might say to
+him, resumed its customary torpor in its own strangely unconscious way.
+He seemed only to understand that Ovid’s curiosity was in search of
+information about trifles. Well, there would be less trouble in giving
+him his information, than in investigating his motives. So Benjulia
+talked of his furniture.
+
+“I dare say you’re right,” he said. “My sister-in-law--did you know
+I had a relation of that sort?--my sister-in-law got the tables and
+chairs, and beds and basins. Buying things at shops doesn’t interest me.
+I gave her a cheque; and I told her to furnish a room for me to eat in,
+and a room for me to sleep in--and not to forget the kitchen and the
+garrets for the servants. What more do I want?”
+
+His intolerable composure only added to his guest’s irritability.
+
+“A selfish way of putting it,” Ovid broke out. “Have you nobody to think
+of but yourself?”
+
+“Nobody--I am happy to say.”
+
+“That’s downright cynicism, Benjulia!”
+
+The doctor reflected. “Is it?” he said. “Perhaps you may be right again.
+I think it’s only indifference, myself. Curiously enough my brother
+looks at it from your point of view--he even used the same word that
+you used just now. I suppose he found my cynicism beyond the reach of
+reform. At any rate, he left off coming here. I got rid of _him_ on easy
+terms. What do you say? That inhuman way of talking is unworthy of
+me? Really I don’t think so. I’m not a downright savage. It’s only
+indifference.”
+
+“Does your brother return your indifference? You must be a nice pair, if
+he does!”
+
+Benjulia seemed to find a certain dreary amusement in considering the
+question that Ovid had proposed. He decided on doing justice to his
+absent relative.
+
+“My brother’s intelligence is perhaps equal to such a small effort as
+you suggest,” he said. “He has just brains enough to keep himself out of
+an asylum for idiots. Shall I tell you what he is in two words? A stupid
+sensualist--that’s what he is. I let his wife come here sometimes, and
+cry. It doesn’t trouble _me;_ and it seems to relieve _her._ More of my
+indifference--eh? Well, I don’t know. I gave her the change out of
+the furniture-cheque, to buy a new bonnet with. You might call that
+indifference, and you might be right once more. I don’t care about
+money. Will you have a drink? You see I can’t move. Please ring for the
+man.”
+
+Ovid refused the drink, and changed the subject. “Your servant is a
+remarkably silent person,” he said.
+
+“That’s his merit,” Benjulia answered; “the women-servants have
+quarrelled with every other man I’ve had. They can’t quarrel with
+this man. I have raised his wages in grateful acknowledgment of his
+usefulness to me. I hate noise.”
+
+“Is that the reason why you don’t keep a watch-dog?”
+
+“I don’t like dogs. They bark.”
+
+He had apparently some other disagreeable association with dogs, which
+he was not disposed to communicate. His hollow eyes stared gloomily into
+vacancy. Ovid’s presence in the room seemed to have become, for the time
+being, an impression erased from his mind. He recovered himself, with
+the customary vehement rubbing of his head, and turned the talk to the
+object of Ovid’s visit.
+
+“So you have taken my advice,” he said. “You’re going to Canada, and you
+want to get at what I can tell you before you start. Here’s my journal.
+It will jog my memory, and help us both.”
+
+His writing materials were placed on a movable table, screwed to his
+chair. Near them lay a shabby-looking book, guarded by a lock. Ten
+minutes after he had opened his journal, and had looked here and there
+through the pages, his hard intellect had grasped all that it required.
+Steadily and copiously his mind emptied its information into Ovid’s
+mind; without a single digression from beginning to end, and with the
+most mercilessly direct reference to the traveller’s practical wants.
+Not a word escaped him, relating to national character or to the
+beauties of Nature. Mrs. Gallilee had criticized the Falls of Niagara
+as a reservoir of wasted power. Doctor Benjulia’s scientific superiority
+over the woman asserted itself with magnificent ease. Niagara being
+nothing but useless water, he never mentioned Niagara at all.
+
+“Have I served your purpose as a guide?” he asked. “Never mind thanking
+me. Yes or no will do. Very good. I have got a line of writing to give
+you next.” He mended his quill pen, and made an observation. “Have you
+ever noticed that women have one pleasure which lasts to the end of
+their lives?” he said. “Young and old, they have the same inexhaustible
+enjoyment of society; and, young and old, they are all alike incapable
+of understanding a man, when he says he doesn’t care to go to a party.
+Even your clever mother thinks you want to go to parties in Canada.” He
+tried his pen, and found it would do--and began his letter.
+
+Seeing his hands at work, Ovid was again reminded of Carmina’s
+discovery. His eyes wandered a little aside, towards the corner formed
+by the pillar of the chimney-piece and the wall of the room. The
+big bamboo-stick rested there. A handle was attached to it, made of
+light-coloured horn, and on that handle there were some stains. Ovid
+looked at them with a surgeon’s practised eye. They were dry stains of
+blood. (Had he washed his hands on the last occasion when he used his
+stick? And had he forgotten that the handle wanted washing too?)
+
+Benjulia finished his letter, and wrote the address. He took up the
+envelope, to give it to Ovid--and stopped, as if some doubt tempted him
+to change his mind. The hesitation was only momentary. He persisted in
+his first intention, and gave Ovid the letter. It was addressed to a
+doctor at Montreal.
+
+“That man won’t introduce you to society,” Benjulia announced, “and
+won’t worry your brains with medical talk. Keep off one subject on your
+side. A mad bull is nothing to my friend if you speak of Vivisection.”
+
+Ovid looked at him steadily, when he uttered the last word. Benjulia
+looked back, just as steadily at Ovid.
+
+At the moment of that reciprocal scrutiny, did the two men suspect each
+other? Ovid, on his side, determined not to leave the house without
+putting his suspicions to the test.
+
+“I thank you for the letter,” he began; “and I will not forget the
+warning.”
+
+The doctor’s capacity for the exercise of the social virtues had its
+limits. His reserves of hospitality were by this time near their end.
+
+“Is there anything more I can do for you?” he interposed.
+
+“You can answer a simple question,” Ovid replied. “My cousin Carmina--”
+
+Benjulia interrupted him again: “Don’t you think we said enough about
+your cousin in the Gardens?” he suggested.
+
+Ovid acknowledged the hint with a neatness of retort almost worthy
+of his mother. “You have your own merciful disposition to blame, if
+I return to the subject,” he replied. “My cousin cannot forget your
+kindness to the monkey.”
+
+“The sooner she forgets my kindness the better. The monkey is dead.”
+
+“I am glad to hear it.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“I thought the creature was living in pain.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“I mean that I heard a moaning--”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“In the building behind your house.”
+
+“You heard the wind in the trees.”
+
+“Nothing of the sort. Are your chemical experiments ever made on
+animals?”
+
+The doctor parried that direct attack, without giving ground by so much
+as a hair’s breadth.
+
+“What did I say when I gave you your letter of introduction?” he asked.
+“I said, A mad bull is nothing to my friend, if you speak to him
+of Vivisection. Now I have something more to tell you. I am like my
+friend.” He waited a little. “Will that do?” he asked.
+
+“Yes,” said Ovid; “that will do.”
+
+They were as near to an open quarrel as two men could be: Ovid took up
+his hat to go. Even at that critical moment, Benjulia’s strange jealousy
+of his young colleague--as a possible rival in some field of discovery
+which he claimed as his own--showed itself once more. There was no
+change in his tone; he still spoke like a judicious friend.
+
+“A last word of advice,” he said. “You are travelling for your health;
+don’t let inquisitive strangers lead you into talk. Some of them might
+be physiologists.”
+
+“And might suggest new ideas,” Ovid rejoined, determined to make him
+speak out this time.
+
+Benjulia nodded, in perfect agreement with his guest’s view.
+
+“Are you afraid of new ideas?” Ovid went on.
+
+“Perhaps I am--in _your_ head.” He made that admission, without
+hesitation or embarrassment. “Good-bye!” he resumed. “My sensitive foot
+feels noises: don’t bang the door.”
+
+Getting out into the lane again, Ovid looked at his letter to the doctor
+at Montreal. His first impulse was to destroy it.
+
+As Benjulia had hesitated before giving him the letter, so he now
+hesitated before tearing it up.
+
+Contrary to the usual practice in such cases, the envelope was closed.
+Under those circumstances, Ovid’s pride decided him on using the
+introduction. Time was still to pass, before events opened his eyes to
+the importance of his decision. To the end of his life he remembered
+that Benjulia had been near to keeping back the letter, and that he had
+been near to tearing it up.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+The wise ancient who asserted that “Time flies,” must have made that
+remarkable discovery while he was in a state of preparation for a
+journey. When are we most acutely sensible of the shortness of life?
+When do we consult our watches in perpetual dread of the result?
+When does the night steal on us unawares, and the morning take us by
+surprise? When we are going on a journey.
+
+The remaining days of the week went by with a rush. Ovid had hardly time
+to ask himself if Friday had really come, before the hours of his life
+at home were already numbered.
+
+He had still a little time to spare when he presented himself at
+Fairfield Gardens late in the afternoon. Finding no one in the library,
+he went up to the drawing-room. His mother was alone, reading.
+
+“Have you anything to say to me, before I tell Carmina that you are
+here?” Mrs. Gallilee put that question quietly, so far as her voice was
+concerned. But she still kept her eyes on her book. Ovid knew that she
+was offering him his first and last chance of speaking plainly, before
+he went away. In Carmina’s interests he spoke.
+
+“Mother,” he said, “I am leaving the one person in the world who is most
+precious to me, under your care.”
+
+“Do you mean,” Mrs. Gallilee asked, “that you and Carmina are engaged to
+be married?”
+
+“I mean that; and I am not sure that you approve of the engagement. Will
+you be plainer with me than you were on the last occasion when we spoke
+on this subject?”
+
+“When was that?” Mrs. Gallilee inquired.
+
+“When you and I were alone for a few minutes, on the morning when I
+breakfasted here. You said it was quite natural that Carmina should
+have attracted me; but you were careful not to encourage the idea of a
+marriage between us. I understood that you disapproved of it--but you
+didn’t plainly tell me why.”
+
+“Can women always give their reason?”
+
+“Yes--when they are women like you.”
+
+“Thank you, my dear, for a pretty compliment. I can trust my memory.
+I think I hinted at the obvious objections to an engagement. You and
+Carmina are cousins; and you belong to different religious communities.
+I may add that a man with your brilliant prospects has, in my opinion,
+no reason to marry unless his wife is in a position to increase his
+influence and celebrity. I had looked forward to seeing my clever son
+rise more nearly to a level with persons of rank, who are members of our
+family. There is my confession, Ovid. If I did hesitate on the occasion
+to which you have referred, I have now, I think, told you why.”
+
+“Am I to understand that you hesitate still?” Ovid asked.
+
+“No.” With that brief reply she rose to put away her book.
+
+Ovid followed her to the bookcase. “Has Carmina conquered you?” he said.
+
+She put her book back in its place. “Carmina has conquered me,” she
+answered.
+
+“You say it coldly.”
+
+“What does that matter, if I say it truly?”
+
+The struggle in him between hope and fear burst its way out. “Oh,
+mother, no words can tell you how fond I am of Carmina! For God’s sake
+take care of her, and be kind to her!”
+
+“For _your_ sake,” said Mrs. Gallilee, gently correcting the language of
+her excitable son, from her own protoplastic point of view. “You do me
+an injustice if you feel anxious about Carmina, when you leave her here.
+My dead brother’s child, is _my_ child. You may be sure of that.” She
+took his hand, and drew him to her, and kissed his forehead with dignity
+and deliberation. If Mr. Mool had been present, during the registration
+of that solemn pledge, he would have been irresistibly reminded of the
+other ceremony, which is called signing a deed.
+
+“Have you any instructions to give me?” Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. “For
+instance, do you object to my taking Carmina to parties? I mean, of
+course, parties which will improve her mind.”
+
+He fell sadly below his mother’s level in replying to this. “Do
+everything you can to make her life happy while I am away.” Those were
+his only instructions.
+
+But Mrs. Gallilee had not done with him yet. “With regard to visitors,”
+ she went on, “I presume you wish me to be careful, if I find young men
+calling here oftener than usual?”
+
+Ovid actually laughed at this. “Do you think I doubt her?” he asked.
+“The earth doesn’t hold a truer girl than my little Carmina!” A thought
+struck him while he said it. The brightness faded out of his face; his
+voice lost its gaiety. “There is one person who may call on you,” he
+said, “whom I don’t wish her to see.”
+
+“Who is he?”
+
+“Unfortunately, he is a man who has excited her curiosity. I mean
+Benjulia.”
+
+It was now Mrs. Gallilee’s turn to be amused. Her laugh was not one of
+her foremost fascinations. It was hard in tone, and limited in range--it
+opened her mouth, but it failed to kindle any light in her eyes.
+“Jealous of the ugly doctor!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Ovid, what next?”
+
+“You never made a greater mistake in your life,” her son answered
+sharply.
+
+“Then what is the objection to him?” Mrs. Gallilee rejoined.
+
+It was not easy to meet that question with a plain reply. If Ovid
+asserted that Benjulia’s chemical experiments were assumed--for some
+reason known only to himself--as a cloak to cover the atrocities of
+the Savage Science, he would only raise the doctor in his mother’s
+estimation. If, on the other hand, he described what had passed between
+them when they met in the Zoological Gardens, Mrs. Gallilee might summon
+Benjulia to explain the slur which he had indirectly cast on the memory
+of Carmina’s mother--and might find, in the reply, some plausible reason
+for objecting to her son’s marriage. Having rashly placed himself in
+this dilemma, Ovid unwisely escaped from it by the easiest way. “I don’t
+think Benjulia a fit person,” he said, “to be in the company of a young
+girl.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee accepted this expression of opinion with a readiness,
+which would have told a more suspicious man that he had made a mistake.
+Ovid had roused the curiosity--perhaps awakened the distrust--of his
+clever mother.
+
+“You know best,” Mrs. Gallilee replied; “I will bear in mind what you
+say.” She rang the bell for Carmina, and left the room. Ovid found the
+minutes passing slowly, for the first time since the day had been
+fixed for his departure. He attributed this impression to his natural
+impatience for the appearance of his cousin--until the plain evidence
+of the clock pointed to a delay of five endless minutes, and more. As
+he approached the door to make inquiries, it opened at last. Hurrying to
+meet Carmina, he found himself face to face with Miss Minerva!
+
+She came in hastily, and held out her hand without looking at him.
+
+“Forgive me for intruding on you,” she said, with a rapidity of
+utterance and a timidity of manner strangely unlike herself. “I’m
+obliged to prepare the children’s lessons for to-morrow; and this is my
+only opportunity of bidding you good-bye. You have my best wishes--my
+heartfelt wishes--for your safety and your health, and--and your
+enjoyment of the journey. Good-bye! good-bye!”
+
+After holding his hand for a moment, she hastened back to the door.
+There she stopped, turned towards him again, and looked at him for the
+first time. “I have one thing more to say,” she broke out. “I will do
+all I can to make Carmina’s life pleasant in your absence.” Before he
+could thank her, she was gone.
+
+In another minute Carmina came in, and found Ovid looking perplexed
+and annoyed. She had passed Frances on the stairs--had there been any
+misunderstanding between Ovid and the governess?
+
+“Have you seen Miss Minerva?” she asked.
+
+He put his arm round her, and seated her by him on the sofa. “I don’t
+understand Miss Minerva,” he said. “How is it that she came here, when I
+was expecting You?”
+
+“She asked me, as a favour, to let her see you first; and she seemed to
+be so anxious about it that I gave way. I didn’t do wrong, Ovid--did I?”
+
+“My darling, you are always kind, and always right! But why couldn’t
+she say good-bye (with the others) downstairs? Do _you_ understand this
+curious woman?”
+
+“I think I do.” She paused, and toyed with the hair over Ovid’s
+forehead. “Miss Minerva is fond of you, poor thing,” she said
+innocently.
+
+“Fond of me?”
+
+The surprise which his tone expressed, failed to attract her attention.
+She quietly varied the phrase that she had just used.
+
+“Miss Minerva has a true regard for you--and knows that you don’t return
+it,” she explained, still playing with Ovid’s hair. “I want to see how
+it looks,” she went on, “when it’s parted in the middle. No! it looks
+better as you always wear it. How handsome you are, Ovid! Don’t you wish
+I was beautiful, too? Everybody in the house loves you; and everybody
+is sorry you are going away. I like Miss Minerva, I like everybody, for
+being so fond of my dear, dear hero. Oh, what shall I do when day after
+day passes, and only takes you farther and farther away from me? No! I
+won’t cry. You shan’t go away with a heavy heart, my dear one, if I can
+help it. Where is your photograph? You promised me your photograph. Let
+me look at it. Yes! it’s like you, and yet not like you. It will do to
+think over, when I am alone. My love, it has copied your eyes, but it
+has not copied the divine kindness and goodness that I see in them!”
+ She paused, and laid her head on his bosom. “I shall cry, in spite of my
+resolution, if I look at you any longer. We won’t look--we won’t talk--I
+can feel your arm round me--I can hear your heart. Silence is best.
+I have been told of people dying happily; and I never understood it
+before. I think I could die happily now.” She put her hand over his lips
+before he could reprove her, and nestled closer to him. “Hush!” she said
+softly; “hush!”
+
+They neither moved nor spoke: that silent happiness was the best
+happiness, while it lasted. Mrs. Gallilee broke the charm. She suddenly
+opened the door, pointed to the clock, and went away again.
+
+The cruel time had come. They made their last promises; shared their
+last kisses; held each other in the last embrace. She threw herself
+on the sofa, as he left her--with a gesture which entreated him to go,
+while she could still control herself. Once, he looked round, when he
+reached the door--and then it was over.
+
+Alone on the landing, he dashed the tears away from his eyes. Suffering
+and sorrow tried hard to get the better of his manhood: they had shaken,
+but had not conquered him. He was calm, when he joined the members of
+the family, waiting in the library.
+
+Perpetually setting an example, Mrs. Gallilee ascended her domestic
+pedestal as usual. She favoured her son with one more kiss, and reminded
+him of the railway. “We understand each other, Ovid--you have only
+five minutes to spare. Write, when you get to Quebec. Now, Maria! say
+good-bye.”
+
+Maria presented herself to her brother with a grace which did honour to
+the family dancing-master. Her short farewell speech was a model of its
+kind.
+
+“Dear Ovid, I am only a child; but I feel truly anxious for the recovery
+of your health. At this favourable season you may look forward to a
+pleasant voyage. Please accept my best wishes.” She offered her cheek
+to be kissed--and looked like a young person who had done her duty, and
+knew it.
+
+Mr. Gallilee--modestly secluded behind the window curtains--appeared,
+at a sign from his wife. One of his plump red hands held a bundle of
+cigars. The other clutched an enormous new travelling-flask--the giant
+of its tribe.
+
+“My dear boy, it’s possible there may be good brandy and cigars on
+board; but that’s not my experience of steamers--is it yours?” He
+stopped to consult his wife. “My dear, is it yours?” Mrs. Gallilee held
+up the “Railway Guide,” and shook it significantly. Mr. Gallilee went on
+in a hurry. “There’s some of the right stuff in this flask, Ovid, if you
+will accept it. Five-and-forty years old--would you like to taste it?
+Would you like to taste it, my dear?” Mrs. Gallilee seized the “Railway
+Guide” again, with a terrible look. Her husband crammed the big flask
+into one of Ovid’s pockets, and the cigars into the other. “You’ll find
+them a comfort when you’re away from us. God bless you, my son! You
+don’t mind my calling you my son? I couldn’t be fonder of you, if I
+really was your father. Let’s part as cheerfully as we can,” said poor
+Mr. Gallilee, with the tears rolling undisguisedly over his fat cheeks.
+“We can write to each other--can’t we? Oh dear! dear! I wish I could
+take it as easy as Maria does. Zo! come and give him a kiss, poor
+fellow. Where’s Zo?”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee made the discovery--she dragged Zo into view, from under
+the table. Ovid took his little sister on his knee, and asked why she
+had hidden herself.
+
+“Because I don’t want to say good-bye!” cried the child, giving her
+reason with a passionate outbreak of sorrow that shook her from head
+to foot. “Take me with you, Ovid, take me with you!” He did his best to
+console her, under adverse circumstances. Mrs. Gallilee’s warning voice
+sounded like a knell--“Time! time!” Zo’s shrill treble rang out louder
+still. Zo was determined to write to Ovid, if she was not allowed to go
+with him. “Pa’s going to write to you--why shouldn’t I?” she screamed
+through her tears. “Dear Zoe, you are too young,” Maria remarked.
+“Damned nonsense!” sobbed Mr. Gallilee; “she _shall_ write!” “Time,
+time!” Mrs. Gallilee reiterated. Taking no part in the dispute, Ovid
+directed two envelopes for Zo, and quieted her in that way. He hurried
+into the hall; he glanced at the stairs that led to the drawing-room.
+Carmina was on the landing, waiting for a farewell look at him. On
+the higher flight of stairs, invisible from the hall, Miss Minerva was
+watching the scene of departure. Reckless of railways and steamers,
+Ovid ran up to Carmina. Another and another kiss; and then away to the
+house-door, with Zo at his heels, trying to get into the cab with him.
+A last kind word to the child, as they carried her back to the house; a
+last look at the familiar faces in the doorway; a last effort to resist
+that foretaste of death which embitters all human partings--and Ovid was
+gone!
+
+VOLUME TWO
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+On the afternoon of the day that followed Ovid’s departure, the three
+ladies of the household were in a state of retirement--each in her own
+room.
+
+The writing-table in Mrs. Gallilee’s boudoir was covered with letters.
+Her banker’s pass-book and her cheque-book were on the desk; Mr.
+Gallilee’s affairs having been long since left as completely in the
+hands of his wife, as if Mr. Gallilee had been dead. A sheet of paper
+lay near the cheque-book, covered with calculations divided into two
+columns. The figures in the right-hand column were contained in one line
+at the top of the page. The figures in the left-hand column filled the
+page from top to bottom. With her fan in her hand, and her pen in the
+ink-bottle, Mrs. Gallilee waited, steadily thinking.
+
+It was the hottest day of the season. All the fat women in London fanned
+themselves on that sultry afternoon; and Mrs. Gallilee followed the
+general example. When she looked to the right, her calculations showed
+the balance at the bank. When she looked to the left, her calculations
+showed her debts: some partially paid, some not paid at all. If she
+wearied of the prospect thus presented, and turned for relief to
+her letters, she was confronted by polite requests for money; from
+tradespeople in the first place, and from secretaries of fashionable
+Charities in the second. Here and there, by way of variety, were
+invitations to parties, representing more pecuniary liabilities,
+incurred for new dresses, and for hospitalities acknowledged by dinners
+and conversaziones at her own house. Money that she owed, money that she
+must spend; nothing but outlay of money--and where was it to come from?
+
+So far as her pecuniary resources were concerned, she was equally
+removed from hope and fear. Twice a year the same income flowed in
+regularly from the same investments. What she could pay at any future
+time was far more plainly revealed to her than what she might owe. With
+tact and management it would be possible to partially satisfy creditors,
+and keep up appearances for six months more. To that conclusion her
+reflections led her, and left her to write cheques.
+
+And after the six months--what then?
+
+Having first completed her correspondence with the tradespeople, and
+having next decided on her contributions to the Charities, this iron
+matron took up her fan again, cooled herself, and met the question of
+the future face to face.
+
+Ovid was the central figure in the prospect.
+
+If he lived devoted to his profession, and lived unmarried, there was
+a last resource always left to Mrs. Gallilee. For years past, his
+professional gains had added largely to the income which he had
+inherited from his father. Unembarrassed by expensive tastes, he had
+some thousands of pounds put by--for the simple reason that he was at a
+loss what else to do with them. Thus far, her brother’s generosity had
+spared Mrs. Gallilee the hard necessity of making a confession to her
+son. As things were now, she must submit to tell the humiliating truth;
+and Ovid (with no wife to check _his_ liberal instincts) would do what
+Ovid’s uncle (with no wife living to check his liberal instincts) had
+done already.
+
+There was the prospect, if her son remained a bachelor. But her son
+had resolved to marry Carmina. What would be the result if she was weak
+enough to allow it?
+
+There would be, not one result, but three results. Natural; Legal;
+Pecuniary.
+
+The natural result would be--children.
+
+The legal result (if only one of those children lived) would be the loss
+to Mrs. Gallilee and her daughters of the splendid fortune reserved for
+them in the Will, if Carmina died without leaving offspring.
+
+The pecuniary result would be (adding the husband’s income to the
+wife’s) about eight thousand a year for the young married people.
+
+And how much for a loan, applicable to the mother-in-law’s creditors?
+Judging Carmina by the standard of herself--by what other standard do we
+really judge our fellow-creatures, no matter how clever we may be?--Mrs.
+Gallilee decided that not one farthing would be left to help her to pay
+debts, which were steadily increasing with every new concession that she
+made to the claims of society. Young Mrs. Ovid Vere, at the head of a
+household, would have the grand example of her other aunt before her
+eyes. Although her place of residence might not be a palace, she would
+be a poor creature indeed, if she failed to spend eight thousand a year,
+in the effort to be worthy of the social position of Lady Northlake. Add
+to these results of Ovid’s contemplated marriage the loss of a thousand
+a year, secured to the guardian by the Will, while the ward remained
+under her care--and the statement of disaster would be complete.
+“We must leave this house, and submit to be Lady Northlake’s poor
+relations--there is the price I pay for it, if Ovid and Carmina become
+man and wife.”
+
+She quietly laid aside her fan, as the thought in her completed itself
+in this form.
+
+The trivial action, and the look which accompanied it, had a sinister
+meaning of their own, beyond the reach of words. And Ovid was already on
+the sea. And Teresa was far away in Italy.
+
+The clock on the mantelpiece struck five; the punctual parlour-maid
+appeared with her mistress’s customary cup of tea. Mrs. Gallilee asked
+for the governess. The servant answered that Miss Minerva was in her
+room.
+
+“Where are the young ladies?”
+
+“My master has taken them out for a walk.”
+
+“Have they had their music lesson?”
+
+“Not yet, ma’am. Mr. Le Frank left word yesterday that he would come at
+six this evening.”
+
+“Does Mr. Gallilee know that?”
+
+“I heard Miss Minerva tell my master, while I was helping the young
+ladies to get ready.”
+
+“Very well. Ask Miss Minerva to come here, and speak to me.”
+
+Miss Minerva sat at the open window of her bedroom, looking out vacantly
+at the backs of houses, in the street behind Fairfield Gardens.
+
+The evil spirit was the dominant spirit in her again. She, too, was
+thinking of Ovid and Carmina. Her memory was busy with the parting scene
+on the previous day.
+
+The more she thought of all that had happened in that short space
+of time, the more bitterly she reproached herself. Her one besetting
+weakness had openly degraded her, without so much as an attempt at
+resistance on her part. The fear of betraying herself if she took leave
+of the man she secretly loved, in the presence of his family, had forced
+her to ask a favour of Carmina, and to ask it under circumstances which
+might have led her rival to suspect the truth. Admitted to a private
+interview with Ovid, she had failed to control her agitation; and, worse
+still, in her ungovernable eagerness to produce a favourable impression
+on him at parting, she had promised--honestly promised, in that moment
+of impulse--to make Carmina’s happiness her own peculiar care! Carmina,
+who had destroyed in a day the hope of years! Carmina, who had taken
+him away from her; who had clung round him when he ran upstairs, and had
+kissed him--fervently, shamelessly kissed him--before the servants in
+the hall!
+
+She started to her feet, roused to a frenzy of rage by her own
+recollections. Standing at the window, she looked down at the pavement
+of the courtyard--it was far enough below to kill her instantly if she
+fell on it. Through the heat of her anger there crept the chill and
+stealthy prompting of despair. She leaned over the window-sill--she was
+not afraid--she might have done it, but for a trifling interruption.
+Somebody spoke outside.
+
+It was the parlour-maid. Instead of entering the room, she spoke through
+the open door. The woman was one of Miss Minerva’s many enemies in the
+house. “Mrs. Gallilee wishes to see you,” she said--and shut the door
+again, the instant the words were out of her mouth.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee!
+
+The very name was full of promise at that moment. It suggested
+hope--merciless hope.
+
+She left the window, and consulted her looking-glass. Even to herself,
+her haggard face was terrible to see. She poured eau-de-cologne and
+water into her basin, and bathed her burning head and eyes. Her shaggy
+black hair stood in need of attention next. She took almost as much
+pains with it as if she had been going into the presence of Ovid
+himself. “I must make a calm appearance,” she thought, still as far as
+ever from suspecting that her employer had guessed her secret, “or his
+mother may find me out.” Her knees trembled under her. She sat down for
+a minute to rest.
+
+Was she merely wanted for some ordinary domestic consultation? or
+was there really a chance of hearing the question of Ovid and Carmina
+brought forward at the coming interview?
+
+She believed what she hoped: she believed that the time had come when
+Mrs. Gallilee had need of an ally--perhaps of an accomplice. Only let
+her object be the separation of the two cousins--and Miss Minerva was
+eager to help her, in either capacity. Suppose she was too cautious to
+mention her object? Miss Minerva was equally ready for her employer,
+in that case. The doubt which had prompted her fruitless suggestions
+to Carmina, when they were alone in the young girl’s room--the doubt
+whether a clue to the discovery of Mrs. Gallilee’s motives might not
+be found, in that latter part of the Will which she had failed to
+overhear--was as present as ever in the governess’s mind. “The learned
+lady is not infallible,” she thought as she entered Mrs. Gallilee’s
+room. “If one unwary word trips over her tongue, I shall pick it up!”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee’s manner was encouraging at the outset. She had left
+her writing-table; and she now presented herself, reclining in an
+easy chair, weary and discouraged--the picture of a woman in want of a
+helpful friend.
+
+“My head aches with adding up figures, and writing letters,” she said.
+“I wish you would finish my correspondence for me.”
+
+Miss Minerva took her place at the desk. She at once discovered the
+unfinished correspondence to be a false pretence. Three cheques for
+charitable subscriptions, due at that date, were waiting to be sent
+to three secretaries, with the customary letters. In five minutes, the
+letters were ready for the post. “Anything more?” Miss Minerva asked.
+
+“Not that I remember. Do you mind giving me my fan? I feel perfectly
+helpless--I am wretchedly depressed to-day.”
+
+“The heat, perhaps?”
+
+“No. The expenses. Every year, the demands on our resources seem to
+increase. On principle, I dislike living up to our income--and I am
+obliged to do it.”
+
+Here, plainly revealed to the governess’s experienced eyes, was another
+false pretence--used to introduce the true object of the interview,
+as something which might accidentally suggest itself in the course of
+conversation. Miss Minerva expressed the necessary regret with innocent
+readiness. “Might I suggest economy?” she asked with impenetrable
+gravity.
+
+“Admirably advised,” Mrs. Gallilee admitted; “but how is it to be done?
+Those subscriptions, for instance, are more than I ought to give. And
+what happens if I lower the amount? I expose myself to unfavourable
+comparison with other people of our rank in society.”
+
+Miss Minerva still patiently played the part expected of her. “You might
+perhaps do with only one carriage-horse,” she remarked.
+
+“My good creature, look at the people who have only one carriage-horse!
+Situated as I am, can I descend to that level? Don’t suppose I care two
+straws about such things, myself. My one pride and pleasure in life is
+the pride and pleasure of improving my mind. But I have Lady Northlake
+for a sister; and I must not be entirely unworthy of my family
+connections. I have two daughters; and I must think of their interests.
+In a few years, Maria will be presented at Court. Thanks to you, she
+will be one of the most accomplished girls in England. Think of Maria’s
+mother in a one-horse chaise. Dear child! tell me all about her lessons.
+Is she getting on as well as ever?”
+
+“Examine her yourself, Mrs. Gallilee. I can answer for the result.”
+
+“No, Miss Minerva! I have too much confidence in you to do anything
+of the kind. Besides, in one of the most important of Maria’s
+accomplishments, I am entirely dependent on yourself. I know nothing
+of music. You are not responsible for her progress in that direction.
+Still, I should like to know if you are satisfied with Maria’s music?”
+
+“Quite satisfied.”
+
+“You don’t think she is getting--how can I express it?--shall I say
+beyond the reach of Mr. Le Frank’s teaching?”
+
+“Certainly not.”
+
+“Perhaps you would consider Mr. Le Frank equal to the instruction of an
+older and more advanced pupil than Maria?”
+
+Thus far, Miss Minerva had answered the questions submitted to her with
+well-concealed indifference. This last inquiry roused her attention.
+Why did Mrs. Gallilee show an interest, for the first time, in Mr. Le
+Frank’s capacity as a teacher? Who was this “older and more advanced
+pupil,” for whose appearance in the conversation the previous questions
+had so smoothly prepared the way? Feeling delicate ground under her, the
+governess advanced cautiously.
+
+“I have always thought Mr. Le Frank an excellent teacher,” she said.
+
+“Can you give me no more definite answer than that?” Mrs. Gallilee
+asked.
+
+“I am quite unacquainted, madam, with the musical proficiency of the
+pupil to whom you refer. I don’t even know (which adds to my perplexity)
+whether you are speaking of a lady or a gentleman.”
+
+“I am speaking,” said Mrs. Gallilee quietly, “of my niece, Carmina.”
+
+Those words set all further doubt at rest in Miss Minerva’s mind.
+Introduced by such elaborate preparation, the allusion to Carmina’s name
+could only lead, in due course, to the subject of Carmina’s marriage.
+By indirect methods of approach, Mrs. Gallilee had at last reached the
+object that she had in view.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+There was an interval of silence between the two ladies.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee waited for Miss Minerva to speak next. Miss Minerva waited
+to be taken into Mrs. Gallilee’s confidence. The sparrows twittered
+in the garden; and, far away in the schoolroom, the notes of the piano
+announced that the music lesson had begun.
+
+“The birds are noisy,” said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+“And the piano sounds out of tune,” Miss Minerva remarked.
+
+There was no help for it. Either Mrs. Gallilee must return to the matter
+in hand---or the matter in hand must drop.
+
+“I am afraid I have not made myself understood,” she resumed.
+
+“I am afraid I have been very stupid,” Miss Minerva confessed.
+
+Resigning herself to circumstances, Mrs. Gallilee put the adjourned
+question under a new form. “We were speaking of Mr. Le Frank as a
+teacher, and of my niece as a pupil,” she said. “Have you been able to
+form any opinion of Carmina’s musical abilities?”
+
+Miss Minerva remained as prudent as ever. She answered, “I have had no
+opportunity of forming an opinion.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee met this cautious reply by playing her trump card. She
+handed a letter to Miss Minerva. “I have received a proposal from Mr. Le
+Frank,” she said. “Will you tell me what you think of it?”
+
+The letter was short and servile. Mr. Le Frank presented his best
+respects. If Mrs. Gallilee’s charming niece stood in need of musical
+instruction, he ventured to hope that he might have the honour and
+happiness of superintending her studies. Looking back to the top of the
+letter, the governess discovered that this modest request bore a date of
+eight days since. “Have you written to Mr. Le Frank?” she asked.
+
+“Only to say that I will take his request into consideration,” Mrs.
+Gallilee replied.
+
+Had she waited for her son’s departure, before she committed herself
+to a decision? On the chance that this might be the case, Miss Minerva
+consulted her memory. When Mrs. Gallilee first decided on engaging a
+music-master to teach the children, her son had disapproved of employing
+Mr. Le Frank. This circumstance might possibly be worth bearing in mind.
+“Do you see any objection to accepting Mr. Le Frank’s proposal?” Mrs.
+Gallilee asked. Miss Minerva saw an objection forthwith, and, thanks
+to her effort of memory, discovered an especially mischievous way of
+stating it. “I feel a certain delicacy in offering an opinion,” she said
+modestly.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was surprised. “Do you allude to Mr. Le Frank?” she
+inquired.
+
+“No. I don’t doubt that his instructions would be of service to any
+young lady.”
+
+“Are you thinking of my niece?”
+
+“No, Mrs. Gallilee. I am thinking of your son.”
+
+“In what way, if you please?”
+
+“In this way. I believe your son would object to employing Mr. Le Frank
+as Miss Carmina’s teacher.”
+
+“On musical grounds?”
+
+“No; on personal grounds.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+Miss Minerva explained her meaning. “I think you have forgotten what
+happened, when you first employed Mr. Le Frank to teach Maria and Zoe.
+His personal appearance produced an unfavourable impression on your son;
+and Mr. Ovid made certain inquiries which you had not thought necessary.
+Pardon me if I persist in mentioning the circumstances. I owe it to
+myself to justify my opinion--an opinion, you will please to remember,
+that I did not volunteer. Mr. Ovid’s investigations brought to light a
+very unpleasant report, relating to Mr. Le Frank and a young lady who
+had been one of his pupils.”
+
+“An abominable slander, Miss Minerva! I am surprised that you should
+refer to it.”
+
+“I am referring, madam, to the view of the matter taken by Mr. Ovid.
+If Mr. Le Frank had failed to defend himself successfully, he would of
+course not have been received into this house. But your son had his own
+opinion of the defence. I was present at the time, and I heard him say
+that, if Maria and Zoe had been older, he should have advised employing
+a music-master who had no false reports against him to contradict. As
+they were only children, he would say nothing more. That is what I had
+in my mind, when I gave my opinion. I think Mr. Ovid will be annoyed
+when he hears that Mr. Le Frank is his cousin’s music-master. And, if
+any foolish gossip reaches him in his absence, I fear it might lead to
+mischievous results--I mean, to misunderstandings not easily set right
+by correspondence, and quite likely therefore to lead, in the end, to
+distrust and jealousy.”
+
+There she paused, and crossed her hands on her lap, and waited for what
+was to come next.
+
+If Mrs. Gallilee could have looked into her mind at that moment as well
+as into her face, she would have read Miss Minerva’s thoughts in these
+plain terms: “All this time, madam, you have been keeping up appearances
+in the face of detection. You are going to use Mr. Le Frank as a means
+of making mischief between Ovid and Carmina. If you had taken me into
+your confidence, I might have been willing to help you. As it is, please
+observe that I am not caught in the trap you have set for me. If
+Mr. Ovid discovers your little plot, you can’t lay the blame on your
+governess’s advice.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee felt that she had again measured herself with Miss
+Minerva, and had again been beaten. She had confidently reckoned on
+the governess’s secret feeling towards her son to encourage, without
+hesitation or distrust, any project for promoting the estrangement of
+Ovid and Carmina. There was no alternative now but to put her first
+obstacle in the way of the marriage, on her own sole responsibility.
+
+“I don’t doubt that you have spoken sincerely,” she said; “but you have
+failed to do justice to my son’s good sense; and you are--naturally
+enough, in your position--incapable of estimating his devoted attachment
+to Carmina.” Having planted that sting, she paused to observe the
+effect. Not the slightest visible result rewarded her. She went on.
+“Almost the last words he said to me expressed his confidence--his
+affectionate confidence--in my niece. The bare idea of his being jealous
+of anybody, and especially of such a person as Mr. Le Frank, is simply
+ridiculous. I am astonished that you don’t see it in that light.”
+
+“I should see it in that light as plainly as you do,” Miss Minerva
+quietly replied, “if Mr. Ovid was at home.”
+
+“What difference does that make?”
+
+“Excuse me--it makes a great difference, as I think. He has gone away on
+a long journey, and gone away in bad health. He will have his hours
+of depression. At such times, trifles are serious things; and even
+well-meant words--in letters--are sometimes misunderstood. I can offer
+no better apology for what I have said; and I can only regret that I
+have made so unsatisfactory a return for your flattering confidence in
+me.”
+
+Having planted _her_ sting, she rose to retire.
+
+“Have you any further commands for me?” she asked.
+
+“I should like to be quite sure that I have not misunderstood you,” said
+Mrs. Gallilee. “You consider Mr. Le Frank to be competent, as director
+of any young lady’s musical studies? Thank you. On the one point on
+which I wished to consult you, my mind is at ease. Do you know where
+Carmina is?”
+
+“In her room, I believe.”
+
+“Will you have the goodness to send her here?”
+
+“With the greatest pleasure. Good-evening!”
+
+So ended Mrs. Gallilee’s first attempt to make use of Miss Minerva,
+without trusting her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+The mistress of the house, and the governess of the house, had their own
+special reasons for retiring to their own rooms. Carmina was in solitude
+as a matter of necessity. The only friends that the poor girl could
+gather round her now, were the absent and the dead.
+
+She had written to Ovid--merely for the pleasure of thinking that
+her letter would accompany him, in the mail-steamer which took him to
+Quebec. She had written to Teresa. She had opened her piano, and had
+played the divinely beautiful music of Mozart, until its tenderness
+saddened her, and she closed the instrument with an aching heart. For
+a while she sat by the window, thinking of Ovid. The decline of day has
+its melancholy affinities with the decline of life. As the evening wore
+on, her loneliness had become harder and harder to endure. She rang for
+the maid, and asked if Miss Minerva was at leisure. Miss Minerva had
+been sent for by Mrs. Gallilee. Where was Zo? In the schoolroom, waiting
+until Mr. Le Frank had done with Maria, to take her turn at the piano.
+Left alone again, Carmina opened her locket, and put Ovid’s portrait by
+it on the table. Her sad fancy revived her dead parents--imagined her
+lover being presented to them--saw him winning their hearts by his
+genial voice, his sweet smile, his wise and kindly words. Miss Minerva,
+entering the room, found her still absorbed in her own little melancholy
+daydream; recalling the absent, reviving the dead--as if she had been
+nearing the close of life. And only seventeen years old. Alas for
+Carmina, only seventeen!
+
+“Mrs. Gallilee wishes to see you.”
+
+She started. “Is there anything wrong?” she asked.
+
+“No. What makes you think so?”
+
+“You speak in such a strange way. Oh, Frances, I have been longing for
+you to keep me company! And now you are here, you look at me as coldly
+as if I had offended you. Perhaps you are not well?”
+
+“That’s it. I am not well.”
+
+“Have some of my lavender water! Let me bathe your forehead, and then
+blow on it to cool you this hot weather. No? Sit down, dear, at any
+rate. What does my aunt want with me?”
+
+“I think I had better not tell you.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Your aunt is sure to ask you what I have said. I have tried her temper;
+you know what her temper is! She has sent me here instead of sending a
+maid, on the chance that I may commit some imprudence. I give you her
+message exactly as the servant might have given it--and you can tell her
+so with a safe conscience. No more questions!”
+
+“One more, please. Is it anything about Ovid?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Then my aunt can wait a little. Do sit down! I want to speak to you.”
+
+“About what?”
+
+“About Ovid, of course!”
+
+Carmina’s look and tone at once set Miss Minerva’s mind at ease.
+Her conduct, on the day of Ovid’s departure, had aroused no jealous
+suspicion in her innocent rival. She refused to take the offered chair.
+
+“I have already told you your aunt is out of temper,” she said. “Go to
+her at once.”
+
+Carmina rose unwillingly. “There were so many things I wanted to say to
+you,” she began--and was interrupted by a rapid little series of knocks
+at the door. Was the person in a hurry? The person proved to be the
+discreet and accomplished Maria. She made her excuses to Carmina with
+sweetness, and turned to Miss Minerva with sorrow.
+
+“I regret to say that you are wanted in the schoolroom. Mr. Le Frank can
+do nothing with Zoe. Oh, dear!” She sighed over her sister’s wickedness,
+and waited for instructions.
+
+To be called away, under any circumstances, was a relief to Miss
+Minerva. Carmina’s affectionate welcome had irritated her in the most
+incomprehensible manner. She was angry with herself for being irritated;
+she felt inclined to abuse the girl for believing her. “You fool, why
+don’t you see through me? Why don’t you write to that other fool who
+is in love with you, and tell him how I hate you both?” But for her
+self-command, she might have burst out with such mad words as those.
+Maria’s appearance was inexpressibly welcome. “Say I will follow you
+directly,” she answered.
+
+Maria, in the language of the stage, made a capital exit. With a few
+hurried words of apology, Miss Minerva prepared to follow. Carmina
+stopped her at the door.
+
+“Don’t be hard on Zo!” she said.
+
+“I must do my duty,” Miss Minerva answered sternly.
+
+“We were sometimes naughty ourselves when we were children,” Carmina
+pleaded. “And only the other day she had bread and water for tea. I am
+so fond of Zo! And besides--” she looked doubtfully at Miss Minerva--“I
+don’t think Mr. Le Frank is the sort of man to get on with children.”
+
+After what had just passed between Mrs. Gallilee and herself, this
+expression of opinion excited the governess’s curiosity. “What makes you
+say that?” she asked.
+
+“Well, my dear, for one thing Mr. Le Frank is so ugly. Don’t you agree
+with me?”
+
+“I think you had better keep your opinion to yourself. If he heard of
+it--”
+
+“Is he vain? My poor father used to say that all bad musicians were
+vain.”
+
+“You don’t call Mr. Le Frank a bad musician?”
+
+“Oh, but I do! I heard him at his concert. Mere execution of the most
+mechanical kind. A musical box is as good as that man’s playing. This is
+how he does it!”
+
+Her girlish good spirits had revived in her friend’s company. She turned
+gaily to the piano, and amused herself by imitating Mr. Le Frank.
+
+Another knock at the door--a single peremptory knock this time--stopped
+the performance.
+
+Miss Minerva had left the door ajar, when Carmina had prevented her
+from quitting the room. She looked through the open space, and
+discovered--Mr. Le Frank.
+
+His bald head trembled, his florid complexion was livid with suppressed
+rage. “That little devil has run away!” he said--and hurried down the
+stairs again, as if he dare not trust himself to utter a word more.
+
+“Has he heard me?” Carmina asked in dismay.
+
+“He may only have heard you playing.”
+
+Offering this hopeful suggestion, Miss Minerva felt no doubt, in her
+own mind, that Mr. Le Frank was perfectly well acquainted with Carmina’s
+opinion of him. It was easy enough to understand that he should himself
+inform the governess of an incident, so entirely beyond the reach of his
+own interference as the flight of Zo. But it was impossible to assume
+that the furious anger which his face betrayed, could have been excited
+by a child who had run away from a lesson. No: the vainest of men and
+musicians had heard that he was ugly, and that his pianoforte-playing
+resembled the performance of a musical box.
+
+They left the room together--Carmina, ill at ease, to attend on her
+aunt; Miss Minerva, pondering on what had happened, to find the fugitive
+Zo.
+
+The footman had already spared her the trouble of searching the
+house. He had seen Zo running out bare-headed into the Square, and had
+immediately followed her. The young rebel was locked up. “I don’t care,”
+ said Zo; “I hate Mr. Le Frank!” Miss Minerva’s mind was too seriously
+preoccupied to notice this aggravation of her pupil’s offence. One
+subject absorbed her attention--the interview then in progress between
+Carmina and her aunt.
+
+How would Mrs. Gallilee’s scheme prosper now? Mr. Le Frank might, or
+might not, consent to be Carmina’s teacher. Another result, however, was
+certain. Miss Minerva thoroughly well knew the vindictive nature of the
+man. He neither forgave nor forgot--he was Carmina’s enemy for life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+The month of July was near its end.
+
+On the morning of the twenty-eighth, Carmina was engaged in replying to
+a letter received from Teresa. Her answer contained a record of domestic
+events, during an interval of serious importance in her life under Mrs.
+Gallilee’s roof. Translated from the Italian, the letter was expressed
+in these terms:
+
+
+“Are you vexed with me, dearest, for this late reply to your sad news
+from Italy? I have but one excuse to offer.
+
+“Can I hear of your anxiety about your husband, and not feel the wish to
+help you to bear your burden by writing cheerfully of myself? Over and
+over again, I have thought of you and have opened my desk. My spirits
+have failed me, and I have shut it up again. Am I now in a happier frame
+of mind? Yes, my good old nurse, I am happier. I have had a letter from
+Ovid.
+
+“He has arrived safely at Quebec, and he is beginning to feel better
+already, after the voyage. You cannot imagine how beautifully, how
+tenderly he writes! I am almost reconciled to his absence, when I
+read his letter. Will that give you some idea of the happiness and the
+consolation that I owe to this best and dearest of men?
+
+“Ah, my old granny, I see you start, and make that favourite mark
+with your thumb-nail under the word ‘consolation’! I hear you say to
+yourself, ‘Is she unhappy in her English home? And is Aunt Gallilee to
+blame for it?’ Yes! it is even so. What I would not for the whole world
+write to Ovid, I may confess to you. Aunt Gallilee is indeed a hard,
+hard woman.
+
+“Do you remember telling me, in your dear downright way, that Mr. Le
+Frank looked like a rogue? I don’t know whether he is a rogue--but I do
+know that it is through his conduct that my aunt is offended with me.
+
+“It happened three weeks ago.
+
+“She sent for me, and said that my education must be completed, and that
+my music in particular must be attended to. I was quite willing to obey
+her, and I said so with all needful readiness and respect. She answered
+that she had already chosen a music-master for me--and then, to my
+astonishment, she mentioned his name. Mr. Le Frank, who taught her
+children, was also to teach me! I have plenty of faults, but I really
+think vanity is not one of them. It is only due to my excellent master
+in Italy to say, that I am a better pianoforte player than Mr. Le Frank.
+
+“I never breathed a word of this, mind, to my aunt. It would have been
+ungrateful and useless. She knows and cares nothing about music.
+
+“So we parted good friends, and she wrote the same evening to engage my
+master. The next day she got his reply. Mr. Le Frank refused to be my
+professor of music--and this, after he had himself proposed to teach me,
+in a letter addressed to my aunt! Being asked for his reasons, he made
+an excuse. The spare time at his disposal, when he had written, had been
+since occupied by another pupil. The true reason for his conduct is,
+that he heard me speak of him--rashly enough, I don’t deny it--as an
+ugly man and a bad player. Miss Minerva sounded him on the subject,
+at my request, for the purpose of course of making my apologies. He
+affected not to understand what she meant--with what motive I am sure
+I don’t know. False and revengeful, you may say, and perhaps you may
+be right. But the serious part of it, so far as I am concerned, is my
+aunt’s behaviour to me. If I had thwarted her in the dearest wish of her
+life, she could hardly treat me with greater coldness and severity. She
+has not stirred again, in the matter of my education. We only meet at
+meal-times; and she receives me, when I sit down at table, as she might
+receive a perfect stranger. Her icy civility is unendurable. And this
+woman is my darling Ovid’s mother!
+
+“Have I done with my troubles now? No, Teresa; not even yet. Oh, how I
+wish I was with you in Italy!
+
+“Your letters persist in telling me that I am deluded in believing
+Miss Minerva to be truly my friend. Do pray remember--even if I am
+wrong--what a solitary position mine is, in Mrs. Gallilee’s house! I can
+play with dear little Zo; but whom can I talk to, whom can I confide in,
+if it turns out that Miss Minerva has been deceiving me?
+
+“When I wrote to you, I refused to acknowledge that any such dreadful
+discovery as this could be possible; I resented the bare idea of it as
+a cruel insult to my friend. Since that time--my face burns with
+shame while I write it--I am a little, just a little, shaken in my own
+opinion.
+
+“Shall I tell you how it began? Yes; I will.
+
+“My good old friend, you have your prejudices. But you speak your mind
+truly--and whom else can I consult? Not Ovid! The one effort of my life
+is to prevent him from feeling anxious about me. And, besides, I have
+contended against his opinion of Miss Minerva, and have brought him to
+think of her more kindly. Has he been right, notwithstanding? and are
+you right? And am I alone wrong? You shall judge for yourself.
+
+“Miss Minerva began to change towards me, after I had done the thing of
+all others which ought to have brought us closer together than ever.
+She is very poorly paid by my aunt, and she has been worried by little
+debts. When she owned this, I most willingly lent her the money to pay
+her bills--a mere trifle, only thirty pounds. What do you think she
+did? She crushed up the bank-notes in her hand, and left the room in the
+strangest headlong manner--as if I had insulted her instead of helping
+her! All the next day, she avoided me. The day after, I myself went
+to her room, and asked what was the matter. She gave me a most
+extraordinary answer. She said, ‘I don’t know which of us two I most
+detest--myself or you. Myself for borrowing your money, or you for
+lending it.’ I left her; not feeling offended, only bewildered and
+distressed. More than an hour passed before she made her excuses. ‘I
+am ill and miserable’--that was all she said. She did indeed look so
+wretched that I forgave her directly. Would you not have done so too, in
+my place?
+
+“This happened a fortnight since. Only yesterday, she broke out again,
+and put my affection for her to a far more severe trial. I have not got
+over it yet.
+
+“There was a message for her in Ovid’s letter--expressed in the
+friendliest terms. He remembered with gratitude her kind promise, on
+saying good-bye; he believed she would do all that lay in her power to
+make my life happy in his absence; and he only regretted her leaving him
+in such haste that he had no time to thank her personally. Such was
+the substance of the message. I was proud and pleased to go to her room
+myself, and read it to her.
+
+“Can you guess how she received me? Nobody--I say it positively--nobody
+could guess.
+
+“She actually flew into a rage! Not only with me (which I might have
+pardoned), but with Ovid (which is perfectly inexcusable). ‘How dare
+he write to _you,’_ she burst out, ‘of what I said to him when we took
+leave of each other? And how dare you come here, and read it to me? What
+do I care about your life, in his absence? Of what earthly consequence
+are his remembrance and his gratitude to Me!’ She spoke of him, with
+such fury and such contempt, that she roused me at last. I said to her,
+‘You abominable woman, there is but one excuse for you--you’re mad!’ I
+left the room--and didn’t I bang the door! We have not met since. Let
+me hear your opinion, Teresa. I was in a passion when I told her she was
+mad; but was I altogether wrong? Do you really think the poor creature
+is in her right senses?
+
+“Looking back at your letter, I see that you ask if I have made any new
+acquaintances.
+
+“I have been introduced to one of the sweetest women I ever met with.
+And who do you think she is? My other aunt--Mrs. Gallilee’s younger
+sister, Lady Northlake! They say she was not so handsome as Mrs.
+Gallilee, when they were both young. For my part, I can only declare
+that no such comparison is possible between them now. In look, in voice,
+in manner there is something so charming in Lady Northlake that I quite
+despair of describing it. My father used to say that she was amiable
+and weak; led by her husband, and easily imposed upon. I am not clever
+enough to have his eye for character: and perhaps I am weak and easily
+imposed upon too. Before I had been ten minutes in Lady Northlake’s
+company, I would have given everything I possess in the world to have
+had _her_ for my guardian.
+
+“She had called to say good-bye, on leaving London; and my aunt was not
+at home. We had a long delightful talk together. She asked me so kindly
+to visit her in Scotland, and be introduced to Lord Northlake, that I
+accepted the invitation with a glad heart.
+
+“When my aunt returned, I quite forgot that we were on bad terms. I gave
+her an enthusiastic account of all that had passed between her sister
+and myself. How do you think she met this little advance on my part? She
+positively refused to let me go to Scotland.
+
+“As soon as I had in some degree got over my disappointment, I asked
+for her reasons. ‘I am your guardian,’ she said; ‘and I am acting in the
+exercise of my own discretion. I think it better you should stay with
+me.’ I made no further remark. My aunt’s cruelty made me think of
+my dead father’s kindness. It was as much as I could do to keep from
+crying.
+
+“Thinking over it afterwards, I supposed (as this is the season when
+everybody leaves town) that she had arranged to take me into the country
+with her. Mr. Gallilee, who is always good to me, thought so too,
+and promised me some sailing at the sea-side. To the astonishment of
+everybody, she has not shown any intention of going away from London!
+Even the servants ask what it means.
+
+“This is a letter of complaints. Am I adding to your anxieties instead
+of relieving them? My kind old nurse, there is no need to be anxious. At
+the worst of my little troubles, I have only to think of Ovid--and his
+mother’s ice melts away from me directly; I feel brave enough to endure
+anything.
+
+“Take my heart’s best love, dear--no, next best love, after Ovid!--and
+give some of it to your poor suffering husband. May I ask one little
+favour? The English gentleman who has taken our old house at Rome, will
+not object to give you a few flowers out of what was once my garden.
+Send them to me in your next letter.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+On the twelfth of August, Carmina heard from Ovid again. He wrote from
+Montreal; describing the presentation of that letter of introduction
+which he had once been tempted to destroy. In the consequences that
+followed the presentation--apparently harmless consequences at the
+time--the destinies of Ovid, of Carmina, and of Benjulia proved to be
+seriously involved.
+
+Ovid’s letter was thus expressed:
+
+
+“I want to know, my love, if there is any other man in the world who is
+as fond of his darling as I am of you? If such a person exists, and
+if adverse circumstances compel him to travel, I should like to ask a
+question. Is he perpetually calling to mind forgotten things, which he
+ought to have said to his sweetheart before he left her?
+
+“This is my case. Let me give you an instance.
+
+“I have made a new friend here--one Mr. Morphew. Last night, he was so
+kind as to invite me to a musical entertainment at his house. He is a
+medical man; and he amuses himself in his leisure hours by playing
+on that big and dreary member of the family of fiddles, whose name is
+Violoncello. Assisted by friends, he hospitably cools his guests, in the
+hot season, by the amateur performance of quartets. My dear, I passed
+a delightful evening. Listening to the music? Not listening to a single
+note of it. Thinking of You.
+
+“Have I roused your curiosity? I fancy I can see your eyes brighten; I
+fancy I can hear you telling me to go on!
+
+“My thoughts reminded me that music is one of the enjoyments of your
+life. Before I went away, I ought to have remembered this, and to have
+told you that the manager of the autumn concerts at the opera-house is
+an old friend of mine. He will be only too glad to place a box at your
+disposal, on any night when his programme attracts your notice; I have
+already made amends for my forgetfulness, by writing to him by this
+mail. Miss Minerva will be your companion at the theatre. If Mr. Le
+Frank (who is sure to be on the free list) pays you a visit in your box,
+tell him from me to put a wig on his bald head, and to try if _that_
+will make him look like an honest man!
+
+“Did I forget anything else before my departure? Did I tell you how
+precious you are to me? how beautiful you are to me? how entirely
+worthless my life is without you? I dare say I did; but I tell it all
+over again--and, when you are tired of the repetition, you have only to
+let me know.
+
+“In the meanwhile, have I nothing else to say? have I no travelling
+adventures to relate? You insist on hearing of everything that happens
+to me; and you are to have your own way before we are married, as
+well as after. My sweet Carmina, your willing slave has something more
+serious than common travelling adventures to relate--he has a confession
+to make. In plain words, I have been practising my profession again, in
+the city of Montreal!
+
+“I wonder whether you will forgive me, when you are informed of the
+circumstances? It is a sad little story; but I am vain enough to think
+that my part in it will interest you. I have been a vain man, since
+that brightest and best of all possible days when you first made _your_
+confession--when you said that you loved me.
+
+“Look back in my letter, and you will see Mr. Morphew mentioned as a new
+friend of mine, in Canada. I became acquainted with him through a letter
+of introduction, given to me by Benjulia.
+
+“Say nothing to anybody of what I am now going to tell you--and be
+especially careful, if you happen to see him, to keep Benjulia in
+the dark. I sincerely hope you will not see him. He is a hard-hearted
+man--and he might say something which would distress you, if he knew of
+the result which has followed his opening to me the door of his friend’s
+house.
+
+“Mr. Morphew is a worthy busy old gentleman, who follows his
+professional routine, and whose medical practice consists principally
+in bringing infant Canadians into the world. His services happened to be
+specially in request, at the time when I made his acquaintance. He was
+called away from his table, on the day after the musical party, when I
+dined with him. I was the only guest--and his wife was left to entertain
+me.
+
+“The good lady began by speaking of Benjulia. She roundly declared him
+to be a brute--and she produced my letter of introduction (closed by the
+doctor’s own hand, before he gave it to me) as a proof. Would you like
+to read the letter, too? Here is a copy:--‘The man who brings this is an
+overworked surgeon, named Ovid Vere. He wants rest and good air. Don’t
+encourage him to use his brains; and give him information enough to take
+him, by the shortest way, to the biggest desert in Canada.’ You will
+now understand that I am indebted to myself for the hospitable reception
+which has detained me at Montreal.
+
+“To return to my story. Mr. Morphew’s services were again in request,
+ten minutes after he had left the house. This time the patient was a
+man--and the messenger declared that he was at the point of death.
+
+“Mrs. Morphew seemed to be at a loss what to do. ‘In this dreadful
+case,’ she said, ‘death is a mercy. What I cannot bear to think of is
+the poor man’s lonely position. In his last moments, there will not be a
+living creature at his bedside.’
+
+“Hearing this, I ventured to make some inquiries. The answers painted
+such a melancholy picture of poverty and suffering, and so vividly
+reminded me of a similar case in my own experience, that I forgot I
+was an invalid myself, and volunteered to visit the dying man in Mr.
+Morphew’s place.
+
+“The messenger led me to the poorest quarter of the city and to a garret
+in one of the wretchedest houses in the street. There he lay, without
+anyone to nurse him, on a mattress on the floor. What his malady was,
+you will not ask to know. I will only say that any man but a doctor
+would have run out of the room, the moment he entered it. To save the
+poor creature was impossible. For a few days longer, I could keep pain
+in subjection, and could make death easy when it came.
+
+“At my next visit he was able to speak.
+
+“I discovered that he was a member of my own profession--a mulatto from
+the Southern States of America, by birth. The one fatal event of his
+life had been his marriage. Every worst offence of which a bad woman can
+be guilty, his vile wife had committed--and his infatuated love clung
+to her through it all. She had disgraced and ruined him. Not once, but
+again and again he had forgiven her, under circumstances which degraded
+him in his own estimation, and in the estimation of his best friends. On
+the last occasion when she left him, he had followed her to Montreal.
+In a fit of drunken frenzy, she had freed him from her at last by
+self-destruction. Her death affected his reason. When he was discharged
+from the asylum, he spent his last miserable savings in placing a
+monument over her grave. As long as his strength held out, he made
+daily pilgrimages to the cemetery. And now, when the shadow of death was
+darkening over him, his one motive for clinging to life, his one reason
+for vainly entreating me to cure him, still centred in devotion to the
+memory of his wife. ‘Nobody will take care of her grave,’ he said, ‘when
+I am gone.’
+
+“My love, I have always thought fondly of you. After hearing this
+miserable story, my heart overflowed with gratitude to God for giving me
+Carmina.
+
+“He died yesterday. His last words implored me to have him buried in
+the same grave with the woman who had dishonoured him. Who am I that
+I should judge him? Besides, I shall fulfil his last wishes as a
+thank-offering for You.
+
+“There is still something more to tell.
+
+“On the day before his death he asked me to open an old
+portmanteau--literally, the one thing that he possessed. He had no money
+left, and no clothes. In a corner of the portmanteau there was a roll of
+papers, tied with a piece of string--and that was all.
+
+“I can make you but one return,’ he said; ‘I give you my book.’
+
+“He was too weak to tell me what the book was about, or to express any
+wish relative to its publication. I am ashamed to say I set no sort of
+value on the manuscript presented to me--except as a memorial of a sad
+incident in my life. Waking earlier than usual this morning, I opened
+and examined my gift for the first time.
+
+“To my amazement, I found myself rewarded a hundredfold for the little
+that I had been able to do. This unhappy man must have been possessed of
+abilities which (under favouring circumstances) would, I don’t hesitate
+to say, have ranked him among the greatest physicians of our time. The
+language in which he writes is obscure, and sometimes grammatically
+incorrect. But he, and he alone, has solved a problem in the treatment
+of disease, which has thus far been the despair of medical men
+throughout the whole civilised world.
+
+“If a stranger was looking over my shoulder, he would be inclined to
+say, This curious lover writes to his young lady as if she was a medical
+colleague! We understand each other, Carmina, don’t we? My future career
+is an object of interest to my future wife. This poor fellow’s gratitude
+has opened new prospects to me; and who will be so glad to hear of it as
+you?
+
+“Before I close my letter, you will expect me to say a word more about
+my health. Sometimes I feel well enough to take my cabin in the
+next vessel that sails for Liverpool. But there are other occasions,
+particularly when I happen to over-exert myself in walking or riding,
+which warn me to be careful and patient. My next journey will take me
+inland, to the mighty plains and forest of this grand country. When I
+have breathed the health-giving air of those regions, I shall be able
+to write definitely of the blessed future day which is to unite us once
+more.
+
+“My mother has, I suppose, given her usual conversazione at the end
+of the season. Let me hear how you like the scientific people at close
+quarters, and let me give you a useful hint. When you meet in society
+with a particularly positive man, who looks as if he was sitting for his
+photograph, you may safely set that man down as a Professor.
+
+“Seriously, I do hope that you and my mother get on well together. You
+say too little of each other in your letters to me, and I am sometimes
+troubled by misgivings. There is another odd circumstance, connected
+with our correspondence, which sets me wondering. I always send messages
+to Miss Minerva; and Miss Minerva never sends any messages back to me.
+Do you forget? or am I an object of perfect indifference to your friend?
+
+“My latest news of you all is from Zo. She has sent me a letter, in
+one of the envelopes that I directed for her when I went away. Miss
+Minerva’s hair would stand on end if she could see the blots and the
+spelling. Zo’s account of the family circle (turned into intelligible
+English), will I think personally interest you. Here it is, in its own
+Roman brevity--with your pretty name shortened to two syllables: ‘Except
+Pa and Car, we are a bad lot at home.’ After that, I can add nothing
+that is worth reading.
+
+“Take the kisses, my angel, that I leave for you on the blank morsel
+of paper below, and love me as I love you. There is a world of meaning,
+Carmina, even in those commonplace words. Oh, if I could only go to you
+by the mail steamer, in the place of my letter!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+The answers to Ovid’s questions were not to be found in Carmina’s reply.
+She had reasons for not mentioning the conversazione; and she shrank
+from writing to him of his mother. Her true position in Mrs. Gallilee’s
+house--growing, day by day, harder and harder to endure; threatening,
+more and more plainly, complications and perils to come--was revealed in
+her next letter to her old friend in Italy. She wrote to Teresa in these
+words:
+
+
+“If you love me, forget the inhuman manner in which I have spoken of
+Miss Minerva!
+
+“After I had written to you, I would have recalled my letter, if it
+could have been done. I began, that evening, to feel ashamed of what I
+had said in my anger. As the hours went on, and bedtime approached, I
+became so wretched that I ran the risk of another harsh reception, by
+intruding on her once more. It was a circumstance in my favour that she
+was, to all appearance, in bad spirits too. There was something in her
+voice, when she asked what I wanted, which made me think--though
+she looks like the last person in the world to be guilty of such
+weakness--that she had been crying.
+
+“I gave the best expression I could to my feelings of repentance and
+regret. What I actually said to her, has slipped out of my memory; I
+was frightened and upset--and I am always stupid in that condition. My
+attempt at reconciliation may have been clumsy enough; but she might
+surely have seen that I had no intention to mystify and distress her.
+And yet, what else could she have imagined?--to judge by her own actions
+and words.
+
+“Her bedroom candle was on the table behind me. She snatched it up and
+held it before my face, and looked at me as if I was some extraordinary
+object that she had never seen or heard of before! ‘You are little
+better than a child,’ she said; ‘I have ten times your strength of
+will--what is there in you that I can’t resist? Go away from me! Be
+on your guard against me! I am false; I am suspicious; I am cruel. You
+simpleton, have you no instincts to protect you? Is there nothing in you
+that shrinks from me?’
+
+“She put down the candle, and burst into a wretched mocking laugh.
+‘There she stands,’ cried this strange creature, ‘and looks at me with
+the eyes of a baby that sees something new! I can’t frighten her. I
+can’t disgust her. What does it mean?’ She dropped into a chair; her
+voice sank almost to a whisper--I should have thought she was afraid of
+me, if such a thing had been possible. ‘What do you know of me, that I
+don’t know of myself?’ she asked.
+
+“It was quite beyond me to understand what she meant. I took a chair,
+and sat down by her. ‘I only know what you said to me yesterday,’ I
+answered.
+
+“‘What did I say?’
+
+“‘You told me you were miserable.’
+
+“‘I told you a lie! Believe what I have said to you to-day. In your own
+interests, believe it to be the truth!’
+
+“Nothing would induce me to believe it. ‘No,’ I said. ‘You were
+miserable yesterday, and you are miserable to-day. _That_ is the truth!’
+
+“What put my next bold words into my head, I don’t know. It doesn’t
+matter; the thought was in me--and out it came.
+
+“‘I think you have some burden on your mind,’ I went on. ‘If I can’t
+relieve you of it, perhaps I can help you bear it. Come! tell me what
+it is.’ I waited; but it was of no use--she never even looked at me.
+Because I am in love myself, do I think everybody else is like me?
+I thought she blushed. I don’t know what else I thought. ‘Are you in
+love?’ I asked.
+
+“She jumped up from her chair, so suddenly and so violently that she
+threw it on the floor. Still, not a word passed her lips. I found
+courage enough to go on--but not courage enough to look at her.
+
+“‘I love Ovid, and Ovid loves me,’ I said. ‘There is my consolation,
+whatever my troubles may be. Are you not so fortunate?’ A dreadful
+expression of pain passed over her face. How could I see it, and not
+feel the wish to sympathise with her? I ran the risk, and said, ‘Do you
+love somebody, who doesn’t love you?’
+
+“She turned her back on me, and went to the toilet-table. I think she
+looked at herself in the glass. ‘Well,’ she said, speaking to me at
+last, ‘what else?’
+
+“‘Nothing else,’ I answered--‘except that I hope I have not offended
+you.’
+
+“She left the glass as suddenly as she had approached it, and took up
+the candle again. Once more she held it so that it lit my face.
+
+“‘Guess who he is,’ she said.
+
+“‘How can I do that?’ I asked.
+
+“She quietly put down the candle again. In some way, quite
+incomprehensible to myself, I seemed to have relieved her. She spoke to
+me in a changed voice, gently and sadly.
+
+“You are the best of good girls, and you mean kindly. It’s of no
+use--you can do nothing. Forgive my insolence yesterday; I was mad with
+envy of your happy marriage engagement. You don’t understand such a
+nature as mine. So much the better! ah, so much the better! Good-night!’
+
+“There was such hopeless submission, such patient suffering, in those
+words, that I could not find it in my heart to leave her. I thought of
+how I might have behaved, of the wild things I might have said, if Ovid
+had cared nothing for me. Had some cruel man forsaken her? That was
+_her_ secret. I asked myself what I could do to encourage her. Your last
+letter, with our old priest’s enclosure, was in my pocket. I took it
+out.
+
+“‘Would you mind reading a short letter,’ I said, ‘before we wish each
+other goodnight?’ I held out the priest’s letter.
+
+“She drew back with a dark look; she appeared to have some suspicion of
+it. ‘Who is the writer?’ she inquired sharply.
+
+“‘A person who is a stranger to you.’
+
+“Her face cleared directly. She took the letter from me, and waited to
+hear what I had to say next. ‘The person,’ I told her, ‘is a wise and
+good old man--the priest who married my father and mother, and baptised
+me. We all of us used to consult Father Patrizio, when we wanted advice.
+My nurse Teresa felt anxious about me in Ovid’s absence; she spoke to
+him about my marriage engagement, and of my exile--forgive me for using
+the word!--in this house. He said he would consider, before he gave her
+his opinion. The next day, he sent her the letter which you have got in
+your hand.’
+
+“There, I came to a full stop; having something yet to say, but not
+knowing how to express myself with the necessary delicacy.
+
+“‘Why do you wish me to read the letter?’ she asked, quietly.
+
+“I think there is something in it which might--.’
+
+“There, like a fool, I came to another full stop. She was as patient as
+ever; she only made a little sign to me to go on.
+
+“‘I think Father Patrizio’s letter might put you in a better frame of
+mind,’ I said; ‘it might keep you from despising yourself.’
+
+“She went back to her chair, and read the letter. You have permitted
+me to keep the comforting words of the good Father, among my other
+treasures. I copy his letter for you in this place--so that you may read
+it again, and see what I had in my mind, and understand how it affected
+poor Miss Minerva.
+
+“‘Teresa, my well-beloved friend,--I have considered the anxieties that
+trouble you, with this result: that I can do my best, conscientiously,
+to quiet your mind. I have had the experience of forty years in the
+duties of the priesthood. In that long time, the innermost secrets of
+thousands of men and women have been confided to me. From such means of
+observation, I have drawn many useful conclusions; and some of them may
+be also useful to you. I will put what I have to say, in the plainest
+and fewest words: consider them carefully, on your side. The growth of
+the better nature, in women, is perfected by one influence--and that
+influence is Love. Are you surprised that a priest should write in this
+way? Did you expect me to say, Religion? Love, my sister, _is_ Religion,
+in women. It opens their hearts to all that is good for them; and it
+acts independently of the conditions of human happiness. A miserable
+woman, tormented by hopeless love, is still the better and the nobler
+for that love; and a time will surely come when she will show it. You
+have fears for Carmina--cast away, poor soul, among strangers with hard
+hearts! I tell you to have no fears. She may suffer under trials; she
+may sink under trials. But the strength to rise again is in her--and
+that strength is Love.’
+
+“Having read our old friend’s letter, Miss Minerva turned back, and read
+it again--and waited a little, repeating some part of it to herself.
+
+“‘Does it encourage you?’ I asked.
+
+“She handed the letter back to me. ‘I have got one sentence in it by
+heart,’ she said.
+
+“You will know what that sentence is, without my telling you. I felt
+so relieved, when I saw the change in her for the better--I was so
+inexpressibly happy in the conviction that we were as good friends again
+as ever--that I bent down to kiss her, on saying goodnight.
+
+“She put up her hand and stopped me. ‘No,’ she said, ‘not till I have
+done something to deserve it. You are more in need of help than you
+think. Stay here a little longer; I have a word to say to you about your
+aunt.’
+
+“I returned to my chair, feeling a little startled. Her eyes rested on
+me absently--she was, as I imagined, considering with herself, before
+she spoke. I refrained from interrupting her thoughts. The night was
+still and dark. Not a sound reached our ears from without. In the house,
+the silence was softly broken by a rustling movement on the stairs. It
+came nearer. The door was opened suddenly. Mrs. Gallilee entered the
+room.
+
+“What folly possessed me? Why was I frightened? I really could not help
+it--I screamed. My aunt walked straight up to me, without taking the
+smallest notice of Miss Minerva. ‘What are you doing here, when you
+ought to be in your bed?’ she asked.
+
+“She spoke in such an imperative manner--with such authority and such
+contempt--that I looked at her in astonishment. Some suspicion seemed to
+be roused in her by finding me and Miss Minerva together.
+
+“No more gossip!’ she called out sternly. ‘Do you hear me? Go to bed!’
+
+“Was it not enough to rouse anybody? I felt my pride burning in my face.
+‘Am I a child, or a servant?’ I said. ‘I shall go to bed early or late
+as I please.’
+
+“She took one step forward; she seized me by the arm, and forced me to
+my feet. Think of it, Teresa! In all my life I have never had a hand
+laid on me except in kindness. Who knows it better than you! I tried
+vainly to speak--I saw Miss Minerva rise to interfere--I heard her say,
+‘Mrs. Gallilee, you forget yourself!’ Somehow, I got out of the room. On
+the landing, a dreadful fit of trembling shook me from head to foot. I
+sank down on the stairs. At first, I thought I was going to faint. No;
+I shook and shivered, but I kept my senses. I could hear their voices in
+the room.
+
+“Mrs. Gallilee began. ‘Did you tell me just now that I had forgotten
+myself?’
+
+“Miss Minerva answered, ‘Certainly, madam. You _did_ forget yourself.’
+
+“The next words escaped me. After that, they grew louder; and I heard
+them again--my aunt first.
+
+“‘I am dissatisfied with your manner to me, Miss Minerva. It has
+latterly altered very much for the worse.’
+
+“‘In what respect, Mrs. Gallilee?’
+
+“‘In this respect. Your way of speaking to me implies an assertion of
+equality--’
+
+“‘Stop a minute, madam! I am not so rich as you are. But I am at a
+loss to know in what other way I am not your equal. Did you assert
+your superiority--may I ask--when you came into my room without first
+knocking at the door?’
+
+“‘Miss Minerva! Do you wish to remain in my service?’
+
+“‘Say employment, Mrs. Gallilee--if you please. I am quite indifferent
+in the matter. I am equally ready, at your entire convenience, to stay
+or to go.’
+
+“Mrs. Gallilee’s voice sounded nearer, as if she was approaching the
+door. ‘I think we arranged,’ she said, ‘that there was to be a month’s
+notice on either side, when I first engaged you?’
+
+“‘Yes--at my suggestion.’
+
+“‘Take your month’s notice, if you please.’
+
+“‘Dating from to-morrow?’
+
+“‘Of course!’
+
+“My aunt came out, and found me on the stairs. I tried to rise. It was
+not to be done. My head turned giddy. She must have seen that I was
+quite prostrate--and yet she took no notice of the state I was in.
+Cruel, cruel creature! she accused me of listening.
+
+“‘Can’t you see that the poor girl is ill?’
+
+“It was Miss Minerva’s voice. I looked round at her, feeling fainter and
+fainter. She stooped; I felt her strong sinewy arms round me; she
+lifted me gently. ‘I’ll take care of you,’ she whispered--and carried me
+downstairs to my room, as easily as if I had been a child.
+
+“I must rest, Teresa. The remembrance of that dreadful night brings it
+all back again. Don’t be anxious about me, my old dear! You shall hear
+more to-morrow.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+On the next day events happened, the influence of which upon Carmina’s
+excitable nature urged her to complete her unfinished letter, without
+taking the rest that she needed. Once more--and, as the result proved,
+for the last time--she wrote to her faithful old friend in these words:
+
+
+“Don’t ask me to tell you how the night passed! Miss Minerva was the
+first person who came to me in the morning.
+
+“She had barely said a few kind words, when Maria interrupted us,
+reminding her governess of the morning’s lessons. ‘Mrs. Gallilee has
+sent her,’ Miss Minerva whispered; ‘I will return to you in the hour
+before the children’s dinner.’
+
+“The next person who appeared was, as we had both anticipated, Mrs.
+Gallilee herself.
+
+“She brought me a cup of tea; and the first words she spoke were words
+of apology for her conduct on the previous night. Her excuse was
+that she had been ‘harassed by anxieties which completely upset her.’
+And--can you believe it?--she implored me not to mention ‘the little
+misunderstanding between us when I next wrote to her son!’ Is this woman
+made of iron and stone, instead of flesh and blood? Does she really
+think me such a wretch as to cause Ovid, under any provocation, a
+moment’s anxiety while he is away? The fewest words that would satisfy
+her, and so send her out of my room, were the only words I said.
+
+“After this, an agreeable surprise was in store for me. The familiar
+voice of good Mr. Gallilee applied for admission--through the keyhole!
+
+“‘Are you asleep, my dear? May I come in?’ His kind, fat old face peeped
+round the door when I said Yes--and reminded me of Zo, at dinner,
+when she asks for more pudding, and doesn’t think she will get it. Mr.
+Gallilee had something to ask for, and some doubt of getting it, which
+accounted for the resemblance. ‘I’ve taken the liberty, Carmina, of
+sending for our doctor. You’re a delicate plant, my dear--’ (Here,
+his face disappeared and he spoke to somebody outside)--‘You think
+so yourself, don’t you, Mr. Null? And you have a family of daughters,
+haven’t you?’ (His face appeared again; more like Zo than ever.) ‘Do
+please see him, my child; I’m not easy about you. I was on the stairs
+last night--nobody ever notices me, do they, Mr. Null?--and I saw Miss
+Minerva--good creature, and, Lord, how strong!--carrying you to your
+bed. Mr. Null’s waiting outside. Don’t distress me by saying No!’
+
+“Is there anybody cruel enough to distress Mr. Gallilee? The doctor came
+in--looking like a clergyman; dressed all in black, with a beautiful
+frill to his shirt, and a spotless white cravat. He stared hard at me;
+he produced a little glass-tube; he gave it a shake, and put it under
+my arm; he took it away again, and consulted it; he said, ‘Aha!’ he
+approved of my tongue; he disliked my pulse; he gave his opinion at
+last. ‘Perfect quiet. I must see Mrs. Gallilee.’ And there was an end of
+it.
+
+“Mr. Gallilee observed the medical proceedings with awe. ‘Mr. Null is a
+wonderful man,’ he whispered, before he followed the doctor out. Ill and
+wretched as I was, this little interruption amused me. I wonder why I
+write about it here? There are serious things waiting to be told--am I
+weakly putting them off?
+
+“Miss Minerva came back to me as she had promised. ‘It is well,’ she
+said gravely, ‘that the doctor has been to see you.’
+
+“I asked if the doctor thought me very ill.
+
+“He thinks you have narrowly escaped a nervous fever; and he has given
+some positive orders. One of them is that your slightest wishes are to
+be humoured. If he had not said that, Mrs. Gallilee would have prevented
+me from seeing you. She has been obliged to give way; and she hates
+me--almost as bitterly, Carmina, as she hates you.’
+
+“This called to my mind the interruption of the previous night, when
+Miss Minerva had something important to tell me. When I asked what it
+was, she shook her head, and said painful subjects of conversation were
+not fit subjects in my present state.
+
+“Need I add that I insisted on hearing what she had to say? Oh, how
+completely my poor father must have been deceived, when he made his
+horrible sister my guardian! If I had not fortunately offended the
+music-master, she would have used Mr. Le Frank as a means of making Ovid
+jealous, and of sowing the seeds of dissension between us. Having failed
+so far, she is (as Miss Minerva thinks) at a loss to discover any other
+means of gaining her wicked ends. Her rage at finding herself baffled
+seems to account for her furious conduct, when she discovered me in Miss
+Minerva’s room.
+
+“You will ask, as I did, what has she to gain by this wicked plotting
+and contriving, with its shocking accompaniments of malice and anger?
+
+“Miss Minerva answered, ‘I still believe that money is the motive. Her
+son is mistaken about her; her friends are mistaken; they think she is
+fond of money--the truer conclusion is, she is short of money. There is
+the secret of the hard bargains she drives, and the mercenary opinions
+she holds. I don’t doubt that her income would be enough for most other
+women in her position. It is not enough for a woman who is jealous of
+her rich sister’s place in the world. Wait a little, and you will see
+that I am not talking at random. You were present at the grand party she
+gave some week’s since?’
+
+“‘I wish I had stayed in my own room,’ I said. ‘Mrs. Gallilee was
+offended with me for not admiring her scientific friends. With one
+or two exceptions, they talked of nothing but themselves and their
+discoveries--and, oh, dear, how ugly they were!’
+
+“‘Never mind that now, Carmina. Did you notice the profusion of
+splendid flowers, in the hall and on the staircase, as well as in the
+reception-rooms?’
+
+“‘Yes.’
+
+“‘Did you observe--no, you are a young girl--did you hear any of the
+gentlemen, in the supper-room, expressing their admiration of the
+luxuries provided for the guests, the exquisite French cookery and the
+delicious wine? Why was all the money which these things cost spent in
+one evening? Because Lady Northlake’s parties must be matched by Mrs.
+Gallilee’s parties. Lady Northlake lives in a fashionable neighbourhood
+in London, and has splendid carriages and horses. This is a fashionable
+neighbourhood. Judge what this house costs, and the carriages and
+horses, when I tell you that the rent of the stables alone is over a
+hundred pounds a year. Lady Northlake has a superb place in Scotland.
+Mrs. Gallilee is not able to rival her sister in that respect--but she
+has her marine villa in the Isle of Wight. When Mr. Gallilee said you
+should have some sailing this autumn, did you think he meant that
+he would hire a boat? He referred to the yacht, which is part of the
+establishment at the sea-side. Lady Northlake goes yachting with her
+husband; and Mrs. Gallilee goes yachting with her husband. Do you know
+what it costs, when the first milliner in Paris supplies English ladies
+with dresses? That milliner’s lowest charge for a dress which Mrs.
+Gallilee would despise--ordinary material, my dear, and imitation
+lace--is forty pounds. Think a little--and even your inexperience
+will see that the mistress of this house is spending more than she can
+afford, and is likely (unless she has resources that we know nothing
+about) to be, sooner or later, in serious need of money.’
+
+“This was a new revelation to me, and it altered my opinion of course.
+But I still failed to see what Mrs. Gallilee’s extravagances had to
+do with her wicked resolution to prevent Ovid from marrying me. Miss
+Minerva’s only answer to this was to tell me to write to Mr. Mool, while
+I had the chance, and ask for a copy of my father’s Will. ‘I will take
+the letter to him,’ she said, ‘and bring the reply myself. It will save
+time, if it does nothing else.’ The letter was written in a minute. Just
+as she took it from me, the parlour-maid announced that the early dinner
+was ready.
+
+“Two hours later, the reply was in my hands. The old father had taken
+Maria and Zo for their walk; and Miss Minerva had left the house by
+herself--sending word to Mrs. Gallilee that she was obliged to go out on
+business of her own.
+
+“‘Did Mrs. Gallilee see you come in?’ I asked.
+
+“‘Yes. She was watching for me, no doubt.’
+
+“Did she see you go upstairs to my room?’
+
+“‘Yes.’
+
+“‘And said nothing?’
+
+“‘Nothing.’
+
+“We looked at each other; both of us feeling the same doubt of how the
+day would end. Miss Minerva pointed impatiently to the lawyer’s reply. I
+opened it.
+
+“Mr. Mool’s letter was very kind, but quite incomprehensible in the
+latter part of it. After referring me to his private residence, in case
+I wished to consult him personally later in the day, he mentioned some
+proceeding, called ‘proving the Will,’ and some strange place called
+‘Doctors’ Commons.’ However, there was the copy of the Will, and that
+was all we wanted.
+
+“I began reading it. How I pitied the unfortunate men who have to learn
+the law! My dear Teresa, I might as well have tried to read an unknown
+tongue. The strange words, the perpetual repetitions, the absence of
+stops, utterly bewildered me. I handed the copy to Miss Minerva. Instead
+of beginning on the first page, as I had done, she turned to the last.
+With what breathless interest I watched her face! First, I saw that she
+understood what she was reading. Then, after a while, she turned pale.
+And then, she lifted her eyes to me. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ she said.
+
+“But I was frightened. My ignorant imagination pictured some dreadful
+unknown power given to Mrs. Gallilee by the Will. ‘What can my aunt do
+to me?’ I asked.
+
+“Miss Minerva composed me--without concealing the truth. ‘In her
+position, Carmina, and with her intensely cold and selfish nature, there
+is no fear of her attempting to reach her ends by violent means.
+Your happiness may be in danger--and that prospect, God knows, is bad
+enough.’
+
+“When she talked of my happiness, I naturally thought of Ovid. I asked
+if there was anything about him in the Will.
+
+“It was no doubt a stupid thing to say at such a time; and it seemed to
+annoy her. ‘You are the only person concerned,’ she answered sharply.
+‘It is Mrs. Gallilee’s interest that you shall never be her son’s wife,
+or any man’s wife. If she can have her way, you will live and die an
+unmarried woman.’
+
+“This did me good: it made me angry. I began to feel like myself again.
+I said, ‘Please let me hear the rest of it.’
+
+“Miss Minerva first patiently explained to me what she had read in
+the Will. She then returned to the subject of my aunt’s extravagance;
+speaking from experience of what had happened in her own family. ‘If
+Mrs. Gallilee borrows money,’ she said, ‘her husband will, in all
+probability, have to repay the loan. And, if borrowings go on in that
+way, Maria and Zoe will be left wretchedly provided for, in comparison
+with Lady Northlake’s daughters. A fine large fortune would wonderfully
+improve these doubtful prospects--can you guess, Carmina, where it is
+to come from?’ I could easily guess, now I understood the Will. My good
+Teresa, if I die without leaving children, the fine large fortune comes
+from Me.
+
+“You see it all now--don’t you? After I had thanked Miss Minerva, turned
+away my head on the pillow overpowered by disgust.
+
+“The clock in the hall struck the hour of the children’s tea. Miss
+Minerva would be wanted immediately. At parting, she kissed me. ‘There
+is the kiss that you meant to give me last night,’ she said. ‘Don’t
+despair of yourself. I am to be in the house for a month longer; and I
+am a match for Mrs. Gallilee. We will say no more now. Compose yourself,
+and try to sleep.’
+
+“She went away to her duties. Sleep was out of the question. My
+attention wandered when I tried to read. Doing nothing meant, in other
+words, thinking of what had happened. If you had come into my room, I
+should have told you all about it. The next best thing was to talk to
+you in this way. You don’t know what a relief it has been to me to write
+these lines.”
+
+
+“The night has come, and Mrs. Gallilee’s cruelty has at last proved too
+much even for my endurance.
+
+“Try not to be surprised; try not to be alarmed. If my mind to-morrow is
+the same as my mind to-night, I shall attempt to make my escape. I shall
+take refuge with Lady Northlake.
+
+“Oh, if I could go to Ovid! But he is travelling in the deserts of
+Canada. Until his return to the coast, I can only write to him to the
+care of his bankers at Quebec. I should not know where to find him, when
+I arrived; and what a dreadful meeting--if I did find him--to be obliged
+to acknowledge that it is his mother who has driven me away! There will
+be nothing to alarm him, if I go to his mother’s sister. If you could
+see Lady Northlake, you would feel as sure as I do that she will take my
+part.
+
+“After writing to you, I must have fallen asleep. It was quite dark,
+when I was awakened by the striking of a match in my room. I looked
+round, expecting to see Miss Minerva. The person lighting my candle was
+Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+“She poured out the composing medicine which Mr. Null had ordered for
+me. I took it in silence. She sat down by the bedside.
+
+“‘My child,’ she began, ‘we are friends again now. You bear no malice, I
+am sure.’
+
+“Distrust still kept me silent. I remembered that she had watched for
+Miss Minerva’s return, and that she had seen Miss Minerva go up to my
+room. The idea that she meant to be revenged on us both for having our
+secrets, and keeping them from her knowledge, took complete possession
+of my mind.
+
+“‘Are you feeling better?’ she asked.
+
+“‘Yes.’
+
+“‘Is there anything I can get for you?’
+
+“‘Not now--thank you.’
+
+“‘Would you like to see Mr. Null again, before to-morrow?’
+
+“‘Oh, no!’
+
+“These were ungraciously short replies--but it cost me an effort
+to speak to her at all. She showed no signs of taking offence; she
+proceeded as smoothly as ever.
+
+“My dear Carmina, I have my faults of temper; and, with such pursuits as
+mine, I am not perhaps a sympathetic companion for a young girl. But
+I hope you believe that it is my duty and my pleasure to be a second
+mother to you?’
+
+“Yes; she did really say that! Whether I was only angry, or whether I
+was getting hysterical, I don’t know. I began to feel an oppression in
+my breathing that almost choked me. There are two windows in my room,
+and one of them only was open. I was obliged to ask her to open the
+other.
+
+“She did it; she came back, and fanned me. I submitted as long as I
+could--and then I begged her not to trouble herself any longer. She put
+down the fan, and went on with what she had to say.
+
+“‘I wish to speak to you about Miss Minerva. You are aware that I gave
+her notice, last night, to leave her situation. For your sake, I regret
+that I did not take this step before you came to England.’
+
+“My confidence in myself returned when I heard Miss Minerva spoken of in
+this way. I said at once that I considered her to be one of my best and
+truest friends.
+
+“‘My dear child, that is exactly what I lament! This person has
+insinuated herself into your confidence--and she is utterly unworthy of
+it.’
+
+“Could I let those abominable words pass in silence? ‘Mrs. Gallilee!’ I
+said, ‘you are cruelly wronging a woman whom I love and respect!’
+
+“‘Mrs. Gallilee?’ she repeated. ‘Do I owe it to Miss Minerva that you
+have left off calling me Aunt? Your obstinacy, Carmina, leaves me no
+alternative but to speak out. If I had done my duty, I ought to have
+said long since, what I am going to say now. You are putting your trust
+in the bitterest enemy you have; an enemy who secretly hates you with
+the unforgiving hatred of a rival!’
+
+“Look back at my letter, describing what passed between Miss Minerva and
+me, when I went to her room; and you will know what I felt on hearing
+her spoken of as ‘a rival.’ My sense of justice refused to believe it.
+But, oh, my dear old nurse, there was some deeper sense in me that said,
+as if in words, It is true!
+
+“Mrs. Gallilee went on, without mercy.
+
+“‘I know her thoroughly; I have looked into her false heart. Nobody has
+discovered her but me. Charge her with it, if you like; and let her deny
+it if she dare. Miss Minerva is secretly in love with my son.’
+
+“She got up. Her object was gained: she was even with me, and with the
+woman who had befriended me, at last.
+
+“‘Lie down in your bed again,’ she said, ‘and think over what I have
+told you. In your own interests, think over it well.’
+
+“I was left alone.
+
+“Shall I tell you what saved me from sinking under the shock?
+Ovid--thousands and thousands of miles away--Ovid saved me.
+
+“I love him with all my heart and soul; and I do firmly believe that
+I know him better than I know myself. If his mother had betrayed Miss
+Minerva to him, as she has betrayed her to me, that unhappy woman would
+have had his truest pity. I am as certain of this, as I am that I see
+the moon, while I write, shining on my bed. Ovid would have pitied her.
+And I pitied her.
+
+“I wrote the lines that follow, and sent them to her by the maid. In the
+fear that she might mistake my motives, and think me angry and
+jealous, I addressed her with my former familiarity by her christian
+name:--“‘Last night, Frances, I ventured to ask if you loved some one
+who did not love you. And you answered by saying to me, Guess who he is.
+My aunt has just told me that he is her son. Has she spoken the truth?’
+
+“I am now waiting to receive Miss Minerva’s reply.
+
+“For the first time since I have been in the house, my door is locked. I
+cannot, and will not, see Mrs. Gallilee again. All her former cruelties
+are, as I feel it, nothing to the cruelty of her coming here when I am
+ill, and saying to me what she has said.
+
+“The weary time passes, and still there is no reply. Is Frances angry?
+or is she hesitating how to answer me--personally or by writing? No! she
+has too much delicacy of feeling to answer in her own person.
+
+“I have only done her justice. The maid has just asked me to open the
+door. I have got my answer. Read it.”
+
+
+“‘Mrs. Gallilee has spoken the truth.
+
+“‘How I can have betrayed myself so that she has discovered my miserable
+secret is more than I can tell I will not own it to her or to any living
+creature but yourself. Undeserving as I am, I know that I can trust you.
+
+“It is needless to dwell at any length on this confession. Many things
+in my conduct, which must have perplexed you, will explain themselves
+flow. There has been, however, one concealment on my part, which it is
+due to you that I should acknowledge.
+
+“‘If Mrs. Gallilee had taken me into her confidence, I confess that my
+jealousy would have degraded me into becoming her accomplice. As things
+were, I was too angry and too cunning to let her make use of me without
+trusting me.
+
+“‘There are other acts of deceit which I ought to acknowledge--if I
+could summon composure enough to write about them. Better to say at
+once--I am not worthy of your pardon, not worthy even of your pity.
+
+“‘With the same sincerity, I warn you that the wickedness in me, on
+which Mrs. Gallilee calculated, may be in me still. The influence of
+your higher and better nature--helped perhaps by that other influence
+of which the old priest spoke in his letter--has opened my heart to
+tenderness and penitence of which I never believed myself capable: has
+brought the burning tears into my eyes which make it a hard task to
+write to you. All this I know, and yet I dare not believe in myself.
+It is useless to deny it, Carmina--I love him. Even now, when you have
+found me out, I love him. Don’t trust me. Oh, God, what torture it is to
+write it--but I do write it, I _will_ write it--don’t trust me!
+
+“‘One thing I may say for myself. I know the utter hopelessness of that
+love which I have acknowledged. I know that he returns your love, and
+will never return mine. So let it be.
+
+“‘I am not young; I have no right to comfort myself with hopes that I
+know to be vain. If one of us is to suffer, let it be that one who is
+used to suffering. I have never been the darling of my parents, like
+you; I have not been used at home to the kindness and the love that
+you remember. A life without sweetness and joy has well fitted me for a
+loveless future. And, besides, you are worthy of him, and I am not. Mrs.
+Gallilee is wrong, Carmina, if she thinks I am your rival. I am not your
+rival; I never can be your rival. Believe nothing else, but, for God’s
+sake, believe that!
+
+“‘I have no more to say--at least no more that I can remember now.
+Perhaps, you shrink from remaining in the same house with me? Let me
+know it, and I shall be ready--I might almost say, glad--to go.’”
+
+
+“Have you read her letter, Teresa? Am I wrong in feeling that this poor
+wounded heart has surely some claim on me? If I _am_ wrong, oh, what am
+I to do? what am I to do?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+The last lines addressed by Carmina to her old nurse were completed on
+the seventeenth of August, and were posted that night.
+
+The day that followed was memorable to Carmina, and memorable to Mrs.
+Gallilee. Doctor Benjulia had his reasons also for remembering the
+eighteenth of August.
+
+Still in search of a means to undermine the confidence which united Ovid
+and Carmina, and still calling on her invention in vain, Mrs. Gallilee
+had passed a sleepless night. Her maid, entering the room at the usual
+hour, was ordered to leave her in bed, and not to return until the bell
+rang. On ordinary occasions, Mrs. Gallilee was up in time to receive the
+letters arriving by the first delivery; the correspondence of the other
+members of the household being sorted by her own hands, before it was
+distributed by the servant. On this particular morning (after sleeping
+a little through sheer exhaustion), she entered the empty breakfast-room
+two hours later than usual. The letters waiting for her were addressed
+only to herself. She rang for the maid.
+
+“Any other letters this morning?” she asked.
+
+“Two, for my master.”
+
+“No more than that!”
+
+“Nothing more, ma’am--except a telegram for Miss Carmina.”
+
+“When did it come?”
+
+“Soon after the letters.”
+
+“Have you given it to her?”
+
+“Being a telegram, ma’am, I thought I ought to take it to Miss Carmina
+at once.”
+
+“Quite right. You can go.”
+
+A telegram for Carmina? Was there some private correspondence going on?
+And were the interests involved too important to wait for the ordinary
+means of communication by post? Considering these questions, Mrs.
+Gallilee poured out a cup of tea and looked over her letters.
+
+Only one of them especially attracted her notice in her present frame of
+mind. The writer was Benjulia. He dispensed as usual with the customary
+forms of address.
+
+“I have had a letter about Ovid, from a friend of mine in Canada.
+There is an allusion to him of the complimentary sort, which I don’t
+altogether understand. I want to ask you about it--but I can’t spare the
+time to go a-visiting. So much the better for me--I hate conversation,
+and I like work. You have got your carriage--and your fine friends
+are out of town. If you want a drive, come to me, and bring your last
+letters from Ovid with you.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee decided on considering this characteristic proposal later
+in the day. Her first and foremost interest took her upstairs to her
+niece’s room.
+
+Carmina had left her bed. Robed in her white dressing-gown, she lay on
+the sofa in the sitting-room. When her aunt came in, she started and
+shuddered Those signs of nervous aversion escaped the notice of Mrs.
+Gallilee. Her attention had been at once attracted by a travelling bag,
+opened as if in preparation for packing. The telegram lay on Carmina’s
+lap. The significant connection between those two objects asserted
+itself plainly. But it was exactly the opposite of the connection
+suspected by Mrs. Gallilee. The telegram had prevented Carmina from
+leaving the house.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee paved the way for the necessary investigation, by making
+a few common-place inquiries. How had Carmina passed the night? Had the
+maid taken care of her at breakfast-time? Was there anything that her
+aunt could do for her? Carmina replied with a reluctance which she was
+unable to conceal. Mrs. Gallilee passed over the cold reception accorded
+to her without remark, and pointed with a bland smile to the telegram.
+
+“No bad news, I hope?”
+
+Carmina handed the telegram silently to her aunt. The change of
+circumstances which the arrival of the message had produced, made
+concealment superfluous. Mrs. Gallilee opened the telegram, keeping her
+suspicions in reserve. It had been sent from Rome by the old foreign
+woman, named “Teresa,” and it contained these words:
+
+“My husband died this morning. Expect me in London from day to day.”
+
+“Why is this person coming to London?” Mrs. Gallilee inquired.
+
+Stung by the insolent composure of that question, Carmina answered
+sharply, “Her name is on the telegram; you ought to know!”
+
+“Indeed?” said Mrs. Gallilee. “Perhaps, she likes London?”
+
+“She hates London! You have had her in the house; you have seen us
+together. Now she has lost her husband, do you think she can live apart
+from the one person in the world whom she loves best?”
+
+“My dear, these matters of mere sentiment escape my notice,” Mrs.
+Gallilee rejoined. “It’s an expensive journey from Italy to England.
+What was her husband?”
+
+“Her husband was foreman in a manufactory till his health failed him.”
+
+“And then,” Mrs. Gallilee concluded, “the money failed him, of course.
+What did he manufacture?”
+
+“Artists’ colours.”
+
+“Oh! an artists’ colourman? Not a very lucrative business, I should
+think. Has his widow any resources of her own?”
+
+“My purse is hers!”
+
+“Very generous, I am sure! Even the humblest lodgings are dear in this
+neighbourhood. However--with your assistance--your old servant may be
+able to live somewhere near you.”
+
+Having settled the question of Teresa’s life in London in this way,
+Mrs. Gallilee returned to the prime object of her suspicion--she took
+possession of the travelling bag.
+
+Carmina looked at her with the submission of utter bewilderment. Teresa
+had been the companion of her life; Teresa had been received as her
+attendant, when she was first established under her aunt’s roof. She had
+assumed that her nurse would become a member of the household again, as
+a matter of course. With Teresa to encourage her, she had summoned the
+resolution to live with Ovid’s mother, until Ovid came back. And now she
+had been informed, in words too plain to be mistaken, that Teresa
+must find a home for herself when she returned to London! Surprise,
+disappointment, indignation held Carmina speechless.
+
+“This thing,” Mrs. Gallilee proceeded, holding up the bag, “will only be
+in your way here. I will have it put with our own bags and boxes, in
+the lumber-room. And, by-the-bye, I fancy you don’t quite understand
+(naturally enough, at your age) our relative positions in this house.
+My child, the authority of your late father is the authority which
+your guardian holds over you. I hope never to be obliged to exercise
+it--especially, if you will be good enough to remember two things. I
+expect you to consult me in your choice of companions; and to wait for
+my approval before you make arrangements which--well! let us say, which
+require the bag to be removed from the lumber-room.”
+
+Without waiting for a reply, she turned to the door. After opening it,
+she paused--and looked back into the room.
+
+“Have you thought of what I told you, last night?” she asked.
+
+Sorely as they had been tried, Carmina’s energies rallied at this. “I
+have done my best to forget it!” she answered.
+
+“At Miss Minerva’s request?”
+
+Carmina took no notice of the question.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee persisted. “Have you had any communication with that
+person?”
+
+There was still no reply. Preserving her temper, Mrs. Gallilee stepped
+out on the landing, and called to Miss Minerva. The governess answered
+from the upper floor.
+
+“Please come down here,” said Mrs. Galilee.
+
+Miss Minerva obeyed. Her face was paler than usual; her eyes had lost
+something of their piercing brightness. She stopped outside Carmina’s
+door. Mrs. Gallilee requested her to enter the room.
+
+After an instant--only an instant--of hesitation, Miss Minerva crossed
+the threshold. She cast one quick glance at Carmina, and lowered her
+eyes before the look could be returned. Mrs. Gallilee discovered no mute
+signs of an understanding between them. She turned to the governess.
+
+“Have you been here already this morning?” she inquired.
+
+“No.”
+
+“Is there some coolness between you and my niece?”
+
+“None, madam, that I know of.”
+
+“Then, why don’t you speak to her when you come into the room?”
+
+“Miss Carmina has been ill. I see her resting on the sofa--and I am
+unwilling to disturb her.”
+
+“Not even by saying good-morning?”
+
+“Not even that!”
+
+“You are exceedingly careful, Miss Minerva.”
+
+“I have had some experience of sick people, and I have learnt to be
+careful. May I ask if you have any particular reason for calling me
+downstairs?”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee prepared to put her niece and her governess to the final
+test.
+
+“I wish you to suspend the children’s lesson for an hour or two,” she
+answered.
+
+“Certainly. Shall I tell them?”
+
+“No; I will tell them myself.”
+
+“What do you wish me to do?” said Miss Minerva.
+
+“I wish you to remain here with my niece.”
+
+If Mrs. Gallilee, after answering in those terms, had looked at
+her niece, instead of looking at her governess, she would have seen
+Carmina--distrustful of her own self-control--move on the sofa so as to
+turn her face to the wall. As it was, Miss Minerva’s attitude and look
+silently claimed some explanation.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee addressed her in a whisper. “Let me say a word to you at
+the door.”
+
+Miss Minerva followed her to the landing outside. Carmina turned again,
+listening anxiously.
+
+“I am not at all satisfied with her looks, this morning,” Mrs. Gallilee
+proceeded; “and I don’t think it right she should be left alone. My
+household duties must be attended to. Will you take my place at the
+sofa, until Mr. Null comes?” (_“Now,”_ she thought, “if there is
+jealousy between them, I shall see it!”)
+
+She saw nothing: the governess quietly bowed to her, and went back
+to Carmina. She heard nothing: although the half-closed door gave
+her opportunities for listening. Ignorant, she had entered the room.
+Ignorant, she left it.
+
+Carmina lay still and silent. With noiseless step, Miss Minerva
+approached the sofa, and stood by it, waiting. Neither of them lifted
+her eyes, the one to the other. The woman suffered her torture in
+secret. The girl’s sweet eyes filled slowly with tears. One by one the
+minutes of the morning passed--not many in number, before there was a
+change. In silence, Carmina held out her hand. In silence, Miss Minerva
+took it and kissed it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee saw her housekeeper as usual, and gave her orders for the
+day. “If there is anything forgotten,” she said, “I must leave it to
+you. For the next hour or two, don’t let me be disturbed.”
+
+Some of her letters of the morning were still unread, others required
+immediate acknowledgment. She was not as ready for her duties as usual.
+For once, the most unendurably industrious of women was idle, and sat
+thinking.
+
+Even her unimaginative nature began to tremble on the verge of
+superstition. Twice, had the subtle force of circumstances defeated her,
+in the attempt to meddle with the contemplated marriage of her son. By
+means of the music-master, she had planned to give Ovid jealous reasons
+for doubting Carmina--and she had failed. By means of the governess, she
+had planned to give Carmina jealous reasons for doubting Ovid--and she
+had failed. When some people talked of Fatality, were they quite such
+fools as she had hitherto supposed them to be? It would be a waste of
+time to inquire. What next step could she take?
+
+Urged by the intolerable sense of defeat to find reasons for still
+looking hopefully to the future, the learned Mrs. Gallilee lowered
+herself to the intellectual level of the most ignorant servant in the
+house. The modern Muse of Science unconsciously opened her mind to the
+vulgar belief in luck. She said to herself, as her kitchen-maid might
+have said, We will see what comes of it, the third time!
+
+Benjulia’s letter was among the other letters waiting on the table. She
+took it up, and read it again.
+
+In her present frame of mind, to find her thoughts occupied by
+the doctor, was to be reminded of Ovid’s strange allusion to his
+professional colleague, on the day of his departure. Speaking of
+Carmina, he had referred to one person whom he did not wish her to see
+in his absence; and that person, he had himself admitted to be Benjulia.
+He had been asked to state his objection to the doctor--and how had he
+replied? He had said, “I don’t think Benjulia a fit person to be in the
+company of a young girl.”
+
+Why?
+
+There are many men of mature age, who are not fit persons to be in the
+company of young girls--but they are either men who despise, or men who
+admire, young girls. Benjulia belonged neither to the one nor to the
+other of these two classes. Girls were objects of absolute indifference
+to him--with the one exception of Zo, aged ten. Never yet, after meeting
+him in society hundreds of times, had Mrs. Gallilee seen him talk to
+young ladies or even notice young ladies. Ovid’s alleged reason for
+objecting to Benjulia stood palpably revealed as a clumsy excuse.
+
+In the present posture of events, to arrive at that conclusion was
+enough for Mrs. Gallilee. Without stopping to pursue the idea, she rang
+the bell, and ordered her carriage to be ready that afternoon, at three
+o’clock.
+
+Doubtful, and more than doubtful, though it might be, the bare prospect
+of finding herself possessed, before the day was out, of a means of
+action capable of being used against Carmina, raised Mrs. Gallilee’s
+spirits. She was ready at last to attend to her correspondence.
+
+One of the letters was from her sister in Scotland. Among other
+subjects, it referred to Carmina.
+
+“Why won’t you let that sweet girl come and stay with us?” Lady
+Northlake asked. “My daughters are longing for such a companion; and
+both my sons are ready to envy Ovid the moment they see her. Tell my
+nephew, when you next write, that I thoroughly understand his falling in
+love with that gentle pretty creature at first sight.”
+
+Carmina’s illness was the ready excuse which presented itself in Mrs.
+Gallilee’s reply. With or without an excuse, Lady Northlake was to be
+resolutely prevented from taking a foremost place in her niece’s heart,
+and encouraging the idea of her niece’s marriage. Mrs. Gallilee felt
+almost pious enough to thank Heaven that her sister’s palace in the
+Highlands was at one end of Great Britain, and her own marine villa at
+the other!
+
+The marine villa reminded her of the family migration to the sea-side.
+
+When would it be desirable to leave London? Not until her mind was
+relieved of the heavier anxieties that now weighed on it. Not while
+events might happen--in connection with the threatening creditors or the
+contemplated marriage--which would baffle her latest calculations, and
+make her presence in London a matter of serious importance to her own
+interests. Miss Minerva, again, was a new obstacle in the way. To take
+her to the Isle of Wight was not to be thought of for a moment.
+To dismiss her at once, by paying the month’s salary, might be the
+preferable course to pursue--but for two objections. In the first place
+(if the friendly understanding between them really continued) Carmina
+might communicate with the discarded governess in secret. In the second
+place, to pay Miss Minerva’s salary before she had earned it, was
+a concession from which Mrs. Gallilee’s spite, and Mrs. Gallilee’s
+principles of paltry economy, recoiled in disgust. No! the waiting
+policy in London, under whatever aspect it might be viewed, was, for the
+present, the one policy to pursue.
+
+She returned to the demands of her correspondence. Just as she had taken
+up her pen, the sanctuary of the boudoir was violated by the appearance
+of a servant.
+
+“What is it now? Didn’t the housekeeper tell you that I am not to be
+disturbed?”
+
+“I beg your pardon, ma’am. My master--”
+
+“What does your master want?”
+
+“He wishes to see you, ma’am.”
+
+This was a circumstance entirely without parallel in the domestic
+history of the house. In sheer astonishment, Mrs. Gallilee pushed away
+her letters, and said “Show him in.”
+
+When the boys of fifty years since were naughty, the schoolmaster of the
+period was not accustomed to punish them by appealing to their sense
+of honour. If a boy wanted a flogging, in those days, the educational
+system seized a cane, or a birch-rod, and gave it to him. Mr. Gallilee
+entered his wife’s room, with the feelings which had once animated
+him, on entering the schoolmaster’s study to be caned. When he said
+“Good-morning, my dear!” his face presented the expression of fifty
+years since, when he had said, “Please, sir, let me off this time!”
+
+“Now,” said Mrs. Gallilee, “what do you want?”
+
+“Only a little word. How well you’re looking, my dear!”
+
+After a sleepless night, followed by her defeat in Carmina’s room,
+Mrs. Gallilee looked, and knew that she looked, ugly and old. And her
+wretched husband had reminded her of it. “Go on!” she answered sternly.
+
+Mr. Gallilee moistened his dry lips. “I think I’ll take a chair, if
+you will allow me,” he said. Having taken his chair (at a respectful
+distance from his wife), he looked all round the room with the air of
+a visitor who had never seen it before. “How very pretty!” he remarked
+softly. “Such taste in colour. I think the carpet was your own design,
+wasn’t it? How chaste!”
+
+_“Will_ you come to the point, Mr. Gallilee?”
+
+“With pleasure, my dear--with pleasure. I’m afraid I smell of tobacco?”
+
+“I don’t care if you do!”
+
+This was such an agreeable surprise to Mr. Gallilee, that he got on his
+legs again to enjoy it standing up. “How kind! Really now, how kind!” He
+approached Mrs. Gallilee confidentially. “And do you know, my dear, it
+was one of the most remarkable cigars I ever smoked.” Mrs. Gallilee laid
+down her pen, and eyed him with an annihilating frown. In the extremity
+of his confusion Mr. Gallilee ventured nearer. He felt the sinister
+fascination of the serpent in the expression of those awful eyebrows.
+“How well you are looking! How amazingly well you are looking this
+morning!” He leered at his learned wife, and patted her shoulder!
+
+For the moment, Mrs. Gallilee was petrified. At his time of life, was
+this fat and feeble creature approaching her with conjugal endearments?
+At that early hour of the day, had his guilty lips tasted his favourite
+champagne, foaming in his well-beloved silver mug, over his much-admired
+lump of ice? And was _this_ the result?
+
+“Mr. Gallilee!”
+
+“Yes, my dear?”
+
+“Sit down!”
+
+Mr. Gallilee sat down.
+
+“Have you been to the club?”
+
+Mr. Gallilee got up again.
+
+“Sit down!”
+
+Mr. Gallilee sat down. “I was about to say, my dear, that I’ll show you
+over the club with the greatest pleasure--if that’s what you mean.”
+
+“If you are not a downright idiot,” said Mrs. Gallilee, “understand
+this! Either say what you have to say, or--” she lifted her hand, and
+let it down on the writing-table with a slap that made the pens ring in
+the inkstand--“or, leave the room!”
+
+Mr. Gallilee lifted his hand, and searched in the breast-pocket of his
+coat. He pulled out his cigar-case, and put it back in a hurry. He tried
+again, and produced a letter. He looked piteously round the room, in
+sore need of somebody whom he might appeal to, and ended in appealing to
+himself. “What sort of temper will she be in?” he whispered.
+
+“What have you got there?” Mrs. Gallilee asked sharply. “One of the
+letters you had this morning?”
+
+Mr. Gallilee looked at her with admiration. “Wonderful woman!” he said.
+“Nothing escapes her! Allow me, my dear.”
+
+He rose and presented the letter, as if he was presenting a petition.
+Mrs. Gallilee snatched it out of his hand. Mr. Gallilee went softly back
+to his chair, and breathed a devout ejaculation. “Oh, Lord!”
+
+It was a letter from one of the tradespeople, whom Mrs. Gallilee had
+attempted to pacify with a payment “on account.” The tradesman felt
+compelled, in justice to himself, to appeal to Mr. Gallilee, as master
+of the house (!). It was impossible for him (he submitted with the
+greatest respect) to accept a payment, which did not amount to one-third
+of the sum owing to him for more than a twelvemonth. “Wretch!” cried
+Mrs. Gallilee. “I’ll settle his bill, and never employ him again!” She
+opened her cheque-book, and dipped her pen in the ink. A faint voice
+meekly protested. Mr. Gallilee was on his legs again. Mr. Gallilee said.
+“Please don’t!”
+
+His incredible rashness silenced his wife. There he stood; his
+round eyes staring at the cheque-book, his fat cheeks quivering with
+excitement. “You mustn’t do it,” he said, with a first and last outburst
+of courage. “Give me a minute, my dear--oh, good gracious, give me a
+minute!”
+
+He searched in his pocket again, and produced another letter. His
+eyes wandered towards the door; drops of perspiration oozed out on his
+forehead. He laid the second letter on the table; he looked at his wife,
+and--ran out of the room.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee opened the second letter. Another dissatisfied tradesman?
+No: creditors far more formidable than the grocer and the butcher.
+An official letter from the bankers, informing Mr. Gallilee that “the
+account was overdrawn.”
+
+She seized her pass-book, and her paper of calculations. Never yet had
+her rigid arithmetic committed an error. Column by column she revised
+her figures--and made the humiliating discovery of her first mistake.
+She had drawn out all, and more than all, the money deposited in the
+bank; and the next half-yearly payment of income was not due until
+Christmas.
+
+There was but one thing to be done--to go at once to the bank. If Ovid
+had not been in the wilds of Canada, Mrs. Gallilee would have made her
+confession to him without hesitation. As it was, the servant called a
+cab, and she made her confession to the bankers.
+
+The matter was soon settled to her satisfaction. It rested (exactly as
+Miss Minerva had anticipated) with Mr. Gallilee. In the house, he might
+abdicate his authority to his heart’s content. Out of the house, in
+matters of business, he was master still. His “investments” represented
+excellent “security;” he had only to say how much he wanted to borrow,
+and to sign certain papers--and the thing was done.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee went home again, with her pecuniary anxieties at rest for
+the time. The carriage was waiting for her at the door.
+
+Should she fulfil her intention of visiting Benjulia? She was not a
+person who readily changed her mind--and, besides, after the troubles
+of the morning, the drive into the country would be a welcome relief.
+Hearing that Mr. Gallilee was still at home, she looked in at the
+smoking-room. Unerring instinct told her where to find her husband,
+under present circumstances. There he was, enjoying his cigar in
+comfort, with his coat off and his feet on a chair. She opened the door.
+“I want you, this evening,” she said--and shut the door again; leaving
+Mr. Gallilee suffocated by a mouthful of his own smoke.
+
+Before getting into the carriage, she only waited to restore her face
+with a flush of health (from Paris), modified by a sprinkling of pallor
+(from London). Benjulia’s humour was essentially an uncertain humour. It
+might be necessary to fascinate the doctor.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+The complimentary allusion to Ovid, which Benjulia had not been able
+to understand, was contained in a letter from Mr. Morphew, and was
+expressed in these words:--“Let me sincerely thank you for making us
+acquainted with Mr. Ovid Vere. Now that he has left us, we really feel
+as if we had said good-bye to an old friend. I don’t know when I have
+met with such a perfectly unselfish man--and I say this, speaking from
+experience of him. In my unavoidable absence, he volunteered to attend a
+serious case of illness, accompanied by shocking circumstances--and
+this at a time when, as you know, his own broken health forbids him to
+undertake any professional duty. While he could preserve the patient’s
+life--and he did wonders, in this way--he was every day at the bedside,
+taxing his strength in the service of a perfect stranger. I fancy I see
+you (with your impatience of letter-writing at any length) looking to
+the end. Don’t be alarmed. I am writing to your brother Lemuel by this
+mail, and I have little time to spare.”
+
+Was this “serious case of illness”--described as being “accompanied by
+shocking circumstances”--a case of disease of the brain?
+
+There was the question, proposed by Benjulia’s inveterate suspicion of
+Ovid! The bare doubt cost him the loss of a day’s work. He reviled poor
+Mr. Morphew as “a born idiot” for not having plainly stated what the
+patient’s malady was, instead of wasting paper on smooth sentences,
+encumbered by long words. If Ovid had alluded to his Canadian patient in
+his letters to his mother, his customary preciseness of language might
+be trusted to relieve Benjulia’s suspense. With that purpose in view,
+the doctor had written to Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Before he laid down his pen, he looked once more at Mr. Morphew’s
+letter, and paused thoughtfully over one line: “I am writing to your
+brother Lemuel by this mail.”
+
+The information of which he was in search might be in _that_ letter.
+If Mrs. Gallilee’s correspondence with her son failed to enlighten him,
+here was another chance of making the desired discovery. Surely the wise
+course to take would be to write to Lemuel as well.
+
+His one motive for hesitating was dislike of his younger
+brother--dislike so inveterate that he even recoiled from communicating
+with Lemuel through the post.
+
+There had never been any sympathy between them; but indifference had
+only matured into downright enmity, on the doctor’s part, a year since.
+Accident (the result of his own absence of mind, while he was perplexed
+by an unsuccessful experiment) had placed Lemuel in possession of his
+hideous secret. The one person in the world who knew how he was really
+occupied in the laboratory, was his brother.
+
+Here was the true motive of the bitterly contemptuous tone in which
+Benjulia had spoken to Ovid of his nearest relation. Lemuel’s character
+was certainly deserving of severe judgment, in some of its aspects. In
+his hours of employment (as clerk in the office of a London publisher)
+he steadily and punctually performed the duties entrusted to him. In his
+hours of freedom, his sensual instincts got the better of him; and his
+jealous wife had her reasons for complaint. Among his friends, he was
+the subject of a wide diversity of opinion. Some of them agreed with his
+brother in thinking him little better than a fool. Others suspected
+him of possessing natural abilities, but of being too lazy, perhaps too
+cunning, to exert them. In the office he allowed himself to be called
+“a mere machine”--and escaped the overwork which fell to the share of
+quicker men. When his wife and her relations declared him to be a mere
+animal, he never contradicted them--and so gained the reputation of a
+person on whom reprimand was thrown away. Under the protection of this
+unenviable character, he sometimes said severe things with an air
+of perfect simplicity. When the furious doctor discovered him in the
+laboratory, and said, “I’ll be the death of you, if you tell any living
+creature what I am doing!”--Lemuel answered, with a stare of stupid
+astonishment, “Make your mind easy; I should be ashamed to mention it.”
+
+Further reflection decided Benjulia on writing. Even when he had a
+favour to ask, he was unable to address Lemuel with common politeness.
+
+“I hear that Morphew has written to you by the last mail. I want to see
+the letter.” So much he wrote, and no more. What was barely enough for
+the purpose, was enough for the doctor, when he addressed his brother.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+Between one and two o’clock, the next afternoon, Benjulia (at work in
+his laboratory) heard the bell which announced the arrival of a visitor
+at the house. No matter what the circumstances might be, the servants
+were forbidden to disturb him at his studies in any other way.
+
+Very unwillingly he obeyed the call, locking the door behind him. At
+that hour it was luncheon-time in well-regulated households, and it was
+in the last degree unlikely that Mrs. Gallilee could be the visitor.
+Getting within view of the front of the house, he saw a man standing on
+the doorstep. Advancing a little nearer, he recognised Lemuel.
+
+“Hullo!” cried the elder brother.
+
+“Hullo!” answered the younger, like an echo.
+
+They stood looking at each other with the suspicious curiosity of two
+strange cats. Between Nathan Benjulia, the famous doctor, and Lemuel
+Benjulia, the publisher’s clerk, there was just family resemblance
+enough to suggest that they were relations. The younger brother was only
+a little over the ordinary height; he was rather fat than thin; he
+wore a moustache and whiskers; he dressed smartly--and his prevailing
+expression announced that he was thoroughly well satisfied with himself.
+But he inherited Benjulia’s gipsy complexion; and, in form and colour,
+he had Benjulia’s eyes.
+
+“How-d’ye-do, Nathan?” he said.
+
+“What the devil brings you here?” was the answer.
+
+Lemuel passed over his brother’s rudeness without notice. His mouth
+curled up at the corners with a mischievous smile.
+
+“I thought you wished to see my letter,” he said.
+
+“Why couldn’t you send it by post?”
+
+“My wife wished me to take the opportunity of calling on you.”
+
+“That’s a lie,” said Benjulia quietly. “Try another excuse. Or do a new
+thing. For once, speak the truth.”
+
+Without waiting to hear the truth, he led the way into the room in
+which he had received Ovid. Lemuel followed, still showing no outward
+appearance of resentment.
+
+“How did you get away from your office?” Benjulia inquired.
+
+“It’s easy to get a holiday at this time of year. Business is slack, old
+boy--”
+
+“Stop! I don’t allow you to speak to me in that way.”
+
+“No offence, brother Nathan!”
+
+“Brother Lemuel, I never allow a fool to offend me. I put him in his
+place--that’s all.”
+
+The distant barking of a dog became audible from the lane by which the
+house was approached. The sound seemed to annoy Benjulia. “What’s that?”
+ he asked.
+
+Lemuel saw his way to making some return for his brother’s reception of
+him.
+
+“It’s my dog,” he said; “and it’s lucky for you that I have left him in
+the cab.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Well, he’s as sweet-tempered a dog as ever lived. But he has one
+fault. He doesn’t take kindly to scientific gentlemen in your line of
+business.” Lemuel paused, and pointed to his brother’s hands. “If he
+smelt that, he might try his teeth at vivisecting You.”
+
+The spots of blood which Ovid had once seen on Benjulia’s stick, were on
+his hands now. With unruffled composure he looked at the horrid stains,
+silently telling their tale of torture.
+
+“What’s the use of washing my hands,” he answered, “when I am going back
+to my work?”
+
+He wiped his finger and thumb on the tail of his coat. “Now,” he
+resumed, “if you have got your letter with you, let me look at it.”
+
+Lemuel produced the letter. “There are some bits in it,” he explained,
+“which you had better not see. If you want the truth--that’s the reason
+I brought it myself. Read the first page-and then I’ll tell you where to
+skip.”
+
+So far, there was no allusion to Ovid. Benjulia turned to the second
+page--and Lemuel pointed to the middle of it. “Read as far as that,” he
+went on, “and then skip till you come to the last bit at the end.”
+
+On the last page, Ovid’s name appeared. He was mentioned, as a
+“delightful person, introduced by your brother,”--and with that the
+letter ended. In the first bitterness of his disappointment, Benjulia
+conceived an angry suspicion of those portions of the letter which he
+had been requested to pass over unread.
+
+“What has Morphew got to say to you that I mustn’t read?” he asked.
+
+“Suppose you tell me first, what you want to find in the letter,” Lemuel
+rejoined. “Morphew is a doctor like you. Is it anything medical?”
+
+Benjulia answered this in the easiest way--he nodded his head.
+
+“Is it Vivisection?” Lemuel inquired slyly.
+
+Benjulia at once handed the letter back, and pointed to the door. His
+momentary interest in the suppressed passages was at an end. “That will
+do,” he answered. “Take yourself and your letter away.”
+
+“Ah,” said Lemuel, “I’m glad you don’t want to look at it again!” He
+put the letter away, and buttoned his coat, and tapped his pocket
+significantly. “You have got a nasty temper, Nathan--and there are
+things here that might try it.”
+
+In the case of any other man, Benjulia would have seen that the one
+object of these prudent remarks was to irritate him. Misled by his
+profound conviction of his brother’s stupidity, he now thought it
+possible that the concealed portions of the letter might be worth
+notice. He stopped Lemuel at the door. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said;
+“I want to look at the letter again.”
+
+“You had better not,” Lemuel persisted. “Morphew’s going to write a book
+against you--and he asks me to get it published at our place. I’m on
+his side, you know; I shall do my best to help him; I can lay my hand on
+literary fellows who will lick his style into shape--it will be an awful
+exposure!” Benjulia still held out his hand. With over-acted reluctance,
+Lemuel unbuttoned his coat. The distant dog barked again as he gave
+the letter back. “Please excuse my dear old dog,” he said with maudlin
+tenderness; “the poor dumb animal seems to know that I’m taking his side
+in the controversy. _Bow-wow_ means, in his language, Fie upon the cruel
+hands that bore holes in our head and use saws on our backs. Ah, Nathan,
+if you have got any dogs in that horrid place of yours, pat them and
+give them their dinner! You never heard me talk like this before--did
+you? I’m a new man since I joined the Society for suppressing you. Oh,
+if I only had the gift of writing!”
+
+The effect of this experiment on his brother’s temper, failed to fulfil
+Lemuel’s expectations. The doctor’s curiosity was roused on the doctor’s
+own subject of inquiry.
+
+“You’re quite right about one thing,” said Benjulia gravely; “I
+never heard you talk in this way before. You suggest some interesting
+considerations, of the medical sort. Come to the light.” He led Lemuel
+to the window--looked at him with the closest attention--and carefully
+consulted his pulse. Lemuel smiled. “I’m not joking,” said Benjulia
+sternly. “Tell me this. Have you had headaches lately? Do you find your
+memory failing you?”
+
+As he put those questions, he thought to himself--seriously thought--“Is
+this fellow’s brain softening? I wish I had him on my table!”
+
+Lemuel persisted in presenting himself under a sentimental aspect.
+He had not forgiven his elder brother’s rudeness yet--and he knew, by
+experience, the one weakness in Benjulia’s character which, with his
+small resources, it was possible to attack.
+
+“Thank you for your kind inquiries,” he replied. “Never mind my head, so
+long as my heart’s in the right place. I don’t pretend to be clever--but
+I’ve got my feelings; and I could put some awkward questions on what you
+call Medical Research, if I had Morphew to help me.”
+
+“I’ll help you,” said Benjulia--interested in developing the state of
+his brother’s brain.
+
+“I don’t believe you,” said Lemuel--interested in developing the state
+of his brother’s temper.
+
+“Try me, Lemuel.”
+
+“All right, Nathan.”
+
+The two brothers returned to their chairs; reduced for once to the same
+moral level.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+“Now,” said Benjulia, “what is it to be? The favourite public bugbear?
+Vivisection?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Very well. What can I do for you?”
+
+“Tell me first,” said Lemuel, “what is Law?”
+
+“Nobody knows.”
+
+“Well, then, what _ought_ it to be?”
+
+“Justice, I suppose.”
+
+“Let me wait a bit, Nathan, and get that into my mind.”
+
+Benjulia waited with exemplary patience.
+
+“Now about yourself,” Lemuel continued. “You won’t be offended--will
+you? Should I be right, if I called you a dissector of living
+creatures?”
+
+Benjulia was reminded of the day when he had discovered his brother in
+the laboratory. His dark complexion deepened in hue. His cold gray eyes
+seemed to promise a coming outbreak. Lemuel went on.
+
+“Does the Law forbid you to make your experiments on a man?” he asked.
+
+“Of course it does!”
+
+“Why doesn’t the Law forbid you to make your experiments on a dog?”
+
+Benjulia’s face cleared again. The one penetrable point in his ironclad
+nature had not been reached yet. That apparently childish question about
+the dog appeared, not only to have interested him, but to have taken
+him by surprise. His attention wandered away from his brother. His clear
+intellect put Lemuel’s objection in closer logical form, and asked if
+there was any answer to it, thus:
+
+The Law which forbids you to dissect a living man, allows you to dissect
+a living dog. Why?
+
+There was positively no answer to this.
+
+Suppose he said, Because a dog is an animal? Could he, as a
+physiologist, deny that a man is an animal too?
+
+Suppose he said, Because a dog is the inferior creature in intellect?
+The obvious answer to this would be, But the lower order of savage,
+or the lower order of lunatic, compared with the dog, is the inferior
+creature in intellect; and, in these cases, the dog has, on your own
+showing, the better right to protection of the two.
+
+Suppose he said, Because a man is a creature with a soul, and a dog is
+a creature without a soul? This would be simply inviting another
+unanswerable question: How do you know?
+
+Honestly accepting the dilemma which thus presented itself, the
+conclusion that followed seemed to be beyond dispute.
+
+If the Law, in the matter of Vivisection, asserts the principle of
+interference, the Law has barred its right to place arbitrary limits
+on its own action. If it protects any living creatures, it is bound, in
+reason and in justice, to protect all.
+
+“Well,” said Lemuel, “am I to have an answer?”
+
+“I’m not a lawyer.”
+
+With this convenient reply, Benjulia opened Mr. Morphew’s letter, and
+read the forbidden part of it which began on the second page. There
+he found the very questions with which his brother had puzzled
+him--followed by the conclusion at which he had himself arrived!
+
+“You interpreted the language of your dog just now,” he said quietly to
+Lemuel; “and I naturally supposed your brain might be softening. Such
+as it is, I perceive that your memory is in working order. Accept my
+excuses for feeling your pulse. You have ceased to be an object of
+interest to me.”
+
+He returned to his reading. Lemuel watched him--still confidently
+waiting for results.
+
+The letter proceeded in these terms:
+
+“Your employer may perhaps be inclined to publish my work, if I can
+satisfy him that it will address itself to the general reader.
+
+“We all know what are the false pretences, under which English
+physiologists practice their cruelties. I want to expose those false
+pretences in the simplest and plainest way, by appealing to my own
+experience as an ordinary working member of the medical profession.
+
+“Take the pretence of increasing our knowledge of the curative action
+of poisons, by trying them on animals. The very poisons, the action of
+which dogs and cats have been needlessly tortured to demonstrate, I have
+successfully used on my human patients in the practice of a lifetime.
+
+“I should also like to ask what proof there is that the effect of a
+poison on an animal may be trusted to inform us, with certainty, of the
+effect of the same poison on a man. To quote two instances only which
+justify doubt--and to take birds this time, by way of a change--a pigeon
+will swallow opium enough to kill a man, and will not be in the least
+affected by it; and parsley, which is an innocent herb in the stomach of
+a human being, is deadly poison to a parrot.
+
+“I should deal in the same way, with the other pretence, of improving
+our practice of surgery by experiment on living animals.
+
+“Not long since, I saw the diseased leg of a dog cut off at the hip
+joint. When the limb was removed, not a single vessel bled. Try the
+same operation on a man--and twelve or fifteen vessels must be tied as a
+matter of absolute necessity.
+
+“Again. We are told by a great authority that the baking of dogs in
+ovens has led to new discoveries in treating fever. I have always
+supposed that the heat, in fever, is not a cause of disease, but a
+consequence. However, let that be, and let us still stick to experience.
+Has this infernal cruelty produced results which help us to cure scarlet
+fever? Our bedside practice tells us that scarlet fever runs it course
+as it always did. I can multiply such examples as these by hundreds when
+I write my book.
+
+“Briefly stated, you now have the method by which I propose to drag the
+scientific English Savage from his shelter behind the medical interests
+of humanity, and to show him in his true character,--as plainly as the
+scientific Foreign Savage shows himself of his own accord. _He_ doesn’t
+shrink behind false pretences. _He_ doesn’t add cant to cruelty. _He_
+boldly proclaims the truth:--I do it, because I like it!”
+
+Benjulia rose, and threw the letter on the floor.
+
+_“I_ proclaim the truth,” he said; _“I_ do it because I like it. There
+are some few Englishmen who treat ignorant public opinion with the
+contempt that it deserves--and I am one of them.” He pointed scornfully
+to the letter. “That wordy old fool is right about the false pretences.
+Publish his book, and I’ll buy a copy of it.”
+
+“That’s odd,” said Lemuel.
+
+“What’s odd?”
+
+“Well, Nathan, I’m only a fool--but if you talk in that way of false
+pretences and public opinion, why do you tell everybody that your horrid
+cutting and carving is harmless chemistry? And why were you in such a
+rage when I got into your workshop, and found you out? Answer me that!”
+
+“Let me congratulate you first,” said Benjulia. “It isn’t every fool who
+knows that he _is_ a fool. Now you shall have your answer. Before the
+end of the year, all the world will be welcome to come into my workshop,
+and see me at the employment of my life. Brother Lemuel, when you stole
+your way through my unlocked door, you found me travelling on the road
+to the grandest medical discovery of this century. You stupid ass,
+do you think I cared about what _you_ could find out? I am in such
+perpetual terror of being forestalled by my colleagues, that I am not
+master of myself, even when such eyes as yours look at my work. In a
+month or two more--perhaps in a week or two--I shall have solved the
+grand problem. I labour at it all day. I think of it, I dream of it,
+all night. It will kill me. Strong as I am, it will kill me. What do
+you say? Am I working myself into my grave, in the medical interests of
+humanity? _That_ for humanity! I am working for my own satisfaction--for
+my own pride--for my own unutterable pleasure in beating other men--for
+the fame that will keep my name living hundreds of years hence.
+Humanity! I say with my foreign brethren--Knowledge for its own sake,
+is the one god I worship. Knowledge is its own justification and its
+own reward. The roaring mob follows us with its cry of Cruelty. We pity
+their ignorance. Knowledge sanctifies cruelty. The old anatomist stole
+dead bodies for Knowledge. In that sacred cause, if I could steal a
+living man without being found out, I would tie him on my table, and
+grasp my grand discovery in days, instead of months. Where are you
+going? What? You’re afraid to be in the same room with me? A man who can
+talk as I do, is a man who would stick at nothing? Is that the light in
+which you lower order of creatures look at us? Look a little higher--and
+you will see that a man who talks as I do is a man set above you by
+Knowledge. Exert yourself, and try to understand me. Have I no virtues,
+even from your point of view? Am I not a good citizen? Don’t I pay my
+debts? Don’t I serve my friends? You miserable creature, you have had
+my money when you wanted it! Look at that letter on the floor. The man
+mentioned in it is one of those colleagues whom I distrust. I did
+my duty by him for all that. I gave him the information he wanted; I
+introduced him to a friend in a land of strangers. Have I no feeling, as
+you call it? My last experiments on a monkey horrified me. His cries of
+suffering, his gestures of entreaty, were like the cries and gestures of
+a child. I would have given the world to put him out of his misery. But
+I went on. In the glorious cause I went on. My hands turned cold--my
+heart ached--I thought of a child I sometimes play with--I suffered--I
+resisted--I went on. All for Knowledge! all for Knowledge!”
+
+His brother’s presence was forgotten. His dark face turned livid; his
+gigantic frame shuddered; his breath came and went in deep sobbing
+gasps--it was terrible to see him and hear him.
+
+Lemuel slunk out of the room. The jackal had roused the lion; the
+mean spirit of mischief in him had not bargained for this. “I begin to
+believe in the devil,” he said to himself when he got to the house door.
+
+As he descended the steps, a carriage appeared in the lane. A footman
+opened the gate of the enclosure. The carriage approached the house,
+with a lady in it.
+
+Lemuel ran back to his brother. “Here’s a lady coming!” he said. “You’re
+in a nice state to see her! Pull yourself together, Nathan--and, damn
+it, wash your hands!”
+
+He took Benjulia’s arm, and led him upstairs.
+
+When Lemuel returned to the hall, Mrs. Gallilee was ascending the
+house-steps. He bowed profoundly, in homage to the well-preserved
+remains of a fine woman. “My brother will be with you directly, ma’am.
+Pray allow me to give you a chair.”
+
+His hat was in his hand. Mrs. Gallilee’s knowledge of the world easily
+set him down at his true value. She got rid of him with her best grace.
+“Pray don’t let me detain you, sir; I will wait with pleasure.”
+
+If she had been twenty years younger the hint might have been thrown
+away. As it was, Lemuel retired.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+An unusually long day’s work at the office had fatigued good Mr. Mool.
+He pushed aside his papers, and let his weary eyes rest on a glass vase
+full of flowers on the table--a present from a grateful client. As a
+man, he enjoyed the lovely colours of the nosegay. As a botanist, he
+lamented the act which had cut the flowers from their parent stems, and
+doomed them to a premature death. “I should not have had the heart to do
+it myself,” he thought; “but tastes differ.”
+
+The office boy came into the room, with a visiting card in his hand.
+
+“I’m going home to dinner,” said Mr. Mool. “The person must call
+to-morrow.”
+
+The boy laid the card on the table. The person was Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee, at seven o’clock in the evening! Mrs. Gallilee, without a
+previous appointment by letter! Mr. Mool trembled under the
+apprehension of some serious family emergency, in imminent need of legal
+interference. He submitted as a matter of course. “Show the lady in.”
+
+Before a word had passed between them, the lawyer’s mind was relieved.
+Mrs. Gallilee shone on him with her sweetest smiles; pressed his hand
+with her friendliest warmth; admired the nosegay with her readiest
+enthusiasm. “Quite perfect,” she said--“especially the Pansy. The round
+flat edge, Mr. Mool; the upper petals perfectly uniform--there is a
+flower that defies criticism! I long to dissect it.”
+
+Mr. Mool politely resigned the Pansy to dissection (murderous
+mutilation, he would have called it, in the case of one of his own
+flowers), and waited to hear what his learned client might have to say
+to him.
+
+“I am going to surprise you,” Mrs. Gallilee announced. “No--to shock
+you. No--even that is not strong enough. Let me say, to horrify you.”
+
+Mr. Mool’s anxieties returned, complicated by confusion. The behaviour
+of Mrs. Gallilee exhibited the most unaccountable contrast to her
+language. She showed no sign of those strong emotions to which she
+had alluded. “How am I to put it?” she went on, with a transparent
+affectation of embarrassment. “Shall I call it a disgrace to our
+family?” Mr. Mool started. Mrs. Gallilee entreated him to compose
+himself; she approached the inevitable disclosure by degrees. “I think,”
+ she said, “you have met Doctor Benjulia at my house?”
+
+“I have had that honour, Mrs. Gallilee. Not a very sociable person--if I
+may venture to say so.”
+
+“Downright rude, Mr. Mool, on some occasions. But that doesn’t matter
+now. I have just been visiting the doctor.”
+
+Was this visit connected with the “disgrace to the family?” Mr. Mool
+ventured to put a question.
+
+“Doctor Benjulia is not related to you, ma’am--is he?”
+
+“Not the least in the world. Please don’t interrupt me again. I am, so
+to speak, laying a train of circumstances before you; and I might leave
+one of them out. When Doctor Benjulia was a young man--I am returning
+to my train of circumstances, Mr. Mool--he was at Rome, pursuing his
+professional studies. I have all this, mind, straight from the doctor
+himself. At Rome, he became acquainted with my late brother, after
+the period of his unfortunate marriage. Stop! I have failed to put it
+strongly enough again. I ought to have said, his disgraceful marriage.”
+
+“Really, Mrs. Gallilee--”
+
+“Mr. Mool!”
+
+“I beg your pardon, ma’am.”
+
+“Don’t mention it. The next circumstance is ready in my mind. One of the
+doctor’s fellow-students (described as being personally an irresistible
+man) was possessed of abilities which even attracted our unsociable
+Benjulia. They became friends. At the time of which I am now speaking,
+my brother’s disgusting wife--oh, but I repeat it, Mr. Mool! I say
+again, his disgusting wife--was the mother of a female child.”
+
+“Your niece, Mrs. Gallilee.”
+
+“No!”
+
+“Not Miss Carmina?”
+
+“Miss Carmina is no more my niece than she is your niece. Carry your
+mind back to what I have just said. I mentioned a medical student who
+was an irresistible man. Miss Carmina’s father was that man.”
+
+Mr. Mool’s astonishment and indignation would have instantly expressed
+themselves, if he had not been a lawyer. As it was, his professional
+experience warned him of the imprudence of speaking too soon.
+
+Mrs. Galilee’s exultation forced its way outwards. Her eyes glittered;
+her voice rose. “The law, Mr. Mool! what does the law say?” she broke
+out. “Is my brother’s Will no better than waste-paper? Is the money
+divided among his only near relations? Tell me! tell me!”
+
+Mr. Mool suddenly plunged his face into his vase of flowers. Did he feel
+that the air of the office wanted purifying? or was he conscious that
+his face might betray him unless he hid it? Mrs. Galilee was at no
+loss to set her own clever interpretation on her lawyer’s extraordinary
+proceeding.
+
+“Take your time,” she said with the most patronising kindness. “I know
+your sensitive nature; I know what I felt myself when this dreadful
+discovery burst upon me. If you remember, I said I should horrify you.
+Take your time, my dear sir--pray take your time.”
+
+To be encouraged in this way--as if he was the emotional client, and
+Mrs. Gallilee the impassive lawyer--was more than even Mr. Mool could
+endure. Shy men are, in the innermost depths of their nature, proud
+men: the lawyer had his professional pride. He came out of his flowery
+retreat, with a steady countenance. For the first time in his life, he
+was not afraid of Mrs. Galilee.
+
+“Before we enter on the legal aspect of the case--” he began.
+
+“The shocking case,” Mrs. Gallilee interposed, in the interests of
+Virtue.
+
+Under any other circumstances Mr. Mool would have accepted the
+correction. He actually took no notice of it now! “There is one point,”
+ he proceeded, “on which I must beg you to enlighten me.”
+
+“By all means! I am ready to go into any details, no matter how
+disgusting they may be.”
+
+Mr. Mool thought of certain “ladies” (objects of perfectly needless
+respect among men) who, being requested to leave the Court, at
+unmentionable Trials, persist in keeping their places. It was a relief
+to him to feel--if his next questions did nothing else--that they would
+disappoint Mrs. Galilee.
+
+“Am I right in supposing that you believe what you have told me?” he
+resumed.
+
+“Most assuredly!”
+
+“Is Doctor Benjulia the only person who has spoken to you on the
+subject?”
+
+“The only person.”
+
+“His information being derived from his friend--the fellow-student whom
+you mentioned just now?”
+
+“In other words,” Mrs. Gallilee answered viciously, “the father of the
+wretched girl who has been foisted on my care.”
+
+If Mr. Mool’s courage had been in danger of failing him, he would have
+found it again now His regard for Carmina, his respect for the memory
+of her mother, had been wounded to the quick. Strong on his own legal
+ground, he proceeded as if he was examining a witness in a police court.
+
+“I suppose the doctor had some reason for believing what his friend told
+him?”
+
+“Ample reason! Vice and poverty generally go together--_this_ man was
+poor. He showed Doctor Benjulia money received from his mistress--her
+husband’s money, it is needless to say.”
+
+“Her motive might be innocent, Mrs. Gallilee. Had the man any letters of
+hers to show?”
+
+“Letters? From a woman in her position? It’s notorious, Mr. Mool, that
+Italian models don’t know how to read or write.”
+
+“May I ask if there are any further proofs?”
+
+“You have had proofs enough.”
+
+“With all possible respect, ma’am, I deny that.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee had not been asked to enter into disgusting details. Mrs.
+Gallilee had been contradicted by her obedient humble servant of other
+days. She thought it high time to bring the examination to an end.
+
+“If you are determined to believe in the woman’s innocence,” she said,
+“without knowing any of the circumstances--”
+
+Mr. Mool went on from bad to worse: he interrupted her now.
+
+“Excuse me, Mrs. Gallilee, I think you have forgotten that one of my
+autumn holidays, many years since, was spent in Italy. I was in Rome,
+like Doctor Benjulia, after your brother’s marriage. His wife was, to my
+certain knowledge, received in society. Her reputation was unblemished;
+and her husband was devoted to her.”
+
+“In plain English,” said Mrs. Gallilee, “my brother was a poor weak
+creature--and his wife, when you knew her, had not been found out.”
+
+“That is just the difficulty I feel,” Mr. Mool rejoined. “How is it that
+she is only found out now? Years have passed since she died. More years
+have passed since this attack on her character reached Doctor Benjulia’s
+knowledge. He is an old friend of yours. Why has he only told you of it
+to-day? I hope I don’t offend you by asking these questions?”
+
+“Oh, dear, no! your questions are so easily answered. I never encouraged
+the doctor to speak of my brother and his wife. The subject was too
+distasteful to me--and I don’t doubt that Doctor Benjulia felt about it
+as I did.”
+
+“Until to-day,” the lawyer remarked; “Doctor Benjulia appears to have
+been quite ready to mention the subject to-day.”
+
+“Under special circumstances, Mr. Mool. Perhaps, you will not allow that
+special circumstances make any difference?”
+
+On the contrary, Mr. Mool made every allowance. At the same time, he
+waited to hear what the circumstances might be.
+
+But Mrs. Galilee had her reasons for keeping silence. It was impossible
+to mention Benjulia’s reception of her without inflicting a wound on her
+self-esteem. To begin with, he had kept the door of the room open, and
+had remained standing. “Have you got Ovid’s letters? Leave them here;
+I’m not fit to look at them now.” Those were his first words. There was
+nothing in the letters which a friend might not read: she accordingly
+consented to leave them. The doctor had expressed his sense of
+obligation by bidding her get into her carriage again, and go. “I have
+been put in a passion; I have made a fool of myself; I haven’t a nerve
+in my body that isn’t quivering with rage. Go! go! go!” There was his
+explanation. Impenetrably obstinate, Mrs. Galilee faced him--standing
+between the doctor and the door--without shrinking. She had not driven
+all the way to Benjulia’s house to be sent back again without gaining
+her object: she had her questions to put to him, and she persisted in
+pressing them as only a woman can. He was left--with the education of
+a gentleman against him--between the two vulgar alternatives of turning
+her out by main force, or of yielding, and getting rid of her decently
+in that way. At any other time, he would have flatly refused to lower
+himself to the level of a scandal-mongering woman, by entering on the
+subject. In his present mood, if pacifying Mrs. Galilee, and ridding
+himself of Mrs. Gallilee, meant one and the same thing, he was ready,
+recklessly ready, to let her have her own way. She heard the infamous
+story, which she had repeated to her lawyer; and she had Lemuel
+Benjulia’s visit, and Mr. Morphew’s contemplated attack on Vivisection,
+to thank for getting her information.
+
+Mr. Mool waited, and waited in vain. He reminded his client of what she
+had just said.
+
+“You mentioned certain circumstances. May I know what they are?” he
+asked.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee rose, before she replied.
+
+“Your time is valuable, and my time is valuable,” she said. “We shall
+not convince each other by prolonging our conversation. I came here, Mr.
+Mool, to ask you a question about the law. Permit me to remind you that
+I have not had my answer yet. My own impression is that the girl now
+in my house, not being my brother’s child, has no claim on my brother’s
+property? Tell me in two words, if you please--am I right or wrong?”
+
+“I can do it in one word, Mrs. Gallilee. Wrong.”
+
+“What!”
+
+Mr. Mool entered on the necessary explanation, triumphing in the reply
+that he had just made. “It’s the smartest thing,” he thought, “I ever
+said in my life.”
+
+“While husbands and wives live together,” he continued, “the Law holds
+that all children, born in wedlock, are the husband’s children. Even if
+Miss Carmina’s mother had not been as good and innocent a woman as ever
+drew the breath of life--”
+
+“That will do, Mr. Mool. You really mean to say that this girl’s
+interest in my brother’s Will--”
+
+“Remains quite unaffected, ma’am, by all that you have told me.”
+
+“And I am still obliged to keep her under my care?”
+
+“Or,” Mr. Mool answered, “to resign the office of guardian, in favour of
+Lady Northlake--appointed to act, in your place.”
+
+“I won’t trouble you any further, sir. Good-evening!”
+
+She turned to leave the office. Mr. Mool actually tried to stop her.
+
+“One word more, Mrs. Galilee.”
+
+“No; we have said enough already.”
+
+Mr. Mool’s audacity arrived at its climax. He put his hand on the lock
+of the office door, and held it shut.
+
+“The young lady, Mrs. Gallilee! I am sure you will never breathe a word
+of this to the pretty gentle, young lady? Even if it was true; and, as
+God is my witness, I am sure it’s false--”
+
+“Good-evening, Mr. Mool!”
+
+He opened the door, and let her go; her looks and tones told him that
+remonstrance was worse than useless. From year’s end to year’s end,
+this modest and amiable man had never been heard to swear. He swore now.
+“Damn Doctor Benjulia!” he burst out, in the solitude of his office. His
+dinner was waiting for him at home. Instead of putting on his hat, he
+went back to his writing-table. His thoughts projected themselves into
+the future--and discovered possibilities from which they recoiled. He
+took up his pen, and began a letter. “To John Gallilee, Esquire: Dear
+Sir,--Circumstances have occurred, which I am not at liberty to mention,
+but which make it necessary for me, in justice to my own views and
+feelings, to withdraw from the position of legal adviser to yourself and
+family.” He paused and considered with himself. “No,” he decided; “I
+may be of some use to that poor child, while I am the family lawyer.” He
+tore up his unfinished letter.
+
+When Mr. Mool got home that night, it was noticed that he had a poor
+appetite for his dinner. On the other hand, he drank more wine than
+usual.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+“I don’t know what is the matter with me. Sometimes I think I am going
+to be really ill.”
+
+It was the day after Mrs. Gallilee’s interview with her lawyer--and this
+was Carmina’s answer, when the governess entered her room, after the
+lessons of the morning, and asked if she felt better.
+
+“Are you still taking medicine?” Miss Minerva inquired.
+
+“Yes. Mr. Null says it’s a tonic, and it’s sure to do me good. It
+doesn’t seem to have begun yet. I feel so dreadfully weak, Frances. The
+least thing makes me cry; and I put off doing what I ought to do, and
+want to do, without knowing why. You remember what I told you about
+Teresa? She may be with us in a few days more, for all I know to the
+contrary. I must find a nice lodging for her, poor dear--and here I am,
+thinking about it instead of doing it.”
+
+“Let me do it,” Miss Minerva suggested.
+
+Carmina’s sad face brightened. “That’s kind indeed!” she said.
+
+“Nonsense! I shall take the children out, after dinner to-day. Looking
+over lodgings will be an amusement to me and to them.”
+
+“Where is Zo? Why haven’t you brought her with you?”
+
+“She is having her music lesson--and I must go back to keep her in
+order. About the lodging? A sitting-room and bedroom will be enough,
+I suppose? In this neighbourhood, I am afraid the terms will be rather
+high.”
+
+“Oh, never mind that! Let us have clean airy rooms--and a kind landlady.
+Teresa mustn’t know it, if the terms are high.”
+
+“Will she allow you to pay her expenses?”
+
+“Ah, _you_ put it delicately! My aunt seemed to doubt if Teresa had any
+money of her own. I forgot, at the time, that my father had left her a
+little income. She told me so herself, and wondered, poor dear, how she
+was to spend it all. She mustn’t be allowed to spend it all. We will
+tell her that the terms are half what they may really be--and I will pay
+the other half. Isn’t it cruel of my aunt not to let my old nurse live
+in the same house with me?”
+
+At that moment, a message arrived from one of the persons of whom she
+was speaking. Mrs. Gallilee wished to see Miss Carmina immediately.
+
+“My dear,” said Miss Minerva, when the servant had withdrawn, “why do
+you tremble so?”
+
+“There’s something in me, Frances, that shudders at my aunt, ever
+since--”
+
+She stopped.
+
+Miss Minerva understood that sudden pause--the undesigned allusion
+to Carmina’s guiltless knowledge of her feeling towards Ovid. By
+unexpressed consent, on either side, they still preserved their former
+relations as if Mrs. Gallilee had not spoken. Miss Minerva looked at
+Carmina sadly and kindly. “Good-bye for the present!” she said--and went
+upstairs again to the schoolroom.
+
+In the hall, Carmina found the servant waiting for her. He opened the
+library door. The learned lady was at her studies.
+
+“I have been speaking to Mr. Null about you,” said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+On the previous evening, Carmina had kept her room. She had breakfasted
+in bed--and she now saw her aunt for the first time, since Mrs. Gallilee
+had left the house on her visit to Benjulia. The girl was instantly
+conscious of a change--to be felt rather than to be realised--a subtle
+change in her aunt’s way of looking at her and speaking to her. Her
+heart beat fast. She took the nearest chair in silence.
+
+“The doctor,” Mrs. Gallilee proceeded, “thinks it of importance to your
+health to be as much as possible in the air. He wishes you to drive
+out every day, while the fine weather lasts. I have ordered the open
+carriage to be ready, after luncheon. Other engagements will prevent me
+from accompanying you. You will be under the care of my maid, and you
+will be out for two hours. Mr. Null hopes you will gain strength. Is
+there anything you want?”
+
+“Nothing--thank you.”
+
+“Perhaps you wish for a new dress?”
+
+“Oh, no!”
+
+“You have no complaint to make of the servants?”
+
+“The servants are always kind to me.”
+
+“I needn’t detain you any longer--I have a person coming to speak to
+me.”
+
+Carmina had entered the room in doubt and fear. She left it with
+strangely-mingled feelings of perplexity and relief. Her sense of a
+mysterious change in her aunt had strengthened with every word that Mrs.
+Gallilee had said to her. She had heard of reformatory institutions, and
+of discreet persons called matrons who managed them. In her imaginary
+picture of such places, Mrs. Gallilee’s tone and manner realised, in the
+strangest way, her idea of a matron speaking to a penitent.
+
+As she crossed the hall, her thoughts took a new direction. Some
+indefinable distrust of the coming time got possession of her. An ugly
+model of the Colosseum, in cork, stood on the hall table. She looked
+at it absently. “I hope Teresa will come soon,” she thought--and turned
+away to the stairs.
+
+She ascended slowly; her head drooping, her mind still preoccupied.
+Arrived at the first landing, a sound of footsteps disturbed her. She
+looked up--and found herself face to face with Mr. Le Frank, leaving the
+schoolroom after his music lesson. At that sudden discovery, a cry of
+alarm escaped her--the common little scream of a startled woman. Mr. Le
+Frank made an elaborately formal bow: he apologised with sternly stupid
+emphasis. “I _beg_ your pardon.”
+
+Moved by a natural impulse, penitently conscious of those few foolish
+words of hers which he had so unfortunately overheard, the poor girl
+made an effort to conciliate him. “I have very few friends, Mr. Le
+Frank,” she said timidly. “May I still consider you as one of them? Will
+you forgive and forget? Will you shake hands?”
+
+Mr. Le Frank made another magnificent bow. He was proud of his voice. In
+his most resonant and mellifluous tones, he said, “You do me honour--”
+ and took the offered hand, and lifted it grandly, and touched it with
+his lips.
+
+She held by the baluster with her free hand, and controlled the
+sickening sensation which that momentary contact with him produced.
+He might have detected the outward signs of the struggle, but for an
+interruption which preserved her from discovery. Mrs. Gallilee was
+standing at the open library door. Mrs. Gallilee said, “I am waiting for
+you, Mr. Le Frank.”
+
+Carmina hurried up the stairs, pursued already by a sense of her own
+imprudence. In her first confusion and dismay, but one clear idea
+presented itself. “Oh!” she said, “have I made another mistake?”
+
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Gallilee had received her music-master with the nearest
+approach to an indulgent welcome, of which a hardened nature is capable.
+
+“Take the easy chair, Mr. Le Frank. You are not afraid of the open
+window?”
+
+“Oh, dear no! I like it.” He rapidly unrolled some leaves of music
+which he had brought downstairs. “With regard to the song that I had the
+honour of mentioning--”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee pointed to the table. “Put the song there for the present.
+I have a word to say first. How came you to frighten my niece? I heard
+something like a scream, and naturally looked out. She was making an
+apology; she asked you to forgive and forget. What does all this mean?”
+
+Mr. Le Frank exhausted his ingenuity in efforts of polite evasion
+without the slightest success. From first to last (if the expression
+may be permitted) Mrs. Gallilee had him under her thumb. He was not
+released, until he had literally reported Carmina’s opinion of him as
+a man and a musician, and had exactly described the circumstances under
+which he had heard it. Mrs. Gallilee listened with an interest, which
+(under less embarrassing circumstances) would have even satisfied Mrs.
+Le Frank’s vanity.
+
+She was not for a moment deceived by the clumsy affectation of good
+humour with which he told his story. Her penetration discovered the
+vindictive feeling towards Carmina, which offered him, in case of
+necessity, as an instrument ready made to her hand. By fine degrees, she
+presented herself in the new character of a sympathising friend.
+
+“I know now, Mr. Le Frank, why you declined to be my niece’s
+music-master. Allow me to apologise for having ignorantly placed you
+in a false position. I appreciate the delicacy of your conduct--I
+understand, and admire you.”
+
+Mr. Le Frank’s florid cheeks turned redder still. His cold blood began
+to simmer, heated by an all-pervading glow of flattered self-esteem.
+
+“My niece’s motives for concealment are plain enough,” Mrs. Gallilee
+proceeded. “Let me hope that she was ashamed to confess the total want
+of taste, delicacy, and good manners which has so justly offended you.
+Miss Minerva, however, has no excuse for keeping me in the dark. Her
+conduct, in this matter, offers, I regret to say, one more instance of
+her habitual neglect of the duties which attach to her position in my
+house. There seems to be some private understanding between my governess
+and my niece, of which I highly disapprove. However, the subject is too
+distasteful to dwell on. You were speaking of your song--the last effort
+of your genius, I think?”
+
+His “genius”! The inner glow in Mr. Le Frank grew warmer and warmer.
+“I asked for the honour of an interview,” he explained, “to make a
+request.” He took up his leaves of music. “This is my last, and, I hope,
+my best effort at composition. May I dedicate it--?”
+
+“To me!” Mrs. Gallilee exclaimed with a burst of enthusiasm.
+
+Mr. Le Frank felt the compliment. He bowed gratefully.
+
+“Need I say how gladly I accept the honour?” With this gracious answer
+Mrs. Gallilee rose.
+
+Was the change of position a hint, suggesting that Mr. Le Frank might
+leave her to her studies, now that his object was gained? Or was it an
+act of homage offered by Science to Art? Mr. Le Frank was incapable
+of placing an unfavourable interpretation on any position which a
+woman--and such a woman--could assume in his presence. He felt the
+compliment again. “The first copy published shall be sent to you,” he
+said--and snatched up his hat, eager to set the printers at work.
+
+“And five-and-twenty copies more, for which I subscribe,” cried his
+munificent patroness, cordially shaking hands with him.
+
+Mr. Le Frank attempted to express his sense of obligation. Generous Mrs.
+Gallilee refused to hear him. He took his leave; he got as far as the
+hall; and then he was called back--softly, confidentially called back to
+the library.
+
+“A thought has just struck me,” said Mrs. Gallilee. “Please shut the
+door for a moment. About that meeting between you and my niece? Perhaps,
+I am taking a morbid view?”
+
+She paused. Mr. Le Frank waited with breathless interest.
+
+“Or is there something out of the common way, in that apology of hers?”
+ Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. “Have you any idea what the motive might be?”
+
+Mr. Le Frank’s ready suspicion was instantly aroused. “Not the least
+idea,” he answered. “Can you tell me?”
+
+“I am as completely puzzled as you are,” Mrs. Gallilee rejoined.
+
+Mr. Le Frank considered. His suspicions made an imaginative effort,
+assisted by his vanity. “After my refusal to teach her,” he suggested,
+“that proposal to shake hands may have a meaning--” There, his invention
+failed him. He stopped, and shook his head ominously.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee’s object being attained, she made no attempt to help
+him. “Perhaps, time will show,” she answered discreetly. “Good-bye
+again--with best wishes for the success of the song.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+The solitude of her own room was no welcome refuge to Carmina, in her
+present state of mind. She went on to the schoolroom.
+
+Miss Minerva was alone. The two girls, in obedience to domestic
+regulations, were making their midday toilet before dinner. Carmina
+described her interview with Mrs. Gallilee, and her meeting with Mr. Le
+Frank. “Don’t scold me,” she said; “I make no excuse for my folly.”
+
+“If Mr. Le Frank had left the house, after you spoke to him,” Miss
+Minerva answered, “I should not have felt the anxiety which troubles me
+now. I don’t like his going to Mrs. Gallilee afterwards--especially when
+you tell me of that change in her manner towards you. Yours is a vivid
+imagination, Carmina. Are you sure that it has not been playing you any
+tricks?”
+
+“Perfectly sure.”
+
+Miss Minerva was not quite satisfied. “Will you help me to feel as
+certain about it as you do?” she asked. “Mrs. Gallilee generally looks
+in for a few minutes, while the children are at dinner. Stay here, and
+say something to her in my presence. I want to judge for myself.”
+
+The girls came in. Maria’s perfect toilet, reflected Maria’s perfect
+character. She performed the duties of politeness with her usual happy
+choice of words. “Dear Carmina, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again
+in our schoolroom. We are naturally anxious about your health. This
+lovely weather is no doubt in your favour; and papa thinks Mr. Null
+a remarkably clever man.” Zo stood by frowning, while these smooth
+conventionalities trickled over her sister’s lips. Carmina asked what
+was the matter. Zo looked gloomily at the dog on the rug. “I wish I was
+Tinker,” she said. Maria smiled sweetly. “Dear Zoe, what a very strange
+wish! What would you do, if you were Tinker?” The dog, hearing his name,
+rose and shook himself. Zo pointed to him, with an appearance of the
+deepest interest. _“He_ hasn’t got to brush his hair, before he goes
+out for a walk; _his_ nails don’t took black when they’re dirty. And, I
+say!” (she whispered the next words in Carmina’s ear) _“he_ hasn’t got a
+governess.”
+
+The dinner made its appearance; and Mrs. Gallilee followed the dinner.
+Maria said grace. Zo, always ravenous at meals, forgot to say Amen.
+Carmina, standing behind her chair, prompted her. Zo said “Amen; oh,
+bother!” the first word at the top of her voice, and the last two in a
+whisper. Mrs. Gallilee looked at Carmina as she might have looked at
+an obtrusive person who had stepped in from the street. “You had better
+dress before luncheon,” she suggested, “or you will keep the carriage
+waiting.” Hearing this, Zo laid down her knife and fork, and looked over
+her shoulder. “Ask if I may go with you,” she said. Carmina made the
+request. “No,” Mrs. Gallilee answered, “the children must walk. My maid
+will accompany you.” Carmina glanced at Miss Minerva on leaving the
+room. The governess replied by a look. She too had seen the change in
+Mrs. Gallilee’s manner, and was at a loss to understand it.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee’s maid Marceline belonged to a quick-tempered race: she
+was a Jersey woman. It is not easy to say which of the two felt most
+oppressed by their enforced companionship in the carriage.
+
+The maid was perhaps the most to be pitied. Secretly drawn towards
+Carmina like the other servants in the house, she was forced by her
+mistress’s private instruction, to play the part of a spy. “If the young
+lady changes the route which the coachman has my orders to take, or if
+she communicates with any person while your are out, you are to
+report it to me.” Mrs. Gallilee had not forgotten the discovery of the
+travelling bag; and Mr. Mool’s exposition of the law had informed her,
+that the superintendence of Carmina was as much a matter of serious
+pecuniary interest as ever.
+
+But recent events had, in one respect at least, improved the prospect.
+
+If Ovid (as his mother actually ventured to hope!) broke off his
+engagement, when he heard the scandalous story of Carmina’s birth,
+there was surely a chance that she, like other girls of her sensitive
+temperament, might feel the calamity that had fallen on her so acutely
+as to condemn herself to a single life. Misled, partly by the hope of
+relief from her own vile anxieties; partly by the heartless incapability
+of appreciating generous feeling in others, developed by the pursuits
+of her later life, Mrs. Gallilee seriously contemplated her son’s future
+decision as a matter of reasonable doubt.
+
+In the meanwhile, this detestable child of adultery--this living
+obstacle in the way of the magnificent prospects which otherwise awaited
+Maria and Zoe, to say nothing of their mother--must remain in the
+house, submitted to her guardian’s authority, watched by her guardian’s
+vigilance. The hateful creature was still entitled to medical attendance
+when she was ill, and must still be supplied with every remedy that the
+doctor’s ingenuity could suggest. A liberal allowance was paid for the
+care of her; and the trustees were bound to interfere if it was not
+fairly earned.
+
+Looking after the carriage as it drove away--Marceline on the front
+seat presenting the picture of discomfort; and Carmina opposite to
+her, unendurably pretty and interesting, with the last new poem on
+her lap--Mrs. Gallilee’s reflections took their own bitter course.
+“Accidents happen to other carriages, with other girls in them. Not to
+my carriage, with that girl in it! Nothing will frighten _my_ horses
+to-day; and, fat as he is, _my_ coachman will not have a fit on the
+box!”
+
+It was only too true. At the appointed hour the carriage appeared
+again--and (to complete the disappointment) Marceline had no report to
+make.
+
+Miss Minerva had not forgotten her promise. When she returned from
+her walk with the children, the rooms had been taken. Teresa’s London
+lodging was within five minutes’ walk of the house.
+
+That evening, Carmina sent a telegram to Rome, on the chance that the
+nurse might not yet have begun her journey. The message (deferring other
+explanations until they met) merely informed her that her rooms were
+ready, adding the address and the landlady’s name. Guessing in the
+dark, Carmina and the governess had ignorantly attributed the sinister
+alteration in Mrs. Gallilee’s manner to the prospect of Teresa’s
+unwelcome return. “While you have the means in your power,” Miss Minerva
+advised, “it may be as well to let your old friend know that there is a
+home for her when she reaches London.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+The weather, to Carmina’s infinite relief, changed for the worse the
+next day. Incessant rain made it impossible to send her out in the
+carriage again.
+
+But it was an eventful day, nevertheless. On that rainy afternoon, Mr.
+Gallilee asserted himself as a free agent, in the terrible presence of
+his wife!
+
+“It’s an uncommonly dull day, my dear,” he began. This passed without
+notice, which was a great encouragement to go on. “If you will allows
+me to say so, Carmina wants a little amusement.” Mrs. Gallilee looked up
+from her book. Fearing that he might stop altogether if he took his
+time as usual, Mr. Gallilee proceeded in a hurry. “There’s an afternoon
+performance of conjuring tricks; and, do you know, I really think
+I might take Carmina to see it. We shall be delighted if you will
+accompany us, my dear; and they do say--perhaps you have heard of it
+yourself?--that there’s a good deal of science in this exhibition.” His
+eyes rolled in uneasy expectation, as he waited to hear what his wife
+might decide. She waved her hand contemptuously in the direction of the
+door. Mr. Gallilee retired with the alacrity of a young man. “Now we
+shall enjoy ourselves!” he thought as he went up to Carmina’s room.
+
+They were just leaving the house, when the music-master arrived at the
+door to give his lesson.
+
+Mr. Gallilee immediately put his head out of the cab window. “We are
+going to see the conjuring!” he shouted cheerfully. “Carmina! don’t you
+see Mr. Le Frank? He is bowing to you. Do you like conjuring, Mr.
+Le Frank? Don’t tell the children where we are going! They would be
+disappointed, poor things--but they must have their lessons, mustn’t
+they? Good-bye! I say! stop a minute. If you ever want your umbrella
+mended, I know a man who will do it cheap and well. Nasty day, isn’t it?
+Go on! go on!”
+
+The general opinion which ranks vanity among the lighter failings of
+humanity, commits a serious mistake. Vanity wants nothing but the
+motive power to develop into absolute wickedness. Vanity can be savagely
+suspicious and diabolically cruel. What are the two typical names which
+stand revealed in history as the names of the two vainest men that ever
+lived? Nero and Robespierre.
+
+In his obscure sphere, and within his restricted means, the vanity of
+Mrs. Gallilee’s music-master had developed its inherent qualities, under
+her cunning and guarded instigation. Once set in action, his suspicion
+of Carmina passed beyond all limits. There could be no reason but a bad
+reason for that barefaced attempt to entrap him into a reconciliation.
+Every evil motive which it was possible to attribute to a girl of her
+age, no matter how monstrously improbable it might be, occurred to him
+when he recalled her words, her look, and her manner at their meeting
+on the stairs. His paltry little mind, at other times preoccupied in
+contemplating himself and his abilities, was now so completely absorbed
+in imagining every variety of conspiracy against his social and
+professional position, that he was not even capable of giving his
+customary lesson to two children. Before the appointed hour had expired,
+Miss Minerva remarked that his mind did not appear to be at ease, and
+suggested that he had better renew the lesson on the next day. After a
+futile attempt to assume an appearance of tranquillity--he thanked her
+and took his leave.
+
+On his way downstairs, he found the door of Carmina’s room left half
+open.
+
+She was absent with Mr. Gallilee. Miss Minerva remained upstairs with
+the children. Mrs. Gallilee was engaged in scientific research. At that
+hour of the afternoon, there were no duties which called the servants to
+the upper part of the house. He listened--he hesitated--he went into the
+room.
+
+It was possible that she might keep a journal: it was certain that she
+wrote and received letters. If he could only find her desk unlocked and
+her drawers open, the inmost secrets of her life would be at his mercy.
+
+He tried her desk; he tried the cupboard under the bookcase. They were
+both locked. The cabinet between the windows and the drawer of the table
+were left unguarded. No discovery rewarded the careful search that he
+pursued in these two repositories. He opened the books that she had left
+on the table, and shook them. No forgotten letter, no private memorandum
+(used as marks) dropped out. He looked all round him; he peeped into the
+bedroom; he listened, to make sure that nobody was outside; he entered
+the bedroom, and examined the toilet-table, and opened the doors of the
+wardrobe--and still the search was fruitless, persevere as he might.
+
+Returning to the sitting-room, he shook his fist at the writing-desk.
+“You wouldn’t be locked,” he thought, “unless you had some shameful
+secrets to keep! _I_ shall have other opportunities; and _she_ may not
+always remember to turn the key.” He stole quietly down the stairs, and
+met no one on his way out.
+
+The bad weather continued on the next day. The object of Mr. Le Frank’s
+suspicion remained in the house--and the second opportunity failed to
+offer itself as yet.
+
+The visit to the exhibition of conjuring had done Carmina harm instead
+of good. Her head ached, in the close atmosphere--she was too fatigued
+to be able to stay in the room until the performance came to an end.
+Poor Mr. Gallilee retired in disgrace to the shelter of his club. At
+dinner, even his perfect temper failed him for the moment. He found
+fault with the champagne--and then apologised to the waiter. “I’m sorry
+I was a little hard on you just now. The fact is, I’m out of sorts--you
+have felt in that way yourself, haven’t you? The wine’s first-rate; and,
+really the weather is so discouraging, I think I’ll try another pint.”
+
+But Carmina’s buoyant heart defied the languor of illness and the
+gloomy day. The post had brought her a letter from Ovid--enclosing a
+photograph, taken at Montreal, which presented him in his travelling
+costume.
+
+He wrote in a tone of cheerfulness, which revived Carmina’s sinking
+courage, and renewed for a time at least the happiness of other
+days. The air of the plains of Canada he declared to be literally
+intoxicating. Every hour seemed to be giving him back the vital energy
+that he had lost in his London life. He slept on the ground, in the
+open air, more soundly than he had ever slept in a bed. But one anxiety
+troubled his mind. In the roving life which he now enjoyed, it was
+impossible that his letters could follow him--and yet, every day that
+passed made him more unreasonably eager to hear that Carmina was not
+weary of waiting for him, and that all was well at home.
+
+“And how have these vain aspirations of mine ended?”--the letter went
+on. “They have ended, my darling, in a journey for one of my guides--an
+Indian, whose fidelity I have put to the proof, and whose zeal I have
+stimulated by a promise of reward.
+
+“The Indian takes these lines to be posted at Quebec. He is also
+provided with an order, authorising my bankers to trust him with the
+letters that are waiting for me. I begin a canoe voyage to-morrow; and,
+after due consultation with the crew, we have arranged a date and a
+place at which my messenger will find me on his return. Shall I confess
+my own amiable weakness? or do you know me well enough already to
+suspect the truth? My love, I am sorely tempted to be false to my plans
+and arrangements to go back with the Indian to Quebec--and to take a
+berth in the first steamer that returns to England.
+
+“Don’t suppose that I am troubled by any misgivings about what is going
+on in my absence! It is one of the good signs of my returning health
+that I take the brightest view of our present lives, and of our lives
+to come. I feel tempted to go back, for the same reason that makes me
+anxious for letters. I want to hear from you, because I love you--I want
+to return at once, because I love you. There is longing, unutterable
+longing, in my heart. No doubts, my sweet one, and no fears!
+
+“But I was a doctor, before I became a lover. My medical knowledge tells
+me that this is an opportunity of thoroughly fortifying my constitution,
+and (with God’s blessing) of securing to myself reserves of health and
+strength which will take us together happily on the way to old age. Dear
+love, you must be my wife--not my nurse! There is the thought that gives
+me self-denial enough to let the Indian go away by himself.”
+
+Carmina answered this letter as soon as she had read it.
+
+Before the mail could carry her reply to its destination, she well knew
+that the Indian messenger would be on the way back to his master. But
+Ovid had made her so happy that she felt the impulse to write to him at
+once, as she might have felt the impulse to answer him at once if he had
+been present and speaking to her. When the pages were filled, and the
+letter had been closed and addressed, the effort produced its depressing
+effect on her spirits.
+
+There now appeared to her a certain wisdom in the loving rapidity of her
+reply.
+
+Even in the fullness of her joy, she was conscious of an underlying
+distrust of herself. Although he refused to admit it, Mr. Null had
+betrayed a want of faith in the remedy from which he had anticipated
+such speedy results, by writing another prescription. He had also added
+a glass to the daily allowance of wine, which he had thought sufficient
+thus far. Without despairing of herself, Carmina felt that she had done
+wisely in writing her answer, while she was still well enough to rival
+the cheerful tone of Ovid’s letter.
+
+She laid down to rest on the sofa, with the photograph in her hand. No
+sense of loneliness oppressed her now; the portrait was the best of
+all companions. Outside, the heavy rain pattered; in the room, the busy
+clock ticked. She listened lazily, and looked at her lover, and kissed
+the faithful image of him--peacefully happy.
+
+The opening of the door was the first little event that disturbed
+her. Zo peeped in. Her face was red, her hair was tousled, her fingers
+presented inky signs of a recent writing lesson.
+
+“I’m in a rage,” she announced; “and so is the Other One.”
+
+Carmina called her to the sofa, and tried to find out who this second
+angry person might be. “Oh, you know!” Zo answered doggedly. “She rapped
+my knuckles. I call her a Beast.”
+
+“Hush! you mustn’t talk in that way.”
+
+“She’ll be here directly,” Zo proceeded. “You look out! She’d rap _your_
+knuckles--only you’re too big. If it wasn’t raining, I’d run away.”
+ Carmina assumed an air of severity, and entered a serious protest
+adapted to her young friend’s intelligence. She might as well have
+spoken in a foreign language. Zo had another reason to give, besides the
+rap on the knuckles, for running away.
+
+“I say!” she resumed--“you know the boy?”
+
+“What boy, dear?”
+
+“He comes round sometimes. He’s got a hurdy-gurdy. He’s got a monkey. He
+grins. He says, _Aha--gimmee--haypenny._ I mean to go to that boy!”
+
+As a confession of Zo’s first love, this was irresistible. Carmina burst
+out laughing. Zo indignantly claimed a hearing. “I haven’t done yet!”
+ she burst out. “The boy dances. Like this.” She cocked her head, and
+slapped her thigh, and imitated the boy. “And sometimes he sings!” she
+cried with another outburst of admiration.
+
+_“Yah-yah-yah-bellah-vitah-yah!_ That’s Italian, Carmina.” The door
+opened again while the performer was in full vigour--and Miss Minerva
+appeared.
+
+When she entered the room, Carmina at once saw that Zo had correctly
+observed her governess. Miss Minerva’s heavy eyebrows lowered; her lips
+were pale; her head was held angrily erect, “Carmina!” she said sharply,
+“you shouldn’t encourage that child.” She turned round, in search of the
+truant pupil. Incurably stupid at her lessons, Zo’s mind had its gleams
+of intelligence, in a state of liberty. One of those gleams had shone
+propitiously, and had lighted her out of the room.
+
+Miss Minerva took a chair: she dropped into it like a person worn out
+with fatigue. Carmina spoke to her gently. Words of sympathy were thrown
+away on that self-tormenting nature.
+
+“No; I’m not ill,” she said. “A night without sleep; a perverse child to
+teach in the morning; and a detestable temper at all times--that’s
+what is the matter with me.” She looked at Carmina. “You seem to be
+wonderfully better to-day. Has stupid Mr. Null really done you some good
+at last?” She noticed the open writing-desk, and discovered the letter.
+“Or is it good news?”
+
+“I have heard from Ovid,” Carmina answered. The photograph was still in
+her hand; but her inbred delicacy of feeling kept the portrait hidden.
+
+The governess’s sallow complexion turned little by little to a dull
+greyish white. Her hands, loosely clasped in her lap, tightened when she
+heard Ovid’s name. That slight movement over, she stirred no more. After
+waiting a little, Carmina ventured to speak. “Frances,” she said, “you
+have not shaken hands with me yet.” Miss Minerva slowly looked up,
+keeping her hands still clasped on her lap.
+
+“When is he coming back?” she asked. It was said quietly.
+
+Carmina quietly replied, “Not yet--I am sorry to say.”
+
+“I am sorry too.”
+
+“It’s good of you, Frances, to say that.”
+
+“No: it’s not good of me. I’m thinking of myself--not of you.” She
+suddenly lowered her tone. “I wish you were married to him,” she said.
+
+There was a pause. Miss Minerva was the first to speak again.
+
+“Do you understand me?” she asked.
+
+“Perhaps you will help me to understand,” Carmina answered.
+
+“If you were married to him, even my restless spirit might be at peace.
+The struggle would be over.”
+
+She left her chair, and walked restlessly up and down the room. The
+passionate emotion which she had resolutely suppressed began to get
+beyond her control.
+
+“I was thinking about you last night,” she abruptly resumed. “You are a
+gentle little creature--but I have seen you show some spirit, when your
+aunt’s cold-blooded insolence roused you. Do you know what I would do,
+if I were in your place? _I_ wouldn’t wait tamely till he came back to
+me--I would go to him. Carmina! Carmina! leave this horrible house!” She
+stopped, close by the sofa. “Let me look at you. Ha! I believe you have
+thought of it yourself?”
+
+“I have thought of it.”
+
+“What did I say? You poor little prisoner, you _have_ the right spirit
+in you! I wish I could give you some of my strength.” The half-mocking
+tone in which she spoke, suddenly failed her. Her piercing eyes grew
+dim; the hard lines in her face softened. She dropped on her knees, and
+wound her lithe arms round Carmina, and kissed her. “You sweet child!”
+ she said--and burst passionately into tears.
+
+Even then, the woman’s fiercely self-dependent nature asserted itself.
+She pushed Carmina back on the sofa. “Don’t look at me! don’t speak to
+me!” she gasped. “Leave me to get over it.”
+
+She stifled the sobs that broke from her. Still on her knees, she looked
+up, shuddering. A ghastly smile distorted her lips. “Ah, what fools we
+are!” she said. “Where is that lavender water, my dear--your favourite
+remedy for a burning head?” She found the bottle before Carmina could
+help her, and soaked her handkerchief in the lavender water, and tied it
+round her head. “Yes,” she went on, as if they had been gossiping on the
+most commonplace subjects, “I think you’re right: this is the best of
+all perfumes.” She looked at the clock. “The children’s dinner will be
+ready in ten minutes. I must, and will, say what I have to say to
+you. It may be the last poor return I can make, Carmina, for all your
+kindness.”
+
+She returned to her chair.
+
+“I can’t help it if I frighten you,” she resumed; “I must tell you
+plainly that I don’t like the prospect. In the first place, the sooner
+we two are parted--oh, only for a while!--the better for you. After
+what I went through, last night--no, I am not going to enter into any
+particulars; I am only going to repeat, what I have said already--don’t
+trust me. I mean it, Carmina! Your generous nature shall not mislead
+you, if _I_ can help it. When you are a happy married woman--when _he_
+is farther removed from me than he is even now--remember your ugly,
+ill-tempered friend, and let me come to you. Enough of this! I have
+other misgivings that are waiting to be confessed. You know that old
+nurse of yours intimately--while I only speak from a day or two’s
+experience of her. To my judgment, she is a woman whose fondness for you
+might be turned into a tigerish fondness, on very small provocation. You
+write to her constantly. Does she know what you have suffered? Have you
+told her the truth?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Without reserve?”
+
+“Entirely without reserve.”
+
+“When that old woman comes to London, Carmina--and sees you, and sees
+Mrs. Gallilee--don’t you think the consequences may be serious? and your
+position between them something (if you were ten times stronger than you
+are) that no fortitude can endure?”
+
+Carmina started up on the sofa. She was not able to speak. Miss Minerva
+gave her time to recover herself--after another look at the clock.
+
+“I am not alarming you for nothing,” she proceeded; “I have something
+hopeful to propose. Your friend Teresa has energies--wild energies. Make
+a good use of them. She will do anything you ask or her. Take her with
+you to Canada!”
+
+“Oh, Frances!”
+
+Miss Minerva pointed to the letter on the desk. “Does he tell you when
+he will be back?”
+
+“No. He feels the importance of completely restoring his health--he is
+going farther and farther away--he has sent to Quebec for his letters.”
+
+“Then there is no fear of your crossing each other on the voyage. Go to
+Quebec, and wait for him there.”
+
+“I should frighten him.”
+
+“Not you!”
+
+“What can I say to him?”
+
+“What you _must_ say, if you are weak enough to wait for him here. Do
+you think his mother will consider his feelings, when he comes back to
+marry you? I tell you again I am not talking at random. I have thought
+it all out: I know how you can make your escape, and defy pursuit. You
+have plenty of money; you have Teresa to take care of you. Go! For your
+own sake, for his sake, go!”
+
+The clock struck the hour. She rose and removed the handkerchief from
+her head. “Hush!” she said, “Do I hear the rustling of a dress on the
+landing below?” She snatched up a bottle of Mr. Null’s medicine--as
+a reason for being in the room. The sound of the rustling dress came
+nearer and nearer. Mrs. Gallilee (on her way to the schoolroom dinner)
+opened the door. She instantly understood the purpose which the bottle
+was intended to answer.
+
+“It is my business to give Carmina her medicine,” she said. “Your
+business is at the schoolroom table.”
+
+She took possession of the bottle, and advanced to Carmina. There were
+two looking-glasses in the room. One, in the usual position, over the
+fireplace; the other opposite, on the wall behind the sofa. Turning
+back, before she left the room, Miss Minerva saw Mrs. Gallilee’s face,
+when she and Carmina looked at each other, reflected in the glass.
+
+The girls were waiting for their dinner. Maria received the unpunctual
+governess with her ready smile, and her appropriate speech. “Dear Miss
+Minerva, we were really almost getting alarmed about you. Pardon me
+for noticing it, you look--” She caught the eye of the governess, and
+stopped confusedly.
+
+“Well?” said Miss Minerva. “How do I look?”
+
+Maria still hesitated. Zo spoke out as usual. “You look as if somebody
+had frightened you.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+After two days of rain, the weather cleared again.
+
+It was a calm, sunshiny Sunday morning. The flat country round
+Benjulia’s house wore its brightest aspect on that clear autumn day.
+Even the doctor’s gloomy domestic establishment reflected in some degree
+the change for the better. When he rose that morning, Benjulia
+presented himself to his household in a character which they were
+little accustomed to see--the character of a good-humoured master. He
+astonished his silent servant by attempting to whistle a tune. “If you
+ever looked cheerful in your life,” he said to the man, “look cheerful
+now. I’m going to take a holiday!”
+
+After working incessantly--never leaving his laboratory; eating at his
+dreadful table; snatching an hour’s rest occasionally on the floor--he
+had completed a series of experiments, with results on which he could
+absolutely rely. He had advanced by one step nearer towards solving
+that occult problem in brain disease, which had thus far baffled the
+investigations of medical men throughout the civilised world. If his
+present rate of progress continued, the lapse of another month might
+add his name to the names that remain immortal among physicians, in the
+Annals of Discovery.
+
+So completely had his labours absorbed his mind that he only remembered
+the letters which Mrs. Gallilee had left with him, when he finished
+his breakfast on Sunday morning. Upon examination, there appeared no
+allusion in Ovid’s correspondence to the mysterious case of illness
+which he had attended at Montreal. The one method now left, by which
+Benjulia could relieve the doubt that still troubled him, was to
+communicate directly with his friend in Canada. He decided to celebrate
+his holiday by taking a walk; his destination being the central
+telegraph office in London.
+
+But, before he left the house, his domestic duties claimed attention. He
+issued his orders to the cook.
+
+At three o’clock he would return to dinner. That day was to witness the
+celebration of his first regular meat for forty-eight hours past; and
+he expected the strictest punctuality. The cook--lately engaged--was a
+vigourous little woman, with fiery hair and a high colour. She, like the
+man-servant, felt the genial influence of her master’s amiability. He
+looked at her, for the first time since she had entered the house. A
+twinkling light showed itself furtively in his dreary gray eyes: he took
+a dusty old hand-screen from the sideboard, and made her a present of
+it! “There,” he said with his dry humour, “don’t spoil your complexion
+before the kitchen fire.” The cook possessed a sanguine temperament, and
+a taste to be honoured and encouraged--the taste for reading novels. She
+put her own romantic construction on the extraordinary compliment which
+the doctor’s jesting humour had paid to her. As he walked out, grimly
+smiling and thumping his big stick on the floor, a new idea illuminated
+her mind. Her master admired her; her master was no ordinary man--it
+might end in his marrying her.
+
+On his way to the telegraph office, Benjulia left Ovid’s letters at Mrs.
+Gallilee’s house.
+
+If he had personally returned them, he would have found the learned
+lady in no very gracious humour. On the previous day she had discovered
+Carmina and Miss Minerva engaged in a private conference--without having
+been able even to guess what the subject under discussion between them
+might be. They were again together that morning. Maria and Zo had
+gone to church with their father; Miss Minerva was kept at home by a
+headache. At that hour, and under those circumstances, there was no
+plausible pretence which would justify Mrs. Gallilee’s interference.
+She seriously contemplated the sacrifice of a month’s salary, and the
+dismissal of her governess without notice.
+
+When the footman opened the door, Benjulia handed in the packet of
+letters. After his latest experience of Mrs. Gallilee, he had no
+intention of returning her visit. He walked away without uttering a
+word.
+
+The cable took his message to Mr. Morphew in these terms:--“Ovid’s
+patient at Montreal. Was the complaint brain disease? Yes or no.” Having
+made arrangements for the forwarding of the reply from his club, he set
+forth on the walk back to his house.
+
+At five minutes to three, he was at home again. As the clock struck the
+hour, he rang the bell. The man-servant appeared, without the dinner.
+Benjulia’s astonishing amiability--on his holiday--was even equal to
+this demand on its resources.
+
+“I ordered roast mutton at three,” he said, with terrifying
+tranquillity. “Where is it?”
+
+“The dinner will be ready in ten minutes, sir.”
+
+“Why is it not ready now?”
+
+“The cook hopes you will excuse her, sir. She is a little behindhand
+to-day.”
+
+“What has hindered her, if you please?”
+
+The silent servant--on all other occasions the most impenetrable of
+human beings--began to tremble. The doctor had, literally, kicked a man
+out of the house who had tried to look through the laboratory skylight.
+He had turned away a female servant at half an hour’s notice, for
+forgetting to shut the door, a second time in one day. But what were
+these highhanded proceedings, compared with the awful composure which,
+being kept waiting for dinner, only asked what had hindered the cook,
+and put the question politely, by saying, “if you please”?
+
+“Perhaps you were making love to her?” the doctor suggested, as gently
+as ever.
+
+This outrageous insinuation stung the silent servant into speech. “I’m
+incapable of the action, sir!” he answered indignantly; “the woman was
+reading a story.”
+
+Benjulia bent his head, as if in acknowledgment of a highly satisfactory
+explanation. “Oh? reading a story? People who read stories are said to
+have excitable brains. Should you call the cook excitable?”
+
+“I should, sir! Most cooks are excitable. They say it’s the kitchen
+fire.”
+
+“Do they? You can go now. Don’t hurry the cook--I’ll wait.”
+
+He waited, apparently following some new train of thought which highly
+diverted him. Ten minutes passed--then a quarter of an hour then another
+five minutes. When the servant returned with the dinner, the master’s
+private reflections continued to amuse him: his thin lips were still
+widening grimly, distended by his formidable smile.
+
+On being carved, the mutton proved to be underdone. At other times, this
+was an unpardonable crime in Benjulia’s domestic code of laws. All
+he said now was, “Take it away.” He dined on potatoes, and bread and
+cheese. When he had done, he was rather more amiable than ever. He said,
+“Ask the cook to come and see me!”
+
+The cook presented herself, with one hand on her palpitating heart, and
+the other holding her handkerchief to her eyes.
+
+“What are you crying about?” Benjulia inquired; “I haven’t scolded you,
+have I?” The cook began an apology; the doctor pointed to a chair. “Sit
+down, and recover yourself.” The cook sat down, faintly smiling through
+her tears. This otherwise incomprehensible reception of a person who had
+kept the dinner waiting twenty minutes, and who had not done the mutton
+properly even then (taken in connection with the master’s complimentary
+inquiries, reported downstairs by the footman), could bear but one
+interpretation. It wasn’t every woman who had her beautiful hair, and
+her rosy complexion. Why had she not thought of going upstairs first,
+just to see whether she looked her best in the glass? Would he begin by
+making a confession? or would he begin by kissing her?
+
+He began by lighting his pipe. For a while he smoked placidly with his
+eye on the cook. “I hear you have been reading a story,” he resumed.
+“What is the name of it?”
+
+“‘Pamela; or Virtue Rewarded,’ sir.”
+
+Benjulia went on with his smoking. The cook, thus far demure and
+downcast, lifted her eyes experimentally. He was still looking at her.
+Did he want encouragement? The cook cautiously offered a little literary
+information,
+
+“The author’s name is on the book, sir. Name of Richardson.”
+
+The information was graciously received, “Yes; I’ve heard of the name,
+and heard of the book. Is it interesting?”
+
+“Oh, sir, it’s a beautiful story! My only excuse for being late with the
+dinner--”
+
+“Who’s Pamela?”
+
+“A young person in service, sir. I’m sure I wish I was more like her! I
+felt quite broken-hearted when you sent the mutton down again; and you
+so kind as to overlook the error in the roasting--”
+
+Benjulia stopped the apology once more. He pursued his own ends with a
+penitent cook, just as he pursued his own ends with a vivisected animal.
+Nothing moved him out of his appointed course, in the one or in the
+other. He returned to Pamela.
+
+“And what becomes of her at the end of the story?” he asked.
+
+The cook simpered. “It’s Pamela who is the virtuous young person, sir.
+And so the story comes true--Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded.”
+
+“Who rewards her?”
+
+Was there ever anything so lucky as this? Pamela’s situation was fast
+becoming the cook’s situation. The bosom of the vigourous little woman
+began to show signs of tender agitation--distributed over a large
+surface. She rolled her eyes amorously. Benjulia puffed out another
+mouthful of smoke. “Well,” he repeated, “who rewards Pamela?”
+
+“Her master, sir.”
+
+“What does he do?”
+
+The cook’s eyes sank modestly to her lap. The cook’s complexion became
+brighter than ever.
+
+“Her master marries her, sir.”
+
+“Oh?”
+
+That was all he said. He was not astonished, or confused, or
+encouraged--he simply intimated that he now knew how Pamela’s master had
+rewarded Pamela. And, more dispiriting still, he took the opportunity of
+knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and filled it, and lit it again.
+If the cook had been one of the few miserable wretches who never read
+novels, she might have felt her fondly founded hopes already sinking
+from under her. As it was, Richardson sustained her faith in herself;
+Richardson reminded her that Pamela’s master had hesitated, and that
+Pamela’s Virtue had not earned its reward on easy terms. She stole
+another look at the doctor. The eloquence of women’s eyes, so widely
+and justly celebrated in poetry and prose, now spoke in the cook’s
+eyes. They said, “Marry me, dear sir, and you shall never have underdone
+mutton again.” The hearts of other savages have been known to soften
+under sufficient influences--why should the scientific savage, under
+similar pressure, not melt a little too? The doctor took up the talk
+again: he made a kind allusion to the cook’s family circumstances.
+
+“When you first came here, I think you told me you had no relations?”
+
+“I am an orphan, sir.”
+
+“And you had been some time out of a situation, when I engaged you?”
+
+“Yes, sir; my poor little savings were nearly at an end!” Could he
+resist that pathetic picture of the orphan’s little savings--framed, as
+it were, in a delicately-designed reference to her fellow-servant in the
+story? “I was as poor as Pamela,” she suggested softly.
+
+“And as virtuous,” Benjulia added.
+
+The cook’s eloquent eyes said, “Thank you, sir.”
+
+He laid down his pipe. That was a good sign, surely? He drew his chair
+nearer to her. Better and better! His arm was long enough, in the new
+position, to reach her waist. Her waist was ready for him.
+
+“You have nothing in particular to do, this afternoon; and I have
+nothing particular to do.” He delivered himself of this assertion rather
+abruptly. At the same time, it was one of those promising statements
+which pave the way for anything. He might say, “Having nothing
+particular to do to-day--why shouldn’t we make love?” Or he might say,
+“Having nothing particular to do to-morrow--why shouldn’t we get the
+marriage license?” Would he put it in that way? No: he made a proposal
+of quite another kind. He said, “You seem to be fond of stories. Suppose
+I tell you a story?”
+
+Perhaps, there was some hidden meaning in this. There was unquestionably
+a sudden alteration in his look and manner; the cook asked herself what
+it meant.
+
+If she had seen the doctor at his secret work in the laboratory, the
+change in him might have put her on her guard. He was now looking
+(experimentally) at the inferior creature seated before him in the
+chair, as he looked (experimentally) at the other inferior creatures
+stretched under him on the table.
+
+His story began in the innocent, old-fashioned way.
+
+“Once upon a time, there was a master and there was a maid. We will call
+the master by the first letter of the alphabet--Mr. A. And we will call
+the maid by the second letter--Miss B.”
+
+The cook drew a long breath of relief. There _was_ a hidden meaning in
+the doctor’s story. The unfortunate woman thought to herself, “I have
+not only got fine hair and a beautiful complexion; I am clever as well!”
+ On her rare evenings of liberty, she sometimes gratified another highly
+creditable taste, besides the taste for reading novels. She was an eager
+play-goer. That notable figure in the drama--the man who tells his own
+story, under pretence of telling the story of another person--was no
+unfamiliar figure in her stage experience. Her encouraging smile made
+its modest appearance once more. In the very beginning of her master’s
+story, she saw already the happy end.
+
+“We all of us have our troubles in life,” Benjulia went on; “and Miss B.
+had her troubles. For a long time, she was out of a situation; and
+she had no kind parents to help her. Miss B. was an orphan. Her little
+savings were almost gone.”
+
+It was too distressing. The cook took out her handkerchief, and pitied
+Miss B. with all her heart.
+
+The doctor proceeded.
+
+“But virtue, as we know when we read ‘Pamela,’ is sure of its reward.
+Circumstances occurred in the household of Mr. A. which made it
+necessary for him to engage a cook. He discovered an advertisement in a
+newspaper, which informed him that Miss B. was in search of a situation.
+Mr. A. found her to be a young and charming woman. Mr. A. engaged her.”
+ At that critical part of the story, Benjulia paused. “And what did Mr.
+A. do next?” he asked.
+
+The cook could restrain herself no longer. She jumped out of her chair,
+and threw her arms round the doctor’s neck.
+
+Benjulia went on with his story as if nothing had happened.
+
+“And what did Mr. A. do next?” he repeated. “He put his hand in his
+pocket--he gave Miss B. a month’s wages--and he turned her out of the
+house. You impudent hussy, you have delayed my dinner, spoilt my mutton,
+and hugged me round the neck! There is your money. Go.”
+
+With glaring eyes and gaping mouth, the cook stood looking at him, like
+a woman struck to stone. In a moment more, the rage burst out of her
+in a furious scream. She turned to the table, and snatched up a knife.
+Benjulia wrenched it from her hand, and dropped back into his chair
+completely overpowered by the success of his little joke. He did what
+he had never done within the memory of his oldest friend--he burst
+out laughing. “This _has_ been a holiday!” he said. “Why haven’t I got
+somebody with me to enjoy it?”
+
+At that laugh, at those words, the cook’s fury in its fiercest heat
+became frozen by terror. There was something superhuman in the doctor’s
+diabolical joy. Even _he_ felt the wild horror in the woman’s eyes as
+they rested on him.
+
+“What’s the matter with you?” he asked. She muttered and mumbled--and,
+shrinking away from him, crept towards the door. As she approached the
+window, a man outside passed by it on his way to the house. She pointed
+to him; and repeated Benjulia’s own words:
+
+“Somebody to enjoy it with you,” she said.
+
+She opened the dining-room door. The man-servant appeared in the hall,
+with a gentleman behind him.
+
+The gentleman was a scrupulously polite person. He looked with alarm at
+the ghastly face of the cook as she ran past him, making for the kitchen
+stairs. “I’m afraid I intrude on you at an unfortunate time,” he said to
+Benjulia. “Pray excuse me; I will call again.”
+
+“Come in, sir.” The doctor spoke absently, looking towards the hall, and
+thinking of something else.
+
+The gentleman entered the room.
+
+“My name is Mool,” he said. “I have had the honour of meeting you at one
+of Mrs. Gallilee’s parties.”
+
+“Very likely. I don’t remember it myself. Take a seat.”
+
+He was still thinking of something else. Modest Mr. Mool took a seat in
+confusion. The doctor crossed the room, and opened the door.
+
+“Excuse me for a minute,” he said. “I will be back directly.”
+
+He went to the top of the kitchen stairs, and called to the housemaid.
+“Is the cook down there?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“What is she doing?”
+
+“Crying her heart out.”
+
+Benjulia turned away again with the air of a disappointed man. A violent
+moral shock sometimes has a serious effect on the brain--especially when
+it is the brain of an excitable woman. Always a physiologist, even
+in those rare moments when he was amusing himself, it had just struck
+Benjulia that the cook--after her outbreak of fury--might be a case
+worth studying. But, she had got relief in crying; her brain was safe;
+she had ceased to interest him. He returned to the dining-room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+“You look hot, sir; have a drink. Old English ale, out of the barrel.”
+
+The tone was hearty. He poured out the sparkling ale into a big tumbler,
+with hospitable good-will. Mr. Mool was completely, and most agreeably,
+taken by surprise. He too was feeling the influence of the doctor’s good
+humour--enriched in quality by pleasant remembrances of his interview
+with the cook.
+
+“I live in the suburbs, Doctor Benjulia, on this side of London,” Mr.
+Mool explained; “and I have had a nice walk from my house to yours. If I
+have done wrong, sir, in visiting you on Sunday, I can only plead that I
+am engaged in business during the week--”
+
+“All right. One day’s the same as another, provided you don’t interrupt
+me. You don’t interrupt me now. Do you smoke?”
+
+“No, thank you.”
+
+“Do you mind my smoking?”
+
+“I like it, doctor.”
+
+“Very amiable on your part, I’m sure. What did you say your name was?”
+
+“Mool.”
+
+Benjulia looked at him suspiciously. Was he a physiologist, and a rival?
+“You’re not a doctor--are you?” he said.
+
+“I am a lawyer.”
+
+One of the few popular prejudices which Benjulia shared with his
+inferior fellow-creatures was the prejudice against lawyers. But for his
+angry recollection of the provocation successfully offered to him by his
+despicable brother, Mrs. Gallilee would never have found her way into
+his confidence. But for his hearty enjoyment of the mystification of
+the cook, Mr. Mool would have been requested to state the object of
+his visit in writing, and would have gone home again a baffled man. The
+doctor’s holiday amiability had reached its full development indeed,
+when he allowed a strange lawyer to sit and talk with him!
+
+“Gentlemen of your profession,” he muttered, “never pay visits to people
+whom they don’t know, without having their own interests in view. Mr.
+Mool, you want something of me. What is it?”
+
+Mr. Mool’s professional tact warned him to waste no time on prefatory
+phrases.
+
+“I venture on my present intrusion,” he began, “in consequence of a
+statement recently made to me, in my office, by Mrs. Gallilee.”
+
+“Stop!” cried Benjulia. “I don’t like your beginning, I can tell you.
+Is it necessary to mention the name of that old--?” He used a word,
+described in dictionaries as having a twofold meaning. (First, “A female
+of the canine kind.” Second, “A term of reproach for a woman.”) It
+shocked Mr. Mool; and it is therefore unfit to be reported.
+
+“Really, Doctor Benjulia!”
+
+“Does that mean that you positively must talk about her?”
+
+Mr. Mool smiled. “Let us say that it may bear that meaning,” he
+answered.
+
+“Go on, then--and get it over. She made a statement in your office. Out
+with it, my good fellow. Has it anything to do with me?”
+
+“I should not otherwise, Doctor Benjulia, have ventured to present
+myself at your house.” With that necessary explanation, Mr. Mool related
+all that had passed between Mrs. Gallilee and himself.
+
+At the outset of the narrative, Benjulia angrily laid aside his pipe, on
+the point of interrupting the lawyer. He changed his mind; and, putting
+a strong constraint on himself, listened in silence. “I hope, sir,” Mr.
+Mool concluded, “you will not take a hard view of my motive. It is only
+the truth to say that I am interested in Miss Carmina’s welfare. I felt
+the sincerest respect and affection for her parents. You knew them too.
+They were good people. On reflection you must surely regret it, if you
+have carelessly repeated a false report? Won’t you help me to clear the
+poor mother’s memory of this horrid stain?”
+
+Benjulia smoked in silence. Had that simple and touching appeal found
+its way to him? He began very strangely, when he consented at last to
+open his lips.
+
+“You’re what they call, a middle-aged man,” he said. “I suppose you have
+had some experience of women?”
+
+Mr. Mool blushed. “I am a married man, sir,” he replied gravely.
+
+“Very well; that’s experience--of one kind. When a man’s out of temper,
+and a woman wants something of him, do you know how cleverly she can
+take advantage of her privileges to aggravate him, till there’s nothing
+he won’t do to get her to leave him in peace? That’s how I came to tell
+Mrs. Gallilee, what she told you.”
+
+He waited a little, and comforted himself with his pipe.
+
+“Mind this,” he resumed, “I don’t profess to feel any interest in the
+girl; and I never cared two straws about her parents. At the same time,
+if you can turn to good account what I am going to say next--do it, and
+welcome. This scandal began in the bragging of a fellow-student of mine
+at Rome. He was angry with me, and angry with another man, for laughing
+at him when he declared himself to be Mrs. Robert Graywell’s lover: and
+he laid us a wager that we should see the woman alone in his room, that
+night. We were hidden behind a curtain, and we did see her in his room.
+I paid the money I had lost, and left Rome soon afterwards. The other
+man refused to pay.”
+
+“On what ground?” Mr. Mool eagerly asked.
+
+“On the ground that she wore a thick veil, and never showed her face.”
+
+“An unanswerable objection, Doctor Benjulia!”
+
+“Perhaps it might be. I didn’t think so myself. Two hours before, Mrs.
+Robert Graywell and I had met in the street. She had on a dress of a
+remarkable colour in those days--a sort of sea-green. And a bonnet to
+match, which everybody stared at, because it was not half the size of
+the big bonnets then in fashion. There was no mistaking the strange
+dress or the tall figure, when I saw her again in the student’s room. So
+I paid the bet.”
+
+“Do you remember the name of the man who refused to pay?”
+
+“His name was Egisto Baccani.”
+
+“Have you heard anything of him since?”
+
+“Yes. He got into some political scrape, and took refuge, like the
+rest of them, in England; and got his living, like the rest of them, by
+teaching languages. He sent me his prospectus--that’s how I came to know
+about it.”
+
+“Have you got the prospectus?”
+
+“Torn up, long ago.”
+
+Mr. Mool wrote down the name in his pocket-book. “There is nothing more
+you can tell me?” he said.
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“Accept my best thanks, doctor. Good-day!”
+
+“If you find Baccani let me know. Another drop of ale? Are you likely to
+see Mrs. Gallilee soon?”
+
+“Yes--if I find Baccani.”
+
+“Do you ever play with children?”
+
+“I have five of my own to play with,” Mr. Mool answered.
+
+“Very well. Ask for the youngest child when you go to Mrs. Gallilee’s.
+We call her Zo. Put your finger on her spine--here, just below the
+neck. Press on the place--so. And, when she wriggles, say, With the big
+doctor’s love.”
+
+Getting back to his own house, Mr. Mool was surprised to find an open
+carriage at the garden gate. A smartly-dressed woman, on the front seat,
+surveyed him with an uneasy look. “If you please, sir,” she said, “would
+you kindly tell Miss Carmina that we really mustn’t wait any longer?”
+
+The woman’s uneasiness was reflected in Mr. Mool’s face. A visit from
+Carmina, at his private residence, could have no ordinary motive. The
+fear instantly occurred to him that Mrs. Gallilee might have spoken to
+her of her mother.
+
+Before he opened the drawing-room door, this alarm passed away. He heard
+Carmina talking with his wife and daughters.
+
+“May I say one little word to you, Mr. Mool?”
+
+He took her into his study. She was shy and confused, but certainly
+neither angry nor distressed.
+
+“My aunt sends me out every day, when it’s fine, for a drive,” she said.
+“As the carriage passed close by, I thought I might ask you a question.”
+
+“Certainly, my dear! As many questions as you please.”
+
+“It’s about the law. My aunt says she has the authority over me now,
+which my dear father had while he was living. Is that true?”
+
+“Quite true.”
+
+“For how long is she my guardian?”
+
+“Until you are twenty-one years old.”
+
+The faint colour faded from Carmina’s face. “More than three years
+perhaps to suffer!” she said sadly.
+
+“To suffer? What do you mean, my dear?”
+
+She turned paler still, and made no reply. “I want to ask one thing
+more?” she resumed, in sinking tones. “Would my aunt still be my
+guardian--supposing I was married?”
+
+Mr. Mool answered this, with his eyes fixed on her in grave scrutiny.
+
+“In that case, your husband is the only person who has any authority
+over you. These are rather strange questions, Carmina. Won’t you take me
+into your confidence?”
+
+In sudden agitation she seized his hand and kissed it. “I must go!” she
+said. “I have kept the carriage waiting too long already.”
+
+She ran out, without once looking back.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee’s maid looked at her watch, when the carriage left Mr.
+Mool’s house. “We shall be nearly an hour late, before we get home,” she
+said.
+
+“It’s my fault, Marceline. Tell your mistress the truth, if she
+questions you. I shall not think the worse of you for obeying your
+orders.”
+
+“I’d rather lose my place, Miss, than get you into trouble.”
+
+The woman spoke truly, Carmina’s sweet temper had made her position not
+only endurable, but delightful: she had been treated like a companion
+and a friend. But for that circumstance--so keenly had Marceline felt
+the degradation of being employed as a spy--she would undoubtedly have
+quitted Mrs. Gallilee’s service.
+
+On the way home, instead of talking pleasantly as usual, Carmina was
+silent and sad. Had this change in her spirits been caused by the visit
+to Mr. Mool? It was even so. The lawyer had innocently decided her on
+taking the desperate course which Miss Minerva had proposed.
+
+If Mrs. Gallilee’s assertion of her absolute right of authority,
+as guardian, had been declared by Mr. Mool to be incorrect, Carmina
+(hopefully forgetful of her aunt’s temper) had thought of a compromise.
+
+She would have consented to remain at Mrs. Gallilee’s disposal until
+Ovid returned, on condition of being allowed, when Teresa arrived in
+London, to live in retirement with her old nurse. This change of abode
+would prevent any collision between Mrs. Gallilee and Teresa, and would
+make Carmina’s life as peaceful, and even as happy, as she could wish.
+
+But now that the lawyer had confirmed her aunt’s statement of the
+position in which they stood towards one another, instant flight to
+Ovid’s love and protection seemed to be the one choice left--unless
+Carmina could resign herself to a life of merciless persecution and
+perpetual suspense.
+
+The arrangements for the flight were already complete.
+
+That momentary view of Mrs. Gallilee’s face, reflected in the glass, had
+confirmed Miss Minerva’s resolution to interfere. Closeted with Carmina
+on the Sunday morning, she had proposed a scheme of escape, which would
+even set Mrs. Gallilee’s vigilance and cunning at defiance. No pecuniary
+obstacle stood in the way. The first quarterly payment of Carmina’s
+allowance of five hundred a year had been already made, by Mool’s
+advice. Enough was left--even without the assistance which the nurse’s
+resources would render--to purchase the necessary outfit, and to take
+the two women to Quebec. On the day after Teresa’s arrival (at an hour
+of the morning while the servants were still in bed) Carmina and her
+companion could escape from the house on foot--and not leave a trace
+behind them.
+
+Meanwhile, Fortune befriended Mrs. Gallilee’s maid. No questions were
+put to her; no notice even was taken of the late return.
+
+Five minutes before the carriage drew up at the house, a learned female
+friend from the country called, by appointment, on Mrs. Gallilee. On the
+coming Tuesday afternoon, an event of the deepest scientific interest
+was to take place. A new Professor had undertaken to deliver himself,
+by means of a lecture, of subversive opinions on “Matter.” A general
+discussion was to follow; and in that discussion (upon certain
+conditions) Mrs. Gallilee herself proposed to take part.
+
+“If the Professor attempts to account for the mutual action of separate
+atoms,” she said, “I defy him to do it, without assuming the existence
+of a continuous material medium in space. And this point of view being
+accepted--follow me here! what is the result? In plain words,” cried
+Mrs. Gallilee, rising excitedly to her feet, “we dispense with the idea
+of atoms!”
+
+The friend looked infinitely relieved by the prospect of dispensing with
+atoms.
+
+“Now observe!” Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. “In connection with this part
+of the subject, I shall wait to see if the Professor adopts Thomson’s
+theory. You are acquainted with Thomson’s theory? No? Let me put it
+briefly. Mere heterogeneity, together with gravitation, is sufficient
+to explain all the apparently discordant laws of molecular action. You
+understand? Very well. If the Professor passes over Thomson, _then,_ I
+rise in the body of the Hall, and take my stand--follow me again!--on
+these grounds.”
+
+While Mrs. Gallilee’s grounds were being laid out for the benefit of
+her friend, the coachman took the carriage back to the stables; the
+maid went downstairs to tea; and Carmina joined Miss Minerva in the
+schoolroom--all three being protected from discovery, by Mrs. Gallilee’s
+rehearsal of her performance in the Comedy of Atoms.
+
+The Monday morning brought with it news from Rome--serious news which
+confirmed Miss Minerva’s misgivings.
+
+Carmina received a letter, bearing the Italian postmark, but not
+addressed to her in Teresa’s handwriting. She looked to the signature
+before she began to read. Her correspondent was the old priest--Father
+Patrizio. He wrote in these words:
+
+
+“My dear child,--Our good Teresa leaves us to-day, on her journey to
+London. She has impatiently submitted to the legal ceremonies, rendered
+necessary by her husband having died without making a will. He hardly
+left anything in the way of money, after payment of his burial expenses,
+and his few little debts. What is of far greater importance--he lived,
+and died, a good Christian. I was with him in his last moments. Offer
+your prayers, my dear, for the repose of his soul.
+
+“Teresa left me, declaring her purpose of travelling night and day, so
+as to reach you the sooner.
+
+“In her headlong haste, she has not even waited to look over her
+husband’s papers; but has taken the case containing them to England--to
+be examined at leisure, in your beloved company. Strong as this good
+creature is, I believe she will be obliged to rest on the road for a
+night at least. Calculating on this, I assume that my letter will get
+to you first. I have something to say about your old nurse, which it is
+well that you should know.
+
+“Do not for a moment suppose that I blame you for having told Teresa of
+the unfriendly reception, which you appear to have met with from your
+aunt and guardian. Who should you confide in--if not in the excellent
+woman who has filled the place of a mother to you? Besides, from your
+earliest years, have I not always instilled into you the reverence of
+truth? You have told the truth in your letters. My child, I commend you,
+and feel for you.
+
+“But the impression produced on Teresa is not what you or I could wish.
+It is one of her merits, that she loves you with the truest devotion; it
+is one of her defects, that she is fierce and obstinate in resentment.
+Your aunt has become an object of absolute hatred to her. I have
+combated successfully, as I hope and believe--this unchristian state of
+feeling.
+
+“She is now beyond the reach of my influence. My purpose in writing is
+to beg you to continue the good work that I have begun. Compose this
+impetuous nature; restrain this fiery spirit. Your gentle influence,
+Carmina, has a power of its own over those who love you--and who loves
+you like Teresa?--of which perhaps you are not yourself aware. Use your
+power discreetly; and, with the blessing of God and his Saints, I have
+no fear of the result.
+
+“Write to me, my child, when Teresa arrives--and let me hear that you
+are happier, and better in health. Tell me also, whether there is any
+speedy prospect of your marriage. If I may presume to judge from the
+little I know, your dearest earthly interests depend on the removal
+of obstacles to this salutary change in your life. I send you my good
+wishes, and my blessing. If a poor old priest like me can be of any
+service, do not forget.
+
+“FATHER PATRIZIO.”
+
+
+Any lingering hesitation that Carmina might still have felt, was at an
+end when she read this letter. Good Father Patrizio, like good Mr. Mool,
+had innocently urged her to set her guardian’s authority at defiance.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+
+When the morning lessons were over, Carmina showed the priest’s letter
+to Miss Minerva. The governess read it, and handed it back in silence.
+
+“Have you nothing to say?” Carmina asked.
+
+“Nothing. You know my opinion already. That letter says what I have
+said--with greater authority.”
+
+“It has determined me to follow your advice, Frances.”
+
+“Then it has done well.”
+
+“And you see,” Carmina continued, “that Father Patrizio speaks of
+obstacles in the way of my marriage. Teresa has evidently shown him
+my letters. Do you think he fears, as I do, that my aunt may find some
+means of separating us, even when Ovid comes back?”
+
+“Very likely.”
+
+She spoke in faint weary tones--listlessly leaning back in her chair.
+Carmina asked if she had passed another sleepless night.
+
+“Yes,” she said, “another bad night, and the usual martyrdom in teaching
+the children. I don’t know which disgusts me most--Zoe’s impudent
+stupidity, or Maria’s unendurable humbug.”
+
+She had never yet spoken of Maria in this way. Even her voice seemed to
+be changed. Instead of betraying the usual angry abruptness, her tones
+coldly indicated impenetrable contempt. In the silence that ensued, she
+looked up, and saw Carmina’s eyes resting on her anxiously and kindly.
+
+“Any other human being but you,” she said, “would find me disagreeable
+and rude--and would be quite right, too. I haven’t asked after your
+health. You look paler than usual. Have you, too, had a bad night?”
+
+“I fell asleep towards the morning. And--oh, I had such a delightful
+dream! I could almost wish that I had never awakened from it.”
+
+“Who did you dream of?” She put the question mechanically--frowning,
+as if at some repellent thought suggested to her by what she had just
+heard.
+
+“I dreamed of my mother,” Carmina answered.
+
+Miss Minerva raised herself at once in the chair. Whatever that passing
+impression might have been, she was free from it now. There was some
+little life again in her eyes; some little spirit in her voice. “Take me
+out of myself,” she said; “tell me your dream.”
+
+“It is nothing very remarkable, Frances. We all of us sometimes see our
+dear lost ones in sleep. I saw my mother again, as I used to see her
+in the nursery at bedtime--tall and beautiful, with her long dark hair
+failing over her white dressing-gown to the waist. She stooped over me,
+and kissed me; and she looked surprised. She said, ‘My little angel, why
+are you here in a strange house? I have come to take you back to your
+own cot, by my bedside.’ I wasn’t surprised or frightened; I put my arms
+round her neck; and we floated away together through the cool starry
+night; and we were at home again. I saw my cot, with its pretty white
+curtains and pink ribbons. I heard my mother tell me an English fairy
+story, out of a book which my father had given to her--and her kind
+voice grew fainter and fainter, while I grew more and more sleepy--and
+it ended softly, just as it used to end in the happy old days. And I
+woke, crying. Do you ever dream of your mother now?”
+
+“I? God forbid!”
+
+“Oh, Frances, what a dreadful thing to say!”
+
+“Is it? It was the thought in me, when you spoke. And with good reason,
+too. I was the last of a large family--the ugly one; the ill-tempered
+one; the encumbrance that made it harder than ever to find money enough
+to pay the household expenses. My father swore at my mother for being my
+mother. She reviled him just as bitterly in return; and vented the rest
+of her ill-temper on my wretched little body, with no sparing hand.
+Bedtime was her time for beating me. Talk of your mother--not of mine!
+You were very young, were you not, when she died?”
+
+“Too young to feel my misfortune--but old enough to remember the
+sweetest woman that ever lived. Let me show you my father’s portrait of
+her again. Doesn’t that face tell you what an angel she was? There was
+some charm in her that all children felt. I can just remember some of my
+playfellows who used to come to our garden. Other good mothers were with
+us--but the children all crowded round _my_ mother. They would have her
+in all their games; they fought for places on her lap when she told them
+stories; some of them cried, and some of them screamed, when it was time
+to take them away from her. Oh, why do we live! why do we die! I have
+bitter thoughts sometimes, Frances, like you. I have read in poetry that
+death is a fearful thing. To me, death is a cruel thing,--and it has
+never seemed so cruel as in these later days, since I have known Ovid.
+If my mother had but lived till now, what happiness would have been
+added to my life and to hers! How Ovid would have loved her--how she
+would have loved Ovid!”
+
+Miss Minerva listened in silence. It was the silence of true interest
+and sympathy, while Carmina was speaking of her mother. When her lover’s
+name became mingled with the remembrances of her childhood--the change
+came. Once more, the tell-tale lines began to harden in the governess’s
+face. She lay back again in her chair. Her fingers irritably platted and
+unplatted the edge of her black apron.
+
+Carmina was too deeply absorbed in her thoughts, too eagerly bent on
+giving them expression, to notice these warning signs.
+
+“I have all my mother’s letters to my father,” she went on, “when he was
+away from her on his sketching excursions, You have still a little time
+to spare--I should so like to read some of them to you. I was reading
+one, last night--which perhaps accounts for my dream? It is on a subject
+that interests everybody. In my father’s absence, a very dear friend of
+his met with a misfortune; and my mother had to prepare his wife to hear
+the bad news--oh, that reminds me! There is something I want to say to
+you first.”
+
+“About yourself?” Miss Minerva asked.
+
+“About Ovid. I want your advice.”
+
+Miss Minerva was silent. Carmina went on. “It’s about writing to Ovid,”
+ she explained.
+
+“Write, of course!”
+
+The reply was suddenly and sharply given. “Surely, I have not offended
+you?” Carmina said.
+
+“Nonsense! Let me hear your mother’s letter.”
+
+“Yes--but I want you to hear the circumstances first.”
+
+“You have mentioned them already.”
+
+“No! no! I mean the circumstances, in my case.” She drew her chair
+closer to Miss Minerva. “I want to whisper--for fear of somebody passing
+on the stairs. The more I think of it, the more I feel that I ought to
+prepare Ovid for seeing me, before I make my escape. You said when we
+talked of it--”
+
+“Never mind what I said.”
+
+“Oh, but I do mind! You said I could go to Ovid’s bankers at Quebec,
+and then write when I knew where he was. I have been thinking over
+it since--and I see a serious risk. He might return from his inland
+journey, on the very day that I get there; he might even meet me in the
+street. In his delicate health--I daren’t think of what the consequences
+of such a surprise might be! And then there is the dreadful necessity
+of telling him, that his mother has driven me into taking this
+desperate step. In my place, wouldn’t you feel that you could do it more
+delicately in writing?”
+
+“I dare say!”
+
+“I might write to-morrow, for instance. To-morrow is one of the American
+mail days. My letter would get to Canada (remembering the roundabout way
+by which Teresa and I are to travel, for fear of discovery), days and
+days before we could arrive. I should shut myself up in an hotel at
+Quebec; and Teresa could go every day to the bank, to hear if Ovid was
+likely to send for his letters, or likely to call soon and ask for them.
+Then he would be prepared. Then, when we meet--!”
+
+The governess left her chair, and pointed to the clock.
+
+Carmina looked at her--and rose in alarm. “Are you in pain?” she asked.
+
+“Yes--neuralgia, I think. I have the remedy in my room. Don’t keep me,
+my dear. Mrs. Gallilee mustn’t find me here again.”
+
+The paroxysm of pain which Carmina had noticed, passed over her face
+once more. She subdued it, and left the room. The pain mastered her
+again; a low cry broke from her when she closed the door. Carmina ran
+out: “Frances! what is it?” Frances looked over her shoulder, while she
+slowly ascended the stairs. “Never mind!” she said gently. “I have got
+my remedy.”
+
+Carmina advanced a step to follow her, and drew back.
+
+Was that expression of suffering really caused by pain of the body? or
+was it attributable to anything that she had rashly said? She tried to
+recall what had passed between Frances and herself. The effort wearied
+her. Her thoughts turned self-reproachfully to Ovid. If _he_ had been
+speaking to a friend whose secret sorrow was known to him, would he have
+mentioned the name of the woman whom they both loved? She looked at his
+portrait, and reviled herself as a selfish insensible wretch. “Will Ovid
+improve me?” she wondered. “Shall I be a little worthier of him, when I
+am his wife?”
+
+Luncheon time came; and Mrs. Gallilee sent word that they were not to
+wait for her.
+
+“She’s studying,” said Mr. Gallilee, with awe-struck looks. “She’s going
+to make a speech at the Discussion to-morrow. The man who gives the
+lecture is the man she’s going to pitch into. I don’t know him; but how
+do you feel about it yourself, Carmina?--I wouldn’t stand in his shoes
+for any sum of money you could offer me. Poor devil! I beg your pardon,
+my dear; let me give you a wing of the fowl. Boiled fowl--eh? and
+tongue--ha? Do you know the story of the foreigner? He dined out fifteen
+times with his English friends. And there was boiled fowl and tongue at
+every dinner. The fifteenth time, the foreigner couldn’t stand it any
+longer. He slapped his forehead, and he said, ‘Ah, merciful Heaven, cock
+and bacon again!’ You won’t mention it, will you?--and perhaps you think
+as I do?--I’m sick of cock and bacon, myself.”
+
+Mr. Null’s medical orders still prescribed fresh air. The carriage
+came to the door at the regular hour; and Mr. Gallilee, with equal
+regularity, withdrew to his club.
+
+Carmina was too uneasy to leave the house, without seeing Miss Minerva
+first. She went up to the schoolroom.
+
+There was no sound of voices, when she opened the door. Miss Minerva was
+writing, and silence had been proclaimed. The girls were ready dressed
+for their walk. Industrious Maria had her book. Idle Zo, perched on a
+high chair, sat kicking her legs. “If you say a word,” she whispered, as
+Carmina passed her, “you’ll be called an Imp, and stuck up on a chair. I
+shall go to the boy.”
+
+“Are you better, Frances?”
+
+“Much better, my dear.”
+
+Her face denied it; the look of suffering was there still. She tore up
+the letter which she had been writing, and threw the fragments into the
+waste-paper basket.
+
+“That’s the second letter you’ve torn up,” Zo remarked.
+
+“Say a word more--and you shall have bread and water for tea!” Miss
+Minerva was not free from irritation, although she might be free from
+pain. Even Zo noticed how angry the governess was.
+
+“I wish you could drive with me in the carriage,” said Carmina. “The air
+would do you so much good.”
+
+“Impossible! But you may soothe my irritable nerves in another way, if
+you like.”
+
+“How?”
+
+“Relieve me of these girls. Take them out with you. Do you mind?”
+
+Zo instantly jumped off her chair; and even Maria looked up from her
+book.
+
+“I will take them with pleasure. Must we ask my aunt’s permission?”
+
+“We will dispense with your aunt’s permission. She is shut up in her
+study--and we are all forbidden to disturb her. I will take it on
+myself.” She turned to the girls with another outbreak of irritability.
+“Be off!”
+
+Maria rose with dignity, and made one of her successful exits. “I am
+sorry, dear Miss Minerva, if _I_ have done anything to make you angry.”
+ She pointed the emphasis on “I,” by a side-look at her sister. Zo
+bounced out of the room, and performed the Italian boy’s dance on
+the landing. “For shame!” said Maria. Zo burst into singing. _“Yah
+yah-yah-bellah-vitah-yah!_ Jolly! jolly! jolly!--we are going out for a
+drive!”
+
+Carmina waited, to say a friendly word, before she followed the girls.
+
+“You didn’t think me neglectful, Frances, when I let you go upstairs by
+yourself!” Miss Minerva answered sadly and kindly. “The best thing you
+could do was to leave me by myself.”
+
+Carmina’s mind was still not quite at ease. “Yes--but you were in pain,”
+ she said.
+
+“You curious child! I am not in pain now.”
+
+“Will you make me comfortable, Frances? Give me a kiss.”
+
+“Two, my dear--if you like.”
+
+She kissed Carmina on one cheek and on the other. “Now leave me to
+write,” she said.
+
+Carmina left her.
+
+The drive ought to have been a pleasant one, with Zo in the carriage.
+To Marceline, it was a time of the heartiest enjoyment. Maria herself
+condescended to smile, now and then. There was only one dull person
+among them. “Miss Carmina was but poor company,” the maid remarked when
+they got back.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee herself received them in the hall.
+
+“You will never take the children out again without my leave,” she said
+to Carmina. “The person who is really responsible for what you have
+done, will mislead you no more.” With those words she entered the
+library, and closed the door.
+
+Maria and Zo, at the sight of their mother, had taken flight. Carmina
+stood alone in the hall. Mrs. Gallilee had turned her cold. After
+awhile, she followed the children as far as her own room. There, her
+resolution failed her. She called faintly upstairs--“Frances!” There was
+no answering voice. She went into her room. A small paper packet was on
+the table; sealed, and addressed to herself. She tore it open. A ring
+with a spinel ruby in it dropped out: she recognised the stone--it was
+Miss Minerva’s ring.
+
+Some blotted lines were traced on the paper inside.
+
+“I have tried to pour out my heart to you in writing--and I have torn
+up the letters. The fewest words are the best. Look back at my
+confession--and you will know why I have left you. You shall hear from
+me, when I am more worthy of you than I am now. In the meantime, wear my
+ring. It will tell you how mean I once was. F. M.”
+
+Carmina looked at the ring. She remembered that Frances had tried to
+make her accept it as security, in return for the loan of thirty pounds.
+
+She referred to the confession. Two passages in it were underlined:
+“The wickedness in me, on which Mrs. Gallilee calculated, may be in me
+still.” And, again: “Even now, when you have found me out, I love him.
+Don’t trust me.”
+
+Never had Carmina trusted her more faithfully than at that bitter
+moment!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+
+The ordinary aspect of the schoolroom was seen no more.
+
+Installed in a position of temporary authority, the parlour-maid sat
+silently at her needlework. Maria stood by the window, in the new
+character of an idle girl--with her handkerchief in her hand, and her
+everlasting book dropped unnoticed on the floor. Zo lay flat on her
+back, on the hearth-rug, hugging the dog in her arms. At intervals, she
+rolled herself over slowly from side to side, and stared at the
+ceiling with wondering eyes. Miss Minerva’s departure had struck the
+parlour-maid dumb, and had demoralized the pupils.
+
+Maria broke the silence at last. “I wonder where Carmina is?” she said.
+
+“In her room, most likely,” the parlour-maid suggested.
+
+“Had I better go and see after her?”
+
+The cautious parlour-maid declined to offer advice. Maria’s
+well-balanced mind was so completely unhinged, that she looked with
+languid curiosity at her sister. Zo still stared at the ceiling, and
+still rolled slowly from one side to the other. The dog on her breast,
+lulled by the regular motion, slept profoundly--not even troubled by a
+dream of fleas!
+
+While Maria was still considering what it might be best to do, Carmina
+entered the room. She looked, as the servant afterwards described it,
+“like a person who had lost her way.” Maria exhibited the feeling of the
+schoolroom, by raising her handkerchief in solemn silence to her eyes.
+Without taking notice of this demonstration, Carmina approached the
+parlour-maid, and said, “Did you see Miss Minerva before she went away?”
+
+“I took her message, Miss.”
+
+“What message?”
+
+“The message, saying she wished to see my mistress for a few minutes.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Well, Miss, I was told to show the governess into the library. She went
+down with her bonnet on, ready dressed to go out. Before she had
+been five minutes with my mistress she came out again, and rang the
+hall-bell, and spoke to Joseph. ‘My boxes are packed and directed,’ she
+says; ‘I will send for them in an hour’s time. Good day, Joseph.’ And
+she stepped into the street, as quietly as if she was going out shopping
+round the corner.”
+
+“Have the boxes been sent for?”
+
+“Yes, Miss.”
+
+Carmina lifted her head, and spoke in steadier tones.
+
+“Where have they been taken to?”
+
+“To the flower-shop at the back--to be kept till called for.”
+
+“No other address?”
+
+“None.”
+
+The last faint hope of tracing Frances was at an end. Carmina turned
+wearily to leave the room. Zo called to her from the hearth-rug. Always
+kind to the child, she retraced her steps. “What is it?” she asked.
+
+Zo got on her legs before she spoke, like a member of parliament. “I’ve
+been thinking about that governess,” she announced. “Didn’t I once tell
+you I was going to run away? And wasn’t it because of Her? Hush! Here’s
+the part of it I can’t make out--She’s run away from Me. I don’t bear
+malice; I’m only glad in myself. No more dirty nails. No more bread and
+water for tea. That’s all. Good morning.” Zo laid herself down again on
+the rug; and the dog laid himself down again on Zo.
+
+Carmina returned to her room--to reflect on what she had heard from the
+parlour-maid.
+
+It was now plain that Mrs. Gallilee had not been allowed the opportunity
+of dismissing her governess at a moment’s notice: Miss Minerva’s sudden
+departure was unquestionably due to Miss Minerva herself.
+
+Thus far, Carmina was able to think clearly--and no farther. The
+confused sense of helpless distress which she had felt, after reading
+the few farewell words that Frances had addressed to her, still
+oppressed her mind. There were moments when she vaguely understood, and
+bitterly lamented, the motives which had animated her unhappy friend.
+Other moments followed, when she impulsively resented the act which had
+thrown her on her own resources, at the very time when she had most need
+of the encouragement that could be afforded by the sympathy of a
+firmer nature than her own. She began to doubt the steadiness of her
+resolution--without Frances to take leave of her, on the morning of the
+escape. For the first time, she was now tortured by distrust of Ovid’s
+reception of her; by dread of his possible disapproval of her boldness;
+by morbid suspicion even of his taking his mother’s part. Bewildered and
+reckless, she threw herself on the sofa--her heart embittered against
+Frances--indifferent whether she lived or died.
+
+At dinner-time she sent a message, begging to be excused from appearing
+at the table. Mrs. Gallilee at once presented herself, harder and colder
+than ever, to inspect the invalid. Perceiving no immediate necessity for
+summoning Mr. Null, she said, “Ring, if you want anything,” and left the
+room.
+
+Mr. Gallilee followed, after an interval, with a little surreptitious
+offering of wine (hidden under his coat); and with a selection of tarts
+crammed into his pocket.
+
+“Smuggled goods, my dear,” he whispered, “picked up when nobody happened
+to be looking my way. When we are miserable--has the idea ever occurred
+to you?--it’s a sign from kind Providence that we are intended to eat
+and drink. The sherry’s old, and the pastry melts in your mouth. Shall
+I stay with you? You would rather not? Just my feeling! Remarkable
+similarity in our opinions--don’t you think so yourself? I’m sorry for
+poor Miss Minerva. Suppose you go to bed?”
+
+Carmina was in no mood to profit by this excellent advice.
+
+She was still walking restlessly up and down her room, when the time
+came for shutting up the house. With the sound of closing locks and
+bolts, there was suddenly mingled a sharp ring at the bell; followed
+by another unexpected event. Mr. Gallilee paid her a second visit--in a
+state of transformation. His fat face was flushed: he positively
+looked as if he was capable of feeling strong emotion, unconnected with
+champagne and the club! He presented a telegram to Carmina--and, when he
+spoke, there were thrills of agitation in the tones of his piping voice.
+
+“My dear, something very unpleasant has happened. I met Joseph taking
+this to my wife. Highly improper, in my opinion,--what do you say
+yourself?--to take it to Mrs. Gallilee, when it’s addressed to you. It
+was no mistake; he was so impudent as to say he had his orders. I have
+reproved Joseph.” Mr. Gallilee looked astonished at himself, when he
+made this latter statement--then relapsed into his customary sweetness
+of temper. “No bad news?” he asked anxiously, when Carmina opened the
+telegram.
+
+“Good news! the best of good news!” she answered impetuously.
+
+Mr. Gallilee looked as happy as if the welcome telegram had been
+addressed to himself. On his way out of the room, he underwent another
+relapse. The footman’s audacious breach of trust began to trouble him
+once more: this time in its relation to Mrs. Gallilee. The serious
+part of it was, that the man had acted under his mistress’s orders. Mr.
+Gallilee said--he actually said, without appealing to anybody--“If this
+happens again, I shall be obliged to speak to my wife.”
+
+The telegram was from Teresa. It had been despatched from Paris that
+evening; and the message was thus expressed:
+
+“Too tired to get on to England by to-night’s mail. Shall leave by the
+early train to-morrow morning, and be with you by six o’clock.”
+
+Carmina’s mind was exactly in the state to feel unmingled relief, at the
+prospect of seeing the dear old friend of her happiest days. She laid
+her head on the pillow that night, without a thought of what might
+follow the event of Teresa’s return.
+
+VOLUME THREE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII.
+
+The next day--the important Tuesday of the lecture on Matter; the
+delightful Tuesday of Teresa’s arrival--brought with it special demands
+on Carmina’s pen.
+
+Her first letter was addressed to Frances. It was frankly and earnestly
+written; entreating Miss Minerva to appoint a place at which they might
+meet, and assuring her, in the most affectionate terms, that she was
+still loved, trusted, and admired by her faithful friend. Helped by her
+steadier flow of spirits, Carmina could now see all that was worthiest
+of sympathy and admiration, all that claimed loving submission and
+allowance from herself, in the sacrifice to which Miss Minerva had
+submitted. How bravely the poor governess had controlled the jealous
+misery that tortured her! How nobly she had pronounced Carmina’s
+friendship for Carmina’s sake!
+
+Later in the day, Marceline took the letter to the flower shop, and
+placed it herself under the cord of one of the boxes still waiting to be
+claimed.
+
+The second letter filled many pages, and occupied the remainder of the
+morning.
+
+With the utmost delicacy, but with perfect truthfulness at the same
+time, Carmina revealed to her betrothed husband the serious reasons
+which had forced her to withdraw herself from his mother’s care. Bound
+to speak at last in her own defence, she felt that concealments and
+compromises would be alike unworthy of Ovid and of herself. What she
+had already written to Teresa, she now wrote again--with but one
+modification. She expressed herself forbearingly towards Ovid’s mother.
+The closing words of the letter were worthy of Carmina’s gentle, just,
+and generous nature.
+
+“You will perhaps say, Why do I only hear now of all that you have
+suffered? My love, I have longed to tell you of it! I have even taken
+up my pen to begin. But I thought of you, and put it down again. How
+selfish, how cruel, to hinder your recovery by causing you sorrow and
+suspense to bring you back perhaps to England before your health was
+restored! I don’t regret the effort that it has cost me to keep silence.
+My only sorrow in writing to you is, that I must speak of your mother in
+terms which may lower her in her son’s estimation.”
+
+Joseph brought the luncheon up to Carmina’s room.
+
+The mistress was still at her studies; the master had gone to his club.
+As for the girls, their only teacher for the present was the teacher
+of music. When the ordeal of the lecture and the discussion had been
+passed, Mrs. Gallilee threatened to take Miss Minerva’s place herself,
+until a new governess could be found. For once, Maria and Zo showed a
+sisterly similarity in their feelings. It was hard to say which of the
+two looked forward to her learned mother’s instruction with the greatest
+terror.
+
+Carmina heard the pupils at the piano, while she was eating her
+luncheon. The profanation of music ceased, when she went into the
+bedroom to get ready for her daily drive.
+
+She took her letter, duly closed and stamped, downstairs with her--to
+be sent to the post with the other letters of the day, placed in the
+hall-basket. In the weakened state of her nerves, the effort that she
+had made in writing to Ovid had shaken her. Her heart beat uneasily; her
+knees trembled, as she descended the stairs.
+
+Arrived in sight of the hall, she discovered a man walking slowly to and
+fro. He turned towards her as she advanced, and disclosed the detestable
+face of Mr. Le Frank.
+
+The music-master’s last reserves of patience had come to an end. Watch
+for them as he might, no opportunities had presented themselves of
+renewing his investigation in Carmina’s room. In the interval that had
+passed, his hungry suspicion of her had been left to feed on itself.
+The motives for that incomprehensible attempt to make a friend of
+him remained hidden in as thick a darkness as ever. Victim of adverse
+circumstances, he had determined (with the greatest reluctance) to take
+the straightforward course. Instead of secretly getting his information
+from Carmina’s journals and letters, he was now reduced to openly
+applying for enlightenment to Carmina herself.
+
+Occupying, for the time being, the position of an honourable man, he
+presented himself at cruel disadvantage. He was not master of his own
+glorious voice; he was without the self-possession indispensable to the
+perfect performance of his magnificent bow. “I have waited to have a
+word with you,” he began abruptly, “before you go out for your drive.”
+
+Already unnerved, even before she had seen him--painfully conscious that
+she had committed a serious error, on the last occasion when they had
+met, in speaking at all--Carmina neither answered him nor looked at him.
+She bent her head confusedly, and advanced a little nearer to the house
+door.
+
+He at once moved so as to place himself in her way.
+
+“I must request you to call to mind what passed between us,” he resumed,
+“when we met by accident some little time since.”
+
+He had speculated on frightening her. His insolence stirred her spirit
+into asserting itself. “Let me by, if you please,” she said; “the
+carriage is waiting for me.”
+
+“The carriage can wait a little longer,” he answered coarsely. “On the
+occasion to which I have referred, you were so good as to make advances,
+to which I cannot consider myself as having any claim. Perhaps you will
+favour me by stating your motives?”
+
+“I don’t understand you, sir.”
+
+“Oh, yes--you do!”
+
+She stepped back, and laid her hand on the bell which rang below stairs,
+in the pantry. “Must I ring?” she said.
+
+It was plain that she would do it, if he moved a step nearer to her.
+He drew aside--with a look which made her tremble. On passing the hall
+table, she placed her letter in the post-basket. His eye followed it, as
+it left her hand: he became suddenly penitent and polite. “I am sorry if
+I have alarmed you,” he said, and opened the house-door for her--without
+showing himself to Marceline and the coachman outside.
+
+The carriage having been driven away, he softly closed the door again,
+and returned to the hall-table. He looked into the post-basket.
+
+Was there any danger of discovery by the servants? The footman was
+absent, attending his mistress on her way to the lecture. None of the
+female servants were on the stairs. He took up Carmina’s letter, and
+looked at the address: _To Ovid Vere, Esq._
+
+His eyes twinkled furtively; his excellent memory for injuries reminded
+him that Ovid Vere had formerly endeavoured (without even caring
+to conceal it) to prevent Mrs. Gallilee from engaging him as her
+music-master. By subtle links of its own forging, his vindictive nature
+now connected his hatred of the person to whom the letter was addressed,
+with his interest in stealing the letter itself for the possible
+discovery of Carmina’s secrets. The clock told him that there was plenty
+of time to open the envelope, and (if the contents proved to be of no
+importance) to close it again, and take it himself to the post. After
+a last look round, he withdrew undiscovered, with the letter in his
+pocket.
+
+On its way back to the house, the carriage was passed by a cab, with a
+man in it, driven at such a furious rate that there was a narrow escape
+of collision. The maid screamed; Carmina turned pale; the coachman
+wondered why the man in the cab was in such a hurry. The man was Mr.
+Mool’s head clerk, charged with news for Doctor Benjulia.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+The mind of the clerk’s master had been troubled by serious doubts,
+after Carmina left his house on Sunday.
+
+Her agitated manner, her strange questions, and her abrupt
+departure, all suggested to Mr. Mool’s mind some rash project in
+contemplation--perhaps even the plan of an elopement. To most other
+men, the obvious course to take would have been to communicate with Mrs.
+Gallilee. But the lawyer preserved a vivid remembrance of the interview
+which had taken place at his office. The detestable pleasure which Mrs.
+Gallilee had betrayed in profaning the memory of Carmina’s mother, had
+so shocked and disgusted him, that he recoiled from the idea of holding
+any further intercourse with her, no matter how pressing the emergency
+might be. It was possible, after what had passed, that Carmina might
+feel the propriety of making some explanation by letter. He decided to
+wait until the next morning, on the chance of hearing from her.
+
+On the Monday, no letter arrived.
+
+Proceeding to the office, Mr. Mool found, in his
+business-correspondence, enough to occupy every moment of his time. He
+had purposed writing to Carmina, but the idea was now inevitably pressed
+out of his mind. It was only at the close of the day’s work that he had
+leisure to think of a matter of greater importance--that is to say,
+of the necessity of discovering Benjulia’s friend of other days, the
+Italian teacher Baccani. He left instructions with one of his clerks to
+make inquiries, the next morning, at the shops of foreign booksellers.
+There, and there only, the question might be answered, whether Baccani
+was still living, and living in London.
+
+The inquiries proved successful. On Tuesday afternoon, Baccani’s address
+was in Mr. Mool’s hands.
+
+Busy as he still was, the lawyer set aside his own affairs, in deference
+to the sacred duty of defending the memory of the dead, and to the
+pressing necessity of silencing Mrs. Gallilee’s cruel and slanderous
+tongue. Arrived at Baccani’s lodgings, he was informed that the
+language-master had gone to his dinner at a neighbouring restaurant. Mr.
+Mool waited at the lodgings, and sent a note to Baccani. In ten minutes
+more he found himself in the presence of an elderly man, of ascetic
+appearance; whose looks and tones showed him to be apt to take offence
+on small provocation, and more than half ready to suspect an eminent
+solicitor of being a spy.
+
+But Mr. Mool’s experience was equal to the call on it. Having fully
+explained the object that he had in view, he left the apology for his
+intrusion to be inferred, and concluded by appealing, in his own modest
+way, to the sympathy of an honourable man.
+
+Silently forming his opinion of the lawyer, while he listened, Baccani
+expressed the conclusion at which he had arrived, in these terms:
+
+“My experience of mankind, sir, has been a bitterly bad one. You have
+improved my opinion of human nature since you entered this room. That is
+not a little thing to say, at my age and in my circumstances.”
+
+He bowed gravely, and turned to his bed. From under it, he pulled out
+a clumsy tin box. Having opened the rusty lock with some difficulty,
+he produced a ragged pocket-book, and picked out from it a paper which
+looked like an old letter.
+
+“There,” he said, handing the paper to Mr. Mool, “is the statement which
+vindicates this lady’s reputation. Before you open the manuscript I must
+tell you how I came by it.”
+
+He appeared to feel such embarrassment in approaching the subject, that
+Mr. Mool interposed. “I am already acquainted,” he said, “with some of
+the circumstances to which you are about to allude. I happen to know of
+the wager in which the calumny originated, and of the manner in which
+that wager was decided. The events which followed are the only events
+that I need trouble you to describe.”
+
+Baccani’s grateful sense of relief avowed itself without reserve.
+“I feel your kindness,” he said, “almost as keenly as I feel my own
+disgraceful conduct, in permitting a woman’s reputation to be made the
+subject of a wager. From whom did you obtain your information?”
+
+“From the person who mentioned your name to me--Doctor Benjulia.”
+
+Baccani lifted his hand with a gesture of angry protest.
+
+“Don’t speak of him again in my presence!” he burst out. “That man
+has insulted me. When I took refuge from political persecution in this
+country, I sent him my prospectus. From my own humble position as a
+teacher of languages, I looked up without envy to his celebrity among
+doctors; I thought I might remind him, not unfavourably, of our early
+friendship--I, who had done him a hundred kindnesses in those past
+days. He has never taken the slightest notice of me; he has not even
+acknowledged the receipt of my prospectus. Despicable wretch! Let me
+hear no more of him.”
+
+“Pray forgive me if I refer to him again--for the last time,” Mr. Mool
+pleaded. “Did your acquaintance with him continue, after the question of
+the wager had been settled?”
+
+“No, sir!” Baccani answered sternly. “When I was at leisure to go to the
+club at which we were accustomed to meet, he had left Rome. From that
+time to this--I rejoice to say it--I have never set eyes on him.”
+
+The obstacles which had prevented the refutation of the calumny from
+reaching Benjulia were now revealed. Mr. Mool had only to hear, next,
+how that refutation had been obtained. A polite hint sufficed to remind
+Baccani of the explanation that he had promised.
+
+“I am naturally suspicious,” he began abruptly; “and I doubted the woman
+when I found that she kept her veil down. Besides, it was not in my
+way of thinking to believe that an estimable married lady could have
+compromised herself with a scoundrel, who had boasted that she was his
+mistress. I waited in the street, until the woman came out. I followed
+her, and saw her meet a man. The two went together to a theatre. I
+took my place near them. She lifted her veil as a matter of course. My
+suspicion of foul play was instantly confirmed. When the performance was
+over, I traced her back to Mr. Robert Graywell’s house. He and his wife
+were both absent at a party. I was too indignant to wait till they
+came back. Under the threat of charging the wretch with stealing her
+mistress’s clothes, I extorted from her the signed confession which you
+have in your hand. She was under notice to leave her place for insolent
+behaviour. The personation which had been intended to deceive me, was
+an act of revenge; planned between herself and the blackguard who had
+employed her to make his lie look like truth. A more shameless creature
+I never met with. She said to me, ‘I am as tall as my mistress, and
+a better figure; and I’ve often worn her fine clothes on holiday
+occasions.’ In your country Mr. Mool, such women--so I am told--are
+ducked in a pond. There is one thing more to add, before you read the
+confession. Mrs. Robert Graywell did imprudently send the man some
+money--in answer to a begging letter artfully enough written to excite
+her pity. A second application was refused by her husband. What followed
+on that, you know already.”
+
+Having read the confession, Mr. Mool was permitted to take a copy, and
+to make any use of it which he might think desirable. His one remaining
+anxiety was to hear what had become of the person who had planned the
+deception. “Surely,” he said, “that villain has not escaped punishment?”
+
+Baccani answered this in his own bitter way.
+
+“My dear sir, how can you ask such a simple question? That sort of
+man always escapes punishment. In the last extreme of poverty his luck
+provides him with somebody to cheat. Common respect for Mrs. Robert
+Graywell closed my lips; and I was the only person acquainted with
+the circumstances. I wrote to our club declaring the fellow to be a
+cheat--and leaving it to be inferred that he cheated at cards. He
+knew better than to insist on my explaining myself--he resigned, and
+disappeared. I dare say he is living still--living in clover on some
+unfortunate woman. The beautiful and the good die untimely deaths. _He,_
+and his kind, last and live.”
+
+Mr. Mool had neither time nor inclination to plead in favour of the more
+hopeful view, which believes in the agreeable fiction called “Poetical
+justice.” He tried to express his sense of obligation at parting.
+Baccani refused to listen.
+
+“The obligation is all on my side,” he said. “As I have already
+told you, your visit has added a bright day to my calendar. In our
+pilgrimage, my friend, through this world of rogues and fools, we
+may never meet again. Let us remember gratefully that we _have_ met.
+Farewell.”
+
+So they parted.
+
+Returning to his office, Mr. Mool attached to the copy of the confession
+a brief statement of the circumstances under which the Italian had
+become possessed of it. He then added these lines, addressed to
+Benjulia:--_“You_ set the false report afloat. I leave it to your sense
+of duty, to decide whether you ought not to go at once to Mrs. Gallilee,
+and tell her that the slander which you repeated is now proved to be a
+lie. If you don’t agree with me, I must go to Mrs. Gallilee myself. In
+that case please return, by the bearer, the papers which are enclosed.”
+
+The clerk instructed to deliver these documents, within the shortest
+possible space of time, found Mr. Mool waiting at the office, on his
+return. He answered his master’s inquiries by producing Benjulia’s
+reply.
+
+The doctor’s amiable humour was still in the ascendant. His success in
+torturing his unfortunate cook had been followed by the receipt of
+a telegram from his friend at Montreal, containing this satisfactory
+answer to his question:--“Not brain disease.” With his mind now set
+completely at rest, his instincts as a gentleman were at full liberty
+to control him. “I entirely agree with you,” he wrote to Mr. Mool. “I go
+back with your clerk; the cab will drop me at Mrs. Gallilee’s house.”
+
+Mr. Mool turned to the clerk.
+
+“Did you wait to hear if Mrs. Gallilee was at home?” he asked.
+
+“Mrs. Gallilee was absent, sir--attending a lecture.”
+
+“What did Doctor Benjulia do?”
+
+“Went into the house, to wait her return.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee’s page (attending to the house-door, in the footman’s
+absence) had just shown Benjulia into the library, when there was
+another ring at the bell. The new visitor was Mr. Le Frank. He appeared
+to be in a hurry. Without any preliminary questions, he said, “Take my
+card to Mrs. Gallilee.”
+
+“My mistress is out, sir.”
+
+The music-master looked impatiently at the hall-clock. The hall-clock
+answered him by striking the half hour after five.
+
+“Do you expect Mrs. Gallilee back soon?”
+
+“We don’t know, sir. The footman had his orders to be in waiting with
+the carriage, at five.”
+
+After a moment of irritable reflection, Mr. Le Frank took a letter from
+his pocket. “Say that I have an appointment, and am not able to wait.
+Give Mrs. Gallilee that letter the moment she comes in.” With those
+directions he left the house.
+
+The page looked at the letter. It was sealed; and, over the address, two
+underlined words were written:--“Private. Immediate.” Mindful of visits
+from tradespeople, anxious to see his mistress, and provided beforehand
+with letters to be delivered immediately, the boy took a pecuniary view
+of Mr. Le Frank’s errand at the house. “Another of them,” he thought,
+“wanting his money.”
+
+As he placed the letter on the hall-table, the library door opened, and
+Benjulia appeared--weary already of waiting, without occupation, for
+Mrs. Gallilee’s return.
+
+“Is smoking allowed in the library?” he asked.
+
+The page looked up at the giant towering over him, with the envious
+admiration of a short boy. He replied with a discretion beyond his
+years: “Would you please step into the smoking-room, sir?”
+
+“Anybody there?”
+
+“My master, sir.”
+
+Benjulia at once declined the invitation to the smoking-room. “Anybody
+else at home?” he inquired.
+
+Miss Carmina was upstairs--the page answered. “And I think,” he added,
+“Mr. Null is with her.”
+
+“Who’s Mr. Null?”
+
+“The doctor, sir.”
+
+Benjulia declined to disturb the doctor. He tried a third, and last
+question.
+
+“Where’s Zo?”
+
+“Here!” cried a shrill voice from the upper regions. “Who are You?”
+
+To the page’s astonishment, the giant gentleman with the resonant bass
+voice answered this quite gravely. “I’m Benjulia,” he said.
+
+“Come up!” cried Zo.
+
+Benjulia ascended the stairs.
+
+“Stop!” shouted the voice from above.
+
+Benjulia stopped.
+
+“Have you got your big stick?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Bring it up with you.” Benjulia retraced his steps into the hall.
+The page respectfully handed him his stick. Zo became impatient. “Look
+sharp!” she called out.
+
+Benjulia obediently quickened his pace. Zo left the schoolroom (in spite
+of the faintly-heard protest of the maid in charge) to receive him
+on the stairs. They met on the landing, outside Carmina’s room. Zo
+possessed herself of the bamboo cane, and led the way in. “Carmina!
+here’s the big stick, I told you about,” she announced.
+
+“Whose stick, dear?”
+
+Zo returned to the landing. “Come in, Benjulia,” she said--and seized
+him by the coat-tails. Mr. Null rose instinctively. Was this his
+celebrated colleague?
+
+With some reluctance, Carmina appeared at the door; thinking of the
+day when Ovid had fainted, and when the great man had treated her so
+harshly. In fear of more rudeness, she unwillingly asked him to come in.
+
+Still immovable on the landing, he looked at her in silence.
+
+The serious question occurred to him which had formerly presented itself
+to Mr. Mool. Had Mrs. Gallilee repeated, in Carmina’s presence, the lie
+which slandered her mother’s memory--the lie which he was then in the
+house to expose?
+
+Watching Benjulia respectfully, Mr. Null saw, in that grave scrutiny, an
+opportunity of presenting himself under a favourable light. He waved his
+hand persuasively towards Carmina. “Some nervous prostration, sir, in
+my interesting patient, as you no doubt perceive,” he began. “Not such
+rapid progress towards recovery as I had hoped. I think of recommending
+the air of the seaside.” Benjulia’s dreary eyes turned on him slowly,
+and estimated his mental calibre at its exact value, in a moment. Mr.
+Null felt that look in the very marrow of his bones. He bowed with
+servile submission, and took his leave.
+
+In the meantime, Benjulia had satisfied himself that the embarrassment
+in Carmina’s manner was merely attributable to shyness. She was now no
+longer an object even of momentary interest to him. He was ready to
+play with Zo--but not on condition of amusing himself with the child, in
+Carmina’s presence. “I am waiting till Mrs. Gallilee returns,” he said
+to her in his quietly indifferent way. “If you will excuse me, I’ll go
+downstairs again; I won’t intrude.”
+
+Her pale face flushed as she listened to him. Innocently supposing that
+she had made her little offer of hospitality in too cold a manner, she
+looked at Benjulia with a timid and troubled smile. “Pray wait here
+till my aunt comes back,” she said. “Zo will amuse you, I’m sure.” Zo
+seconded the invitation by hiding the stick, and laying hold again on
+her big friend’s coattails.
+
+He let the child drag him into the room, without noticing her. The
+silent questioning of his eyes had been again directed to Carmina, at
+the moment when she smiled.
+
+His long and terrible experience made its own merciless discoveries,
+in the nervous movement of her eyelids and her lips. The poor girl,
+pleasing herself with the idea of having produced the right impression
+on him at last, had only succeeded in becoming an object of medical
+inquiry, pursued in secret. When he companionably took a chair by her
+side, and let Zo climb on his knee, he was privately regretting his cold
+reception of Mr. Null. Under certain conditions of nervous excitement,
+Carmina might furnish an interesting case. “If I had been commonly
+civil to that fawning idiot,” he thought, “I might have been called into
+consultation.”
+
+They were all three seated--but there was no talk. Zo set the example.
+
+“You haven’t tickled me yet,” she said. “Show Carmina how you do it.”
+
+He gravely operated on the back of Zo’s neck; and his patient
+acknowledged the process with a wriggle and a scream. The performance
+being so far at an end, Zo called to the dog, and issued her orders once
+more.
+
+“Now make Tinker kick his leg!”
+
+Benjulia obeyed once again. The young tyrant was not satisfied yet.
+
+“Now tickle Carmina!” she said.
+
+He heard this without laughing: his fleshless lips never relaxed into
+a smile. To Carmina’s unutterable embarrassment, he looked at her, when
+she laughed, with steadier attention than ever. Those coldly-inquiring
+eyes exercised some inscrutable influence over her. Now they made her
+angry; and now they frightened her. The silence that had fallen on them
+again, became an unendurable infliction. She burst into talk; she was
+loud and familiar--ashamed of her own boldness, and quite unable to
+control it. “You are very fond of Zo!” she said suddenly.
+
+It was a perfectly commonplace remark--and yet, it seemed to perplex
+him.
+
+“Am I?” he answered.
+
+She went on. Against her own will, she persisted in speaking to him.
+“And I’m sure Zo is fond of you.”
+
+He looked at Zo. “Are you fond of me?” he asked.
+
+Zo, staring hard at him, got off his knee; retired to a little distance
+to think; and stood staring at him again.
+
+He quietly repeated the question. Zo answered this time--as she had
+formerly answered Teresa in the Gardens. “I don’t know.”
+
+He turned again to Carmina, in a slow, puzzled way. “I don’t know
+either,” he said.
+
+Hearing the big man own that he was no wiser than herself, Zo returned
+to him--without, however, getting on his knee again. She clasped
+her chubby hands under the inspiration of a new idea. “Let’s play at
+something,” she said to Benjulia. “Do you know any games?”
+
+He shook his head.
+
+“Didn’t you know any games, when you were only as big as me?”
+
+“I have forgotten them.”
+
+“Haven’t you got children?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Haven’t you got a wife?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Haven’t you got a friend?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Well, you _are_ a miserable chap!”
+
+Thanks to Zo, Carmina’s sense of nervous oppression burst its way
+into relief. She laughed loudly and wildly--she was on the verge
+of hysterics, when Benjulia’s eyes, silently questioning her again,
+controlled her at the critical moment. Her laughter died away. But the
+exciting influence still possessed her; still forced her into the other
+alternative of saying something--she neither knew nor cared what.
+
+“I couldn’t live such a lonely life as yours,” she said to him--so
+loudly and so confidently that even Zo noticed it.
+
+“I couldn’t live such a life either,” he admitted, “but for one thing.”
+
+“And what is that?”
+
+“Why are you so loud?” Zo interposed. “Do you think he’s deaf?”
+
+Benjulia made a sign, commanding the child to be silent--without turning
+towards her. He answered Carmina as if there had been no interruption.
+
+“My medical studies,” he said, “reconcile me to my life.”
+
+“Suppose you got tired of your studies?” she asked.
+
+“I should never get tired of them.”
+
+“Suppose you couldn’t study any more?”
+
+“In that case I shouldn’t live any more.”
+
+“Do you mean that it would kill you to leave off?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Then what do you mean?”
+
+He laid his great soft fingers on her pulse. She shrank from his touch;
+he deliberately held her by the arm. “You’re getting excited,” he said.
+“Never mind what I mean.”
+
+Zo, left unnoticed and not liking it, saw a chance of asserting herself.
+“I know why Carmina’s excited,” she said. “The old woman’s coming at six
+o’clock.”
+
+He paid no attention to the child; he persisted in keeping watch on
+Carmina. “Who is the woman?” he asked.
+
+“The most lovable woman in the world,” she cried; “my dear old nurse!”
+ She started up from the sofa, and pointed with theatrical exaggeration
+of gesture to the clock on the mantelpiece. “Look! it’s only ten minutes
+to six. In ten minutes, I shall have my arms round Teresa’s neck.
+Don’t look at me in that way! It’s your fault if I’m excited. It’s your
+dreadful eyes that do it. Come here, Zo! I want to give you a kiss.” She
+seized on Zo with a roughness that startled the child, and looked wildly
+at Benjulia. “Ha! you don’t understand loving and kissing, do you?
+What’s the use of speaking to _you_ about my old nurse?”
+
+He pointed imperatively to the sofa. “Sit down again.”
+
+She obeyed him--but he had not quite composed her yet. Her eyes
+sparkled; she went on talking. “Ah, you’re a hard man! a miserable man!
+a man that will end badly! You never loved anybody. You don’t know what
+love is.”
+
+“What is it?”
+
+That icy question cooled her in an instant: her head sank on her bosom:
+she suddenly became indifferent to persons and things about her. “When
+will Teresa come?” she whispered to herself. “Oh, when will Teresa
+come!”
+
+Any other man, whether he really felt for her or not, would, as a mere
+matter of instinct, have said a kind word to her at that moment. Not the
+vestige of a change appeared in Benjulia’s impenetrable composure. She
+might have been a man--or a baby--or the picture of a girl instead of
+the girl herself, so far as he was concerned. He quietly returned to his
+question.
+
+“Well,” he resumed--“and what is love?”
+
+Not a word, not a movement escaped her.
+
+“I want to know,” he persisted, waiting for what might happen.
+
+Nothing happened. He was not perplexed by the sudden change. “This is
+the reaction,” he thought. “We shall see what comes of it.” He looked
+about him. A bottle of water stood on one of the tables. “Likely to be
+useful,” he concluded, “in case she feels faint.”
+
+Zo had been listening; Zo saw her way to getting noticed again. Not
+quite sure of herself this time, she appealed to Carmina. “Didn’t he
+say, just now, he wanted to know?”
+
+Carmina neither heard nor heeded her. Zo tried Benjulia next. “Shall
+I tell you what we do in the schoolroom, when we want to know?” His
+attention, like Carmina’s attention, seemed to be far away from her. Zo
+impatiently reminded him of her presence--she laid her hand on his knee.
+
+It was only the hand of a child--an idle, quaint, perverse child--but
+it touched, ignorantly touched, the one tender place in his nature,
+unprofaned by the infernal cruelties which made his life acceptable to
+him; the one tender place, hidden so deep from the man himself, that
+even his far-reaching intellect groped in vain to find it out.
+There, nevertheless, was the feeling which drew him to Zo, contending
+successfully with his medical interest in a case of nervous derangement.
+That unintelligible sympathy with a child looked dimly out of his eyes,
+spoke faintly in his voice, when he replied to her. “Well,” he said,
+“what do you do in the schoolroom?”
+
+“We look in the dictionary,” Zo answered. “Carmina’s got a dictionary.
+I’ll get it.”
+
+She climbed on a chair, and found the book, and laid it on Benjulia’s
+lap. “I don’t so much mind trying to spell a word,” she explained. “What
+I hate is being asked what it means. Miss Minerva won’t let me off. She
+says, Look. _I_ won’t let _you_ off. I’m Miss Minerva and you’re Zo.
+Look!”
+
+He humoured her silently and mechanically--just as he had humoured her
+in the matter of the stick, and in the matter of the tickling. Having
+opened the dictionary, he looked again at Carmina. She had not moved;
+she seemed to be weary enough to fall asleep. The reaction--nothing
+but the reaction. It might last for hours, or it might be at an end in
+another minute. An interesting temperament, whichever way it ended. He
+opened the dictionary.
+
+“Love?” he muttered grimly to himself. “It seems I’m an object of
+compassion, because I know nothing about love. Well, what does the book
+say about it?”
+
+He found the word, and ran his finger down the paragraphs of explanation
+which followed. “Seven meanings to Love,” he remarked. “First: An
+affection of the mind excited by beauty and worth of any kind, or by the
+qualities of an object which communicate pleasure. Second: Courtship.
+Third: Patriotism, as the love of country. Fourth: Benevolence. Fifth:
+The object beloved. Sixth: A word of endearment. Seventh: Cupid, the god
+of love.”
+
+He paused, and reflected a little. Zo, hearing nothing to amuse her,
+strayed away to the window, and looked out. He glanced at Carmina.
+
+“Which of those meanings makes the pleasure of her life?” he wondered.
+“Which of them might have made the pleasure of mine?” He closed the
+dictionary in contempt. “The very man whose business is to explain it,
+tries seven different ways, and doesn’t explain it after all. And yet,
+there is such a thing.” He reached that conclusion unwillingly and
+angrily. For the first time, a doubt about himself forced its way into
+his mind. Might he have looked higher than his torture-table and his
+knife? Had he gained from his life all that his life might have given to
+him?
+
+Left by herself, Zo began to grow tired of it. She tried to get Carmina
+for a companion. “Come and look out of window,” she said.
+
+Carmina gently refused: she was unwilling to be disturbed. Since she had
+spoken to Benjulia, her thoughts had been dwelling restfully on Ovid. In
+another day she might be on her way to him. When would Teresa come?
+
+Benjulia was too preoccupied to notice her. The weak doubt that had got
+the better of his strong reason, still held him in thrall. “Love!”
+ he broke out, in the bitterness of his heart. “It isn’t a question of
+sentiment: it’s a question of use. Who is the better for love?”
+
+She heard the last words, and answered him. “Everybody is the better
+for it.” She looked at him with sorrowful eyes, and laid her hand on his
+arm. “Everybody,” she added, “but you.”
+
+He smiled scornfully. “Everybody is the better for it,” he repeated.
+“And who knows what it is?”
+
+She drew away her hand, and looked towards the heavenly tranquillity of
+the evening sky.
+
+“Who knows what it is?” he reiterated.
+
+“God,” she said.
+
+Benjulia was silent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV.
+
+The clock on the mantelpiece struck six. Zo, turning suddenly from the
+window, ran to the sofa. “Here’s the carriage!” she cried.
+
+“Teresa!” Carmina exclaimed.
+
+Zo crossed the room, on tiptoe, to the door of the bed-chamber. “It’s
+mamma,” she said. “Don’t tell! I’m going to hide.”
+
+“Why, dear?”
+
+The answer to this was given mysteriously in a whisper. “She said I
+wasn’t to come to you. She’s a quick one on her legs--she might catch me
+on the stairs.” With that explanation, Zo slipped into the bedroom, and
+held the door ajar.
+
+The minutes passed--and Mrs. Gallilee failed to justify the opinion
+expressed by her daughter. Not a sound was audible on the stairs. Not a
+word more was uttered in the room. Benjulia had taken the child’s place
+at the window. He sat there thinking. Carmina had suggested to him some
+new ideas, relating to the intricate connection between human faith
+and human happiness. Slowly, slowly, the clock recorded the lapse of
+minutes. Carmina’s nervous anxiety began to forecast disaster to the
+absent nurse. She took Teresa’s telegram from her pocket, and consulted
+it again. There was no mistake; six o’clock was the time named for the
+traveller’s arrival--and it was close on ten minutes past the hour.
+In her ignorance of railway arrangements, she took it for granted that
+trains were punctual. But her reading had told her that trains were
+subject to accident. “I suppose delays occur,” she said to Benjulia,
+“without danger to the passengers?”
+
+Before he could answer--Mrs. Gallilee suddenly entered the room.
+
+She had opened the door so softly, that she took them both by surprise.
+To Carmina’s excited imagination, she glided into their presence like
+a ghost. Her look and manner showed serious agitation, desperately
+suppressed. In certain places, the paint and powder on her face had
+cracked, and revealed the furrows and wrinkles beneath. Her hard eyes
+glittered; her laboured breathing was audible.
+
+Indifferent to all demonstrations of emotion which did not
+scientifically concern him, Benjulia quietly rose and advanced towards
+her. She seemed to be unconscious of his presence. He spoke--allowing
+her to ignore him without troubling himself to notice her temper. “When
+you are able to attend to me, I want to speak to you. Shall I wait
+downstairs?” He took his hat and stick--to leave the room; looked at
+Carmina as he passed her; and at once went back to his place at the
+window. Her aunt’s silent and sinister entrance had frightened her.
+Benjulia waited, in the interests of physiology, to see how the new
+nervous excitement would end.
+
+Thus far, Mrs. Gallilee had kept one of her hands hidden behind her. She
+advanced close to Carmina, and allowed her hand to be seen. It held an
+open letter. She shook the letter in her niece’s face.
+
+In the position which Mrs. Gallilee now occupied, Carmina was hidden,
+for the moment, from Benjulia’s view. Biding his time at the window, he
+looked out.
+
+A cab, with luggage on it, had just drawn up at the house.
+
+Was this the old nurse who had been expected to arrive at six o’clock?
+
+The footman came out to open the cab-door. He was followed by Mr.
+Gallilee, eager to help the person inside to alight. The traveller
+proved to be a grey-headed woman, shabbily dressed. Mr. Gallilee
+cordially shook hands with her--patted her on the shoulder--gave her his
+arm--led her into the house. The cab with the luggage on it remained
+at the door. The nurse had evidently not reached the end of her journey
+yet.
+
+Carmina shrank back on the sofa, when the leaves of the letter touched
+her face. Mrs. Gallilee’s first words were now spoken, in a whisper. The
+inner fury of her anger, struggling for a vent, began to get the better
+of her--she gasped for breath and speech.
+
+“Do you know this letter?” she said.
+
+Carmina looked at the writing. It was the letter to Ovid, which she had
+placed in the post-basket that afternoon; the letter which declared that
+she could no longer endure his mother’s cold-blooded cruelty, and that
+she only waited Teresa’s arrival to join him at Quebec.
+
+After one dreadful moment of confusion, her mind realised the outrage
+implied in the stealing and reading of her letter.
+
+In the earlier time of Carmina’s sojourn in the house, Mrs. Gallilee had
+accused her of deliberate deceit. She had instantly resented the insult
+by leaving the room. The same spirit in her--the finely-strung
+spirit that vibrates unfelt in gentle natures, while they live in
+peace--steadied those quivering nerves, roused that failing courage. She
+met the furious eyes fixed on her, without shrinking; she spoke gravely
+and firmly. “The letter is mine,” she said. “How did you come by it?”
+
+“How dare you ask me?”
+
+“How dare _you_ steal my letter?”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee tore open the fastening of her dress at the throat, to get
+breath. “You impudent bastard!” she burst out, in a frenzy of rage.
+
+Waiting patiently at the window, Benjulia heard her. “Hold your damned
+tongue!” he cried. “She’s your niece.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee turned on him: her fury broke into a screaming laugh. “My
+niece?” she repeated. “You lie--and you know it! She’s the child of an
+adulteress! She’s the child of her mother’s lover!”
+
+The door opened as those horrible words passed her lips. The nurse and
+her husband entered the room.
+
+She was in no position to see them: she was incapable of hearing them.
+The demon in her urged her on: she attempted to reiterate the detestable
+falsehood. Her first word died away in silence. The lean brown fingers
+of the Italian woman had her by the throat--held her as the claws of
+a tigress might have held her. Her eyes rolled in the mute agony of an
+appeal for help. In vain! in vain! Not a cry, not a sound, had drawn
+attention to the attack. Her husband’s eyes were fixed, horror-struck,
+on the victim of her rage. Benjulia had crossed the room to the sofa,
+when Carmina heard the words spoken of her mother. From that moment, he
+was watching the case. Mr. Gallilee alone looked round--when the nurse
+tightened her hold in a last merciless grasp; dashed the insensible
+woman on the floor; and, turning back, fell on her knees at her
+darling’s feet.
+
+She looked up in Carmina’s face.
+
+A ghastly stare, through half-closed eyes, showed death in life, blankly
+returning her look. The shock had struck Carmina with a stony calm. She
+had not started, she had not swooned. Rigid, immovable, there she sat;
+voiceless and tearless; insensible even to touch; her arms hanging down;
+her clenched hands resting on either side of her.
+
+Teresa grovelled and groaned at her feet. Those ferocious hands that had
+laid the slanderer prostrate on the floor, feebly beat her bosom and
+her gray head. “Oh, Saints beloved of God! Oh, blessed Virgin, mother of
+Christ, spare my child, my sweet child!” She rose in wild despair--she
+seized Benjulia, and madly shook him. “Who are you? How dare you touch
+her? Give her to me, or I’ll be the death of you. Oh, my Carmina, is it
+sleep that holds you? Wake! wake! wake!”
+
+“Listen to me,” said Benjulia, sternly.
+
+She dropped on the sofa by Carmina’s side, and lifted one of the cold
+clenched hands to her lips. The tears fell slowly over her haggard face.
+“I am very fond of her, sir,” she said humbly. “I’m only an old woman.
+See what a dreadful welcome my child gives to me. It’s hard on an old
+woman--hard on an old woman!”
+
+His self-possession was not disturbed--even by this.
+
+“Do you know what I am?” he asked. “I am a doctor. Leave her to me.”
+
+“He’s a doctor. That’s good. A doctor’s good. Yes, yes. Does the old
+man know this doctor--the kind old man?” She looked vacantly for Mr.
+Gallilee. He was bending over his wife, sprinkling water on her deathly
+face.
+
+Teresa got on her feet, and pointed to Mrs. Gallilee. “The breath of
+that She-Devil poisons the air,” she said. “I must take my child out of
+it. To my place, sir, if you please. Only to my place.”
+
+She attempted to lift Carmina from the sofa--and drew back, breathlessly
+watching her. Her rigid face faintly relaxed; her eyelids closed, and
+quivered.
+
+Mr. Gallilee looked up from his wife. “Will one of you help me?” he
+asked. His tone struck Benjulia. It was the hushed tone of sorrow--no
+more.
+
+“I’ll see to it directly.” With that reply, Benjulia turned to Teresa.
+“Where is your place?” he said. “Far or near?”
+
+“The message,” she answered confusedly. “The message says.” She signed
+to him to look in her hand-bag--dropped on the floor.
+
+He found Carmina’s telegram, containing the address of the lodgings. The
+house was close by. After some consideration, he sent the nurse into the
+bedroom, with instructions to bring him the blankets off the bed. In the
+minute that followed, he examined Mrs. Gallilee. “There’s nothing to be
+frightened about. Let her maid attend to her.”
+
+Mr. Gallilee again surprised Benjulia. He turned from his wife, and
+looked at Carmina. “For God’s sake, don’t leave her here!” he broke out.
+“After what she has heard, this house is no place for her. Give her to
+the old nurse!”
+
+Benjulia only answered, as he had answered already--“I’ll see to it.”
+ Mr. Gallilee persisted. “Is there any risk in moving her?” he asked.
+
+“It’s the least of two risks. No more questions! Look to your wife.”
+
+Mr. Gallilee obeyed in silence.
+
+When he lifted his head again, and rose to ring the bell for the maid,
+the room was silent and lonely. A little pale frightened face peeped out
+through the bedroom door. Zo ventured in. Her father caught her in his
+arms, and kissed her as he had never kissed her yet. His eyes were wet
+with tears. Zo noticed that he never said a word about mamma. The child
+saw the change in her father, as Benjulia had seen it. She shared one
+human feeling with her big friend--she, too, was surprised.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI.
+
+THE first signs of reviving life had begun to appear, when Marceline
+answered the bell. In a few minutes more, it was possible to raise
+Mrs. Gallilee and to place her on the sofa. Having so far assisted the
+servant, Mr. Gallilee took Zo by the hand, and drew back. Daunted by the
+terrible scene which she had witnessed from her hiding-place, the child
+stood by her father’s side in silence. The two waited together, watching
+Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+She looked wildly round the room. Discovering that she was alone
+with the members of her family, she became composed: her mind slowly
+recovered its balance. Her first thought was for herself.
+
+“Has that woman disfigured me?” she said to the maid.
+
+Knowing nothing of what had happened, Marceline was at a loss to
+understand her. “Bring me a glass,” she said. The maid found a
+hand-glass in the bedroom, and presented it to her. She looked at
+herself--and drew a long breath of relief. That first anxiety at an end,
+she spoke to her husband.
+
+“Where is Carmina?”
+
+“Out of the house--thank God!”
+
+The answer seemed to bewilder her: she appealed to Marceline.
+
+“Did he say, thank God?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am.”
+
+“Can _you_ tell me nothing? Who knows where Carmina has gone?”
+
+“Joseph knows, ma’am. He heard Dr. Benjulia give the address to the
+cabman.” With that answer, she turned anxiously to her master. “Is Miss
+Carmina seriously ill, sir?”
+
+Her mistress spoke again, before Mr. Gallilee could reply. “Marceline!
+send Joseph up here.”
+
+“No,” said Mr. Gallilee.
+
+His wife eyed him with astonishment. “Why not?” she asked.
+
+He said quietly, “I forbid it.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee addressed herself to the maid. “Go to my room, and bring
+me another bonnet and a veil. Stop!” She tried to rise, and sank back.
+“I must have something to strengthen me. Get the sal volatile.”
+
+Marceline left the room. Mr. Gallilee followed her as far as the
+door--still leading his little daughter.
+
+“Go back, my dear, to your sister in the schoolroom,” he said. “I am
+distressed, Zo; be a good girl, and you will console me. Say the same to
+Maria. It will be dull for you, I am afraid. Be patient, my child, and
+try to bear it for a while.”
+
+“May I whisper something?” said Zo. “Will Carmina die?”
+
+“God forbid!”
+
+“Will they bring her back here?”
+
+In her eagerness, the child spoke above a whisper. Mrs. Gallilee heard
+the question, and answered it.
+
+“They will bring Carmina back,” she said, “the moment I can get out.”
+
+Zo looked at her father. “Do _you_ say that?” she asked.
+
+He shook his head gravely, and told her again to go to the schoolroom.
+On the first landing she stopped, and looked back. “I’ll be good, papa,”
+ she said--and went on up the stairs.
+
+Having reached the schoolroom, she became the object of many
+questions--not one of which she answered. Followed by the dog, she sat
+down in a corner. “What are you thinking about?” her sister inquired.
+This time she was willing to reply. “I’m thinking about Carmina.”
+
+Mr. Gallilee closed the door when Zo left him. He took a chair, without
+speaking to his wife or looking at her.
+
+“What are you here for?” she asked.
+
+“I must wait,” he said.
+
+“What for?”
+
+“To see what you do.”
+
+Marceline returned, and administered a dose of sal volatile.
+Strengthened by the stimulant, Mrs. Gallilee was able to rise. “My head
+is giddy,” she said, as she took the maid’s arm; “but I think I can get
+downstairs with your help.”
+
+Mr. Gallilee silently followed them out.
+
+At the head of the stairs the giddiness increased. Firm as her
+resolution might be, it gave way before the bodily injury which Mrs.
+Gallilee had received. Her husband’s help was again needed to take her
+to her bedroom. She stopped them at the ante-chamber; still obstinately
+bent on following her own designs. “I shall be better directly,” she
+said; “put me on the sofa.” Marceline relieved her of her bonnet and
+veil, and asked respectfully if there was any other service required.
+She looked defiantly at her husband, and reiterated the order--“Send for
+Joseph.” Intelligent resolution is sometimes shaken; the inert obstinacy
+of a weak creature, man or animal, is immovable. Mr. Gallilee dismissed
+the maid with these words: “You needn’t wait, my good girl--I’ll speak
+to Joseph myself, downstairs.”
+
+His wife heard him with amazement and contempt. “Are you in your right
+senses?” she asked.
+
+He paused on his way out. “You were always hard and headstrong,” he
+said sadly; “I knew that. A cleverer man than I am might--I suppose it’s
+possible--a clear-headed man might have found out how wicked you are.”
+ She lay, thinking; indifferent to anything he could say to her. “Are you
+not ashamed?” he asked wonderingly. “And not even sorry?” She paid no
+heed to him. He left her.
+
+Descending to the hall, he was met by Joseph. “Doctor Benjulia has come
+back, sir. He wishes to see you.”
+
+“Where is he?”
+
+“In the library.”
+
+“Wait, Joseph; I have something to say to you. If your mistress asks
+where they have taken Miss Carmina, you mustn’t--this is my order,
+Joseph--you mustn’t tell her. If you have mentioned it to any of the
+other servants--it’s quite likely they may have asked you, isn’t it?” he
+said, falling into his old habit for a moment. “If you have mentioned
+it to the others,” he resumed, _“they_ mustn’t tell her. That’s all, my
+good man; that’s all.”
+
+To his own surprise, Joseph found himself regarding his master with a
+feeling of respect. Mr. Gallilee entered the library.
+
+“How is she?” he asked, eager for news of Carmina.
+
+“The worse for being moved,” Benjulia replied. “What about your wife?”
+
+Answering that question, Mr. Gallilee mentioned the precautions that he
+had taken to keep the secret of Teresa’s address.
+
+“You need be under no anxiety about that,” said Benjulia. “I have left
+orders that Mrs. Gallilee is not to be admitted. There is a serious
+necessity for keeping her out. In these cases of partial catalepsy,
+there is no saying when the change may come. When it does come, I won’t
+answer for her niece’s reason, if those two see each other again. Send
+for you own medical man. The girl is his patient, and he is the person
+on whom the responsibility rests. Let the servant take my card to him
+directly. We can meet in consultation at the house.”
+
+He wrote a line on one of his visiting cards. It was at once sent to Mr.
+Null.
+
+“There’s another matter to be settled before I go,” Benjulia proceeded.
+“Here are some papers, which I have received from your lawyer, Mr. Moot.
+They relate to a slander, which your wife unfortunately repeated--”
+
+Mr. Gallilee got up from his chair. “Don’t take my mind back to
+that--pray don’t!” he pleaded earnestly. “I can’t bear it, Doctor
+Benjulia--I can’t bear it! Please to excuse my rudeness: it isn’t
+intentional--I don’t know myself what’s the matter with me. I’ve always
+led a quiet life, sir; I’m not fit for such things as these. Don’t
+suppose I speak selfishly. I’ll do what I can, if you will kindly spare
+me.”
+
+He might as well have appealed to the sympathy of the table at which
+they were sitting. Benjulia was absolutely incapable of understanding
+the state of mind which those words revealed.
+
+“Can you take these papers to your wife?” he asked. “I called here this
+evening--being the person to blame--to set the matter right. As it is,
+I leave her to make the discovery for herself. I desire to hold no more
+communication with your wife. Have you anything to say to me before I
+go?”
+
+“Only one thing. Is there any harm in my calling at the house, to ask
+how poor Carmina goes on?”
+
+“Ask as often as you like--provided Mrs. Gallilee doesn’t accompany
+you. If she’s obstinate, it may not be amiss to give your wife a word of
+warning. In my opinion, the old nurse is not likely to let her off, next
+time, with her life. I’ve had a little talk with that curious foreign
+savage. I said, ‘You have committed, what we consider in England, a
+murderous assault. If Mrs. Gallilee doesn’t mind the public exposure,
+you may find yourself in a prison.’ She snapped her fingers in my face.
+‘Suppose I find myself with the hangman’s rope round my neck,’ she said,
+‘what do I care, so long as Carmina is safe from her aunt?’ After
+that pretty answer, she sat down by her girl’s bedside, and burst out
+crying.”
+
+Mr. Gallilee listened absently: his mind still dwelt on Carmina.
+
+“I meant well,” he said, “when I asked you to take her out of this
+house. It’s no wonder if _I_ was wrong. What I am too stupid to
+understand is--why _you_ allowed her to be moved.”
+
+Benjulia listened with a grim smile; Mr. Gallilee’s presumption amused
+him.
+
+“I wonder whether there was any room left for memory, when nature
+furnished your narrow little head,” he answered pleasantly. “Didn’t
+I say that moving her was the least of two risks? And haven’t I just
+warned you of what might have happened, if we had left your wife and her
+niece together in the same house? When I do a thing at my time of life,
+Mr. Gallilee--don’t think me conceited--I know why I do it.”
+
+While he was speaking of himself in these terms, he might have said
+something more. He might have added, that his dread of the loss of
+Carmina’s reason really meant his dread of a commonplace termination to
+an exceptionally interesting case. He might also have acknowledged, that
+he was not yielding obedience to the rules of professional etiquette,
+in confiding the patient to her regular medical attendant, but following
+the selfish suggestions of his own critical judgment.
+
+His experience, brief as it had been, had satisfied him that stupid Mr.
+Null’s course of action could be trusted to let the instructive progress
+of the malady proceed. Mr. Null would treat the symptoms in perfect
+good faith--without a suspicion of the nervous hysteria which, in such a
+constitution as Carmina’s, threatened to establish itself, in course
+of time, as the hidden cause. These motives--not only excused, but even
+ennobled, by their scientific connection with the interests of Medical
+Research--he might have avowed, under more favourable circumstances.
+While his grand discovery was still barely within reach, Doctor Benjulia
+stood committed to a system of diplomatic reserve, which even included
+simple Mr. Gallilee.
+
+He took his hat and stick, and walked out into the hall. “Can I be of
+further use?” he asked carelessly. “You will hear about the patient from
+Mr. Null.”
+
+“You won’t desert Carmina?” said Mr. Gallilee. “You will see her
+yourself, from time to time--won’t you?”
+
+“Don’t be afraid; I’ll look after her.” He spoke sincerely in saying
+this. Carmina’s case had already suggested new ideas. Even the civilised
+savage of modern physiology (where his own interests are concerned) is
+not absolutely insensible to a feeling of gratitude.
+
+Mr. Gallilee opened the door for him.
+
+“By the-bye,” he added, as he stepped out, “what’s become of Zo?”
+
+“She’s upstairs, in the schoolroom.”
+
+He made one of his dreary jokes. “Tell her, when she wants to be tickled
+again, to let me know. Good-evening!”
+
+Mr. Gallilee returned to the upper part of the house, with the papers
+left by Benjulia in his hand. Arriving at the dressing-room door, he
+hesitated. The papers were enclosed in a sealed envelope, addressed
+to his wife. Secured in this way from inquisitive eyes, there was no
+necessity for personally presenting them. He went on to the schoolroom,
+and beckoned to the parlour-maid to come out, and speak to him.
+
+Having instructed her to deliver the papers--telling her mistress that
+they had been left at the house by Doctor Benjulia--he dismissed the
+woman from duty. “You needn’t return,” he said; “I’ll look after the
+children myself.”
+
+Maria was busy with her book; and even idle Zo was employed!
+
+She was writing at her own inky desk; and she looked up in confusion,
+when her father appeared. Unsuspicious Mr. Gallilee took if for granted
+that his favourite daughter was employed on a writing lesson--following
+Maria’s industrious example for once. “Good children!” he said, looking
+affectionately from one to the other. “I won’t disturb you; go on.” He
+took a chair, satisfied--comforted, even--to be in the same room with
+the girls.
+
+If he had placed himself nearer to the desk, he might have seen that Zo
+had been thinking of Carmina to some purpose.
+
+What could she do to make her friend and playfellow well and happy
+again? There was the question which Zo asked herself, after having seen
+Carmina carried insensible out of the room.
+
+Possessed of that wonderful capacity for minute observation of the
+elder persons about them, which is one among the many baffling mysteries
+presented by the minds of children, Zo had long since discovered that
+the member of the household, preferred to all others by Carmina, was the
+good brother who had gone away and left them. In his absence, she was
+always talking of him--and Zo had seen her kiss his photograph before
+she put it back in the case.
+
+Dwelling on these recollections, the child’s slowly-working mental
+process arrived more easily than usual at the right conclusion. The way
+to make Carmina well and happy again, was to bring Ovid back. One of the
+two envelopes which he had directed for her still remained--waiting for
+the letter which might say to him, “Come home!”
+
+Zo determined to write that letter--and to do it at once.
+
+She might have confided this design to her father (the one person
+besides Carmina who neither scolded her nor laughed at her) if Mr.
+Gallilee had distinguished himself by his masterful position in the
+house. But she had seen him, as everybody else had seen him, “afraid
+of mamma.” The doubt whether he might not “tell mamma,” decided her on
+keeping her secret. As the event proved, the one person who informed
+Ovid of the terrible necessity that existed for his return, was the
+little sister whom it had been his last kind effort to console when he
+left England.
+
+When Mr. Gallilee entered the room, Zo had just reached the end of
+her letter. Her system of composition excluded capitals and stops; and
+reduced all the words in the English language, by a simple process of
+abridgment, to words of one syllable.
+
+
+_“dear ov you come back car is ill she wants you be quick be quick don’t
+say I writ this miss min is gone I hate books I like you zo.”_
+
+
+With the pen still in her hand, the wary writer looked round at her
+father. She had her directed envelope (sadly crumpled) in her pocket;
+but she was afraid to take it out. “Maria,” she thought, “would know
+what to do in my place. Horrid Maria!”
+
+Fortune, using the affairs of the household as an instrument, befriended
+Zo. In a minute more her opportunity arrived. The parlour-maid
+unexpectedly returned. She addressed Mr. Gallilee with the air
+of mystery in which English servants, in possession of a message,
+especially delight. “If you please, sir, Joseph wishes to speak to you.”
+
+“Where is he?”
+
+“Outside, sir.”
+
+“Tell him to come in.”
+
+Thanks to the etiquette of the servants’ hall--which did not permit
+Joseph to present himself, voluntarily, in the regions above
+the drawing-room, without being first represented by an
+ambassadress--attention was now diverted from the children. Zo folded
+her letter, enclosed it in the envelope, and hid it in her pocket.
+
+Joseph appeared. “I beg your pardon, sir, I don’t quite know whether I
+ought to disturb my mistress. Mr. Le Frank has called, and asked if he
+can see her.”
+
+Mr. Gallilee consulted the parlour-maid. “Was your mistress asleep when
+I sent you to her?”
+
+“No, sir. She told me to bring her a cup of tea.”
+
+On those rare former occasions, when Mrs. Gallilee had been ill, her
+attentive husband never left it to the servants to consult her wishes.
+That time had gone by for ever.
+
+“Tell your mistress, Joseph, that Mr. Le Frank is here.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII.
+
+The slander on which Mrs. Gallilee had reckoned, as a means of
+separating Ovid and Carmina, was now a slander refuted by unanswerable
+proof. And the man whose exertions had achieved this result, was her
+own lawyer--the agent whom she had designed to employ, in asserting that
+claim of the guardian over the ward which Teresa had defied.
+
+As a necessary consequence, the relations between Mr. Mool and herself
+were already at an end.
+
+There she lay helpless--her authority set at naught; her person outraged
+by a brutal attack--there she lay, urged to action by every reason that
+a resolute woman could have for asserting her power, and avenging her
+wrong--without a creature to take her part, without an accomplice to
+serve her purpose.
+
+She got on her feet, with the resolution of despair. Her heart sank--the
+room whirled round her--she dropped back on the sofa. In a recumbent
+position, the giddiness subsided. She could ring the hand-bell on the
+table at her side. “Send instantly for Mr. Null,” she said to the maid.
+“If he is out, let the messenger follow him, wherever he may be.”
+
+The messenger came back with a note. Mr. Null would call on Mrs.
+Gallilee as soon as possible. He was then engaged in attendance on Miss
+Carmina.
+
+At that discovery, Mrs. Gallilee’s last reserves of independent
+resolution gave way. The services of her own medical attendant were
+only at her disposal, when Carmina had done with him! At the top of his
+letter the address, which she had thus far tried vainly to discover,
+stared her in the face: the house was within five minutes’ walk--and
+she was not even able to cross the room! For the first time in her life,
+Mrs. Gallilee’s imperious spirit acknowledged defeat. For the first time
+in her life, she asked herself the despicable question: Who can I find
+to help me?
+
+Someone knocked at the door.
+
+“Who is it?” she cried.
+
+Joseph’s voice answered her. “Mr. Le Frank has called, ma’am--and wishes
+to know if you can see him.”
+
+She never stopped to think. She never even sent for the maid to see to
+her personal appearance. The horror of her own helplessness drove her
+on. Here was the man, whose timely betrayal of Carmina had stopped
+her on her way to Ovid, in the nick of time! Here was the self-devoted
+instrument, waiting to be employed.
+
+“I’ll see Mr. Le Frank,” she said. “Show him up.”
+
+The music-master looked round the obscurely lit room, and bowed to the
+recumbent figure on the sofa.
+
+“I fear I disturb you, madam, at an inconvenient time.”
+
+“I am suffering from illness, Mr. Le Frank; but I am able to receive
+you--as you see.”
+
+She stopped there. Now, when she saw him, and heard him, some perverse
+hesitation in her began to doubt him. Now, when it was too late, she
+weakly tried to put herself on her guard. What a decay of energy (she
+felt it herself) in the ready and resolute woman, equal to any emergency
+at other times! “To what am I to attribute the favour of your visit?”
+ she resumed.
+
+Even her voice failed her: it faltered in spite of her efforts to steady
+it. Mr. Le Frank’s vanity drew its own encouraging conclusion from this
+one circumstance.
+
+“I am anxious to know how I stand in your estimation,” he replied.
+“Early this evening, I left a few lines here, enclosing a letter--with
+my compliments. Have you received the letter?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Have you read it?”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee hesitated. Mr. Le Frank smiled.
+
+“I won’t trouble you, madam, for any more direct reply,” he said; “I
+will speak plainly. Be so good as to tell me plainly, on your side,
+which I am--a man who has disgraced himself by stealing a letter? or a
+man who has distinguished himself by doing you a service?”
+
+An unpleasant alternative, neatly defined! To disavow Mr. Le Frank or to
+use Mr. Le Frank--there was the case for Mrs. Gallilee’s consideration.
+She was incapable of pronouncing judgment; the mere effort of decision,
+after what she had suffered, fatigued and irritated her. “I can’t deny,”
+ she said, with weary resignation, “that you have done me a service.”
+
+He rose, and made a generous return for the confidence that had been
+placed in him--he repeated his magnificent bow, and sat down again.
+
+“Our position towards each other seems too plain to be mistaken,” he
+proceeded. “Your niece’s letter--perfectly useless for the purpose with
+which I opened it--offers me a means of being even with Miss Carmina,
+and a chance of being useful to You. Shall I begin by keeping an eye on
+the young lady?”
+
+“Is that said, Mr. Le Frank, out of devotion to me?”
+
+“My devotion to you might wear out,” he answered audaciously. “You may
+trust my feeling towards your niece to last--I never forget an injury.
+Is it indiscreet to inquire how you mean to keep Miss Carmina from
+joining her lover in Quebec? Does a guardian’s authority extend to
+locking her up in her room?”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee felt the underlying familiarity in these
+questions--elaborately concealed as it was under an assumption of
+respect.
+
+“My niece is no longer in my house,” she answered coldly.
+
+“Gone!” cried Mr. Le Frank.
+
+She corrected the expression. “Removed,” she said, and dropped the
+subject there.
+
+Mr. Le Frank took the subject up again. “Removed, I presume, under the
+care of her nurse?” he rejoined.
+
+The nurse? What did he know about the nurse? “May I ask--?” Mrs.
+Gallilee began.
+
+He smiled indulgently, and stopped her there. “You are not quite
+yourself to-night,” he said. “Permit me to remind you that your niece’s
+letter to Mr. Ovid Vere is explicit, and that I took the liberty of
+reading it before I left it at your house.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee listened in silence, conscious that she had committed
+another error. She had carefully excluded from her confidence a man
+who was already in possession of her secrets! Mr. Le Frank’s courteous
+sympathy forbade him to take advantage of the position of superiority
+which he now held.
+
+“I will do myself the honour of calling again,” he said, “when you are
+better able to place the right estimate on my humble offers of service.
+I wouldn’t fatigue you, Mrs. Gallilee, for the world! At the same time,
+permit me to put one last question which ought not to be delayed. When
+Miss Carmina left you, did she take away her writing-desk and her keys?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Allow me to suggest that she may send for them at any moment.”
+
+Before it was possible to ask for an explanation, Joseph presented
+himself again. Mr. Null was waiting downstairs. Mrs. Gallilee arranged
+that he should be admitted when she rang her bell. Mr. Le Frank
+approached the sofa, when they were alone, and returned to his
+suggestion in a whisper.
+
+“Surely, you see the importance of using your niece’s keys?” he resumed.
+“We don’t know what correspondence may have been going on, in which
+the nurse and the governess have been concerned. After we have already
+intercepted a letter, hesitation is absurd! You are not equal to the
+effort yourself. I know the room. Don’t be afraid of discovery; I have a
+naturally soft footfall--and my excuse is ready, if somebody else has a
+soft footfall too. Leave it to me.”
+
+He lit a candle as he spoke. But for that allusion to the nurse, Mrs.
+Gallilee might have ordered him to blow it out again. Eager for any
+discovery which might, by the barest possibility, place Teresa at her
+mercy, she silently submitted to Mr. Le Frank. “I’ll call to-morrow,” he
+said--and slipped out of the room.
+
+When Mr. Null was announced, Mrs. Gallilee pushed up the shade over
+the globe of the lamp. Her medical attendant’s face might be worth
+observing, under a clear light.
+
+His timid look, his confused manner, when he made the conventional
+apologies, told her at once that Teresa had spoken, and that he knew
+what had happened. Even he had never before been so soothing and so
+attentive. But he forgot, or he was afraid, to consult appearances
+by asking what was the matter, before he felt the pulse, and took the
+temperature, and wrote his prescription. Not a word was uttered by
+Mrs. Gallilee, until the medical formalities came to an end. “Is there
+anything more that I can do?” he asked.
+
+“You can tell me,” she said, “when I shall be well again.”
+
+Mr. Null was polite; Mr. Null was sympathetic. Mrs. Gallilee might
+be herself again in a day or two--or Mrs. Gallilee might be unhappily
+confined to her room for some little time. He had hope in his
+prescription, and hope in perfect quiet and repose--he would suggest the
+propriety of going to bed at once, and would not fail to call early the
+next morning.
+
+“Sit down again,” said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Mr. Null turned pale. He foresaw what was coming.
+
+“You have been in attendance on Miss Carmina. I wish to know what her
+illness is.”
+
+Mr. Null began to prevaricate at the outset. “The case causes us serious
+anxiety. The complications are formidable. Doctor Benjulia himself--”
+
+“In plain words, Mr. Null, can she be moved?”
+
+This produced a definite answer. “Quite impossible.”
+
+She only ventured to put her next question after waiting a little to
+control herself.
+
+“Is that foreign woman, the nurse--the only nurse--in attendance?”
+
+“Don’t speak of her, Mrs. Gallilee! A dreadful woman; coarse, furious, a
+perfect savage. When I suggested a second nurse--”
+
+“I understand. You asked just now if you could do anything for me. You
+can do me a great service--you can recommend me a trustworthy lawyer.”
+
+Mr. Null was surprised. As the old medical attendant of the family, he
+was not unacquainted with the legal adviser. He mentioned Mr. Mool’s
+name.
+
+“Mr. Mool has forfeited my confidence,” Mrs. Gallilee announced. “Can
+you, or can you not, recommend a lawyer?”
+
+“Oh, certainly! My own lawyer.”
+
+“You will find writing materials on the table behind me. I won’t keep
+you more than five minutes. I want you to write from my dictation.”
+
+“My dear lady, in your present condition--”
+
+“Do as I tell you! My head is quiet while I lie down. Even a woman in
+my condition can say what she means to do. I shall not close my eyes
+tonight, unless I can feel that I have put that wretch in her right
+place. Who are your lawyers?”
+
+Mr. Null mentioned the names, and took up his pen.
+
+“Introduce me in the customary form,” Mrs. Gallilee proceeded; “and then
+refer the lawyers to my brother’s Will. Is it done?”
+
+In due time it was done.
+
+“Tell them next, how my niece has been taken away from me, and where she
+has been taken to.”
+
+To the best of his ability, Mr. Null complied.
+
+“Now,” said Mrs. Gallilee, “write what I mean to do!”
+
+The prospect of being revenged on Teresa revived her. For the moment, at
+least, she almost looked like herself again.
+
+Mr. Null turned over to a new leaf, with a hand that trembled a little.
+The dictating voice pronounced these words:
+
+“I forbid the woman Teresa to act in the capacity of nurse to Miss
+Carmina, and even to enter the room in which that young lady is now
+lying ill. I further warn this person, that my niece will be restored to
+my care, the moment her medical attendants allow her to be removed.
+And I desire my legal advisers to assert my authority, as guardian,
+to-morrow morning.”
+
+Mr. Null finished his task in silent dismay. He took out his
+handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
+
+“Is there any very terrible effort required in saying those few
+words--even to a shattered creature like me?” Mrs. Gallilee asked
+bitterly. “Let me hear that the lawyers have got their instructions,
+when you come to-morrow; and give me the name and address of a nurse
+whom you can thoroughly recommend. Good-night!”
+
+At last, Mr. Null got away. As he softly closed the dressing-room door,
+the serious question still dwelt on his mind: What would Teresa do?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII.
+
+Even in the welcome retirement of the school-room, Mr. Gallilee’s mind
+was not at ease. He was troubled by a question entirely new to him--the
+question of himself, in the character of husband and father.
+
+Accustomed through long years of conjugal association to look up to his
+wife as a superior creature, he was now conscious that her place in his
+estimation had been lost, beyond recovery. If he considered next what
+ought to be done with Maria and Zo, he only renewed his perplexity
+and distress. To leave them (as he had hitherto left them) absolutely
+submitted to their mother’s authority, was to resign his children to the
+influence of a woman, who had ceased to be the object of his confidence
+and respect. He pondered over it in the schoolroom; he pondered over it
+when he went to bed. On the next morning, he arrived at a conclusion in
+the nature of a compromise. He decided on applying to his good friend,
+Mr. Mool, for a word of advice.
+
+His first proceeding was to call at Teresa’s lodgings, in the hope of
+hearing better news of Carmina.
+
+The melancholy report of her was expressed in two words: No change. He
+was so distressed that he asked to see the landlady; and tried, in his
+own helpless kindhearted way, to get a little hopeful information by
+asking questions--useless questions, repeated over and over again in
+futile changes of words. The landlady was patient: she respected the
+undisguised grief of the gentle modest old man; but she held to the
+hard truth. The one possible answer was the answer which her servant had
+already given. When she followed him out, to open the door, Mr. Gallilee
+requested permission to wait a moment in the hall. “If you will allow
+me, ma’am, I’ll wipe my eyes before I go into the street.”
+
+Arriving at the office without an appointment, he found the lawyer
+engaged. A clerk presented to him a slip of paper, with a line written
+by Mr. Mool: “Is it anything of importance?” Simple Mr. Gallilee
+wrote back: “Oh, dear, no; it’s only me! I’ll call again.” Besides
+his critical judgment in the matter of champagne, this excellent man
+possessed another accomplishment--a beautiful handwriting. Mr. Mool,
+discovering a crooked line and some ill-formed letters in the reply,
+drew his own conclusions. He sent word to his old friend to wait.
+
+In ten minutes more they were together, and the lawyer was informed of
+the events that had followed the visit of Benjulia to Fairfield Gardens,
+on the previous day.
+
+For a while, the two men sat silently meditating--daunted by the
+prospect before them. When the time came for speaking, they exercised an
+influence over each other, of which both were alike unconscious. Out
+of their common horror of Mrs. Gallilee’s conduct, and their common
+interest in Carmina, they innocently achieved between them the creation
+of one resolute man.
+
+“My dear Gallilee, this is a very serious thing.”
+
+“My dear Mool, I feel it so--or I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”
+
+“Don’t talk of disturbing me! I see so many complications ahead of us, I
+hardly know where to begin.”
+
+“Just my case! It’s a comfort to me that you feel it as I do.”
+
+Mr. Mool rose and tried walking up and down his room, as a means of
+stimulating his ingenuity.
+
+“There’s this poor young lady,” he resumed. “If she gets better--”
+
+“Don’t put it in that way!” Mr. Gallilee interposed. “It sounds as if
+you doubted her ever getting well--you see it yourself in that light,
+don’t you? Be a little more positive, Mool, in mercy to me.”
+
+“By all means,” Mr. Mool agreed. “Let us say, _when_ she gets better.
+But the difficulty meets us, all the same. If Mrs. Gallilee claims her
+right, what are we to do?”
+
+Mr. Gallilee rose in his turn, and took a walk up and down the room.
+That well-meant experiment only left him feebler than ever.
+
+“What possessed her brother to make her Carmina’s guardian?” he
+asked--with the nearest approach to irritability of which he was
+capable.
+
+The lawyer was busy with his own thoughts. He only enlightened Mr.
+Gallilee after the question had been repeated.
+
+“I had the sincerest regard for Mr. Robert Graywell,” he said. “A
+better husband and father--and don’t let me forget it, a more
+charming artist--never lived. But,” said Mr. Mool, with the air of one
+strong-minded man appealing to another: “weak, sadly weak. If you will
+allow me to say so, your wife’s self-asserting way--well, it was
+so unlike her brother’s way, that it had its effect on him! If Lady
+Northlake had been a little less quiet and retiring, the matter might
+have ended in a very different manner. As it was (I don’t wish to put
+the case offensively) Mrs. Gallilee imposed on him--and there she is, in
+authority, under the Will. Let that be. We must protect this poor girl.
+We must act!” cried Mr. Mool with a burst of energy.
+
+“We must act!” Mr. Gallilee repeated--and feebly clenched his fist, and
+softly struck the table.
+
+“I think I have an idea,” the lawyer proceeded; “suggested by something
+said to me by Miss Carmina herself. May I ask if you are in her
+confidence?”
+
+Mr. Gallilee’s face brightened at this. “Certainly,” he answered. “I
+always kiss her when we say good-night, and kiss her again when we say
+good-morning.”
+
+This proof of his friend’s claims as Carmina’s chosen adviser, seemed
+rather to surprise Mr. Mool. “Did she ever hint at an idea of hastening
+her marriage?” he inquired.
+
+Plainly as the question was put, it thoroughly puzzled Mr. Gallilee. His
+honest face answered for him--he was _not_ in Carmina’s confidence. Mr.
+Mool returned to his idea.
+
+“The one thing we can do,” he said, “is to hasten Mr. Ovid’s return.
+There is the only course to take--as I see it.”
+
+“Let’s do it at once!” cried Mr. Gallilee.
+
+“But tell me,” Mr. Mool insisted, greedy for encouragement--“does my
+suggestion relieve your mind?”
+
+“It’s the first happy moment I’ve had to-day!” Mr. Gallilee’s weak voice
+piped high: he was getting firmer and firmer with every word he uttered.
+
+One of them produced a telegraph-form; the other seized a pen. “Shall we
+send the message in your name?” Mr. Mool asked.
+
+If Mr. Gallilee had possessed a hundred names he would have sent them
+(and paid for them) all. “John Gallilee, 14 Fairfield Gardens, London,
+To--” There the pen stopped. Ovid was still in the wilds of Canada. The
+one way of communicating with him was through the medium of the bankers
+at Quebec, To the bankers, accordingly, the message was sent. “Please
+telegraph Mr. Ovid Vere’s address, the moment you know it.”
+
+When the telegram had been sent to the office, an interval of inaction
+followed. Mr. Gallilee’s fortitude suffered a relapse. “It’s a long time
+to wait,” he said.
+
+His friend agreed with him. Morally speaking, Mr. Mool’s strength lay
+in points of law. No point of law appeared to be involved in the present
+conference: he shared Mr. Gallilee’s depression of spirits. “We
+are quite helpless,” he remarked, “till Mr. Ovid comes back. In
+the interval, I see no choice for Miss Carmina but to submit to her
+guardian; unless--” He looked hard at Mr. Gallilee, before he finished
+his sentence. “Unless,” he resumed, “you can get over your present
+feeling about your wife.”
+
+“Get over it?” Mr. Gallilee repeated.
+
+“It seems quite impossible now, I dare say,” the worthy lawyer admitted.
+“A very painful impression has been produced on you. Naturally!
+naturally! But the force of habit--a married life of many years--your
+own kind feeling--”
+
+“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Gallilee, bewildered, impatient, almost
+angry.
+
+“A little persuasion on your part, my good friend--at the interesting
+moment of reconciliation--might be followed by excellent results. Mrs.
+Gallilee might not object to waive her claims, until time has softened
+existing asperities. Surely, a compromise is possible, if you could only
+prevail on yourself to forgive your wife.”
+
+“Forgive her? I should be only too glad to forgive her!” cried Mr.
+Gallilee, bursting into violent agitation. “How am I to do it? Good God!
+Mool, how am I to do it? _You_ didn’t hear those infamous words. _You_
+didn’t see that dreadful death-struck look of the poor girl. I declare
+to you I turn cold when I think of my wife! I can’t go to her when I
+ought to go--I send the servants into her room. My children, too--my
+dear good children--it’s enough to break one’s heart--think of their
+being brought up by a mother who could say what she said, and do--What
+will they see, I ask you what will they see, if she gets Carmina back in
+the house, and treats that sweet young creature as she _will_ treat her?
+There were times last night, when I thought of going away for ever--Lord
+knows where--and taking the girls with me. What am I talking about? I
+had something to say, and I don’t know what it is; I don’t know my
+own self! There, there; I’ll keep quiet. It’s my poor stupid head, I
+suppose--hot, Mool, burning hot. Let’s be reasonable. Yes, yes, yes;
+let’s be reasonable. You’re a lawyer. I said to myself, when I came
+here, ‘I want Mool’s advice.’ Be a dear good fellow--set my mind at
+ease. Oh, my friend, my old friend, what can I do for my children?”
+
+Amazed and distressed--utterly at a loss how to interfere to any
+good purpose--Mr. Mool recovered his presence of mind, the moment Mr.
+Gallilee appealed to him in his legal capacity. “Don’t distress yourself
+about your children,” he said kindly. “Thank God, we stand on firm
+ground, there.”
+
+“Do you mean it, Mool?”
+
+“I mean it. Where your daughters are concerned, the authority is yours.
+Be firm, Gallilee! be firm!”
+
+“I will! You set me the example--don’t you? _You’re_ firm--eh?”
+
+“Firm as a rock. I agree with you. For the present at least, the
+children must be removed.”
+
+“At once, Mool!”
+
+“At once!” the lawyer repeated.
+
+They had wrought each other up to the right pitch of resolution, by this
+time. They were almost loud enough for the clerks to hear them in the
+office.
+
+“No matter what my wife may say!” Mr. Gallilee stipulated.
+
+“No matter what she may say,” Mr. Mool rejoined, “the father is master.”
+
+“And _you_ know the law.”
+
+“And I know the law. You have only to assert yourself.”
+
+“And _you_ have only to back me.”
+
+“For your children’s sake, Gallilee!”
+
+“Under my lawyer’s advice, Mool!”
+
+The one resolute Man was produced at last--without a flaw in him
+anywhere. They were both exhausted by the effort. Mr. Mool suggested a
+glass of wine.
+
+Mr. Gallilee ventured on a hint. “You don’t happen to have a drop of
+champagne handy?” he said.
+
+The lawyer rang for his housekeeper. In five minutes, they were pledging
+each other in foaming tumblers. In five minutes more, they plunged back
+into business. The question of the best place to which the children
+could be removed, was easily settled. Mr. Mool offered his own house;
+acknowledging modestly that it had perhaps one drawback--it was within
+easy reach of Mrs. Gallilee. The statement of this objection stimulated
+his friend’s memory. Lady Northlake was in Scotland. Lady Northlake had
+invited Maria and Zo, over and over again, to pass the autumn with their
+cousins; but Mrs. Gallilee’s jealousy had always contrived to find some
+plausible reason for refusal. “Write at once,” Mr. Mool advised. “You
+may do it in two lines. Your wife is ill; Miss Carmina is ill; you are
+not able to leave London--and the children are pining for fresh air.” In
+this sense, Mr. Gallilee wrote. He insisted on having the letter sent to
+the post immediately. “I know it’s long before post-time,” he explained.
+“But I want to compose my mind.”
+
+The lawyer paused, with his glass of wine at his lips. “I say! You’re
+not hesitating already?”
+
+“No more than you are,” Mr. Gallilee answered.
+
+“You will really send the girls away?”
+
+“The girls shall go, on the day when Lady Northlake invites them.”
+
+“I’ll make a note of that,” said Mr. Mool.
+
+He made the note; and they rose to say good-bye. Faithful Mr. Gallilee
+still thought of Carmina. “Do consider it again!” he said at parting.
+“Are you sure the law won’t help her?”
+
+“I might look at her father’s Will,” Mr. Mool replied.
+
+Mr. Gallilee saw the hopeful side of this suggestion, in the brightest
+colours. “Why didn’t you think of it before?” he asked.
+
+Mr. Mool gently remonstrated. “Don’t forget how many things I have on
+my mind,” he said. “It only occurs to me now that the Will may give us
+a remedy--if there is any _open_ opposition to the ward’s marriage
+engagement, on the guardian’s part.”
+
+There he stopped; knowing Mrs. Gallilee’s methods of opposition too
+well to reckon hopefully on such a result as this. But he was a merciful
+man--and he kept his misgivings to himself.
+
+On the way home, Mr. Gallilee encountered his wife’s maid. Marceline was
+dropping a letter into the pillar-post-box at the corner of the Square;
+she changed colour, on seeing her master. “Corresponding with her
+sweetheart,” Mr. Gallilee concluded.
+
+Entering the house with an unfinished cigar in his mouth, he made
+straight for the smoking-room--and passed his youngest daughter, below
+him, waiting out of sight on the kitchen stairs.
+
+“Have you done it?” Zo whispered, when Marceline returned by the
+servants’ entrance.
+
+“It’s safe in the post, dear. Now tell me what you saw yesterday, when
+you were hidden in Miss Carmina’s bedroom.”
+
+The tone in which she spoke implied a confidential agreement. With
+honourable promptitude Zo, perched on her friend’s knee, exerted her
+memory, and rewarded Marceline for posting her letter to Ovid.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIX.
+
+It was past the middle of the day, before Mr. Le Frank paid his promised
+visit to Mrs. Gallilee. He entered the room with gloomy looks; and made
+his polite inquiries, as became a depressed musician, in the minor key.
+
+“I am sorry, madam, to find you still on the sofa. Is there no
+improvement in your health?”
+
+“None whatever.”
+
+“Does your medical attendant give you any hope?”
+
+“He does what they all do--he preaches patience. No more of myself! You
+appear to be in depressed spirits.”
+
+Mr. Le Frank admitted with a sigh that appearances had not
+misrepresented him. “I have been bitterly disappointed,” he said. “My
+feelings as an artist are wounded to the quick. But why do I trouble you
+with my poor little personal affairs? I humbly beg your pardon.”
+
+His eyes accompanied this modest apology with a look of uneasy
+anticipation: he evidently expected to be asked to explain himself.
+Events had followed her instructions to Mr. Null, which left Mrs.
+Gallilee in need of employing her music-master’s services. She felt the
+necessity of exerting herself; and did it--with an effort.
+
+“You have no reason, I hope, to complain of your pupils?” she said.
+
+“At this time of year, madam, I have no pupils. They are all out of
+town.”
+
+She was too deeply preoccupied by her own affairs to trouble herself any
+further. The direct way was the easy way. She said wearily, “Well, what
+is it?”
+
+He answered in plain terms, this time.
+
+“A bitter humiliation, Mrs. Gallilee! I have been made to regret that
+I asked you to honour me by accepting the dedication of my Song. The
+music-sellers, on whom the sale depends, have not taken a tenth part of
+the number of copies for which we expected them to subscribe. Has some
+extraordinary change come over the public taste? My composition has
+been carefully based on fashionable principles--that is to say, on the
+principles of the modern German school. As little tune as possible;
+and that little strictly confined to the accompaniment. And what is
+the result? Loss confronts me, instead of profit--my agreement makes
+me liable for half the expenses of publication. And, what is far more
+serious in my estimation, your honoured name is associated with a
+failure! Don’t notice me--the artist nature--I shall be better in a
+minute.” He took out a profusely-scented handkerchief, and buried his
+face in it with a groan.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee’s hard common sense understood the heart-broken composer
+to perfection.
+
+“Stupid of me not to have offered him money yesterday,” she thought:
+“this waste of time need never have happened.” She set her mistake right
+with admirable brevity and directness. “Don’t distress yourself, Mr.
+Le Frank. Now my name is on it, the Song is mine. If your publisher’s
+account is not satisfactory--be so good as to send it to _me.”_ Mr. Le
+Frank dropped his dry handkerchief, and sprang theatrically to his feet.
+His indulgent patroness refused to hear him: to this admirable woman,
+the dignity of Art was a sacred thing. “Not a word more on that
+subject,” she said. “Tell me how you prospered last night. Your
+investigations cannot have been interrupted, or I should have heard
+of it. Come to the result! Have you found anything of importance in my
+niece’s room?”
+
+Mr. Le Frank had again been baffled, so far as the confirmation of
+his own suspicions was concerned. But the time was not favourable to a
+confession of personal disappointment. He understood the situation; and
+made himself the hero of it, in three words.
+
+“Judge for yourself,” he said--and held out the letter of warning from
+Father Patrizio.
+
+In silence, Mrs. Gallilee read the words which declared her to be the
+object of Teresa’s inveterate resentment, and which charged Carmina with
+the serious duty of keeping the peace.
+
+“Does it alarm you?” Mr. Le Frank asked.
+
+“I hardly know what I feel,” she answered. “Give me time to think.”
+
+Mr. Le Frank went back to his chair. He had reason to congratulate
+himself already: he had shifted to other shoulders the pecuniary
+responsibility involved in the failure of his Song. Observing Mrs.
+Gallilee, he began to see possibilities of a brighter prospect still.
+Thus far she had kept him at a certain distance. Was the change of
+mind coming, which would admit him to the position (with all its solid
+advantages) of a confidential friend?
+
+She suddenly took up Father Patrizio’s letter, and showed it to him.
+
+“What impression does it produce on you,” she asked, “knowing no more
+than you know now?”
+
+“The priest’s cautious language, madam, speaks for itself. You have an
+enemy who will stick at nothing.”
+
+She still hesitated to trust him.
+
+“You see me here,” she went on, “confined to my room; likely, perhaps,
+to be in this helpless condition for some time to come. How would you
+protect yourself against that woman, in my place?”
+
+“I should wait.”
+
+“For what purpose?”
+
+“If you will allow me to use the language of the card-table, I should
+wait till the woman shows her hand.”
+
+“She _has_ shown it.”
+
+“May I ask when?”
+
+“This morning.”
+
+Mr. Le Frank said no more. If he was really wanted, Mrs. Gallilee
+had only to speak. After a last moment of hesitation, the pitiless
+necessities of her position decided her once more. “You see me too ill
+to move,” she said; “the first thing to do, is to tell you why.”
+
+She related the plain facts; without a word of comment, without a sign
+of emotion. But her husband’s horror of her had left an impression,
+which neither pride nor contempt had been strong enough to resist. She
+allowed the music-master to infer, that contending claims to authority
+over Carmina had led to a quarrel which provoked the assault. The secret
+of the words that she had spoken, was the one secret that she kept from
+Mr. Le Frank.
+
+“While I was insensible,” she proceeded, “my niece was taken away from
+me. She has been suffering from nervous illness; she was naturally
+terrified--and she is now at the nurse’s lodgings, too ill to be moved.
+There you have the state of affairs, up to last night.”
+
+“Some people might think,” Mr. Le Frank remarked, “that the easiest way
+out of it, so far, would be to summon the nurse for the assault.”
+
+“The easiest way compels me to face a public exposure,” Mrs. Gallilee
+answered. “In my position that is impossible.”
+
+Mr. Le Frank accepted this view of the case as a matter of course.
+“Under the circumstances,” he said, “it’s not easy to advise you. How
+can you make the woman submit to your authority, while you are lying
+here?”
+
+“My lawyers have made her submit this morning.”
+
+In the extremity of his surprise, Mr. Le Frank forgot himself. “The
+devil they have!” he exclaimed.
+
+“They have forbidden her, in my name,” Mrs. Gallilee continued, “to act
+as nurse to my niece. They have informed her that Miss Carmina will be
+restored to my care, the moment she can be moved. And they have sent me
+her unconditional submission in writing, signed by herself.”
+
+She took it from the desk at her side, and read it to him, in these
+words:
+
+“I humbly ask pardon of Mrs. Gallilee for the violent and unlawful acts
+of which I have been guilty. I acknowledge, and submit to, her authority
+as guardian of Miss Carmina Graywell. And I appeal to her mercy (which I
+own I have not deserved) to spare me the misery of separation from Miss
+Carmina, on any conditions which it may be her good will and pleasure to
+impose.”
+
+“Now,” Mrs. Galilee concluded, “what do you say?”
+
+Speaking sincerely for once, Mr. Le Frank made a startling reply.
+
+“Submit on your side,” he said. “Do what she asks of you. And when you
+are well enough to go to her lodgings, decline with thanks if she offers
+you anything to eat or drink.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee raised herself on the sofa. “Are you insulting me, sir,”
+ she asked, “by making this serious emergency the subject of a joke?”
+
+“I never was more in earnest, madam, in my life.”
+
+“You think--you really think--that she is capable of trying to poison
+me?”
+
+“Most assuredly I do.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee sank back on the pillow. Mr. Le Frank stated his reasons;
+checking them off, one by one, on his fingers.
+
+“Who is she?” he began. “She is an Italian woman of the lower orders.
+The virtues of the people among whom she had been born and bred, are not
+generally considered to include respect for the sanctity of human life.
+What do we know already that she has done? She has alarmed the priest,
+who keeps her conscience, and knows her well; and she has attacked you
+with such murderous ferocity that it is a wonder you have escaped
+with your life. What sort of message have you sent to her, after this
+experience of her temper? You have told the tigress that you have the
+power to separate her from her cub, and that you mean to use it. On
+those plain facts, as they stare us in the face, which is the soundest
+conclusion? To believe that she really submits--or to believe that she
+is only gaining time, and is capable (if she sees no other alternative)
+of trying to poison you?”
+
+“What would you advise me to do?” In those words Mrs. Gallilee--never
+before reduced to ask advice of anybody--owned that sound reasoning was
+not thrown away on her.
+
+Mr. Le Frank answered the demand made on him without hesitation.
+
+“The nurse has not signed that act of submission,” he said, “without
+having her own private reasons for appearing to give way. Rely on it,
+she is prepared for you--and there is at least a chance that some proof
+of it may be found. Have all her movements privately watched--and search
+the room she lives in, as I searched Miss Carmina’s room last night.”
+
+“Well?” said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+“Well?” Mr. Le Frank repeated.
+
+She angrily gave way. “Say at once that you are the man to do it for
+me!” she answered. “And say next--if you can--how it is to be done.”
+
+Mr. Le Frank’s manner softened to an air of gentle gallantry.
+
+“Pray compose yourself!” he said. “I am so glad to be of service to you,
+and it is so easily done!”
+
+“Easily?”
+
+“Dear madam, quite easily. Isn’t the house a lodging-house; and, at this
+time of year, have I anything to do?” He rose, and took his hat.
+
+“Surely, you see me in my new character now? A single gentleman wants
+a bedroom. His habits are quiet, and he gives excellent references. The
+address, Mrs. Gallilee--may I trouble you for the address?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER L.
+
+Towards seven o’clock on the evening of Thursday, Carmina recognised
+Teresa for the first time.
+
+Her half-closed eyes opened, as if from a long sleep: they rested on the
+old nurse without any appearance of surprise. “I am so glad to see you,
+my dear,” she said faintly. “Are you very tired after you journey?” None
+of the inquiries which might have been anticipated followed those first
+words. Not the slightest allusion to Mrs. Gallilee escaped her; she
+expressed no anxiety about Miss Minerva; no sign of uneasiness
+at finding herself in a. strange room, disturbed her quiet face.
+Contentedly reposing, she looked at Teresa from time to time and said,
+“You will stay with me, won’t you?” Now and then, she confessed that her
+head felt dull and heavy, and asked Teresa to take her hand. “I feel as
+if I was sinking away from you,” she said; “keep hold of my hand and I
+shan’t be afraid to go to sleep.” The words were hardly spoken, before
+she sank into slumber. Occasionally, Teresa felt her hand tremble and
+kissed it. She seemed to be conscious of the kiss, without waking--she
+smiled in her sleep.
+
+But, when the first hours of the morning came, this state of passive
+repose was disturbed. A violent attack of sickness came on. It was
+repeated again and again. Teresa sent for Mr. Null. He did what he
+could to relieve the new symptom; and he despatched a messenger to his
+illustrious colleague.
+
+Benjulia lost no time in answering personally the appeal that had been
+made to him.
+
+Mr. Null said, “Serious derangement of the stomach, sir.” Benjulia
+agreed with him. Mr. Null showed his prescription. Benjulia sanctioned
+the prescription. Mr. Null said, “Is there anything you wish to suggest,
+sir?” Benjulia had nothing to suggest.
+
+He waited, nevertheless, until Carmina was able to speak to him. Teresa
+and Mr. Null wondered what he would say to her. He only said, “Do
+you remember when you last saw me?” After a little consideration, she
+answered, “Yes, Zo was with us; Zo brought in your big stick; and we
+talked--” She tried to rouse her memory. “What did we talk about?”
+ she asked. A momentary agitation brought a flush to her face. “I can’t
+remember it,” she said; “I can’t remember when you went away: does it
+matter?” Benjulia replied, “Not the least in the world. Go to sleep.”
+
+But he still remained in the room--watching her as she grew drowsy.
+“Great weakness,” Mr. Null whispered. And Benjulia answered, “Yes; I’ll
+call again.”
+
+On his way out, he took Teresa aside.
+
+“No more questions,” he said--“and don’t help her memory if she asks
+you.”
+
+“Will she remember, when she gets better?” Teresa inquired.
+
+“Impossible to say, yet. Wait and see.”
+
+He left her in a hurry; his experiments were waiting for him. On the way
+home, his mind dwelt on Carmina’s case. Some hidden process was at work
+there: give it time--and it would show itself. “I hope that ass won’t
+want me,” he said, thinking of his medical colleague, “for at least a
+week to come.”
+
+The week passed--and the physiologist was not disturbed.
+
+During that interval, Mr. Null succeeded in partially overcoming the
+attacks of sickness: they were less violent, and they were succeeded by
+longer intervals of repose. In other respects, there seemed (as Teresa
+persisted in thinking) to be some little promise of improvement. A
+certain mental advance was unquestionably noticeable in Carmina. It
+first showed itself in an interesting way: she began to speak of Ovid.
+
+Her great anxiety was, that he should know nothing of her illness.
+She forbade Teresa to write to him; she sent messages to Mr. and Mrs.
+Gallilee, and even to Mr. Mool, entreating them to preserve silence.
+
+The nurse engaged to deliver the messages--and failed to keep her word.
+This breach of promise (as events had ordered it) proved to be harmless.
+Mrs. Gallilee had good reasons for not writing. Her husband and Mr.
+Mool had decided on sending their telegram to the bankers. As for
+Teresa herself, she had no desire to communicate with Ovid. His absence
+remained inexcusable, from her point of view. Well or ill, with or
+without reason, it was the nurse’s opinion that he ought to have
+remained at home, in Carmina’s interests. No other persons were in
+the least likely to write to Ovid--nobody thought of Zo as a
+correspondent--Carmina was pacified.
+
+Once or twice, at this later time, the languid efforts of her memory
+took a wider range.
+
+She wondered why Mrs. Gallilee never came near her; owning that her
+aunt’s absence was a relief to her, but not feeling interest enough in
+the subject to ask for information. She also mentioned Miss Minerva. “Do
+you know where she has gone? Don’t you think she ought to write to me?”
+ Teresa offered to make inquiries. She turned her head wearily on the
+pillow, and said, “Never mind!” On another occasion, she asked for Zo,
+and said it would be pleasant if Mr. Gallilee would call and bring her
+with him. But she soon dropped the subject, not to return to it again.
+
+The only remembrance which seemed to dwell on her mind for more than
+a few minutes, was her remembrance of the last letter which she had
+written to Ovid.
+
+She pleased herself with imagining his surprise, when he received it;
+she grew impatient under her continued illness, because it delayed her
+in escaping to Canada; she talked to Teresa of the clever manner in
+which the flight had been planned--with this strange failure of memory,
+that she attributed the various arrangements for setting discovery at
+defiance, not to Miss Minerva, but to the nurse.
+
+Here, for the first time, her mind was approaching dangerous ground. The
+stealing of the letter, and the events that had followed it, stood next
+in the order of remembrance--if she was capable of a continued
+effort. Her weakness saved her. Beyond the writing of the letter, her
+recollections were unable to advance. Not the faintest allusion to any
+later circumstances escaped her. The poor stricken brain still sought
+its rest in frequent intervals of sleep. Sometimes, she drifted back
+into partial unconsciousness; sometimes, the attacks of sickness
+returned. Mr. Null set an excellent example of patience and resignation.
+He believed as devoutly as ever in his prescriptions; he placed the
+greatest reliance on time and care. The derangement of the stomach (as
+he called it) presented something positive and tangible to treat: he had
+got over the doubts and anxieties that troubled him, when Carmina
+was first removed to the lodgings. Looking confidently at the
+surface--without an idea of what was going on below it--he could tell
+Teresa, with a safe conscience, that he understood the case. He was
+always ready to comfort her, when her excitable Italian nature passed
+from the extreme of hope to the extreme of despair. “My good woman, we
+see our way now: it’s a great point gained, I assure you, to see our
+way.”
+
+“What do you mean by seeing your way?” said the downright nurse. “Tell
+me when Carmina will be well again.”
+
+Mr. Null’s medical knowledge was not yet equal to this demand on it.
+“The progress is slow,” he admitted, “still Miss Carmina is getting on.”
+
+“Is her aunt getting on?” Teresa asked abruptly. “When is Mistress
+Gallilee likely to come here?”
+
+“In a few days--” Mr. Null was about to add “I hope;” but he thought
+of what might happen when the two women met. As it was, Teresa’s face
+showed signs of serious disturbance: her mind was plainly not prepared
+for this speedy prospect of a visit from Mrs. Gallilee. She took a
+letter out of her pocket.
+
+“I find a good deal of sly prudence in you,” she said to Mr. Null.
+“You must have seen something, in your time, of the ways of deceitful
+Englishwomen. What does that palaver mean in plain words?” She handed
+the letter to him.
+
+With some reluctance he read it.
+
+“Mrs. Gallilee declines to contract any engagement with the person
+formerly employed as nurse, in the household of the late Mr. Robert
+Graywell. Mrs. Gallilee so far recognises the apology and submission
+offered to her, as to abstain from taking immediate proceedings. In
+arriving at this decision, she is also influenced by the necessity of
+sparing her niece any agitation which might interfere with the medical
+treatment. When the circumstances appear to require it, she will not
+hesitate to exert her authority.”
+
+The handwriting told Mr. Null that this manifesto had not been written
+by Mrs. Gallilee herself. The person who had succeeded him, in the
+capacity of that lady’s amanuensis, had been evidently capable of giving
+sound advice. Little did he suspect that this mysterious secretary was
+identical with an enterprising pianist, who had once prevailed on him to
+take a seat at a concert; price five shillings.
+
+“Well?” said Teresa.
+
+Mr. Null hesitated.
+
+The nurse stamped impatiently on the floor. “Tell me this! When she does
+come here, will she part me from Carmina? Is that what she means?”
+
+“Possibly,” said prudent Mr. Null.
+
+Teresa pointed to the door. “Good-morning! I want nothing more of you.
+Oh, man, man, leave me by myself!”
+
+The moment she was alone, she fell on her knees. Fiercely whispering,
+she repeated over and over again the words of the Lord’s Prayer: “‘Lead
+us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.’ Christ, hear me!
+Mother of Christ, hear me! Oh, Carmina! Carmina!”
+
+She rose and opened the door which communicated with the bedroom.
+Trembling pitiably, she looked for a while at Carmina, peacefully
+asleep--then turned away to a corner of the room, in which stood an old
+packing-case, fitted with a lock. She took it up; and, returning with it
+to the sitting-room, softly closed the bedroom door again.
+
+After some hesitation, she decided to open the case. In the terror and
+confusion that possessed her, she tried the wrong key. Setting this
+mistake right, she disclosed--strangely mingled with the lighter
+articles of her own dress--a heap of papers; some of them letters and
+bills; some of them faded instructions in writing for the preparation of
+artists’ colours.
+
+She recoiled from the objects which her own act had disclosed. Why had
+she not taken Father Patrizio’s advice? If she had only waited another
+day; if she had only sorted her husband’s papers, before she threw the
+things that her trunk was too full to hold into that half-empty case,
+what torment might have been spared to her! Her eyes turned mournfully
+to the bedroom door. “Oh, my darling, I was in such a hurry to get to
+You!”
+
+At last, she controlled herself, and put her hand into the case.
+Searching it in one corner, she produced a little tin canister. A dirty
+label was pasted on the canister, bearing this quaint inscription in the
+Italian language:
+
+“If there is any of the powder we employ in making some of our prettiest
+colours, left in here, I request my good wife, or any other trustworthy
+person in her place, to put a seal on it, and take it directly to the
+manufactory, with the late foreman’s best respects. It looks like nice
+sugar. Beware of looks--or you may taste poison.”
+
+On the point of opening the canister she hesitated. Under some strange
+impulse, she did what a child might have done: she shook it, and
+listened.
+
+The rustle of the rising and falling powder--renewing her terror--seemed
+to exercise some irresistible fascination over her. “The devil’s dance,”
+ she said to herself, with a ghastly smile. “Softly up--and softly
+down--and tempting me to take off the cover all the time! Why don’t I
+get rid of it?”
+
+That question set her thinking of Carmina’s guardian.
+
+If Mr. Null was right, in a day or two Mrs. Gallilee might come to the
+house. After the lawyers had threatened Teresa with the prospect of
+separation from Carmina, she had opened the packing-case, for the first
+time since she had left Rome--intending to sort her husband’s papers as
+a means of relief from her own thoughts. In this way, she had discovered
+the canister. The sight of the deadly powder had tempted her. There were
+the horrid means of setting Mrs. Gallilee’s authority at defiance! Some
+women in her place, would use them. Though she was not looking into the
+canister now, she felt that thought stealing back into her mind. There
+was but one hope for her: she resolved to get rid of the poison.
+
+How?
+
+At that period of the year, there was no fire in the grate. Within
+the limits of the room, the means of certain destruction were slow
+to present themselves. Her own morbid horror of the canister made her
+suspicious of the curiosity of other people, who might see it in her
+hand if she showed herself on the stairs. But she was determined, if she
+lit a fire for the purpose, to find the way to her end. The firmness
+of her resolution expressed itself by locking the case again, without
+restoring the canister to its hiding-place.
+
+Providing herself next with a knife, she sat down in a corner--between
+the bedroom door on one side, and a cupboard in an angle of the wall on
+the other--and began the work of destruction by scraping off the paper
+label. The fragments might be burnt, and the powder (if she made a vow
+to the Virgin to do it) might be thrown into the fire next--and then the
+empty canister would be harmless.
+
+She had made but little progress in the work of scraping, when it
+occurred to her that the lighting of a fire, on that warm autumn day,
+might look suspicious if the landlady or Mr. Null happened to come in.
+It would be safer to wait till night-time, when everybody would be in
+bed.
+
+Arriving at this conclusion, she mechanically suspended the use of her
+knife.
+
+In the moment of silence that followed, she heard someone enter the
+bedroom by the door which opened on the stairs. Immediately afterwards,
+the person turned the handle of the second door at her side. She had
+barely time enough to open the cupboard, and hide the canister in
+it--when the landlady came in.
+
+Teresa looked at her wildly. The landlady looked at the cupboard: she
+was proud of her cupboard.
+
+“Plenty of room there,” she said boastfully: “not another house in the
+neighbourhood could offer you such accommodation as that! Yes--the lock
+is out of order; I don’t deny it. The last lodger’s doings! She spoilt
+my tablecloth, and put the inkstand over it to hide the place. Beast!
+there’s her character in one word. You didn’t hear me knock at the
+bedroom door? I am so glad to see her sleeping nicely, poor dear! Her
+chicken broth is ready when she wakes. I’m late to-day in making my
+inquiries after our young lady. You see we have been hard at work
+upstairs, getting the bedroom ready for a new lodger. Such a contrast
+to the person who has just left. A perfect gentleman, this time--and
+so kind in waiting a week till I was able to accommodate him. My ground
+floor rooms were vacant, as you know--but he said the terms were too
+high for him. Oh, I didn’t forget to mention that we had an invalid in
+the house! Quiet habits (I said) are indeed an essential qualification
+of any new inmate, at such a time as this. He understood. ‘I’ve been an
+invalid myself’ (he said); ‘and the very reason I am leaving my present
+lodgings is that they are not quiet enough.’ Isn’t that just the sort of
+man we want? And, let me tell you, a handsome man too. With a drawback,
+I must own, in the shape of a bald head. But such a beard, and such a
+thrilling voice! Hush! Did I hear her calling?”
+
+At last, the landlady permitted other sounds to be audible, besides the
+sound of her own voice. It became possible to discover that Carmina was
+now awake. Teresa hurried into the bedroom.
+
+Left by herself in the sitting-room, the landlady--“purely out of
+curiosity,” as she afterwards said, in conversation with her new
+lodger--opened the cupboard, and looked in.
+
+The canister stood straight before her, on an upper shelf. Did Miss
+Carmina’s nurse take snuff? She examined the canister: there was a
+white powder inside. The mutilated label spoke in an unknown tongue. She
+wetted her finger and tasted the powder. The result was so disagreeable
+that she was obliged to use her handkerchief. She put the canister back,
+and closed the cupboard.
+
+“Medicine, undoubtedly,” the landlady said to herself. “Why should she
+hurry to put it away, when I came in?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LI.
+
+In eight days from the date of his second interview with Mrs. Gallilee,
+Mr. Le Frank took possession of his new bedroom.
+
+He had arranged to report his proceedings in writing. In Teresa’s state
+of mind, she would certainly distrust a fellow-lodger, discovered in
+personal communication with Mrs. Gallilee. Mr. Le Frank employed the
+first day after his arrival in collecting the materials for a report. In
+the evening, he wrote to Mrs. Gallilee--under cover to a friend, who was
+instructed to forward the letter.
+
+
+“Private and confidential. Dear Madam,--I have not wasted my time and my
+opportunities, as you will presently see.
+
+“My bedroom is immediately above the floor of the house which is
+occupied by Miss Carmina and her nurse. Having some little matters of
+my own to settle, I was late in taking possession of my room. Before the
+lights on the staircase were put out, I took the liberty of looking down
+at the next landing.
+
+“Do you remember, when you were a child learning to write, that one
+of the lines in your copy-books was, ‘Virtue is its own reward’? This
+ridiculous assertion was actually verified in my case! Before I had been
+five minutes at my post, I saw the nurse open her door. She looked up
+the staircase (without discovering me, it is needless to say), and she
+looked down the staircase--and, seeing nobody about, returned to her
+rooms.
+
+“Waiting till I heard her lock the door, I stole downstairs, and
+listened outside.
+
+“One of my two fellow-lodgers (you know that I don’t believe in Miss
+Carmina’s illness) was lighting a fire--on such a warm autumn night,
+that the staircase window was left open! I am absolutely sure of what I
+say: I heard the crackle of burning wood--I smelt coal smoke.
+
+“The motive of this secret proceeding it seems impossible to guess at.
+If they were burning documents of a dangerous and compromising kind,
+a candle would have answered their purpose. If they wanted hot water,
+surely a tin kettle and a spirit lamp must have been at hand in an
+invalid’s bedroom? Perhaps, your superior penetration may be able to
+read the riddle which baffles my ingenuity.
+
+“So much for the first night.
+
+“This afternoon, I had some talk with the landlady. My professional
+avocations having trained me in the art of making myself agreeable
+to the sex, I may say without vanity that I produced a favourable
+impression. In other words, I contrived to set my fair friend talking
+freely about the old nurse and the interesting invalid.
+
+“Out of the flow of words poured on me, one fact of very serious
+importance has risen to the surface. There is a suspicious canister in
+the nurse’s possession. The landlady calls the powder inside, medicine.
+I say, poison.
+
+“Am I rushing at a fanciful conclusion? Please wait a little.
+
+“During the week of delay which elapsed, before the lodger in possession
+vacated my room, you kindly admitted me to an interview. I ventured
+to put some questions, relating to Teresa’s life in Italy and to the
+persons with whom she associated. Do you remember telling me, when I
+asked what you knew of her husband, that he was foreman in a manufactory
+of artists’ colours? and that you had your information from Miss Carmina
+herself, after she had shown you the telegram announcing his death?
+
+“A lady, possessed of your scientific knowledge, does not require to be
+told that poisons are employed in making artists’ colours. Remember
+what the priest’s letter says of Teresa’s feeling towards you, and then
+say--Is it so very unlikely that she has brought with her to England
+one of the poisons used by her husband in his trade? and is it quite
+unreasonable to suppose (when she looks at her canister) that she may be
+thinking of you?
+
+“I may be right or I may be wrong. Thanks to the dilapidated condition
+of a lock, I can decide the question, at the first opportunity offered
+to me by the nurse’s absence from the room.
+
+“My next report shall tell you that I have contrived to provide myself
+with a sample of the powder--leaving the canister undisturbed. The
+sample shall be tested by a chemist. If he pronounces it to be poison, I
+have a bold course of action to propose.
+
+“As soon as you are well enough to go to the house, give the nurse her
+chance of poisoning you.
+
+“Dear madam, don’t be alarmed! I will accompany you; and I will answer
+for the result. We will pay our visit at tea-time. Let her offer you
+a cup--and let me (under pretence of handing it) get possession of the
+poisoned drink. Before she can cry Stop!--I shall be on my way to the
+chemist.
+
+“The penalty for attempted murder is penal servitude. If you still
+object to a public exposure, we have the chemist’s report, together with
+your own evidence, ready for your son on his return. How will he feel
+about his marriage-engagement, when he finds that Miss Carmina’s
+dearest friend and companion has tried--_perhaps, with her young lady’s
+knowledge_--to poison his mother?
+
+“Before concluding, I may mention that I had a narrow escape, only two
+hours since, of being seen by Teresa on the stairs.
+
+“I was of course prepared for this sort of meeting, when I engaged my
+room; and I have therefore not been foolish enough to enter the house
+under an assumed name. On the contrary, I propose (in your interests)
+to establish a neighbourly acquaintance--with time to help me. But the
+matter of the poison admits of no delay. My chance of getting at it
+unobserved may be seriously compromised, if the nurse remembers that
+she first met with me in your house, and distrusts me accordingly. Your
+devoted servant, L. F.”
+
+
+Having completed his letter, he rang for the maid, and gave it to her to
+post.
+
+On her way downstairs, she was stopped on the next landing by Mr. Null.
+He too had a letter ready: addressed to Doctor Benjulia. The fierce old
+nurse followed him out, and said, “Post it instantly!” The civil maid
+asked if Miss Carmina was better. “Worse!”--was all the rude foreigner
+said. She looked at poor Mr. Null, as if it was his fault.
+
+Left in the retirement of his room, Mr. Le Frank sat at the
+writing-table, frowning and biting his nails.
+
+Were these evidences of a troubled mind connected with the infamous
+proposal which he had addressed to Mrs. Gallilee? Nothing of the sort!
+Having sent away his letter, he was now at leisure to let his personal
+anxieties absorb him without restraint. He was thinking of Carmina.
+The oftener his efforts were baffled, the more resolute he became to
+discover the secret of her behaviour to him. For the hundredth time he
+said to himself, “Her devilish malice reviles me behind my back,
+and asks me before my face to shake hands and be friends.” The more
+outrageously unreasonable his suspicions became, under the exasperating
+influence of suspense, the more inveterately his vindictive nature held
+to its delusion. After meeting her in the hall at Fairfield Gardens,
+he really believed Carmina’s illness to have been assumed as a means of
+keeping out of his way. If a friend had said to him, “But what reason
+have you to think so?”--he would have smiled compassionately, and have
+given that friend up for a shallow-minded man.
+
+He stole out again, and listened, undetected, at their door. Carmina was
+speaking; but the words, in those faint tones, were inaudible. Teresa’s
+stronger voice easily reached his ears. “My darling, talking is not good
+for you. I’ll light the night-lamp--try to sleep.”
+
+Hearing this, he went back to his bedroom to wait a little. Teresa’s
+vigilance might relax if Carmina fell asleep. She might go downstairs
+for a gossip with the landlady.
+
+After smoking a cigar, he tried again. The lights on the staircase were
+now put out: it was eleven o’clock.
+
+She was not asleep: the nurse was reading to her from some devotional
+book. He gave it up, for that night. His head ached; the ferment of
+his own abominable thoughts had fevered him. A cowardly dread of the
+slightest signs of illness was one of his special weaknesses. The whole
+day, to-morrow, was before him. He felt his own pulse; and determined,
+in justice to himself, to go to bed.
+
+Ten minutes later, the landlady, on her way to bed, ascended the stairs.
+She too heard the voice, still reading aloud--and tapped softly at the
+door. Teresa opened it.
+
+“Is the poor thing not asleep yet?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Has she been disturbed in some way?”
+
+“Somebody has been walking about, overhead,” Teresa answered.
+
+“That’s the new lodger!” exclaimed the landlady. “I’ll speak to Mr. Le
+Frank.”
+
+On the point of closing the door, and saying good-night, Teresa stopped,
+and considered for a moment.
+
+“Is he your new lodger?” she said.
+
+“Yes. Do you know him?”
+
+“I saw him when I was last in England.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Nothing more,” Teresa answered. “Good-night!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LII.
+
+Watching through the night by Carmina’s bedside, Teresa found herself
+thinking of Mr. Le Frank. It was one way of getting through the weary
+time, to guess at the motive which had led him to become a lodger in the
+house.
+
+Common probabilities pointed to the inference that he might have reasons
+for changing his residence, which only concerned himself. But common
+probabilities--from Teresa’s point of view--did not apply to Mr. Le
+Frank. On meeting him, at the time of her last visit to England, his
+personal appearance had produced such a disagreeable impression on her,
+that she had even told Carmina “the music-master looked like a rogue.”
+ With her former prejudice against him now revived, and with her serious
+present reasons for distrusting Mrs. Gallilee, she rejected the idea
+of his accidental presence under her landlady’s roof. To her mind, the
+business of the new lodger in the house was, in all likelihood, the
+business of a spy.
+
+While Mr. Le Frank was warily laying his plans for the next day, he had
+himself become an object of suspicion to the very woman whose secrets he
+was plotting to surprise.
+
+This was the longest and saddest night which the faithful old nurse had
+passed at her darling’s bedside.
+
+For the first time, Carmina was fretful, and hard to please: patient
+persuasion was needed to induce her to take her medicine. Even when she
+was thirsty, she had an irritable objection to being disturbed, if the
+lemonade was offered to her which she had relished at other times. Once
+or twice, when she drowsily stirred in her bed, she showed symptoms of
+delusion. The poor girl supposed it was the eve or her wedding-day, and
+eagerly asked what Teresa had done with her new dress. A little later,
+when she had perhaps been dreaming, she fancied that her mother was
+still alive, and repeated the long-forgotten talk of her childhood.
+“What have I said to distress you?” she asked wonderingly, when she
+found Teresa crying.
+
+Soon after sunrise, there came a long interval of repose.
+
+At the later time when Benjulia arrived, she was quiet and
+uncomplaining. The change for the worse which had induced Teresa to
+insist on sending for him, was perversely absent. Mr. Null expected to
+be roughly rebuked for having disturbed the great man by a false alarm.
+He attempted to explain: and Teresa attempted to explain. Benjulia
+paid not the slightest attention to either of them. He made no angry
+remarks--and he showed, in his own impenetrable way, as gratifying an
+interest in the case as ever.
+
+“Draw up the blind,” he said; “I want to have a good look at her.”
+
+Mr. Null waited respectfully, and imposed strict silence on Teresa,
+while the investigation was going on. It lasted so long that he ventured
+to say, “Do you see anything particular, sir?”
+
+Benjulia saw his doubts cleared up: time (as he had anticipated)
+had brought development with it, and had enabled him to arrive at a
+conclusion. The shock that had struck Carmina had produced complicated
+hysterical disturbance, which was now beginning to simulate paralysis.
+Benjulia’s profound and practised observation detected a trifling
+inequality in the size of the pupils of the eyes, and a slightly unequal
+action on either side of the face--delicately presented in the eyelids,
+the nostrils, and the lips. Here was no common affection of the brain,
+which even Mr. Null could understand! Here, at last, was Benjulia’s
+reward for sacrificing the precious hours which might otherwise have
+been employed in the laboratory! From that day, Carmina was destined to
+receive unknown honour: she was to take her place, along with the other
+animals, in his note-book of experiments.
+
+He turned quietly to Mr. Null, and finished the consultation in two
+words.
+
+“All right!”
+
+“Have you nothing to suggest, sir?” Mr. Null inquired.
+
+“Go on with the treatment--and draw down the blind, if she complains of
+the light. Good-day!”
+
+“Are you sure he’s a great doctor?” said Teresa, when the door had
+closed on him.
+
+“The greatest we have!” cried Mr. Null with enthusiasm.
+
+“Is he a good man?”
+
+“Why do you ask?”
+
+“I want to know if we can trust him to tell us the truth?”
+
+“Not a doubt of it!” (Who could doubt it, indeed, after he had approved
+of Mr. Null’s medical treatment?)
+
+“There’s one thing you have forgotten,” Teresa persisted. “You haven’t
+asked him when Carmina can be moved.”
+
+“My good woman, if I had put such a question, he would have set me down
+as a fool! Nobody can say when she will be well enough to be moved.”
+
+He took his hat. The nurse followed him out.
+
+“Are you going to Mrs. Gallilee, sir?”
+
+“Not to-day.”
+
+“Is she better?”
+
+“She is almost well again.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIII.
+
+Left alone, Teresa went into the sitting-room: she was afraid to show
+herself at the bedside.
+
+Mr. Null had destroyed the one hope which had supported her thus
+far--the hope of escaping from England with Carmina, before Mrs.
+Gallilee could interfere. Looking steadfastly at that inspiriting
+prospect, she had forced herself to sign the humble apology and
+submission which the lawyers had dictated. What was the prospect now?
+Heavily had the merciless hand of calamity fallen on that brave old
+soul--and, at last, it had beaten her down! While she stood at the
+window, mechanically looking out, the dreary view of the back street
+trembled and disappeared. Teresa was crying. Happily for herself, she
+was unable to control her own weakness; the tears lightened her heavy
+heart. She waited a little, in the fear that her eyes might betray her,
+before she returned to Carmina. In that interval, she heard the sound of
+a closing door, on the floor above.
+
+“The music-master!” she said to herself.
+
+In an instant, she was at the sitting-room door, looking through the
+keyhole. It was the one safe way of watching him--and that was enough
+for Teresa.
+
+His figure appeared suddenly within her narrow range of view--on the
+mat outside the door. If her distrust of him was without foundation,
+he would go on downstairs. No! He stopped on the mat to listen--he
+stooped--his eye would have been at the keyhole in another moment.
+
+She seized a chair, and moved it. The sound instantly drove him away. He
+went on, down the stairs.
+
+Teresa considered with herself what safest means of protection--and, if
+possible, of punishment as well--lay within her reach. How, and where,
+could the trap be set that might catch him?
+
+She was still puzzled by that question, when the landlady made her
+appearance--politely anxious to hear what the doctors thought of their
+patient. Satisfied so far, the wearisome woman had her apologies to make
+next, for not having yet cautioned Mr. Le Frank.
+
+“Thinking over it, since last night,” she said confidentially, “I cannot
+imagine how you heard him walking overhead. He has such a soft step that
+he positively takes me by surprise when he comes into my room. He has
+gone out for an hour; and I have done him a little favour which I am
+not in the habit of conferring on ordinary lodgers--I have lent him my
+umbrella, as it threatens rain. In his absence, I will ask you to listen
+while I walk about in his room. One can’t be too particular, when rest
+is of such importance to your young lady--and it has struck me as just
+possible, that the floor of his room may be in fault. My dear, the
+boards may creak! I’m a sad fidget, I know; but, if the carpenter can
+set things right--without any horrid hammering, of course!--the sooner
+he is sent for, the more relieved I shall feel.”
+
+Through this harangue, the nurse had waited, with a patience far from
+characteristic of her, for an opportunity of saying a timely word. By
+some tortuous mental process, that she was quite unable to trace, the
+landlady’s allusion to Mr. Le Frank had suggested the very idea of
+which, in her undisturbed solitude, she had been vainly in search.
+Never before, had the mistress of the house appeared to Teresa in such a
+favourable light.
+
+“You needn’t trouble yourself, ma’am,” she said, as soon as she could
+make herself heard; “it _was_ the creaking of the boards that told me
+somebody was moving overhead.”
+
+“Then I’m not a fidget after all? Oh, how you relieve me! Whatever the
+servants may have to do, one of them shall be sent instantly to the
+carpenter. So glad to be of any service to that sweet young creature!”
+
+Teresa consulted her watch before she returned to the bedroom.
+
+The improvement in Carmina still continued: she was able to take some
+of the light nourishment that was waiting for her. As Benjulia had
+anticipated, she asked to have the blind lowered a little. Teresa drew
+it completely over the window: she had her own reasons for tempting
+Carmina to repose. In half an hour more, the weary girl was sleeping,
+and the nurse was at liberty to set her trap for Mr. Le Frank.
+
+Her first proceeding was to dip the end of a quill pen into her bottle
+of salad oil, and to lubricate the lock and key of the door that gave
+access to the bedroom from the stairs. Having satisfied herself that the
+key could now be used without making the slightest sound, she turned to
+the door of communication with the sitting-room next.
+
+This door was covered with green baize. It had handles but no lock; and
+it swung inwards, so as to allow the door of the cupboard (situated in
+the angle of the sitting-room wall) to open towards the bedroom freely.
+Teresa oiled the hinges, and the brass bolt and staple which protected
+the baize door on the side of the bedroom. That done, she looked again
+at her watch.
+
+Mr. Le Frank’s absence was expected to last for an hour. In five minutes
+more, the hour would expire.
+
+After bolting the door of communication, she paused in the bedroom, and
+wafted a kiss to Carmina, still at rest. She left the room by the door
+which opened on the stairs, and locked it, taking away the key with her.
+
+Having gone down the first flight of stairs, she stopped and went back.
+The one unsecured door, was the door which led into the sitting-room
+from the staircase. She opened it and left it invitingly ajar. “Now,”
+ she said to herself, “the trap will catch him!”
+
+The hall clock struck the hour when she entered the landlady’s room.
+
+The woman of many words was at once charmed and annoyed. Charmed to
+hear that the dear invalid was resting, and to receive a visit from the
+nurse: annoyed by the absence of the carpenter, at work somewhere else
+for the whole of the day. “If my dear husband had been alive, we should
+have been independent of carpenters; he could turn his hand to anything.
+Now do sit down--I want you to taste some cherry brandy of my own
+making.”
+
+As Teresa took a chair, Mr. Le Frank returned. The two secret
+adversaries met, face to face.
+
+“Surely I remember this lady?” he said.
+
+Teresa encountered him, on his own ground. She made her best curtsey,
+and reminded him of the circumstances under which they had formerly met.
+The hospitable landlady produced her cherry brandy. “We are going to
+have a nice little chat; do sit down, sir, and join us.” Mr. Le Frank
+made his apologies. The umbrella which had been so kindly lent to him,
+had not protected his shoes; his feet were wet; and he was so sadly
+liable to take cold that he must beg permission to put on his dry things
+immediately.
+
+Having bowed himself out, he stopped in the passage, and, standing on
+tiptoe, peeped through a window in the wall, by which light was conveyed
+to the landlady’s little room. The two women were comfortably seated
+together, with the cherry brandy and a plate of biscuits on a table
+between them. “In for a good long gossip,” thought Mr. Le Frank. “Now is
+my time!”
+
+Not five minutes more had passed, before Teresa made an excuse for
+running upstairs again. She had forgotten to leave the bell rope, in
+case Carmina woke, within the reach of her hand. The excellent heart of
+the hostess made allowance for natural anxiety. “Do it, you good soul,”
+ she said; “and come back directly!” Left by herself, she filled her
+glass again, and smiled. Sweetness of temper (encouraged by cherry
+brandy) can even smile at a glass--unless it happens to be empty.
+
+Approaching her own rooms, Teresa waited, and listened, before she
+showed herself. No sound reached her through the half open sitting-room
+door. She noiselessly entered the bedroom, and then locked the door
+again. Once more she listened; and once more there was nothing to be
+heard. Had he seen her on the stairs?
+
+As the doubt crossed her mind, she heard the boards creak on the floor
+above. Mr. Le Frank was in his room.
+
+Did this mean that her well-laid plan had failed? Or did it mean that he
+was really changing his shoes and stockings? The last inference was the
+right one.
+
+He had made no mere excuse downstairs. The serious interests that he
+had at stake, were not important enough to make him forget his precious
+health. His chest was delicate; a cold might settle on his lungs. The
+temptation of the half-open door had its due effect on this prudent man;
+but it failed to make him forget that his feet were wet.
+
+The boards creaked again; the door of his room was softly closed--then
+there was silence. Teresa only knew when he had entered the sitting-room
+by hearing him try the bolted baize door. After that, he must have
+stepped out again. He next tried the door of the bedchamber, from the
+stairs.
+
+There was a quiet interval once more. Teresa noiselessly drew back the
+bolt; and, opening the baize door by a mere hair’s-breadth, admitted
+sound from the sitting-room. She now heard him turning the key in a
+chiffonier, which only contained tradesmen’s circulars, receipted bills,
+and a few books.
+
+(Even with the canister in the cupboard, waiting to be opened, his
+uppermost idea was to discover Carmina’s vindictive motive in Carmina’s
+papers!)
+
+The contents of the chiffonier disappointed him--judging by the tone in
+which he muttered to himself. The next sound startled Teresa; it was a
+tap against the lintel of the door behind which she was standing. He had
+thrown open the cupboard.
+
+The rasping of the cover, as he took it off, told her that he was
+examining the canister. She had put it back on the shelf, a harmless
+thing now--the poison and the label having been both destroyed by fire.
+Nevertheless, his choosing the canister, from dozens of other
+things scattered invitingly about it, inspired her with a feeling of
+distrustful surprise. She was no longer content to find out what he was
+doing by means of her ears. Determined to see him, and to catch him in
+the fact, she pulled open the baize door--at the moment when he must
+have discovered that the canister was empty. A faint thump told her he
+had thrown it on the floor.
+
+The view of the sitting-room was still hidden from her. She had
+forgotten the cupboard door.
+
+Now that it was wide open, it covered the entrance to the bedroom, and
+completely screened them one from the other. For the moment she was
+startled, and hesitated whether to show herself or not. His voice
+stopped her.
+
+“Is there another canister?” he said to himself. “The dirty old savage
+may have hidden it--”
+
+Teresa heard no more. “The dirty old savage” was an insult not to be
+endured! She forgot her intention of stealing on him unobserved; she
+forgot her resolution to do nothing that could awaken Carmina. Her
+fierce temper urged her into furious action. With both hands outspread,
+she flew at the cupboard door, and banged it to in an instant.
+
+A shriek of agony rang through the house. The swiftly closing door had
+caught, and crushed, the fingers of Le Frank’s right hand, at the moment
+when he was putting it into the cupboard again.
+
+Without stopping to help him, without even looking at him, she ran back
+to Carmina.
+
+The swinging baize door fell to, and closed of itself. No second cry
+was heard. Nothing happened to falsify her desperate assertion that the
+shriek was the delusion of a vivid dream. She took Carmina in her arms,
+and patted and fondled her like a child. “See, my darling, I’m with you
+as usual; and I have heard nothing. Don’t, oh, don’t tremble in that
+way! There--I’ll wrap you up in my shawl, and read to you. No! let’s
+talk of Ovid.”
+
+Her efforts to compose Carmina were interrupted by a muffled sound of
+men’s footsteps and women’s voices in the next room.
+
+She hurriedly opened the door, and entreated them to whisper and be
+quiet. In the instant before she closed it again, she saw and heard.
+Le Frank lay in a swoon on the floor. The landlady was kneeling by him,
+looking at his injured hand; and the lodgers were saying, “Send him to
+the hospital.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIV.
+
+On Monday morning, the strain on Mrs. Gallilee’s powers of patient
+endurance came to an end. With the help of Mr. Null’s arm, she was
+able to get downstairs to the library. On Tuesday, there would be no
+objection to her going out for a drive. Mr. Null left her, restored to
+her equable flow of spirits. He had asked if she wished to have somebody
+to keep her company--and she had answered briskly, “Not on any account!
+I prefer being alone.”
+
+On the morning of Saturday, she had received Mr. Le Frank’s letter; but
+she had not then recovered sufficiently to be able to read it through.
+She could now take it up again, and get to the end.
+
+Other women might have been alarmed by the atrocious wickedness of the
+conspiracy which the music-master had planned. Mrs. Gallilee was only
+offended. That he should think her capable--in her social position--of
+favouring such a plot as he had suggested, was an insult which she
+was determined neither to forgive nor forget. Fortunately, she had not
+committed herself in writing; he could produce no proof of the relations
+that had existed between them. The first and best use to make of her
+recovery would be to dismiss him--after paying his expenses, privately
+and prudently, in money instead of by cheque.
+
+In the meantime, the man’s insolence had left its revolting impression
+on her mind. The one way to remove it was to find some agreeable
+occupation for her thoughts.
+
+Look at your library table, learned lady, and take the appropriate means
+of relief that it offers. See the lively modern parasites that infest
+Science, eager to invite your attention to their little crawling selves.
+Follow scientific inquiry, rushing into print to proclaim its own
+importance, and to declare any human being, who ventures to doubt or
+differ, a fanatic or a fool. Respect the leaders of public opinion,
+writing notices of professors, who have made discoveries not yet tried
+by time, not yet universally accepted even by their brethren, in terms
+which would be exaggerated if they were applied to Newton or to Bacon.
+Submit to lectures and addresses by dozens which, if they prove nothing
+else, prove that what was scientific knowledge some years since; is
+scientific ignorance now--and that what is scientific knowledge now,
+may be scientific ignorance in some years more. Absorb your mind in
+controversies and discussions, in which Mr. Always Right and Mr. Never
+Wrong exhibit the natural tendency of man to believe in himself, in the
+most rampant stage of development that the world has yet seen. And when
+you have done all this, doubt not that you have made a good use of your
+time. You have discovered what the gentle wisdom of FARADAY saw and
+deplored, when he warned the science of his day in words which should
+live for ever: “The first and last step in the education of the judgment
+is--Humility.” Having agreeably occupied her mind with subjects that
+were worthy of it, Mrs. Gallilee rose to seek a little physical relief
+by walking up and down the room.
+
+Passing and repassing the bookcases, she noticed a remote corner devoted
+to miscellaneous literature. A volume in faded binding of sky-blue, had
+been placed upside down. She looked at the book before she put it in
+its right position. The title was “Gallery of British Beauty.” Among the
+illustrations--long since forgotten--appeared her own portrait, when she
+was a girl of Carmina’s age.
+
+A faintly contemptuous smile parted her hard lips, provoked by the
+recollections of her youth.
+
+What a fool she had been, at that early period of her life! In those
+days, she had trembled with pleasure at the singing of a famous Italian
+tenor; she had flown into a passion when a new dress proved to be a
+misfit, on the evening of a ball; she had given money to beggars in the
+street; she had fallen in love with a poor young man, and had terrified
+her weak-minded hysterical mother, by threatening to commit suicide
+when the beloved object was forbidden the house. Comparing the girl of
+seventeen with the matured and cultivated woman of later years, what a
+matchless example Mrs. Gallilee presented of the healthy influence of
+education, directed to scientific pursuits! “Ah!” she thought, as she
+put the book back in its place, “my girls will have reason to thank me
+when they grow up; they have had a mother who has done her duty.”
+
+She took a few more turns up and down the room. The sky had cleared
+again; a golden gleam of sunlight drew her to the window. The next
+moment she regretted even this concession to human weakness. A
+disagreeable association presented itself, and arrested the pleasant
+flow of her thoughts. Mr. Gallilee appeared on the door-step; leaving
+the house on foot, and carrying a large brown-paper parcel under his
+arm.
+
+With servants at his disposal, why was he carrying the parcel himself?
+The time had been, when Mrs. Gallilee would have tapped at the window,
+and would have insisted on his instantly returning and answering the
+question. But his conduct, since the catastrophe in Carmina’s room,
+had produced a complete estrangement between the married pair. All his
+inquiries after his wife’s health had been made by deputy. When he was
+not in the schoolroom with the children, he was at his club. Until he
+came to his senses, and made humble apology, no earthly consideration
+would induce Mrs. Gallilee to take the slightest notice of him.
+
+She returned to her reading.
+
+The footman came in, with two letters--one arriving by post; the other
+having been dropped into the box by private messenger. Communications
+of this latter sort proceeded, not unfrequently, from creditors. Mrs.
+Gallilee opened the stamped letter first.
+
+It contained nothing more important than a few lines from a daily
+governess, whom she had engaged until a successor to Miss Minerva could
+be found. In obedience to Mrs. Gallilee’s instructions, the governess
+would begin her attendance at ten o’clock on the next morning.
+
+The second letter was of a very different kind. It related the disaster
+which had befallen Mr. Le Frank.
+
+Mr. Null was the writer. As Miss Carmina’s medical attendant, it was
+his duty to inform her guardian that her health had been unfavourably
+affected by an alarm in the house. Having described the nature of the
+alarm, he proceeded in these words: “You will, I fear, lose the services
+of your present music-master. Inquiries made this morning at the
+hospital, and reported to me, appear to suggest serious results. The
+wounded man’s constitution is in an unhealthy state; the surgeons are
+not sure of being able to save two of the fingers. I will do myself the
+honour of calling to-morrow before you go out for your drive.”
+
+The impression produced by this intelligence on the lady to whom it was
+addressed, can only be reported in her own words. She--who knew, on the
+best scientific authority, that the world had created itself--completely
+lost her head, and actually said, “Thank God!”
+
+For weeks to come--perhaps for months if the surgeons’ forebodings were
+fulfilled--Mrs. Gallilee had got rid of Mr. Le Frank. In that moment
+of infinite relief, if her husband had presented himself, it is even
+possible that he might have been forgiven.
+
+As it was, Mr. Gallilee returned late in the afternoon; entered his
+own domain of the smoking-room; and left the house again five minutes
+afterwards. Joseph officiously opened the door for him; and Joseph was
+surprised, precisely as his mistress had been surprised. Mr. Gallilee
+had a large brown paper parcel under his arm--the second which he
+had taken out of the house with his own hands! Moreover, he looked
+excessively confused when the footman discovered him. That night, he was
+late in returning from the club. Joseph (now on the watch) observed that
+he was not steady on his legs--and drew his own conclusions accordingly.
+
+Punctual to her time, on the next morning, the new governess arrived.
+Mrs. Gallilee received her, and sent for the children.
+
+The maid in charge of them appeared alone. She had no doubt that the
+young ladies would be back directly. The master had taken them out for a
+little walk, before they began their lessons. He had been informed
+that the lady who had been appointed to teach them would arrive at ten
+o’clock. And what had he said? He had said, “Very good.”
+
+The half-hour struck--eleven o’clock struck--and neither the father nor
+the children returned. Ten minutes later, someone rang the door bell.
+The door being duly opened, nobody appeared on the house-step. Joseph
+looked into the letter-box, and found a note addressed to his mistress,
+in his master’s handwriting. He immediately delivered it.
+
+Hitherto, Mrs. Gallilee had only been anxious. Joseph, waiting for
+events outside the door, heard the bell rung furiously; and found his
+mistress (as he forcibly described it) “like a woman gone distracted.”
+ Not without reason--to do her justice. Mr. Gallilee’s method of
+relieving his wife’s anxiety was remarkable by its brevity. In one
+sentence, he assured her that there was no need to feel alarmed. In
+another, he mentioned that he had taken the girls away with him for a
+change of air. And then he signed his initials--J. G.
+
+Every servant in the house was summoned to the library, when Mrs.
+Gallilee had in some degree recovered herself.
+
+One after another they were strictly examined; and one after another
+they had no evidence to give--excepting the maid who had been present
+when the master took the young ladies away. The little she had to tell,
+pointed to the inference that he had not admitted the girls to his
+confidence before they left the house. Maria had submitted, without
+appearing to be particularly pleased at the prospect of so early a walk.
+Zo (never ready to exert either her intelligence or her legs) had openly
+declared that she would rather stay at home. To this the master had
+answered, “Get your things on directly!”--and had said it so sharply
+that Miss Zoe stared at him in astonishment. Had they taken anything
+with them--a travelling bag for instance? They had taken nothing, except
+Mr. Gallilee’s umbrella. Who had seen Mr. Gallilee last, on the previous
+night? Joseph had seen him last. The lower classes in England have one,
+and but one, true feeling of sympathy with the higher classes. The man
+above them appeals to their hearts, and merits their true service, when
+he is unsteady on his legs. Joseph nobly confined his evidence to what
+he had observed some hours previously: he mentioned the parcel. Mrs.
+Gallilee’s keen perception, quickened by her own experience at the
+window, arrived at the truth. Those two bulky packages must have
+contained clothes--left, in anticipation of the journey, under the care
+of an accomplice. It was impossible that Mr. Gallilee could have got
+at the girls’ dresses and linen, and have made the necessary selections
+from them, without a woman’s assistance. The female servants were
+examined again. Each one of them positively asserted her innocence.
+Mrs. Gallilee threatened to send for the police. The indignant women all
+cried in chorus, “Search our boxes!” Mrs. Gallilee took a wiser course.
+She sent to the lawyers who had been recommended to her by Mr. Null.
+The messenger had just been despatched, when Mr. Null himself, in
+performance of yesterday’s engagement, called at the house.
+
+He, too, was agitated. It was impossible that he could have heard what
+had happened. Was he the bearer of bad news? Mrs. Gallilee thought of
+Carmina first, and then of Mr. Le Frank.
+
+“Prepare for a surprise,” Mr. Null began, “a joyful surprise, Mrs.
+Gallilee! I have received a telegram from your son.”
+
+He handed it to her as he spoke.
+
+“September 6th. Arrived at Quebec, and received information of Carmina’s
+illness. Shall catch the Boston steamer, and sail to-morrow for
+Liverpool. Break the news gently to C. For God’s sake send telegram to
+meet me at Queenstown.”
+
+It was then the 7th of September. If all went well, Ovid might be in
+London in ten days more.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LV.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee read the telegram--paused--and read it again. She let it
+drop on her lap; but her eyes still rested mechanically on the slip of
+paper. When she spoke, her voice startled Mr. Null. Usually loud and
+hard, her tones were strangely subdued. If his back had been turned
+towards her, he would hardly have known who was speaking to him.
+
+“I must ask you to make allowances for me,” she began, abruptly; “I
+hardly know what to say. This surprise comes at a time when I am badly
+prepared for it. I am getting well; but, you see, I am not quite so
+strong as I was before that woman attacked me. My husband has gone
+away--I don’t know where--and has taken my children with him. Read
+his note: but don’t say anything. You must let me be quiet, or I can’t
+think.”
+
+She handed the letter to Mr. Null. He looked at her--read the few
+words submitted to him--and looked at her again. For once, his stock of
+conventional phrases failed him. Who could have anticipated such conduct
+on the part of her husband? Who could have supposed that she herself
+would have been affected in this way, by the return of her son?
+
+Mrs. Gallilee drew a long heavy breath. “I have got it now,” she said.
+“My son is coming home in a hurry because of Carmina’s illness. Has
+Carmina written to him?”
+
+Mr. Null was in his element again: this question appealed to his
+knowledge of his patient. “Impossible, Mrs. Gallilee--in her present
+state of health.”
+
+“In her present state of health? I forgot that. There was something
+else. Oh, yes! Has Carmina seen the telegram?”
+
+Mr. Null explained. He had just come from Carmina. In his medical
+capacity, he had thought it judicious to try the moral effect on his
+patient of a first allusion to the good news. He had only ventured to
+say that Mr. Ovid’s agents in Canada had heard from him on his travels,
+and had reason to believe that he would shortly return to Quebec. Upon
+the whole, the impression produced on the young lady--
+
+It was useless to go on. Mrs. Gallilee was pursuing her own thoughts,
+without even the pretence of listening to him.
+
+“I want to know who wrote to my son,” she persisted. “Was it the nurse?”
+
+Mr. Null considered this to be in the last degree unlikely. The nurse’s
+language showed a hostile feeling towards Mr. Ovid, in consequence of
+his absence.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee looked once more at the telegram. “Why,” she asked, “does
+Ovid telegraph to You?”
+
+Mr. Null answered with his customary sense of what was due to himself.
+“As the medical attendant of the family, your son naturally supposed,
+madam, that Miss Carmina was under my care.”
+
+The implied reproof produced no effect. “I wonder whether my son was
+afraid to trust us?” was all Mrs. Gallilee said. It was the chance guess
+of a wandering mind--but it had hit the truth. Kept in ignorance of
+Carmina’s illness by the elder members of the family, at what other
+conclusion could Ovid arrive, with Zo’s letter before him? After a
+momentary pause, Mrs. Gallilee went on. “I suppose I may keep the
+telegram?” she said.
+
+Prudent Mr. Null offered a copy--and made the copy, then and there.
+The original (he explained) was his authority for acting on Mr. Ovid’s
+behalf, and he must therefore beg leave to keep it. Mrs. Gallilee
+permitted him to exchange the two papers. “Is there anything more?” she
+asked. “Your time is valuable of course. Don’t let me detain you.”
+
+“May I feel your pulse before I go?”
+
+She held out her arm to him in silence.
+
+The carriage came to the door while he was counting the beat of the
+pulse. She glanced at the window, and said, “Send it away.” Mr. Null
+remonstrated. “My dear lady, the air will do you good.” She answered
+obstinately and quietly, “No”--and once more became absorbed in thought.
+
+It had been her intention to combine her first day of carriage exercise
+with a visit to Teresa’s lodgings, and a personal exertion of her
+authority. The news of Ovid’s impending return made it a matter of
+serious importance to consider this resolution under a new light. She
+had now, not only to reckon with Teresa, but with her son. With this
+burden on her enfeebled mind--heavily laden by the sense of injury which
+her husband’s flight had aroused--she had not even reserves enough of
+energy to spare for the trifling effort of dressing to go out. She broke
+into irritability, for the first time. “I am trying to find out who has
+written to my son. How can I do it when you are worrying me about the
+carriage? Have you ever held a full glass in your hand, and been afraid
+of letting it overflow? That’s what I’m afraid of--in my mind--I don’t
+mean that my mind is a glass--I mean--” Her forehead turned red. _“Will_
+you leave me?” she cried.
+
+He left her instantly.
+
+The change in her manner, the difficulty she found in expressing her
+thoughts, had even startled stupid Mr. Null. She had herself alluded
+to results of the murderous attack made on her by Teresa, which had not
+perhaps hitherto sufficiently impressed him. In the shock inflicted
+on the patient’s body, had there been involved some subtly-working
+influence that had disturbed the steady balance of her mind? Pondering
+uneasily on that question, he spoke to Joseph in the hall.
+
+“Do you know about your master and the children?” he said.
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“I wish you had told me of it, when you let me in.”
+
+“Have I done any harm, sir?”
+
+“I don’t know yet. If you want me, I shall be at home to dinner at
+seven.”
+
+The next visitor was one of the partners in the legal firm, to which
+Mrs. Gallilee had applied for advice. After what Mr. Null had said,
+Joseph hesitated to conduct this gentleman into the presence of his
+mistress. He left the lawyer in the waiting-room, and took his card.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee’s attitude had not changed. She sat looking down at the
+copied telegram and the letter from her husband, lying together on her
+lap. Joseph was obliged to speak twice, before he could rouse her.
+
+“To-morrow,” was all she said.
+
+“What time shall I say, ma’am?”
+
+She put her hand to her head--and broke into anger against Joseph.
+“Settle it yourself, you wretch!” Her head drooped again over the
+papers. Joseph returned to the lawyer. “My mistress is not very well,
+sir. She will be obliged if you will call to-morrow, at your own time.”
+
+About an hour later, she rang her bell--rang it unintermittingly, until
+Joseph appeared. “I’m famished,” she said. “Something to eat! I never
+was so hungry in my life. At once--I can’t wait.”
+
+The cook sent up a cold fowl, and a ham. Her eyes devoured the food,
+while the footman was carving it for her. Her bad temper seemed to have
+completely disappeared. She said, “What a delicious dinner! Just the
+very things I like.” She lifted the first morsel to her mouth--and laid
+the fork down again with a weary sigh. “No: I can’t eat; what has come
+to me?” With those words, she pushed her chair away from the table,
+and looked slowly all round her. “I want the telegram and the letter.”
+ Joseph found them. “Can you help me?” she said. “I am trying to find out
+who wrote my son. Say yes, or no, at once; I hate waiting.”
+
+Joseph left her in her old posture, with her head down and the papers on
+her lap.
+
+The appearance of the uneaten dinner in the kitchen produced a
+discussion, followed by a quarrel.
+
+Joseph was of the opinion that the mistress had got more upon her mind
+than her mind could well bear. It was useless to send for Mr. Null; he
+had already mentioned that he would not be home until seven o’clock..
+There was no superior person in the house to consult. It was not for
+the servants to take responsibility on themselves. “Fetch the nearest
+doctor, and let _him_ be answerable, if anything serious happens.” Such
+was Joseph’s advice.
+
+The women (angrily remembering that Mrs. Gallilee had spoken of sending
+for the police) ridiculed the footman’s cautious proposal--with one
+exception. When the others ironically asked him if he was not accustomed
+to the mistress’s temper yet, Mrs. Gallilee’s own maid (Marceline) said,
+“What do we know about it? Joseph is the only one of us who has seen
+her, since the morning.”
+
+This perfectly sensible remark had the effect of a breath of wind on a
+smouldering fire. The female servants, all equally suspected of having
+assisted Mr. Gallilee in making up his parcels, were all equally assured
+that there was a traitress among them--and that Marceline was the
+woman. Hitherto suppressed, this feeling now openly found its way to
+expression. Marceline lost her temper; and betrayed herself as her
+master’s guilty confederate.
+
+“I’m a mean mongrel--am I?” cried the angry maid, repeating the cook’s
+allusion to her birthplace in the Channel Islands. “The mistress shall
+know, this minute, that I’m the woman who did it!”
+
+“Why didn’t you say so before?” the cook retorted.
+
+“Because I promised my master not to tell on him, till he got to his
+journey’s end.”
+
+“Who’ll lay a wager?” asked the cook. “I bet half-a-crown she changes
+her mind, before she gets to the top of the stairs.”
+
+“Perhaps she thinks the mistress will forgive her,” the parlour-maid
+suggested ironically.
+
+“Or perhaps,” the housemaid added, “she means to give the mistress
+notice to leave.”
+
+“That’s exactly what I’m going to do!” said Marceline.
+
+The women all declined to believe her. She appealed to Joseph. “What
+did I tell you, when the mistress first sent me out in the carriage with
+poor Miss Carmina? Didn’t I say that I was no spy, and that I wouldn’t
+submit to be made one? I would have left the house--I would!--but for
+Miss Carmina’s kindness. Any other young lady would have made me feel
+my mean position. _She_ treated me like a friend--and I don’t forget it.
+I’ll go straight from this place, and help to nurse her!”
+
+With that declaration, Marceline left the kitchen.
+
+Arrived at the library door, she paused. Not as the cook had suggested,
+to “change her mind;” but to consider beforehand how much she should
+confess to her mistress, and how much she should hold in reserve.
+
+Zo’s narrative of what had happened, on the evening of Teresa’s arrival,
+had produced its inevitable effect on the maid’s mind. Strengthening,
+by the sympathy which it excited, her grateful attachment to Carmina,
+it had necessarily intensified her dislike of Mrs. Gallilee--and Mrs.
+Gallilee’s innocent husband had profited by that circumstance!
+
+Unexpectedly tried by time, Mr. Gallilee’s resolution to assert his
+paternal authority, in spite of his wife, had failed him. The same
+timidity which invents a lie in a hurry, can construct a stratagem at
+leisure. Marceline had discovered her master putting a plan of escape,
+devised by himself, to its first practical trial before the open
+wardrobe of his daughters--and had asked slyly if she could be of any
+use. Never remarkable for presence of mind in emergencies, Mr. Gallilee
+had helplessly admitted to his confidence the last person in the house,
+whom anyone else (in his position) would have trusted. “My good soul,
+I want to take the girls away quietly for change of air--you have got
+little secrets of your own, like me, haven’t you?--and the fact is,
+I don’t quite know how many petticoats--.” There, he checked himself;
+conscious, when it was too late, that he was asking his wife’s maid to
+help him in deceiving his wife. The ready Marceline helped him
+through the difficulty. “I understand, sir: my mistress’s mind is much
+occupied--and you don’t want to trouble her about this little journey.”
+ Mr. Gallilee, at a loss for any other answer, pulled out his purse.
+Marceline modestly drew back at the sight of it. “My mistress pays me,
+sir; I serve _you_ for nothing.” In those words, she would have informed
+any other man of the place which Mrs. Gallilee held in her estimation.
+Her master simply considered her to be the most disinterested woman he
+had ever met with. If she lost her situation through helping him, he
+engaged to pay her wages until she found another place. The maid set his
+mind at rest on that subject. “A woman who understands hairdressing as I
+do, sir, can refer to other ladies besides Mrs. Gallilee, and can get a
+place whenever she wants one.”
+
+Having decided on what she should confess, and on what she should
+conceal, Marceline knocked at the library door. Receiving no answer, she
+went in.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was leaning back in her chair: her hands hung down on
+either side of her; her eyes looked up drowsily at the ceiling. Prepared
+to see a person with an overburdened mind, the maid (without sympathy,
+to quicken her perceptions) saw nothing but a person on the point of
+taking a nap.
+
+“Can I speak a word, ma’am?”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee’s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. “Is that my maid?”
+ she asked.
+
+Treated--to all appearance--with marked contempt, Marceline no longer
+cared to assume the forms of respect either in language or manner. “I
+wish to give you notice to leave,” she said abruptly; “I find I can’t
+get on with my fellow-servants.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee slowly raised her head, and looked at her maid--and said
+nothing.
+
+“And while I’m about it,” the angry woman proceeded, “I may as well own
+the truth. You suspect one of us of helping my master to take away the
+young ladies’ things--I mean some few of their things. Well! you needn’t
+blame innocent people. I’m the person.”
+
+Mrs. Gallilee laid her head back again on the chair--and burst out
+laughing.
+
+For one moment, Marceline looked at her mistress in blank surprise.
+Then, the terrible truth burst on her. She ran into the hall, and called
+for Joseph.
+
+He hurried up the stairs. The instant he presented himself at the open
+door, Mrs. Gallilee rose to her feet. “My medical attendant,” she said,
+with an assumption of dignity; “I must explain myself.” She held up one
+hand, outstretched; and counted her fingers with the other. “First my
+husband. Then my son. Now my maid. One, two, three. Mr. Null, do you
+know the proverb? ‘It’s the last hair that breaks the camel’s back.’”
+ She suddenly dropped on her knees. “Will somebody pray for me?” she
+cried piteously. “I don’t know how to pray for myself. Where is God?”
+
+Bareheaded as he was, Joseph ran out. The nearest doctor lived on the
+opposite side of the Square. He happened to be at home. When he reached
+the house, the women servants were holding their mistress down by main
+force.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVI.
+
+On the next day, Mr. Mool--returning from a legal consultation to an
+appointment at his office--found a gentleman, whom he knew by sight,
+walking up and down before his door; apparently bent on intercepting
+him. “Mr. Null, I believe?” he said, with his customary politeness.
+
+Mr. Null answered to his name, and asked for a moment of Mr. Mool’s
+time. Mr. Mool looked grave, and said he was late for an appointment
+already. Mr. Null admitted that the clerks in the office had told him
+so, and said at last, what he ought to have said at first: “I am
+Mrs. Gallilee’s medical attendant--there is serious necessity for
+communicating with her husband.”
+
+Mr. Mool instantly led the way into the office.
+
+The chief clerk approached his employer, with some severity of manner.
+“The parties have been waiting, sir, for more than a quarter of an
+hour.” Mr. Mool’s attention wandered: he was thinking of Mrs. Gallilee.
+“Is she dying?” he asked. “She is out of her mind,” Mr. Null answered.
+Those words petrified the lawyer: he looked helplessly at the
+clerk--who, in his turn, looked indignantly at the office clock.
+Mr. Mool recovered himself. “Say I am detained by a most distressing
+circumstance; I will call on the parties later in the day, at their
+own hour.” Giving those directions to the clerk, he hurried Mr. Null
+upstairs into a private room. “Tell me about it; pray tell me about it.
+Stop! Perhaps, there is not time enough. What can I do?”
+
+Mr. Null put the question, which he ought to have asked when they met at
+the house door. “Can you tell me Mr. Gallilee’s address?”
+
+“Certainly! Care of the Earl of Northlake--”
+
+“Will you please write it in my pocket-book? I am so upset by this
+dreadful affair that I can’t trust my memory.”
+
+Such a confession of helplessness as this, was all that was wanted to
+rouse Mr. Mool. He rejected the pocket-book, and wrote the address on a
+telegram. “Return directly: your wife is seriously ill.” In five minutes
+more, the message was on its way to Scotland; and Mr. Null was at
+liberty to tell his melancholy story--if he could.
+
+With assistance from Mr. Mool, he got through it. “This morning,” he
+proceeded, “I have had the two best opinions in London. Assuming that
+there is no hereditary taint, the doctors think favourably of Mrs.
+Gallilee’s chances of recovery.”
+
+“Is it violent madness?” Mr. Mool asked.
+
+Mr. Null admitted that two nurses were required. “The doctors don’t look
+on her violence as a discouraging symptom,” he said. “They are inclined
+to attribute it to the strength of her constitution. I felt it my duty
+to place my own knowledge of the case before them. Without mentioning
+painful family circumstances--”
+
+“I happen to be acquainted with the circumstances,” Mr. Mool interposed.
+“Are they in any way connected with this dreadful state of things?”
+
+He put that question eagerly, as if he had some strong personal interest
+in hearing the reply.
+
+Mr. Null blundered on steadily with his story. “I thought it right (with
+all due reserve) to mention that Mrs. Gallilee had been subjected to--I
+won’t trouble you with medical language--let us say, to a severe shock;
+involving mental disturbance as well as bodily injury, before her reason
+gave way.”
+
+“And they considered that to be the cause--?”
+
+Mr. Null asserted his dignity. “The doctors agreed with Me, that it had
+shaken her power of self-control.”
+
+“You relieve me, Mr. Null--you infinitely relieve me! If our way
+of removing the children had done the mischief, I should never have
+forgiven myself.”
+
+He blushed, and said no more. Had Mr. Null noticed the slip of the
+tongue into which his agitation had betrayed him? Mr. Null did certainly
+look as if he was going to put a question. The lawyer desperately
+forestalled him.
+
+“May I ask how you came to apply to me for Mr. Gallilee’s address? Did
+you think of it yourself?”
+
+Mr. Null had never had an idea of his own, from the day of his birth,
+downward. “A very intelligent man,” he answered, “reminded me that you
+were an old friend of Mr. Gallilee. In short, it was Joseph--the footman
+at Fairfield Gardens.”
+
+Joseph’s good opinion was of no importance to Mr. Mool’s professional
+interests. He could gratify Mr. Null’s curiosity without fear of
+lowering himself in the estimation of a client.
+
+“I had better, perhaps, explain that chance allusion of mine to the
+children,” he began. “My good friend, Mr. Gallilee, had his own reasons
+for removing his daughters from home for a time--reasons, I am bound to
+add, in which I concur. The children were to be placed under the care of
+their aunt, Lady Northlake. Unfortunately, her ladyship was away with my
+lord, cruising in their yacht. They were not able to receive Maria
+and Zoe at once. In the interval that elapsed--excuse my entering into
+particulars--our excellent friend had his own domestic reasons for
+arranging the--the sort of clandestine departure which did in fact
+take place. It was perhaps unwise on my part to consent--in short, I
+permitted some of the necessary clothing to be privately deposited here,
+and called for on the way to the station. Very unprofessional, I am
+aware. I did it for the best; and allowed my friendly feeling to mislead
+me. Can I be of any use? How is poor Miss Carmina? No better? Oh, dear!
+dear! Mr. Ovid will hear dreadful news, when he comes home. Can’t we
+prepare him for it, in any way?”
+
+Mr. Null announced that a telegram would meet Ovid at Queenstown--with
+the air of a man who had removed every obstacle that could be suggested
+to him. The kind-hearted lawyer shook his head.
+
+“Is there no friend who can meet him there?” Mr. Mool suggested. “I
+have clients depending on me--cases, in which property is concerned,
+and reputation is at stake--or I would gladly go myself. You, with your
+patients, are as little at liberty as I am. Can’t you think of some
+other friend?”
+
+Mr. Null could think of nobody, and had nothing to propose. Of the three
+weak men, now brought into association by the influence of domestic
+calamity, he was the feeblest, beyond all doubt. Mr. Mool had knowledge
+of law, and could on occasion be incited to energy. Mr. Gallilee
+had warm affections, which, being stimulated, could at least assert
+themselves. Mr. Null, professionally and personally, was incapable of
+stepping beyond his own narrow limits, under any provocation whatever.
+He submitted to the force of events as a cabbage-leaf submits to the
+teeth of a rabbit.
+
+After leaving the office, Carmina’s medical attendant had his patient
+to see. Since the unfortunate alarm in the house, he had begun to feel
+doubtful and anxious about her again.
+
+In the sitting-room, he found Teresa and the landlady in consultation.
+In her own abrupt way, the nurse made him acquainted with the nature of
+the conference.
+
+“We have two worries to bother us,” she said; “and the music-master is
+the worst of the two. There’s a notion at the hospital (set agoing, I
+don’t doubt, by the man himself), that I crushed his fingers on purpose.
+That’s a lie! With the open cupboard door between us, how could I see
+him, or he see me? When I gave it a push-to, I no more knew where his
+hand was, than you do. If I meant anything, I meant to slap his face for
+prying about in my room. We’ve made out a writing between us, to show to
+the doctors. You shall have a copy, in case you’re asked about it. Now
+for the other matter. You keep on telling me I shall fall ill myself, if
+I don’t get a person to help me with Carmina. Make your mind easy--the
+person has come.”
+
+“Where is she?”
+
+Teresa pointed to the bedroom.
+
+“Recommended by me?” Mr. Null inquired.
+
+“Recommended by herself. And we don’t like her. That’s the other worry.”
+
+Mr. Null’s dignity declined to attach any importance to the “other
+worry.” “No nurse has any business here, without my sanction! I’ll send
+her away directly.”
+
+He pushed open the baize door. A lady was sitting by Carmina’s bedside.
+Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking _that_ face. Mr. Null
+recognised--Miss Minerva.
+
+She rose, and bowed to him. He returned the bow stiffly. Nature’s
+protecting care of fools supplies them with an instinct which distrusts
+ability. Mr. Null never liked Miss Minerva. At the same time, he was
+a little afraid of her. This was not the sort of nurse who could be
+ordered to retire at a moment’s notice.
+
+“I have been waiting anxiously to see you,” she said--and led the way
+to the farther end of the room. “Carmina terrifies me,” she added in
+a whisper. “I have been here for an hour. When I entered the room her
+face, poor dear, seemed to come to life again; she was able to express
+her joy at seeing me. Even the jealous old nurse noticed the change for
+the better. Why didn’t it last? Look at her--oh, look at her!”
+
+The melancholy relapse that had followed the short interval of
+excitement was visible to anyone now.
+
+There was the “simulated paralysis,” showing itself plainly in every
+part of the face. She lay still as death, looking vacantly at the
+foot of the bed. Mr. Null was inclined to resent the interference of a
+meddling woman, in the discharge of his duty. He felt Carmina’s pulse,
+in sulky silence. Her eyes never moved; her hand showed no consciousness
+of his touch. Teresa opened the door, and looked in--impatiently eager
+to see the intruding nurse sent away. Miss Minerva invited her to
+return to her place at the bedside. “I only ask to occupy it,” she said
+considerately, “when you want rest.” Teresa was ready with an ungracious
+reply, but found no opportunity of putting it into words. Miss Minerva
+turned quickly to Mr. Null. “I must ask you to let me say a few words
+more,” she continued; “I will wait for you in the next room.”
+
+Her resolute eyes rested on him with a look which said plainly, “I
+mean to be heard.” He followed her into the sitting-room, and waited in
+sullen submission to hear what she had to say.
+
+“I must not trouble you by entering into my own affairs,” she began. “I
+will only say that I have obtained an engagement much sooner than I had
+anticipated, and that the convenience of my employers made it necessary
+for me to meet them in Paris. I owed Carmina a letter; but I had reasons
+for not writing until I knew whether she had, or had not, left London.
+With that object, I called this morning at her aunt’s house. You now see
+me here--after what I have heard from the servants. I make no comment,
+and I ask for no explanations. One thing only, I must know. Teresa
+refers me to you. Is Carmina attended by any other medical man?”
+
+Mr. Null answered stiffly, “I am in consultation with Doctor Benjulia;
+and I expect him to-day.”
+
+The reply startled her. “Dr. Benjulia?” she repeated.
+
+“The greatest man we have!” Mr. Null asserted in his most positive
+manner.
+
+She silently determined to wait until Doctor Benjulia arrived.
+
+“What is the last news of Mr. Ovid?” she said to him, after an interval
+of consideration.
+
+He told her the news, in the fewest words possible. Even he observed
+that it seemed to excite her.
+
+“Oh, Mr. Null! who is to prepare him for what he will see in that room?
+Who is to tell him what he must hear of his mother?”
+
+There was a certain familiarity in the language of this appeal, which
+Mr. Null felt it necessary to discourage. “The matter is left in my
+hands,” he announced. “I shall telegraph to him at Queenstown. When he
+comes home, he will find my prescriptions on the table. Being a
+medical man himself, my treatment of the case will tell Mr. Ovid Vere
+everything.”
+
+The obstinate insensibility of his tone stopped her on the point of
+saying what Mr. Mool had said already. She, too, felt for Ovid, when
+she thought of the cruel brevity of a telegram. “At what date will the
+vessel reach Queenstown?” she asked.
+
+“By way of making sure,” said Mr. Null, “I shall telegraph in a week’s
+time.”
+
+She troubled him with no more inquiries. He had purposely remained
+standing, in the expectation that she would take the hint, and go; and
+he now walked to the window, and looked out. She remained in her chair,
+thinking. In a few minutes more, there was a heavy step on the stairs.
+Benjulia had arrived.
+
+He looked hard at Miss Minerva, in unconcealed surprise at finding her
+in the house. She rose, and made an effort to propitiate him by shaking
+hands. “I am very anxious,” she said gently, “to hear your opinion.”
+
+“Your hand tells me that,” he answered. “It’s a cold hand, on a warm
+day. You’re an excitable woman.”
+
+He looked at Mr. Null, and led the way into the bedroom.
+
+Left by herself, Miss Minerva discovered writing materials (placed ready
+for Mr. Null’s next prescription) on a side table. She made use of them
+at once to write to her employer. “A dear friend of mine is seriously
+ill, and in urgent need of all that my devotion can do for her. If you
+are willing to release me from my duties for a short time, your sympathy
+and indulgence will not be thrown away on an ungrateful woman. If
+you cannot do me this favour, I ask your pardon for putting you to
+inconvenience, and leave some other person, whose mind is at ease,
+to occupy the place which I am for the present unfit to fill.” Having
+completed her letter in those terms, she waited Benjulia’s return.
+
+There was sadness in her face, but no agitation, as she looked patiently
+towards the bedroom door. At last--in her inmost heart, she knew it--the
+victory over herself was a victory won. Carmina could trust her now; and
+Ovid himself should see it!
+
+Mr. Null returned to the sitting-room alone. Doctor Benjulia had no time
+to spare: he had left the bedroom by the other door.
+
+“I may say (as you seem anxious) that my colleague approves of a
+proposal, on my part, to slightly modify the last prescription. We
+recognise the new symptoms, without feeling alarm.” Having issued this
+bulletin, Mr. Null sat down to make his feeble treatment of his patient
+feebler still.
+
+When he looked up again, the room was empty. Had she left the house?
+No: her travelling hat and her gloves were on the other table. Had she
+boldly confronted Teresa on her own ground?
+
+He took his modified prescription into the bedroom. There she was, and
+there sat the implacable nurse, already persuaded into listening to her!
+What conceivable subject could there be, which offered two such women
+neutral ground to meet on? Mr. Null left the house without the faintest
+suspicion that Carmina might be the subject.
+
+“May I try to rouse her?”
+
+Teresa answered by silently resigning her place at the bedside. Miss
+Minerva touched Carmina’s hand, and spoke. “Have you heard the good
+news, dear? Ovid is coming back in little more than a week.”
+
+Carmina looked--reluctantly looked--at her friend, and said, with an
+effort, “I am glad.”
+
+“You will be better,” Miss Minerva continued, “the moment you see him.”
+
+Her face became faintly animated. “I shall be able to say good-bye,” she
+answered.
+
+“Not good-bye, darling. He is returning to you after a long journey.”
+
+“I am going, Frances, on a longer journey still.” She closed her eyes,
+too weary or too indifferent to say more.
+
+Miss Minerva drew back, struggling against the tears that fell fast over
+her face. The jealous old nurse quietly moved nearer to her, and kissed
+her hand. “I’ve been a brute and a fool,” said Teresa; “you’re almost as
+fond of her as I am.”
+
+A week later, Miss Minerva left London, to wait for Ovid at Queenstown.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVII.
+
+Mr. Mool was in attendance at Fairfield Gardens, when his old friend
+arrived from Scotland, to tell him what the cautiously expressed message
+in the telegram really meant.
+
+But one idea seemed to be impressed on Mr. Gallilee’s mind--the idea of
+reconciliation. He insisted on seeing his wife. It was in vain to
+tell him that she was utterly incapable of reciprocating or even of
+understanding his wishes. Absolute resistance was the one alternative
+left--and it was followed by distressing results. The kind-hearted old
+man burst into a fit of crying, which even shook the resolution of the
+doctors. One of them went upstairs to warn the nurses. The other said,
+“Let him see her.”
+
+The instant he showed himself in the room, Mrs. Gallilee recognised him
+with a shriek of fury. The nurses held her back--while Mr. Mool dragged
+him out again, and shut the door. The object of the doctors had been
+gained. His own eyes had convinced him of the terrible necessity of
+placing his wife under restraint. She was removed to a private asylum.
+
+Maria and Zo had been left in Scotland--as perfectly happy as girls
+could be, in the society of their cousins, and under the affectionate
+care of their aunt. Mr. Gallilee remained in London; but he was not left
+alone in the deserted house. The good lawyer had a spare room at
+his disposal; and Mrs. Mool and her daughters received him with true
+sympathy. Coming events helped to steady his mind. He was comforted
+in the anticipation of Ovid’s return, and interested in hearing of the
+generous motive which had led Miss Minerva to meet his stepson.
+
+“I never agreed with the others when they used to abuse our governess,”
+ he said. “She might have been quick-tempered, and she might have been
+ugly--I suppose I saw her in some other light myself.” He had truly seen
+her under another light. In his simple affectionate nature, there had
+been instinctive recognition of that great heart.
+
+He was allowed to see Carmina, in the hope that pleasant associations
+connected with him might have a favourable influence. She smiled
+faintly, and gave him her hand when she saw him at the bedside--but that
+was all.
+
+Too deeply distressed to ask to see her again, he made his inquiries for
+the future at the door. Day after day, the answer was always the same.
+
+Before she left London, Miss Minerva had taken it on herself to engage
+the vacant rooms, on the ground floor of the lodging-house, for Ovid.
+She knew his heart, as she knew her own heart. Once under the same roof
+with Carmina, he would leave it no more--until life gave her back to
+him, or death took her away. Hearing of what had been done, Mr. Gallilee
+removed to Ovid’s rooms the writing-desk and the books, the favourite
+music and the faded flowers, left by Carmina at Fairfield Gardens.
+“Anything that belongs to her,” he thought, “will surely be welcome to
+the poor fellow when he comes back.”
+
+On one afternoon--never afterwards to be forgotten--he had only begun
+to make his daily inquiry, when the door on the ground floor was opened,
+and Miss Minerva beckoned to him.
+
+Her face daunted Mr. Gallilee: he asked in a whisper, if Ovid had
+returned.
+
+She pointed upwards, and answered, “He is with her now.”
+
+“How did he bear it?”
+
+“We don’t know; we were afraid to follow him into the room.”
+
+She turned towards the window as she spoke. Teresa was sitting
+there--vacantly looking out. Mr. Gallilee spoke to her kindly: she made
+no answer; she never even moved. “Worn out!” Miss Minerva whispered to
+him. “When she thinks of Carmina now, she thinks without hope.”
+
+He shuddered. The expression of his own fear was in those words--and
+he shrank from it. Miss Minerva took his hand, and led him to a chair.
+“Ovid will know best,” she reminded him; “let us wait for what Ovid will
+say.”
+
+“Did you meet him on board the vessel?” Mr. Gallilee asked.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“How did he look?”
+
+“So well and so strong that you would hardly have known him again--till
+he asked about Carmina. Then he turned pale. I knew that I must tell him
+the truth--but I was afraid to take it entirely on myself. Something Mr.
+Null said to me, before I left London, suggested that I might help Ovid
+to understand me if I took the prescriptions to Queenstown. I had not
+noticed that they were signed by Doctor Benjulia, as well as by Mr.
+Null. Don’t ask me what effect the discovery had on him! I bore it at
+the time--I can’t speak of it now.”
+
+“You good creature! you dear good creature! Forgive me if I have
+distressed you; I didn’t meant it.”
+
+“You have not distressed me. Is there anything else I can tell you?”
+
+Mr. Gallilee hesitated. “There is one thing more,” he said. “It isn’t
+about Carmina this time--”
+
+He hesitated again. Miss Minerva understood. “Yes,” she answered; “I
+spoke to Ovid of his mother. In mercy to himself and to me, he would
+hear no details. ‘I know enough,’ he said, ‘if I know that she is the
+person to blame. I was prepared to hear it. My mother’s silence could
+only be accounted for in one way, when I had read Zo’s letter.’--Don’t
+you know, Mr. Gallilee, that the child wrote to Ovid?”
+
+The surprise and delight of Zo’s fond old father, when he heard the
+story of the letter, forced a smile from Miss Minerva, even at that
+time of doubt and sorrow. He declared that he would have returned to his
+daughter by the mail train of that night, but for two considerations. He
+must see his stepson before he went back to Scotland; and he must search
+all the toy-shops in London for the most magnificent present that could
+be offered to a young person of ten years old. “Tell Ovid, with my love,
+I’ll call again to-morrow,” he said, looking at his watch. “I have just
+time to write to Zo by to-day’s post.” He went to his club, for the
+first time since he had returned to London. Miss Minerva thought of
+bygone days, and wondered if he would enjoy his champagne.
+
+A little later Mr. Null called--anxious to know if Ovid had arrived.
+
+Other women, in the position of Miss Minerva and Teresa, might have
+hesitated to keep the patient’s room closed to the doctor. These two
+were resolved. They refused to disturb Ovid, even by sending up a
+message. Mr. Null took offence. “Understand, both of you,” he said,
+“when I call to-morrow morning, I shall insist on going upstairs--and if
+I find this incivility repeated, I shall throw up the case.” He left the
+room, triumphing in his fool’s paradise of aggressive self-conceit.
+
+They waited for some time longer--and still no message reached them from
+upstairs. “We may be wrong in staying here,” Miss Minerva suggested; “he
+may want to be alone when he leaves her--let us go.”
+
+She rose to return to the house of her new employers. They respected
+her, and felt for her: while Carmina’s illness continued, she had the
+entire disposal of her time. The nurse accompanied her to the door;
+resigned to take refuge in the landlady’s room. “I’m afraid to be by
+myself,” Teresa said. “Even that woman’s chatter is better for me than
+my own thoughts.”
+
+Before parting for the night they waited in the hall, looking towards
+the stairs, and listening anxiously. Not a sound disturbed the
+melancholy silence.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVIII.
+
+Among many vain hopes, one hope had been realised: they had met again.
+
+In the darkened room, her weary eyes could hardly have seen the betrayal
+of what he suffered--even if she had looked up in his face. She was
+content to rest her head on his breast, and to feel his arm round her.
+“I am glad, dear,” she said, “to have lived long enough for this.”
+
+Those were her first words--after the first kiss. She had trembled and
+sighed, when he ran to her and bent over her: it was the one expression
+left of all her joy and all her love. But it passed away as other lesser
+agitations had passed away. One last reserve of energy obeyed the gentle
+persuasion of love. Silent towards all other friends, she was able to
+speak to Ovid.
+
+“You used to breathe so lightly,” she said. “How is it that I hear you
+now. Oh, Ovid, don’t cry! I couldn’t bear that.”
+
+He answered her quietly. “Don’t be afraid, darling; I won’t distress
+you.”
+
+“And you will let me say, what I want to say?”
+
+“Oh, yes!”
+
+This satisfied her. “I may rest a little now,” she said.
+
+He too was silent; held down by the heavy hand of despair.
+
+The time had been, in the days of his failing health, when the solemn
+shadows of evening falling over the fields--the soaring song of the lark
+in the bright heights of the midday sky--the dear lost remembrances that
+the divine touch of music finds again--brought tears into his eyes.
+They were dry eyes now! Those once tremulous nerves had gathered steady
+strength, on the broad prairies and in the roving life. Could trembling
+sorrow, seeking its way to the sources of tears, overbear the robust
+vitality that rioted in his blood, whether she lived or whether she
+died? In those deep breathings that had alarmed her, she had indeed
+heard the struggle of grief, vainly urging its way to expression against
+the masterful health and strength that set moral weakness at defiance.
+Nature had remade this man--and Nature never pities.
+
+It was an effort to her to collect her thoughts--but she did collect
+them. She was able to tell him what was in her mind.
+
+“Do you think, Ovid, your mother will care much what becomes of me, when
+I die?”
+
+He started at those dreadful words--so softly, so patiently spoken. “You
+will live,” he said. “My Carmina, what am I here for but to bring you
+back to life?”
+
+She made no attempt to dispute with him. Quietly, persistently, she
+returned to the thought that was in her.
+
+“Say that I forgive your mother, Ovid--and that I only ask one thing in
+return. I ask her to leave me to you, when the end has come. My dear,
+there is a feeling in me that I can’t get over. Don’t let me be buried
+in a great place all crowded with the dead! I once saw a picture--it
+was at home in Italy, I think--an English picture of a quiet little
+churchyard in the country. The shadows of the trees rested on the lonely
+graves. And some great poet had written--oh, such beautiful words
+about it. _The red-breast loves to build and warble there, And little
+footsteps lightly print the ground._ Promise, Ovid, you will take me
+to some place, far from crowds and noise--where children may gather the
+flowers on my grave.”
+
+He promised--and she thanked him, and rested again.
+
+“There was something else,” she said, when the interval had passed. “My
+head is so sleepy. I wonder whether I can think of it?”
+
+After a while, she did think of it.
+
+“I want to make you a little farewell present. Will you undo my gold
+chain? Don’t cry, Ovid! oh, don’t cry!”
+
+He obeyed her. The gold chain held the two lockets--the treasured
+portraits of her father and her mother. “Wear them for my sake,” she
+murmured. “Lift me up; I want to put them round your neck myself.”
+ She tried, vainly tried, to clasp the chain. Her head fell back on his
+breast. “Too sleepy,” she said; “always too sleepy now! Say you love me,
+Ovid.”
+
+He said it.
+
+“Kiss me, dear.”
+
+He kissed her.
+
+“Now lay me down on the pillow. I’m not eighteen yet--and I feel as old
+as eighty! Rest; all I want is rest.” Looking at him fondly, her eyes
+closed little by little--then softly opened again. “Don’t wait in this
+dull room, darling; I will send for you, if I wake.”
+
+It was the only wish of hers that he disobeyed. From time to time, his
+fingers touched her pulse, and felt its feeble beat. From time to time,
+he stooped and let the faint coming and going of her breath flutter
+on his cheek. The twilight fell, and darkness began to gather over the
+room. Still, he kept his place by her, like a man entranced.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIX.
+
+The first trivial sound that broke the spell, was the sound of a match
+struck in the next room.
+
+He rose, and groped his way to the door. Teresa had ventured upstairs,
+and had kindled a light. Some momentary doubt of him kept the nurse
+silent when he looked at her. He stammered, and stared about him
+confusedly, when he spoke.
+
+“Where--where--?” He seemed to have lost his hold on his thoughts--he
+gave it up, and tried again. “I want to be alone,” he said; recovering,
+for the moment, some power of expressing himself.
+
+Teresa’s first fear of him vanished. She took him by the hand like a
+child, and led him downstairs to his rooms. He stood silently watching
+her, while she lit the candles.
+
+“When Carmina sleeps now,” he asked, “does it last long?”
+
+“Often for hours together,” the nurse answered.
+
+He said no more; he seemed to have forgotten that there was another
+person in the room.
+
+She found courage in her pity for him. “Try to pray,” she said, and left
+him.
+
+He fell on his knees; but still the words failed him. He tried to quiet
+his mind by holy thoughts. No! The dumb agony in him was powerless to
+find relief. Only the shadows of thoughts crossed his mind; his eyes
+ached with a burning heat. He began to be afraid of himself. The active
+habits of the life that he had left, drove him out, with the instincts
+of an animal, into space and air. Neither knowing nor caring in what
+direction he turned his steps, he walked on at the top of his speed. On
+and on, till the crowded houses began to grow more rare--till there were
+gaps of open ground, on either side of him--till the moon rose behind
+a plantation of trees, and bathed in its melancholy light a lonely high
+road. He followed the road till he was tired of it, and turned aside
+into a winding lane. The lights and shadows, alternating with each
+other, soothed and pleased him. He had got the relief in exercise that
+had been denied him while he was in repose. He could think again; he
+could feel the resolution stirring in him to save that dear one, or
+to die with her. Now at last, he was man enough to face the terrible
+necessity that confronted him, and fight the battle of Art and Love
+against Death. He stopped, and looked round; eager to return, and be
+ready for her waking. In that solitary place, there was no hope of
+finding a person to direct him. He turned, to go back to the high road.
+
+At that same moment, he became conscious of the odour of tobacco wafted
+towards him on the calm night air. Some one was smoking in the lane.
+
+He retraced his steps, until he reached a gate--with a barren field
+behind it. There was the man, whose tobacco smoke he had smelt, leaning
+on the gate, with his pipe in his mouth.
+
+The moonlight fell full on Ovid’s face, as he approached to ask his way.
+The man suddenly stood up--stared at him--and said, “Hullo! is it you or
+your ghost?”
+
+His face was in shadow, but his voice answered for him. The man was
+Benjulia.
+
+“Have you come to see me?” he asked.
+
+“No.”
+
+“Won’t you shake hands?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“What’s wrong?”
+
+Ovid waited to answer until he had steadied his temper.
+
+“I have seen Carmina,” he said.
+
+Benjulia went on with his smoking. “An interesting case, isn’t it?” he
+remarked.
+
+“You were called into consultation by Mr. Null,” Ovid continued; “and
+you approved of his ignorant treatment--you, who knew better.”
+
+“I should think I did!” Benjulia rejoined.
+
+“You deliberately encouraged an incompetent man; you let that poor girl
+go on from bad to worse--for some vile end of your own.”
+
+Benjulia good-naturedly corrected him. “No, no. For an excellent
+end--for knowledge.”
+
+“If I fail to remedy the mischief, which is your doing, and yours
+alone--”
+
+Benjulia took his pipe out of his mouth. “How do you mean to cure her?”
+ he eagerly interposed. “Have you got a new idea?”
+
+“If I fail,” Ovid repeated, “her death lies at your door. You merciless
+villain--as certainly as that moon is now shining over us, your life
+shall answer for hers.”
+
+Astonishment--immeasurable astonishment--sealed Benjulia’s lips. He
+looked down the lane when Ovid left him, completely stupefied. The one
+imaginable way of accounting for such language as he had heard--spoken
+by a competent member of his own profession!--presented the old familiar
+alternative. “Drunk or mad?” he wondered while he lit his pipe again.
+Walking back to the house, his old distrust of Ovid troubled him once
+more. He decided to call at Teresa’s lodgings in a day or two, and
+ascertain from the landlady (and the chemist) how Carmina was being
+cured.
+
+Returning to the high road, Ovid was passed by a tradesman, driving his
+cart towards London. The man civilly offered to take him as far as the
+nearest outlying cabstand.
+
+Neither the landlady nor Teresa had gone to their beds when he returned.
+Their account of Carmina, during his absence, contained nothing to alarm
+him. He bade them goodnight--eager to be left alone in his room.
+
+In the house and out of the house, there was now the perfect silence
+that helps a man to think. His mind was clear; his memory answered, when
+he called on it to review that part of his own medical practice which
+might help him, by experience, in his present need. But he shrank--with
+Carmina’s life in his hands--from trusting wholly to himself. A higher
+authority than his was waiting to be consulted. He took from his
+portmanteau the manuscript presented to him by the poor wretch, whose
+last hours he had soothed in the garret at Montreal.
+
+The work opened with a declaration which gave it a special value, in
+Ovid’s estimation.
+
+“If this imperfect record of experience is ever read by other eyes than
+mine, I wish to make one plain statement at the outset. The information
+which is presented in these pages is wholly derived from the results of
+bedside practice; pursued under miserable obstacles and interruptions,
+and spread over a period of many years. Whatever faults and failings
+I may have been guilty of as a man, I am innocent, in my professional
+capacity, of ever having perpetrated the useless and detestable
+cruelties which go by the name of Vivisection. Without entering into
+any of the disputes on either side, which this practice has provoked,
+I declare my conviction that no asserted usefulness in the end, can
+justify deliberate cruelty in the means. The man who seriously maintains
+that any pursuit in which he can engage is independent of moral
+restraint, is a man in a state of revolt against God. I refuse to hear
+him in his own defense, on that ground.”
+
+Ovid turned next to the section of the work which was entitled “Brain
+Disease.” The writer introduced his observations in these prefatory
+words:
+
+“A celebrated physiologist, plainly avowing the ignorance of doctors in
+the matter of the brain and its diseases, and alluding to appearances
+presented by post-mortem examination, concludes his confession thus: ‘We
+cannot even be sure whether many of the changes discovered are the
+cause or the result of the disease, or whether the two are the conjoint
+results of a common cause.’
+
+“So this man writes, after experience in Vivisection.
+
+“Let my different experience be heard next. Not knowing into what hands
+this manuscript may fall, or what unexpected opportunities of usefulness
+it may encounter after my death, I purposely abstain from using
+technical language in the statement which I have now to make.
+
+“In medical investigations, as in all other forms of human inquiry, the
+result in view is not infrequently obtained by indirect and unexpected
+means. What I have to say here on the subject of brain disease, was
+first suggested by experience of two cases, which seemed in the last
+degree unlikely to help me. They were both cases of young women;
+each one having been hysterically affected by a serious moral shock;
+terminating, after a longer or shorter interval, in simulated paralysis.
+One of these cases I treated successfully. While I was still in
+attendance on the other, (pursuing the same course of treatment which
+events had already proved to be right), a fatal accident terminated my
+patient’s life, and rendered a post-mortem examination necessary. From
+those starting points, I arrived--by devious ways which I am now to
+relate--at deductions and discoveries that threw a new light on the
+nature and treatment of brain disease.”
+
+Hour by hour, Ovid studied the pages that followed, until his mind and
+the mind of the writer were one. He then returned to certain preliminary
+allusions to the medical treatment of the two girls--inexpressibly
+precious to him, in Carmina’s present interests. The dawn of day found
+him prepared at all points, and only waiting until the lapse of the next
+few hours placed the means of action in his hands.
+
+But there was one anxiety still to be relieved, before he lay down to
+rest.
+
+He took off his shoes, and stole upstairs to Carmina’s door. The
+faithful Teresa was astir, earnestly persuading her to take some
+nourishment. The little that he could hear of her voice, as she
+answered, made his heart ache--it was so faint and so low. Still she
+could speak; and still there was the old saying to remember, which has
+comforted so many and deceived so many: While there’s life, there’s
+hope.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LX.
+
+After a brief interview with his step-son, Mr. Gallilee returned to his
+daughters in Scotland.
+
+Touched by his fatherly interest in Carmina, Ovid engaged to keep him
+informed of her progress towards recovery. If the anticipation of
+saving her proved to be the sad delusion of love and hope, silence would
+signify what no words could say.
+
+In ten days’ time, there was a happy end to suspense. The slow process
+of recovery might extend perhaps to the end of the year. But, if
+no accident happened, Ovid had the best reasons for believing that
+Carmina’s life was safe.
+
+Freed from the terrible anxieties that had oppressed him, he was able to
+write again, a few days later, in a cheerful tone, and to occupy his
+pen at Mr. Gallilee’s express request, with such an apparently trifling
+subject as the conduct of Mr. Null.
+
+“Your old medical adviser was quite right in informing you that I had
+relieved him from any further attendance on Carmina. But his
+lively imagination (or perhaps I ought to say, his sense of his own
+consequence) has misled you when he also declares that I purposely
+insulted him. I took the greatest pains not to wound his self-esteem. He
+left me in anger, nevertheless.
+
+“A day or two afterwards, I received a note from him; addressing me as
+‘Sir,’ and asking ironically if I had any objection to his looking at
+the copies of my prescriptions in the chemist’s book. Though he was old
+enough to be my father (he remarked) it seemed that experience counted
+for nothing; he had still something to learn from his junior, in the
+treatment of disease--and so on.
+
+“At that miserable time of doubt and anxiety, I could only send a verbal
+reply, leaving him to do what he liked. Before I tell you of the use
+that he made of his liberty of action, I must confess something relating
+to the prescriptions themselves. Don’t be afraid of long and learned
+words, and don’t suppose that I am occupying your attention in this way,
+without a serious reason for it which you will presently understand.
+
+“A note in the manuscript--to my study of which, I owe, under God, the
+preservation of Carmina’s life--warned me that chemists, in the writer’s
+country, had either refused to make up certain prescriptions given in
+the work, or had taken the liberty of altering the new quantities and
+combinations of some of the drugs prescribed.
+
+“Precisely the same thing happened here, in the case of the first
+chemist to whom I sent. He refused to make up the medicine, unless I
+provided him with a signed statement taking the whole responsibility on
+myself.
+
+“Having ascertained the exact nature of his objection, I dismissed him
+without his guarantee, and employed another chemist; taking care (in
+the interests of my time and my temper) to write my more important
+prescriptions under reserve. That is to say, I followed the conventional
+rules, as to quantities and combinations, and made the necessary
+additions or changes from my own private stores when the medicine was
+sent home.
+
+“Poor foolish Mr. Null, finding nothing to astonish him in my course of
+medicine--as represented by the chemist--appears by his own confession,
+to have copied the prescriptions with a malicious object in view. ‘I
+have sent them, (he informs me, in a second letter) to Doctor Benjulia;
+in order that he too may learn something in his profession from the
+master who has dispensed with our services.’ This new effort of irony
+means that I stand self-condemned of vanity, in presuming to rely on my
+own commonplace resources--represented by the deceitful evidence of the
+chemist’s book!
+
+“But I am grateful to Mr. Null, notwithstanding: he has done me a
+service, in meaning to do me an injury.
+
+“My imperfect prescriptions have quieted the mind of the man to whom he
+sent them. This wretch’s distrust has long since falsely suspected me of
+some professional rivalry pursued in secret; the feeling showed itself
+again, when I met with him by accident on the night of my return to
+London. Since Mr. Null has communicated with him, the landlady is
+no longer insulted by his visits, and offended by his questions--all
+relating to the course of treatment which I was pursuing upstairs.
+
+“You now understand why I have ventured to trouble you on a purely
+professional topic. To turn to matters of more interest--our dear
+Carmina is well enough to remember you, and to send her love to you and
+the girls. But even this little effort is followed by fatigue.
+
+“I don’t mean only fatigue of body: that is now a question of time and
+care. I mean fatigue of mind--expressing itself by defect of memory.
+
+“On the morning when the first positive change for the better appeared,
+I was at her bedside when she woke. She looked at me in amazement.
+‘Why didn’t you warn me of your sudden return?’ she asked, ‘I have only
+written to you to-day--to your bankers at Quebec! What does it mean?’
+
+“I did my best to soothe her, and succeeded. There is a complete lapse
+in her memory--I am only too sure of it! She has no recollection of
+anything that has happened since she wrote her last letter to me--a
+letter which must have been lost (perhaps intercepted?), or I should
+have received it before I left Quebec. This forgetfulness of the
+dreadful trials through which my poor darling has passed, is, in itself,
+a circumstance which we must all rejoice over for her sake. But I am
+discouraged by it, at the same time; fearing it may indicate some more
+serious injury than I have yet discovered.
+
+“Miss Minerva--what should I do without the help and sympathy of that
+best of true women?--Miss Minerva has cautiously tested her memory in
+other directions, with encouraging results, so far. But I shall not feel
+easy until I have tried further experiments, by means of some person
+who does not exercise a powerful influence over her, and whose memory is
+naturally occupied with what we older people call trifles.
+
+“When you all leave Scotland next month, bring Zo here with you. My dear
+little correspondent is just the sort of quaint child I want for the
+purpose. Kiss her for me till she is out of breath--and say that is what
+I mean to do when we meet.”
+
+The return to London took place in the last week in October.
+
+Lord and Lady Northlake went to their town residence, taking Maria and
+Zo with them. There were associations connected with Fairfield Gardens,
+which made the prospect of living there--without even the society of his
+children--unendurable to Mr. Gallilee. Ovid’s house, still waiting the
+return of its master, was open to his step-father. The poor man was only
+too glad (in his own simple language) “to keep the nest warm for his
+son.”
+
+The latest inquiries made at the asylum were hopefully answered.
+Thus far, the measures taken to restore Mrs. Gallilee to herself had
+succeeded beyond expectation. But one unfavourable symptom remained.
+She was habitually silent. When she did speak, her mind seemed to be
+occupied with scientific subjects: she never mentioned her husband, or
+any other member of the family. Time and attention would remove this
+drawback. In two or three months more perhaps, if all went well, she
+might return to her family and her friends, as sane a woman as ever.
+
+Calling at Fairfield Gardens for any letters that might be waiting
+there, Mr. Gallilee received a circular in lithographed writing;
+accompanied by a roll of thick white paper. The signature revealed the
+familiar name of Mr. Le Frank.
+
+The circular set forth that the writer had won renown and a moderate
+income, as pianist and teacher of music. “A terrible accident, ladies
+and gentlemen, has injured my right hand, and has rendered amputation
+of two of my fingers necessary. Deprived for life of my professional
+resources, I have but one means of subsistence left--_viz:_---collecting
+subscriptions for a song of my own composition. N.B.--The mutilated
+musician leaves the question of terms in the hands of the art-loving
+public, and will do himself the honour of calling to-morrow.”
+
+Good-natured Mr. Gallilee left a sovereign to be given to the victim
+of circumstances--and then set forth for Lord Northlake’s house. He and
+Ovid had arranged that Zo was to be taken to see Carmina that day.
+
+On his way through the streets, he was met by Mr. Mool. The lawyer
+looked at the song under his friend’s arm. “What’s that you’re taking
+such care of?” he asked. “It looks like music. A new piece for the young
+ladies--eh?”
+
+Mr. Gallilee explained. Mr. Mool struck his stick on the pavement, as
+the nearest available means of expressing indignation.
+
+“Never let another farthing of your money get into that rascal’s pocket!
+It’s no merit of his that the poor old Italian nurse has not made her
+appearance in the police reports.”
+
+With this preface, Mr. Mool related the circumstances under which Mr.
+Le Frank had met with his accident. “His first proceeding when they
+discharged him from the hospital,” continued the lawyer, “was to summon
+Teresa before a magistrate. Fortunately she showed the summons to me.
+I appeared for her, provided with a plan of the rooms which spoke for
+itself; and I put two questions to the complainant. What business had
+he in another person’s room? and why was his hand in that other person’s
+cupboard? The reporter kindly left the case unrecorded; and when the
+fellow ended by threatening the poor woman outside the court, we bound
+him over to keep the peace. I have my eye on him--and I’ll catch him
+yet, under the Vagrant Act!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXI.
+
+Aided by time, care, and skill, Carmina had gained strength enough
+to pass some hours of the day in the sitting-room; reclining in
+an invalid-chair invented for her by Ovid. The welcome sight
+of Zo--brightened and developed by happy autumn days passed in
+Scotland--brought a deep flush to her face, and quickened the pulse
+which Ovid was touching, under pretence of holding her hand. These signs
+of excessive nervous sensibility warned him to limit the child’s visit
+to a short space of time. Neither Miss Minerva nor Teresa were in the
+room: Carmina could have Zo all to herself.
+
+“Now, my dear,” she said, in a kiss, “tell me about Scotland.”
+
+“Scotland,” Zo answered with dignity, “belongs to uncle Northlake. He
+pays for everything; and I’m Missus.”
+
+“It’s true,” said Mr. Gallilee, bursting with pride. “My lord says it’s
+no use having a will of your own where Zo is. When he introduces her to
+anybody on the estate, he says, ‘Here’s the Missus.’”
+
+Mr. Gallilee’s youngest daughter listened critically to the parental
+testimony. “You see he knows,” she said to Ovid. “There’s nothing to
+laugh at.”
+
+Carmina tried another question. “Did you think of me, dear, when you
+were far away?”
+
+“Think of you?” Zo repeated. “You’re to sleep in my bedroom when we go
+back to Scotland--and I’m to be out of bed, and one of ‘em, when you eat
+your first Scotch dinner. Shall I tell you what you’ll see on the table?
+You’ll see a big brown steaming bag in a dish--and you’ll see me slit it
+with a knife--and the bag’s fat inside will tumble out, all smoking hot
+and stinking. That’s a Scotch dinner. Oh!” she cried, losing her dignity
+in the sudden interest of a new idea, “oh, Carmina, do you remember the
+Italian boy, and his song?”
+
+Here was one of those tests of her memory for trifles, applied with a
+child’s happy abruptness, for which Ovid had been waiting. He listened
+eagerly. To his unutterable relief, Carmina laughed.
+
+“Of course I remember it!” she said. “Who could forget the boy who sings
+and grins and says _Gimmeehaypenny?”_
+
+“That’s it!” cried Zo. “The boy’s song was a good one in its way. I’ve
+learnt a better in Scotland. You’ve heard of Donald, haven’t you?”
+
+“No.”
+
+Zo turned indignantly to her father. “Why didn’t you tell her of
+Donald?”
+
+Mr. Gallilee humbly admitted that he was in fault. Carmina asked who
+Donald was, and what he was like. Zo unconsciously tested her memory for
+the second time.
+
+“You know that day,” she said, “when Joseph had an errand at the
+grocer’s and I went along with him, and Miss Minerva said I was a vulgar
+child?”
+
+Carmina’s memory recalled this new trifle, without an effort. “I know,”
+ she answered; “you told me Joseph and the grocer weighed you in the
+great scales.”
+
+Zo delighted Ovid by trying her again. “When they put me into the
+scales, Carmina, what did I weigh?”
+
+“Nearly four stone, dear.”
+
+“Quite four stone. Donald weighs fourteen.’ What do you think of that?”
+
+Mr. Gallilee once more offered his testimony. “The biggest Piper on my
+lord’s estate,” he began, “comes of a Highland family, and was removed
+to the Lowlands by my lord’s father. A great player--”
+
+“And _my_ friend,” Zo explained, stopping her father in full career. “He
+takes snuff out of a cow’s horn. He shovels it up his fat nose with a
+spoon, like this. His nose wags. He says, ‘Try my sneeshin.’ Sneeshin’s
+Scotch for snuff. He boos till he’s nearly double when uncle Northlake
+speaks to him. Boos is Scotch for bows. He skirls on the pipes--skirls
+means screeches. When you first hear him, he’ll make your stomach ache.
+You’ll get used to that--and you’ll find you like him. He wears a purse
+and a petticoat; he never had a pair of trousers on in his life; there’s
+no pride about him. Say you’re my friend and he’ll let you smack his
+legs--”
+
+Here, Ovid was obliged to bring the biography of Donald to a close.
+Carmina’s enjoyment of Zo was becoming too keen for her strength;
+her bursts of laughter grew louder and louder--the wholesome limit of
+excitement was being rapidly passed. “Tell us about your cousins,” he
+said, by way of effecting a diversion.
+
+“The big ones?” Zo asked.
+
+“No; the little ones, like you.”
+
+“Nice girls--they play at everything I tell ‘em. Jolly boys--when they
+knock a girl down, they pick her up again, and clean her.”
+
+Carmina was once more in danger of passing the limit. Ovid made another
+attempt to effect a diversion. Singing would be comparatively harmless
+in its effect--as he rashly supposed. “What’s that song you learnt in
+Scotland?” he asked.
+
+“It’s Donald’s song,” Zo replied. _“He_ taught me.”
+
+At the sound of Donald’s dreadful name, Ovid looked at his watch, and
+said there was no time for the song. Mr. Gallilee suddenly and seriously
+sided with his step-son. “How she got among the men after dinner,” he
+said, “nobody knows. Lady Northlake has forbidden Donald to teach her
+any more songs; and I have requested him, as a favour to me, not to let
+her smack his legs. Come, my dear, it’s time we were home again.”
+
+Well intended by both gentlemen--but too late. Zo was ready for the
+performance; her hat was cocked on one side; her plump little arms were
+set akimbo; her round eyes opened and closed facetiously in winks worthy
+of a low comedian. “I’m Donald,” she announced: and burst out with the
+song: _“We’re gayly yet, we’re gayly yet; We’re not very fou, but we’re
+gayly yet: Then sit ye awhile, and tipple a bit; For we’re not very fou,
+but we’re gayly yet.”_ She snatched up Carmina’s medicine glass, and
+waved it over her head with a Bacchanalian screech. “Fill a brimmer,
+Tammie! Here’s to Redshanks!”
+
+“And pray who is Redshanks?” asked a lady, standing in the doorway. Zo
+turned round--and instantly collapsed. A terrible figure, associated
+with lessons and punishments, stood before her. The convivial friend
+of Donald, the established Missus of Lord Northlake, disappeared--and a
+polite pupil took their place. “If you please, Miss Minerva, Redshanks
+is nickname for a Highlander.” Who would have recognised the singer of
+“We’re gayly yet,” in the subdued young person who made that reply?
+
+The door opened again. Another disastrous intrusion? Yes, another!
+Teresa appeared this time--caught Zo up in her arms--and gave the child
+a kiss that was heard all over the room. “Ah, mia Giocosa!” cried the
+old nurse--too happy to speak in any language but her own. “What does
+that mean?” Zo asked, settling her ruffled petticoats. “It means,” said
+Teresa, who prided herself on her English, “Ah, my Jolly.” This to a
+young lady who could slit a haggis! This to the only person in Scotland,
+privileged to smack Donald’s legs! Zo turned to her father, and
+recovered her dignity. Maria herself could hardly have spoken with more
+severe propriety. “I wish to go home,” said Zo.
+
+Ovid had only to look at Carmina, and to see the necessity of immediate
+compliance with his little sister’s wishes. No more laughing, no more
+excitement, for that day. He led Zo out himself, and resigned her to her
+father at the door of his rooms on the ground floor.
+
+Cheered already by having got away from Miss Minerva and the nurse,
+Zo desired to know who lived downstairs; and, hearing that these were
+Ovid’s rooms, insisted on seeing them. The three went in together.
+
+Ovid drew Mr. Gallilee into a corner. “I’m easier about Carmina now,”
+ he said. “The failure of her memory doesn’t extend backwards. It begins
+with the shock to her brain, on the day when Teresa removed her to this
+house--and it will end, I feel confident, with the end of her illness.”
+
+Mr. Gallilee’s attention suddenly wandered. “Zo!” he called out, “don’t
+touch your brother’s papers.”
+
+The one object that had excited the child’s curiosity was the
+writing-table. Dozens of sheets of paper were scattered over it,
+covered with writing, blotted and interlined. Some of these leaves had
+overflowed the table, and found a resting-place on the floor. Zo was
+amusing herself by picking them up. “Well!” she said, handing them
+obediently to Ovid, “I’ve had many a rap on the knuckles for writing not
+half as bad as yours.”
+
+Hearing his daughter’s remark, Mr. Gallilee became interested in looking
+at the fragments of manuscript. “What an awful mess!” he exclaimed. “May
+I try if I can read a bit?” Ovid smiled. “Try by all means; you will
+make one useful discovery at least--you will see that the most patient
+men on the face of the civilised earth are Printers!”
+
+Mr. Gallilee tried a page--and gave it up before he turned giddy. “Is it
+fair to ask what this is?”
+
+“Something easy to feel, and hard to express,” Ovid answered. “These
+ill-written lines are my offering of gratitude to the memory of an
+unknown and unhappy man.”
+
+“The man you told me of, who died at Montreal?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You never mentioned his name.”
+
+“His last wishes forbade me to mention it to any living creature. God
+knows there were pitiable, most pitiable, reasons for his dying unknown!
+The stone over his grave only bears his initials, and the date of his
+death. But,” said Ovid, kindling with enthusiasm, as he laid his hand on
+his manuscript, “the discoveries of this great physician shall benefit
+humanity! And my debt to him shall be acknowledged, with the admiration
+and the devotion that I truly feel!”
+
+“In a book?” asked Mr. Gallilee.
+
+“In a book that is now being printed. You will see it before the New
+Year.”
+
+Finding nothing to amuse her in the sitting-room, Zo had tried the
+bedroom next. She now returned to Ovid, dragging after her a long white
+staff that looked like an Alpen-stock. “What’s this?” she asked. “A
+broomstick?”
+
+“A specimen of rare Canadian wood, my dear. Would you like to have it?”
+
+Zo took the offer quite seriously. She looked with longing eyes at the
+specimen, three times as tall as herself--and shook her head. “I’m not
+big enough for it, yet,” she said. “Look at it, papa! Benjulia’s stick
+is nothing to this.”
+
+That name--on the child’s lips--had a sound revolting to Ovid. “Don’t
+speak of him!” he said irritably.
+
+“Mustn’t I speak of him,” Zo asked, “when I want him to tickle me?” Ovid
+beckoned to her father. “Take her away now,” he whispered--“and never
+let her see that man again.”
+
+The warning was needless. The man’s destiny had decreed that he and Zo
+were never more to meet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXII.
+
+Benjulia’s servants had but a dull time of it, poor souls, in the lonely
+house. Towards the end of December, they subscribed among themselves to
+buy one of those wonderful Christmas Numbers--presenting year after year
+the same large-eyed ladies, long-legged lovers, corpulent children, snow
+landscapes, and gluttonous merry-makings--which have become a national
+institution: say, the pictorial plum puddings of the English nation.
+
+The servants had plenty of time to enjoy their genial newspaper, before
+the dining-room bell disturbed them.
+
+For some weeks past, the master had again begun to spend the whole of
+his time in the mysterious laboratory. On the rare occasions when he
+returned to the house, he was always out of temper. If the servants knew
+nothing else, they knew what these signs meant--the great man was harder
+at work than ever; and in spite of his industry, he was not getting on
+so well as usual.
+
+On this particular evening, the bell rang at the customary time--and the
+cook (successor to the unfortunate creature with pretensions to beauty
+and sentiment) hastened to get the dinner ready.
+
+The footman turned to the dresser, and took from it a little heap of
+newspapers; carefully counting them before he ventured to carry them
+upstairs. This was Doctor Benjulia’s regular weekly supply of
+medical literature; and here, again, the mysterious man presented an
+incomprehensible problem to his fellow-creatures. He subscribed to
+every medical publication in England--and he never read one of them! The
+footman cut the leaves; and the master, with his forefinger to help
+him, ran his eye up and down the pages; apparently in search of some
+announcement that he never found--and, still more extraordinary, without
+showing the faintest sign of disappointment when he had done. Every
+week, he briskly shoved his unread periodicals into a huge basket, and
+sent them downstairs as waste paper.
+
+The footman took up the newspapers and the dinner together--and was
+received with frowns and curses. He was abused for everything that he
+did in his own department, and for everything that the cook had done
+besides. “Whatever the master’s working at,” he announced, on returning
+to the kitchen, “he’s farther away from hitting the right nail on the
+head than ever. Upon my soul, I think I shall have to give warning!
+Let’s relieve our minds. Where’s the Christmas Number?”
+
+Half an hour later, the servants were startled by a tremendous bang of
+the house-door which shook the whole building. The footman ran upstairs:
+the dining-room was empty; the master’s hat was not on its peg in the
+hall; and the medical newspapers were scattered about in the wildest
+confusion. Close to the fender lay a crumpled leaf, torn out. Its
+position suggested that it had narrowly missed being thrown into the
+fire. The footman smoothed it out, and looked at it.
+
+One side of the leaf contained a report of a lecture. This was dry
+reading. The footman tried the other side, and found a review of a new
+medical work.
+
+This would have been dull reading too, but for an extract from a
+Preface, stating how the book came to be published, and what wonderful
+discoveries, relating to peoples’ brains, it contained. There were some
+curious things said here--especially about a melancholy deathbed at a
+place called Montreal--which made the Preface almost as interesting as a
+story. But what was there in this to hurry the master out of the house,
+as if the devil had been at his heels?
+
+Doctor Benjulia’s nearest neighbour was a small farmer named Gregg. He
+was taking a nap that evening, when his wife bounced into the room, and
+said, “Here’s the big doctor gone mad!” And there he was truly, at Mrs.
+Gregg’s heels, clamouring to have the horse put to in the gig, and to be
+driven to London instantly. He said, “Pay yourself what you please”--and
+opened his pocket-book, full of bank-notes. Mr. Gregg said, “It seems,
+sir, this is a matter of life or death.” Whereupon he looked at Mr.
+Gregg--and considered a little--and, becoming quiet on a sudden,
+answered, “Yes, it is.”
+
+On the road to London, he never once spoke--except to himself--and then
+only from time to time.
+
+It seemed, judging by what fell from him now and then, that he was
+troubled about a man and a letter. He had suspected the man all along;
+but he had nevertheless given him the letter--and now it had ended in
+the letter turning out badly for Doctor Benjulia himself. Where he went
+to in London, it was not possible to say. Mr. Gregg’s horse was not fast
+enough for him. As soon as he could find one, he took a cab.
+
+The shopman of Mr. Barrable, the famous publisher of medical works, had
+just put up the shutters, and was going downstairs to his tea, when he
+heard a knocking at the shop door. The person proved to be a very tall
+man, in a violent hurry to buy Mr. Ovid Vere’s new book. He said, by
+way of apology, that he was in that line himself, and that his name was
+Benjulia. The shopman knew him by reputation, and sold him the book. He
+was in such a hurry to read it, that he actually began in the shop. It
+was necessary to tell him that business hours were over. Hearing this,
+he ran out, and told the cabman to drive as fast as possible to Pall
+Mall.
+
+The library waiter at Doctor Benjulia’s Club found him in the library,
+busy with a book.
+
+He was quite alone; the members, at that hour of the evening, being
+generally at dinner, or in the smoking-room. The man whose business it
+was to attend to the fires, went in during the night, from time to
+time, and always found him in the same corner. It began to get late.
+He finished his reading; but it seemed to make no difference. There he
+sat--wide awake--holding his closed book on his knee, seemingly lost in
+his own thoughts. This went on till it was time to close the Club. They
+were obliged to disturb him. He said nothing; and went slowly down into
+the hall, leaving his book behind him. It was an awful night, raining
+and sleeting--but he took no notice of the weather. When they fetched a
+cab, the driver refused to take him to where he lived, on such a night
+as that. He only said, “Very well; go to the nearest hotel.”
+
+The night porter at the hotel let in a tall gentleman, and showed him
+into one of the bedrooms kept ready for persons arriving late. Having
+no luggage, he paid the charges beforehand. About eight o’clock in the
+morning, he rang for the waiter--who observed that his bed had not been
+slept in. All he wanted for breakfast was the strongest coffee that
+could be made. It was not strong enough to please him when he tasted it;
+and he had some brandy put in. He paid, and was liberal to the waiter,
+and went away.
+
+The policeman on duty, that day, whose beat included the streets at
+the back of Fairfield Gardens, noticed in one of them, a tall gentleman
+walking backwards and forwards, and looking from time to time at one
+particular house. When he passed that way again, there was the gentleman
+still patrolling the street, and still looking towards the same house.
+The policeman waited a little, and watched. The place was a respectable
+lodging house, and the stranger was certainly a gentleman, though a
+queer one to look at. It was not the policeman’s business to interfere
+on suspicion, except in the case of notoriously bad characters. So,
+though he did think it odd, he went on again.
+
+Between twelve and one o’clock in the afternoon, Ovid left his Lodgings,
+to go to the neighbouring livery stables, and choose an open carriage.
+The sun was shining, and the air was brisk and dry, after the stormy
+night. It was just the day when he might venture to take Carmina out for
+a drive.
+
+On his way down the street, he heard footsteps behind him, and felt
+himself touched on the shoulder. He turned--and discovered Benjulia.
+On the point of speaking resentfully, he restrained himself. There was
+something in the wretch’s face that struck him with horror.
+
+Benjulia said, “I won’t keep you long; I want to know one thing. Will
+she live or die?”
+
+“Her life is safe--I hope.”
+
+“Through your new mode of treatment?”
+
+His eyes and his voice said more than his words. Ovid instantly knew
+that he had seen the book; and that the book had forestalled him in the
+discovery to which he had devoted his life. Was it possible to pity a
+man whose hardened nature never pitied others? All things are possible
+to a large heart. Ovid shrank from answering him.
+
+Benjulia spoke again.
+
+“When we met that night at my garden gate,” he said, “you told me my
+life should answer for her life, if she died. My neglect has not killed
+her--and you have no need to keep your word. But I don’t get off, Mr.
+Ovid Vere, without paying the penalty. You have taken something from me,
+which was dearer than life, I wished to tell you that--I have no more to
+say.”
+
+Ovid silently offered his hand.
+
+Benjulia’s head drooped in thought. The generous protest of the man whom
+he had injured, spoke in that outstretched hand. He looked at Ovid.
+
+“No!” he said--and walked away.
+
+Leaving the street, he went round to Fairfield Gardens, and rang the
+bell at Mr. Gallilee’s door. The bell was answered by a polite old
+woman--a stranger to him among the servants.
+
+“Is Zo in the house?” he inquired.
+
+“Nobody’s in the house, sir. It’s to be let, if you please, as soon as
+the furniture can be moved.”
+
+“Do you know where Zo is? I mean, Mr. Gallilee’s youngest child.”
+
+“I’m sorry to say, sir, I’m not acquainted with the family.”
+
+He waited at the door, apparently hesitating what to do next. “I’ll go
+upstairs,” he said suddenly; “I want to look at the house. You needn’t
+go with me; I know my way.”
+
+“Thank you kindly, sir!”
+
+He went straight to the schoolroom.
+
+The repellent melancholy of an uninhabited place had fallen on it
+already. The plain furniture was not worth taking care of: it was
+battered and old, and left to dust and neglect. There were two common
+deal writing desks, formerly used by the two girls. One of them was
+covered with splashes of ink: varied here and there by barbarous
+caricatures of faces, in which dots and strokes represented eyes, noses,
+and mouths. He knew whose desk this was, and opened the cover of it.
+In the recess beneath were soiled tables of figures, torn maps, and
+dogs-eared writing books. The ragged paper cover of one of these last,
+bore on its inner side a grotesquely imperfect inscription:--_my cop
+book zo._ He tore off the cover, and put it in the breast pocket of his
+coat.
+
+“I should have liked to tickle her once more,” he thought, as he went
+down stairs again. The polite old woman opened the door, curtsying
+deferentially. He gave her half a crown. “God bless you, sir!” she burst
+out, in a gush of gratitude.
+
+He checked himself, on the point of stepping into the street, and looked
+at her with some curiosity. “Do you believe in God?” he asked.
+
+The old woman was even capable of making a confession of faith politely.
+“Yes, sir,” she said, “if you have no objection.”
+
+He stepped into the street. “I wonder whether she is right?” he thought.
+“It doesn’t matter; I shall soon know.”
+
+The servants were honestly glad to see him, when he got home. They
+had taken it in turn to sit up through the night; knowing his regular
+habits, and feeling the dread that some accident had happened. Never
+before had they seen him so fatigued. He dropped helplessly into his
+chair; his gigantic body shook with shivering fits. The footman begged
+him to take some refreshment. “Brandy, and raw eggs,” he said. These
+being brought to him, he told them to wait until he rang--and locked the
+door when they went out.
+
+After waiting until the short winter daylight was at an end, the footman
+ventured to knock, and ask if the master wanted lights. He replied that
+he had lit the candles for himself. No smell of tobacco smoke came from
+the room; and he had let the day pass without going to the laboratory.
+These were portentous signs. The footman said to his fellow servants,
+“There’s something wrong.” The women looked at each other in vague
+terror. One of them said, “Hadn’t we better give notice to leave?” And
+the other whispered a question: “Do you think he’s committed a crime?”
+
+Towards ten o’clock, the bell rang at last. Immediately afterwards they
+heard him calling to them from the hall. “I want you, all three, up
+here.”
+
+They went up together--the two women anticipating a sight of horror, and
+keeping close to the footman.
+
+The master was walking quietly backwards and forwards in the room: the
+table had pen and ink on it, and was covered with writings. He spoke to
+them in his customary tones; there was not the slightest appearance of
+agitation in his manner.
+
+“I mean to leave this house, and go away,” he began. “You are dismissed
+from my service, for that reason only. Take your written characters
+from the table; read them, and say if there is anything to complain of.”
+ There was nothing to complain of. On another part of the table there
+were three little heaps of money. “A month’s wages for each of you,” he
+explained, “in place of a month’s warning. I wish you good luck.” One
+of the women (the one who had suggested giving notice to leave) began to
+cry. He took no notice of this demonstration, and went on. “I want two
+of you to do me a favour before we part. You will please witness the
+signature of my Will.” The sensitive servant drew back directly. “No!”
+ she said, “I couldn’t do it. I never heard the Death-Watch before in
+winter time--I heard it all last night.”
+
+The other two witnessed the signature. They observed that the Will was
+a very short one. It was impossible not to notice the only legacy
+left; the words crossed the paper, just above the signatures, and only
+occupied two lines: “I leave to Zoe, youngest daughter of Mr. John
+Gallilee, of Fairfield Gardens, London, everything absolutely of which
+I die possessed.” Excepting the formal introductory phrases, and the
+statement relating to the witnesses--both copied from a handy book of
+law, lying open on the table--this was the Will.
+
+The female servants were allowed to go downstairs; after having been
+informed that they were to leave the next morning. The footman was
+detained in the dining-room.
+
+“I am going to the laboratory,” the master said; “and I want a few
+things carried to the door.”
+
+The big basket for waste paper, three times filled with letters and
+manuscripts; the books; the medicine chest; and the stone jar of oil
+from the kitchen--these, the master and the man removed together;
+setting them down at the laboratory door. It was a still cold starlight
+winter’s night. The intermittent shriek of a railway whistle in the
+distance, was the only sound that disturbed the quiet of the time.
+
+“Good night!” said the master.
+
+The man returned the salute, and walked back to the house, closing the
+front door. He was now more firmly persuaded than ever that something
+was wrong. In the hall, the women were waiting for him. “What does it
+mean?” they asked. “Keep quiet,” he said; “I’m going to see.”
+
+In another minute he was posted at the back of the house, behind the
+edge of the wall. Looking out from this place, he could see the light
+of the lamps in the laboratory streaming through the open door, and the
+dark figure of the master coming and going, as he removed the objects
+left outside into the building. Then the door was shut, and nothing was
+visible but the dim glow that found its way to the skylight, through the
+white blind inside.
+
+He boldly crossed the open space of ground, resolved to try what his
+ears might discover, now that his eyes were useless. He posted himself
+at the back of the laboratory, close to one of the side walls.
+
+Now and then, he heard--what had reached his ears when he had been
+listening on former occasions--the faint whining cries of animals. These
+were followed by new sounds. Three smothered shrieks, succeeding
+each other at irregular intervals, made his blood run cold. Had three
+death-strokes been dealt on some suffering creatures, with the same
+sudden and terrible certainty? Silence, horrible silence, was all that
+answered. In the distant railway there was an interval of peace.
+
+The door was opened again; the flood of light streamed out on the
+darkness. Suddenly the yellow glow was spotted by the black figures of
+small swiftly-running creatures--perhaps cats, perhaps rabbits--escaping
+from the laboratory. The tall form of the master followed slowly, and
+stood revealed watching the flight of the animals. In a moment more, the
+last of the liberated creatures came out--a large dog, limping as if one
+of its legs was injured. It stopped as it passed the master, and tried
+to fawn on him. He threatened it with his hand. “Be off with you, like
+the rest!” he said. The dog slowly crossed the flow of light, and was
+swallowed up in darkness.
+
+The last of them that could move was gone. The death shrieks of the
+others had told their fate.
+
+But still, there stood the master alone--a grand black figure, with
+its head turned up to the stars. The minutes followed one another: the
+servant waited, and watched him. The solitary man had a habit, well
+known to those about him, of speaking to himself; not a word escaped him
+now; his upturned head never moved; the bright wintry heaven held him
+spellbound.
+
+At last, the change came. Once more the silence was broken by the scream
+of the railway whistle.
+
+He started like a person suddenly roused from deep sleep, and went
+back into the laboratory. The last sound then followed--the locking and
+bolting of the door.
+
+The servant left his hiding-place: his master’s secret, was no secret
+now. He hated himself for eating that master’s bread, and earning that
+master’s money. One of the ignorant masses, this man! Mere sentiment had
+a strange hold on his stupid mind; the remembrance of the poor wounded
+dog, companionable and forgiving under cruel injuries, cut into his
+heart like a knife. His thought at that moment, was an act of treason to
+the royalty of Knowledge,--“I wish to God I could lame _him,_ as he has
+lamed the dog!” Another fanatic! another fool! Oh, Science, be merciful
+to the fanatics, and the fools!
+
+When he got back to the house, the women were still on the look-out
+for him. “Don’t speak to me now,” he said. “Get to your beds. And, mind
+this--let’s be off to-morrow morning before _he_ can see us.”
+
+There was no sleep for him when he went to his own bed.
+
+The remembrance of the dog tormented him. The other lesser animals
+were active; capable of enjoying their liberty and finding shelter for
+themselves. Where had the maimed creature found a refuge, on that bitter
+night? Again, and again, and again, the question forced its way into his
+mind. He could endure it no longer. Cautiously and quickly--in dread
+of his extraordinary conduct being perhaps discovered by the women--he
+dressed himself, and opened the house door to look for the dog.
+
+Out of the darkness on the step, there rose something dark. He put out
+his hand. A persuasive tongue, gently licking it, pleaded for a word of
+welcome. The crippled animal could only have got to the door in one way;
+the gate which protected the house-enclosure must have been left open.
+First giving the dog a refuge in the kitchen, the footman--rigidly
+performing his last duties--went to close the gate.
+
+At his first step into the enclosure he stopped panic-stricken.
+
+The starlit sky over the laboratory was veiled in murky red. Roaring
+flame, and spouting showers of sparks, poured through the broken
+skylight. Voices from the farm raised the first cry--“Fire! fire!”
+
+At the inquest, the evidence suggested suspicion of incendiarism
+and suicide. The papers, the books, the oil betrayed themselves as
+combustible materials, carried into the place for a purpose. The
+medicine chest was known (by its use in cases of illness among the
+servants) to contain opium. Adjourned inquiry elicited that the
+laboratory was not insured, and that the deceased was in comfortable
+circumstances. Where were the motives? One intelligent man, who had
+drifted into the jury, was satisfied with the evidence. He held that the
+desperate wretch had some reason of his own for first poisoning himself,
+and then setting fire to the scene of his labours. Having a majority of
+eleven against him, the wise juryman consented to a merciful verdict
+of death by misadventure. The hideous remains of what had once been
+Benjulia, found Christian burial. His brethren of the torture-table,
+attended the funeral in large numbers. Vivisection had been beaten on
+its own field of discovery. They honoured the martyr who had fallen in
+their cause.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXIII.
+
+The life of the New Year was still only numbered by weeks, when a modest
+little marriage was celebrated--without the knowledge of the neighbours,
+without a crowd in the church, and even without a wedding-breakfast.
+
+Mr. Gallilee (honoured with the office of giving away the bride)
+drew Ovid into a corner before they left the house. “She still looks
+delicate, poor dear,” he said. “Do you really consider her to be well
+again?”
+
+“As well as she will ever be,” Ovid answered. “Before I returned to her,
+time had been lost which no skill and no devotion can regain. But the
+prospect has its bright side. Past events which might have cast their
+shadow over all her life to come, have left no trace in her memory. I
+will make her a happy woman. Leave the rest to me.”
+
+Teresa and Mr. Mool were the witnesses; Maria and Zo were the
+bridesmaids: they had only waited to go to church, until one other
+eagerly expected person joined them. There was a general inquiry
+for Miss Minerva. Carmina astonished everybody, from the bride-groom
+downwards, by announcing that circumstances prevented her best and
+dearest friend from being present. She smiled and blushed as she took
+Ovid’s arm. “When we are man and wife, and I am quite sure of you,”
+ she whispered, “I will tell _you,_ what nobody else must know. In the
+meantime, darling, if you can give Frances the highest place in your
+estimation--next to me--you will only do justice to the noblest woman
+that ever lived.”
+
+She had a little note hidden in her bosom, while she said those words.
+It was dated on the morning of her marriage: “When you return from the
+honeymoon, Carmina, I shall be the first friend who opens her arms and
+her heart to you. Forgive me if I am not with you to-day. We are all
+human, my dear--don’t tell your husband.”
+
+It was her last weakness. Carmina had no excuses to make for an absent
+guest, when the first christening was celebrated. On that occasion the
+happy young mother betrayed a conjugal secret to her dearest friend.
+It was at Ovid’s suggestion that the infant daughter was called by Miss
+Minerva’s christian name.
+
+But when the married pair went away to their happy new life, there was
+a little cloud of sadness, which vanished in sunshine--thanks to Zo.
+Polite Mr. Mool, bent on making himself agreeable to everybody, paid
+his court to Mr. Gallilee’s youngest daughter. “And who do you mean to
+marry, my little Miss, when you grow up?” the lawyer asked with feeble
+drollery.
+
+Zo looked at him in grave surprise. “That’s all settled,” she said;
+“I’ve got a man waiting for me.”
+
+“Oh, indeed! And who may he be?”
+
+“Donald!”
+
+“That’s a very extraordinary child of yours,” Mr. Mool said to his
+friend, as they walked away together.
+
+Mr. Gallilee absently agreed. “Has my message been given to my wife?” he
+asked.
+
+Mr. Mool sighed and shook his head. “Messages from her husband are as
+completely thrown away on her,” he answered, “as if she was still in the
+asylum. In justice to yourself, consent to an amicable separation, and I
+will arrange it.”
+
+“Have you seen her?”
+
+“I insisted on it, before I met her lawyers. She declares herself to be
+an infamously injured woman--and, upon my honour, she proves it, from
+her own point of view. ‘My husband never came near me in my illness, and
+took my children away by stealth. My children were so perfectly ready
+to be removed from their mother, that neither of them had the decency to
+write me a letter. My niece contemplated shamelessly escaping to my
+son, and wrote him a letter vilifying his mother in the most abominable
+terms. And Ovid completes the round of ingratitude by marrying the girl
+who has behaved in this way.’ I declare to you, Gallilee, that was how
+she put it! ‘Am I to blame,’ she said, ‘for believing that story about
+my brother’s wife? It’s acknowledged that she gave the man money--the
+rest is a matter of opinion. Was I wrong to lose my temper, and say what
+I did say to this so-called niece of mine? Yes, I was wrong, there: it’s
+the only case in which there is a fault to find with me. But had I no
+provocation? Have I not suffered? Don’t try to look as if you pitied me.
+I stand in no need of pity. But I owe a duty to my own self-respect; and
+that duty compels me to speak plainly. I will have nothing more to do
+with the members of my heartless family. The rest of my life is devoted
+to intellectual society, and the ennobling pursuits of science. Let me
+hear no more, sir, of you or your employers.’ She rose like a queen, and
+bowed me out of the room. I declare to you, my flesh creeps when I think
+of her.”
+
+“If I leave her now,” said Mr. Gallilee, “I leave her in debt.”
+
+“Give me your word of honour not to mention what I am going to tell
+you,” Mr. Mool rejoined. “If she needs money, the kindest man in the
+world has offered me a blank cheque to fill in for her--and his name is
+Ovid Vere.”
+
+     * * * * *
+
+As the season advanced, two social entertainments which offered the
+most complete contrast to each other, were given in London on the same
+evening.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Ovid Vere had a little dinner party to celebrate their
+return. Teresa (advanced to the dignity of housekeeper) insisted on
+stuffing the tomatoes and cooking the macaroni with her own hand. The
+guests were Lord and Lady Northlake; Maria and Zo; Miss Minerva and Mr.
+Mool. Mr. Gallilee was present as one of the household. While he was in
+London, he and his children lived under Ovid’s roof. When they went to
+Scotland, Mr. Gallilee had a cottage of his own (which he insisted on
+buying) in Lord Northlake’s park. He and Zo drank too much champagne at
+dinner. The father made a speech; and the daughter sang, “We’re gayly
+yet.”
+
+In another quarter of London, there was a party which filled the street
+with carriages, and which was reported in the newspapers the next
+morning.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was At Home to Science. The Professors of the civilised
+universe rallied round their fair friend. France, Italy, and Germany
+bewildered the announcing servants with a perfect Babel of names--and
+Great Britain was grandly represented. Those three superhuman men, who
+had each had a peep behind the veil of creation, and discovered
+the mystery of life, attended the party and became centres of three
+circles--the circle that believed in “protoplasm,” the circle that
+believed in “bioplasm,” and the circle that believed in “atomized
+charges of electricity, conducted into the system by the oxygen of
+respiration.” Lectures and demonstrations went on all through the
+evening, all over the magnificent room engaged for the occasion. In one
+corner, a fair philosopher in blue velvet and point lace, took the Sun
+in hand facetiously. “The sun’s life, my friends, begins with a nebulous
+infancy and a gaseous childhood.” In another corner, a gentleman of
+shy and retiring manners converted “radiant energy into sonorous
+vibrations”--themselves converted into sonorous poppings by waiters and
+champagne bottles at the supper table. In the centre of the room,
+the hostess solved the serious problem of diet; viewed as a method of
+assisting tadpoles to develop themselves into frogs--with such cheering
+results that these last lively beings joined the guests on the carpet,
+and gratified intelligent curiosity by explorations on the stairs.
+Within the space of one remarkable evening, three hundred illustrious
+people were charmed, surprised, instructed, and amused; and when Science
+went home, it left a conversazione (for once) with its stomach well
+filled. At two in the morning, Mrs. Gallilee sat down in the empty room,
+and said to the learned friend who lived with her,
+
+“At last, I’m a happy woman!”
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Heart and Science, by Wilkie Collins
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEART AND SCIENCE ***
+
+***** This file should be named 7892-0.txt or 7892-0.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        http://www.gutenberg.org/7/8/9/7892/
+
+Produced by James Rusk
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions 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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
+Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation”
+ or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project
+Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
+of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’ WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
+
+The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and official
+page at http://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/7892-0.zip b/7892-0.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..342b26e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/7892-0.zip
diff --git a/7892-h.zip b/7892-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..afbf226
--- /dev/null
+++ b/7892-h.zip
diff --git a/7892-h/7892-h.htm b/7892-h/7892-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..41fe2b1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/7892-h/7892-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,19260 @@
+<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
+
+<!DOCTYPE html
+   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      Heart and Science, by Wilkie Collins
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Heart and Science, by Wilkie Collins
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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
+
+
+Title: Heart and Science
+       A Story of the Present Time
+
+Author: Wilkie Collins
+
+Release Date: July 29, 2009 [EBook #7892]
+Last Updated: September 11, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEART AND SCIENCE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by James Rusk, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      HEART AND SCIENCE
+    </h1>
+    <h2>
+      A Story of the Present Time
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Wilkie Collins
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> TO SARONY (OF NEW YORK) ARTIST; PHOTOGRAPHER, AND GOOD FRIEND
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I. PREFACE TO READERS IN GENERAL </a><br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II. TO READERS IN PARTICULAR. </a><br /> <br />
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XLII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XLIV. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XLV. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XLVI. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XLVII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER XLVIII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER XLIX. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0050"> CHAPTER L. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0051"> CHAPTER LI. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0052"> CHAPTER LII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0053"> CHAPTER LIII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0054"> CHAPTER LIV. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0055"> CHAPTER LV. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0056"> CHAPTER LVI. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0057"> CHAPTER LVII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0058"> CHAPTER LVIII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0059"> CHAPTER LIX. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0060"> CHAPTER LX. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0061"> CHAPTER LXI. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0062"> CHAPTER LXII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0063"> CHAPTER LXIII. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      I. PREFACE TO READERS IN GENERAL
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      You are the children of Old Mother England, on both sides of the Atlantic;
+      you form the majority of buyers and borrowers of novels; and you judge of
+      works of fiction by certain inbred preferences, which but slightly
+      influence the other great public of readers on the continent of Europe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two qualities in fiction which hold the highest rank in your
+      estimation are: Character and Humour. Incident and dramatic situation only
+      occupy the second place in your favour. A novel that tells no story, or
+      that blunders perpetually in trying to tell a story&mdash;a novel so
+      entirely devoid of all sense of the dramatic side of human life, that not
+      even a theatrical thief can find anything in it to steal&mdash;will
+      nevertheless be a work that wins (and keeps) your admiration, if it has
+      Humour which dwells on your memory, and characters which enlarge the
+      circle of your friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have myself always tried to combine the different merits of a good
+      novel, in one and the same work; and I have never succeeded in keeping an
+      equal balance. In the present story you will find the scales inclining, on
+      the whole, in favour of character and Humour. This has not happened
+      accidentally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Advancing years, and health that stands sadly in need of improvement, warn
+      me&mdash;if I am to vary my way of work&mdash;that I may have little time
+      to lose. Without waiting for future opportunities, I have kept your
+      standard of merit more constantly before my mind, in writing this book,
+      than on some former occasions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still persisting in telling you a story&mdash;still refusing to get up in
+      the pulpit and preach, or to invade the platform and lecture, or to take
+      you by the buttonhole in confidence and make fun of my Art&mdash;it has
+      been my chief effort to draw the characters with a vigour and breadth of
+      treatment, derived from the nearest and truest view that I could get of
+      the one model, Nature. Whether I shall at once succeed in adding to the
+      circle of your friends in the world of fiction&mdash;or whether you will
+      hurry through the narrative, and only discover on a later reading that it
+      is the characters which have interested you in the story&mdash;remains to
+      be seen. Either way, your sympathy will find me grateful; for, either way,
+      my motive has been to please you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During its periodical publication correspondents, noting certain passages
+      in &ldquo;Heart and Science,&rdquo; inquired how I came to think of writing this book.
+      The question may be readily answered in better words than mine. My book
+      has been written in harmony with opinions which have an indisputable claim
+      to respect. Let them speak for themselves.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     SHAKESPEARE&rsquo;S OPINION.&mdash;&ldquo;It was always yet the trick of our
+English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common.&rdquo;
+ <i>(King Henry IV., Part II.)</i>
+
+     WALTER SCOTT&rsquo;S OPINION&mdash;&ldquo;I am no great believer in the extreme
+degree of improvement to be derived from the advancement of Science; for
+every study of that nature tends, when pushed to a certain extent, to
+harden the heart.&rdquo; <i>(Letter to Miss Edgeworth.)</i>
+
+     FARADAY&rsquo;S OPINION.&mdash;&ldquo;The education of the judgment has for its
+first and its last step&mdash;Humility.&rdquo; <i>(Lecture on Mental Education, at
+the Royal Institution.)</i>
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      Having given my reasons for writing the book, let me conclude by telling
+      you what I have kept out of the book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It encourages me to think that we have many sympathies in common; and
+      among them, that most of us have taken to our hearts domestic pets.
+      Writing under this conviction, I have not forgotten my responsibility
+      towards you, and towards my Art, in pleading the cause of the harmless and
+      affectionate beings of God&rsquo;s creation. From first to last, you are
+      purposely left in ignorance of the hideous secrets of Vivisection. The
+      outside of the laboratory is a necessary object in my landscape&mdash;but
+      I never once open the door and invite you to look in. I trace, in one of
+      my characters, the result of the habitual practice of cruelty (no matter
+      under what pretence) in fatally deteriorating the nature of man&mdash;and
+      I leave the picture to speak for itself. My own personal feeling has
+      throughout been held in check. Thankfully accepting the assistance
+      rendered to me by Miss Frances Power Cobbe, by Mrs. H. M. Gordon, and by
+      Surgeon-General Gordon, C.B., I have borne in mind (as they have borne in
+      mind) the value of temperate advocacy to a good cause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With this, your servant withdraws, and leaves you to the story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      II. TO READERS IN PARTICULAR.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      If you are numbered among those good friends of ours, who are especially
+      capable of understanding us and sympathising with us, be pleased to accept
+      the expression of our gratitude, and to pass over the lines that follow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But if you open our books with a mind soured by distrust; if you
+      habitually anticipate inexcusable ignorance where the course of the story
+      happens to turn on matters of fact; it is you, Sir or Madam, whom I now
+      want.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not to dispute with you&mdash;far from it! I own with sorrow that your
+      severity does occasionally encounter us on assailable ground. But there
+      are exceptions, even to the stiffest rules. Some of us are not guilty of
+      wilful carelessness: some of us apply to competent authority, when we
+      write on subjects beyond the range of our own experience. Having thus far
+      ventured to speak for my colleagues, you will conclude that I am paving
+      the way for speaking next of myself. As our cousins in the United States
+      say&mdash;that is so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the following pages, there are allusions to medical practice at the
+      bedside; leading in due course to physiological questions which connect
+      themselves with the main interest of the novel. In traversing this
+      delicate ground, you have not been forgotten. Before the manuscript went
+      to the printer, it was submitted for correction to an eminent London
+      surgeon, whose experience extends over a period of forty years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again: a supposed discovery in connection with brain disease, which
+      occupies a place of importance, is not (as you may suspect) the fantastic
+      product of the author&rsquo;s imagination. Finding his materials everywhere, he
+      has even contrived to make use of Professor Ferrier&mdash;writing on the
+      &ldquo;Localisation of Cerebral Disease,&rdquo; and closing a confession of the
+      present result of post-mortem examination of brains in these words: &ldquo;We
+      cannot even be sure, whether many of the changes discovered are the cause
+      or the result of the Disease, or whether the two are the conjoint results
+      of a common cause.&rdquo; Plenty of elbow room here for the spirit of discovery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On becoming acquainted with &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee,&rdquo; you will find her talking&mdash;and
+      you will sometimes even find the author talking&mdash;of scientific
+      subjects in general. You will naturally conclude that it is &ldquo;all gross
+      caricature.&rdquo; No; it is all promiscuous reading. Let me spare you a long
+      list of books consulted, and of newspapers and magazines mutilated for
+      &ldquo;cuttings&rdquo;&mdash;and appeal to examples once more, and for the last time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee&rdquo; wonders whether &ldquo;Carmina has ever heard of the
+      Diathermancy of Ebonite,&rdquo; she is thinking of proceedings at a
+      conversazione in honour of Professor Helmholtz (reported in the <i>Times</i>
+      of April 12, 1881), at which &ldquo;radiant energy&rdquo; was indeed converted into
+      &ldquo;sonorous vibrations.&rdquo; Again: when she contemplates taking part in a
+      discussion on Matter, she has been slily looking into Chambers&rsquo;s
+      Encyclopaedia, and has there discovered the interesting conditions on
+      which she can &ldquo;dispense with the idea of atoms.&rdquo; Briefly, not a word of my
+      own invention occurs, when Mrs. Gallilee turns the learned side of her
+      character to your worships&rsquo; view.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have now only to add that the story has been subjected to careful
+      revision, and I hope to consequent improvement, in its present form of
+      publication. Past experience has shown me that you have a sharp eye for
+      slips of the pen, and that you thoroughly enjoy convicting a novelist, by
+      post, of having made a mistake. Whatever pains I may have taken to
+      disappoint you, it is quite likely that we may be again indebted to each
+      other on this occasion. So, to our infinite relief on either side, we part
+      friends after all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      W. C.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      London: April 1883
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The weary old nineteenth century had advanced into the last twenty years
+      of its life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Towards two o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon, Ovid Vere (of the Royal College of
+      Surgeons) stood at the window of his consulting-room in London, looking
+      out at the summer sunshine, and the quiet dusty street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had received a warning, familiar to the busy men of our time&mdash;the
+      warning from overwrought Nature, which counsels rest after excessive work.
+      With a prosperous career before him, he had been compelled (at only
+      thirty-one years of age) to ask a colleague to take charge of his
+      practice, and to give the brain which he had cruelly wearied a rest of
+      some months to come. On the next day he had arranged to embark for the
+      Mediterranean in a friend&rsquo;s yacht.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An active man, devoted heart and soul to his profession, is not a man who
+      can learn the happy knack of being idle at a moment&rsquo;s notice. Ovid found
+      the mere act of looking out of window, and wondering what he should do
+      next, more than he had patience to endure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned to his study table. If he had possessed a wife to look after
+      him, he would have been reminded that he and his study table had nothing
+      in common, under present circumstances. Being deprived of conjugal
+      superintendence, he broke though his own rules. His restless hand unlocked
+      a drawer, and took out a manuscript work on medicine of his own writing.
+      &ldquo;Surely,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;I may finish a chapter, before I go to sea
+      to-morrow?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His head, steady enough while he was only looking out of window, began to
+      swim before he had got to the bottom of a page. The last sentences of the
+      unfinished chapter alluded to a matter of fact which he had not yet
+      verified. In emergencies of any sort, he was a patient man and a man of
+      resource. The necessary verification could be accomplished by a visit to
+      the College of Surgeons, situated in the great square called Lincoln&rsquo;s Inn
+      Fields. Here was a motive for a walk&mdash;with an occupation at the end
+      of it, which only involved a question to a Curator, and an examination of
+      a Specimen. He locked up his manuscript, and set forth for Lincoln&rsquo;s Inn
+      Fields.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When two friends happen to meet in the street, do they ever look back
+      along the procession of small circumstances which has led them both, from
+      the starting-point of their own houses, to the same spot, at the same
+      time? Not one man in ten thousand has probably ever thought of making such
+      a fantastic inquiry as this. And consequently not one man in ten thousand,
+      living in the midst of reality, has discovered that he is also living in
+      the midst of romance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the moment when the young surgeon closed the door of his house, he
+      was walking blindfold on his way to a patient in the future who was
+      personally still a stranger to him. He never reached the College of
+      Surgeons. He never embarked on his friend&rsquo;s yacht.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What were the obstacles which turned him aside from the course that he had
+      in view? Nothing but a series of trivial circumstances, occurring in the
+      experience of a man who goes out for a walk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had only reached the next street, when the first of the circumstances
+      presented itself in the shape of a friend&rsquo;s carriage, which drew up at his
+      side. A bright benevolent face encircled by bushy white whiskers, looked
+      out of the window, and a hearty voice asked him if he had completed his
+      arrangements for a long holiday. Having replied to this, Ovid had a
+      question to put, on his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is our patient, Sir Richard?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out of danger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what do the other doctors say now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir Richard laughed: &ldquo;They say it&rsquo;s my luck.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not convinced yet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not in the least. Who has ever succeeded in convincing fools? Let&rsquo;s try
+      another subject. Is your mother reconciled to your new plans?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can hardly tell you. My mother is in a state of indescribable
+      agitation. Her brother&rsquo;s Will has been found in Italy. And his daughter
+      may arrive in England at a moment&rsquo;s notice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Unmarried?&rdquo; Sir Richard asked slyly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid smiled&mdash;not cheerfully. &ldquo;Do you think my poor mother would be in
+      a state of indescribable agitation if there was <i>not</i> money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir Richard was one of those obsolete elderly persons who quote
+      Shakespeare. &ldquo;Ah, well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;your mother is like Kent in King Lear&mdash;she&rsquo;s
+      too old to learn. Is she as fond as ever of lace? and as keen as ever
+      after a bargain?&rdquo; He handed a card out of the carriage window. &ldquo;I have
+      just seen an old patient of mine,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;in whom I feel a friendly
+      interest. She is retiring from business by my advice; and she asks me, of
+      all the people in the world, to help her in getting rid of some wonderful
+      &lsquo;remnants,&rsquo; at &lsquo;an alarming sacrifice!&rsquo; My kind regards to your mother&mdash;and
+      there&rsquo;s a chance for her. One last word, Ovid. Don&rsquo;t be in too great a
+      hurry to return to work; you have plenty of spare time before you. Look at
+      my wise dog here, on the front seat, and learn from him to be idle and
+      happy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The great physician had another companion, besides his dog. A friend,
+      bound his way, had accepted a seat in the carriage. &ldquo;Who is that handsome
+      young man?&rdquo; the friend asked as they drove away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is the only son of a relative of mine, dead many years since,&rdquo; Sir
+      Richard replied. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t forget that you have seen him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I ask why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has not yet reached the prime of life; and he is on the way&mdash;already
+      far on the way&mdash;to be one of the foremost men of his time. With a
+      private fortune, he has worked as few surgeons work who have their bread
+      to get by their profession. The money comes from his late father. His
+      mother has married again. The second husband is a lazy, harmless old
+      fellow, named Gallilee; possessed of one small attraction&mdash;fifty
+      thousand pounds, grubbed up in trade. There are two little daughters, by
+      the second marriage. With such a stepfather as I have described, and,
+      between ourselves, with a mother who has rather more than her fair share
+      of the jealous, envious, and money-loving propensities of humanity, my
+      friend Ovid is not diverted by family influences from the close pursuit of
+      his profession. You will tell me, he may marry. Well! if he gets a good
+      wife she will be a circumstance in his favour. But, so far as I know, he
+      is not that sort of man. Cooler, a deal cooler, with women than I am&mdash;though
+      I am old enough to be his father. Let us get back to his professional
+      prospects. You heard him ask me about a patient?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good. Death was knocking hard at that patient&rsquo;s door, when I called
+      Ovid into consultation with myself and with two other doctors who differed
+      with me. It was one of the very rare cases in which the old practice of
+      bleeding was, to my mind, the only treatment to pursue. I never told him
+      that this was the point in dispute between me and the other men&mdash;and
+      they said nothing, on their side, at my express request. He took his time
+      to examine and think; and he saw the chance of saving the patient by
+      venturing on the use of the lancet as plainly as I did&mdash;with my forty
+      years&rsquo; experience to teach me! A young man with that capacity for
+      discovering the remote cause of disease, and with that superiority to the
+      trammels of routine in applying the treatment, has no common medical
+      career before him. His holiday will set his health right in next to no
+      time. I see nothing in his way, at present&mdash;not even a woman! But,&rdquo;
+       said Sir Richard, with the explanatory wink of one eye peculiar (like
+      quotation from Shakespeare) to persons of the obsolete old time, <i>&ldquo;we</i>
+      know better than to forecast the weather if a petticoat influence appears
+      on the horizon. One prediction, however, I do risk. If his mother buys any
+      of that lace&mdash;I know who will get the best of the bargain!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The conditions under which the old doctor was willing to assume the
+      character of a prophet never occurred. Ovid remembered that he was going
+      away on a long voyage&mdash;and Ovid was a good son. He bought some of the
+      lace, as a present to his mother at parting; and, most assuredly, he got
+      the worst of the bargain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His shortest way back to the straight course, from which he had deviated
+      in making his purchase, led him into a by-street, near the flower and
+      fruit market of Covent Garden. Here he met with the second in number of
+      the circumstances which attended his walk. He found himself encountered by
+      an intolerably filthy smell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The market was not out of the direct way to Lincoln&rsquo;s Inn Fields. He fled
+      from the smell to the flowery and fruity perfumes of Covent Garden, and
+      completed the disinfecting process by means of a basket of strawberries.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why did a poor ragged little girl, carrying a big baby, look with such
+      longing eyes at the delicious fruit, that, as a kind-hearted man, he had
+      no alternative but to make her a present of the strawberries? Why did two
+      dirty boyfriends of hers appear immediately afterwards with news of Punch
+      in a neighbouring street, and lead the little girl away with them? Why did
+      these two new circumstances inspire him with a fear that the boys might
+      take the strawberries away from the poor child, burdened as she was with a
+      baby almost as big as herself? When we suffer from overwrought nerves we
+      are easily disturbed by small misgivings. The idle man of wearied mind
+      followed the friends of the street drama to see what happened, forgetful
+      of the College of Surgeons, and finding a new fund of amusement in
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arrived in the neighbouring street, he discovered that the Punch
+      performance had come to an end&mdash;like some other dramatic performances
+      of higher pretensions&mdash;for want of a paying audience. He waited at a
+      certain distance, watching the children. His doubts had done them an
+      injustice. The boys only said, &ldquo;Give us a taste.&rdquo; And the liberal little
+      girl rewarded their good conduct. An equitable and friendly division of
+      the strawberries was made in a quiet corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where&mdash;always excepting the case of a miser or a millionaire&mdash;is
+      the man to be found who could have returned to the pursuit of his own
+      affairs, under these circumstances, without encouraging the practice of
+      the social virtues by a present of a few pennies? Ovid was not that man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Putting back in his breast-pocket the bag in which he was accustomed to
+      carry small coins for small charities, his hand touched something which
+      felt like the envelope of a letter. He took it out&mdash;looked at it with
+      an expression of annoyance and surprise&mdash;and once more turned aside
+      from the direct way to Lincoln&rsquo;s Inn Fields.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The envelope contained his last prescription. Having occasion to consult
+      the &ldquo;Pharmacopoeia,&rdquo; he had written it at home, and had promised to send
+      it to the patient immediately. In the absorbing interest of making his
+      preparations for leaving England, it had remained forgotten in his pocket
+      for nearly two days. The one means of setting this unlucky error right,
+      without further delay, was to deliver his prescription himself, and to
+      break through his own rules for the second time by attending to a case of
+      illness&mdash;purely as an act of atonement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The patient lived in a house nearly opposite to the British Museum. In
+      this northward direction he now set his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He made his apologies, and gave his advice&mdash;and, getting out again
+      into the street, tried once more to shape his course for the College of
+      Surgeons. Passing the walled garden of the British Museum, he looked
+      towards it&mdash;and paused. What had stopped him, this time? Nothing but
+      a tree, fluttering its bright leaves in the faint summer air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A marked change showed itself in his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moment before he had been passing in review the curious little
+      interruptions which had attended his walk, and had wondered humorously
+      what would happen next. Two women, meeting him, and seeing a smile on his
+      lips, had said to each other, &ldquo;There goes a happy man.&rdquo; If they had
+      encountered him now, they might have reversed their opinion. They would
+      have seen a man thinking of something once dear to him, in the far and
+      unforgotten past.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crossed over the road to the side-street which faced the garden. His
+      head drooped; he moved mechanically. Arrived in the street, he lifted his
+      eyes, and stood (within nearer view of it) looking at the tree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hundreds of miles away from London, under another tree of that gentle
+      family, this man&mdash;so cold to women in after life&mdash;had made
+      child-love, in the days of his boyhood, to a sweet little cousin long
+      since numbered with the dead. The present time, with its interests and
+      anxieties, passed away like the passing of a dream. Little by little, as
+      the minutes followed each other, his sore heart felt a calming influence,
+      breathed mysteriously from the fluttering leaves. Still forgetful of the
+      outward world, he wandered slowly up the street; living in the old scenes;
+      thinking, not unhappily now, the old thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where, in all London, could he have found a solitude more congenial to a
+      dreamer in daylight?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The broad district, stretching northward and eastward from the British
+      Museum, is like the quiet quarter of a country town set in the midst of
+      the roaring activities of the largest city in the world. Here, you can
+      cross the road, without putting limb or life in peril. Here, when you are
+      idle, you can saunter and look about, safe from collision with merciless
+      straight-walkers whose time is money, and whose destiny is business. Here,
+      you may meet undisturbed cats on the pavement, in the full glare of
+      noontide, and may watch, through the railings of the squares, children at
+      play on grass that almost glows with the lustre of the Sussex Downs. This
+      haven of rest is alike out of the way of fashion and business; and is yet
+      within easy reach of the one and the other. Ovid paused in a vast and
+      silent square. If his little cousin had lived, he might perhaps have seen
+      his children at play in some such secluded place as this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The birds were singing blithely in the trees. A tradesman&rsquo;s boy,
+      delivering fish to the cook, and two girls watering flowers at a window,
+      were the only living creatures near him, as he roused himself and looked
+      around.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where was the College? Where were the Curator and the Specimen? Those
+      questions brought with them no feeling of anxiety or surprise. He turned,
+      in a half-awakened way, without a wish or a purpose&mdash;turned, and
+      listlessly looked back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two foot-passengers, dressed in mourning garments, were rapidly
+      approaching him. One of them, as they came nearer, proved to be an aged
+      woman. The other was a girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He drew aside to let them pass. They looked at him with the lukewarm
+      curiosity of strangers, as they went by. The girl&rsquo;s eyes and his met. Only
+      the glance of an instant&mdash;and its influence held him for life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She went swiftly on, as little impressed by the chance meeting as the old
+      woman at her side. Without stopping to think&mdash;without being capable
+      of thought&mdash;Ovid followed them. Never before had he done what he was
+      doing now; he was, literally, out of himself. He saw them ahead of him,
+      and he saw nothing else.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Towards the middle of the square, they turned aside into a street on the
+      left. A concert-hall was in the street&mdash;with doors open for an
+      afternoon performance. They entered the hall. Still out of himself, Ovid
+      followed them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A room of magnificent size; furnished with every conventional luxury that
+      money can buy; lavishly provided with newspapers and books of reference;
+      lighted by tall windows in the day-time, and by gorgeous chandeliers at
+      night, may be nevertheless one of the dreariest places of rest and shelter
+      that can be found on the civilised earth. Such places exist, by hundreds,
+      in those hotels of monstrous proportions and pretensions, which now engulf
+      the traveller who ends his journey on the pier or the platform. It may be
+      that we feel ourselves to be strangers among strangers&mdash;it may be
+      that there is something innately repellent in splendid carpets and
+      curtains, chairs and tables, which have no social associations to
+      recommend them&mdash;it may be that the mind loses its elasticity under
+      the inevitable restraint on friendly communication, which expresses itself
+      in lowered tones and instinctive distrust of our next neighbour; but this
+      alone is certain: life, in the public drawing-room of a great hotel, is
+      life with all its healthiest emanations perishing in an exhausted
+      receiver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the same day, and nearly at the same hour, when Ovid had left his
+      house, two women sat in a corner of the public room, in one of the largest
+      of the railway hotels latterly built in London.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Without observing it themselves, they were objects of curiosity to their
+      fellow-travellers. They spoke to each other in a foreign language. They
+      were dressed in deep mourning&mdash;with an absence of fashion and a
+      simplicity of material which attracted the notice of every other woman in
+      the room. One of them wore a black veil over her gray hair. Her hands were
+      brown, and knotty at the joints; her eyes looked unnaturally bright for
+      her age; innumerable wrinkles crossed and re-crossed her skinny face; and
+      her aquiline nose (as one of the ladies present took occasion to remark)
+      was so disastrously like the nose of the great Duke of Wellington as to be
+      an offensive feature in the face of a woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The lady&rsquo;s companion, being a man, took a more merciful view. &ldquo;She can&rsquo;t
+      help being ugly,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;But see how she looks at the girl with
+      her. A good old creature, I say, if ever there was one yet.&rdquo; The lady eyed
+      him, as only a jealous woman can eye her husband, and whispered back, &ldquo;Of
+      course you&rsquo;re in love with that slip of a girl!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She <i>was</i> a slip of a girl&mdash;and not even a tall slip. At
+      seventeen years of age, it was doubtful whether she would ever grow to a
+      better height.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But a girl who is too thin, and not even so tall as the Venus de&rsquo; Medici,
+      may still be possessed of personal attractions. It was not altogether a
+      matter of certainty, in this case, that the attractions were sufficiently
+      remarkable to excite general admiration. The fine colour and the plump
+      healthy cheeks, the broad smile, and the regular teeth, the well-developed
+      mouth, and the promising bosom which form altogether the average type of
+      beauty found in the purely bred English maiden, were not among the
+      noticeable charms of the small creature in gloomy black, shrinking into a
+      corner of the big room. She had very little colour of any sort to boast
+      of. Her hair was of so light a brown that it just escaped being flaxen;
+      but it had the negative merit of not being forced down to her eyebrows,
+      and twisted into the hideous curly-wig which exhibits a liberal equality
+      of ugliness on the heads of women in the present day. There was a delicacy
+      of finish in her features&mdash;in the nose and the lips especially&mdash;a
+      sensitive changefulness in the expression of her eyes (too dark in
+      themselves to be quite in harmony with her light hair), and a subtle yet
+      simple witchery in her rare smile, which atoned, in some degree at least,
+      for want of complexion in the face and of flesh in the figure. Men might
+      dispute her claims to beauty&mdash;but no one could deny that she was, in
+      the common phrase, an interesting person. Grace and refinement; a
+      quickness of apprehension and a vivacity of movement, suggestive of some
+      foreign origin; a childish readiness of wonder, in the presence of new
+      objects&mdash;and perhaps, under happier circumstances, a childish
+      playfulness with persons whom she loved&mdash;were all characteristic
+      attractions of the modest stranger who was in the charge of the ugly old
+      woman, and who was palpably the object of that wrinkled duenna&rsquo;s devoted
+      love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A travelling writing-case stood open on a table near them. In an interval
+      of silence the girl looked at it reluctantly. They had been talking of
+      family affairs&mdash;and had spoken in Italian, so as to keep their
+      domestic secrets from the ears of the strangers about them. The old woman
+      was the first to resume the conversation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Carmina, you really ought to write that letter,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;the
+      illustrious Mrs. Gallilee is waiting to hear of our arrival in London.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina took up the pen, and put it down again with a sigh. &ldquo;We only
+      arrived last night,&rdquo; she pleaded. &ldquo;Dear old Teresa, let us have one day in
+      London by ourselves!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa received this proposal with undisguised amazement and alarm,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jesu Maria! a day in London&mdash;and your aunt waiting for you all the
+      time! She is your second mother, my dear, by appointment; and her house is
+      your new home. And you propose to stop a whole day at an hotel, instead of
+      going home. Impossible! Write, my Carmina&mdash;write. See, here is the
+      address on a card:&mdash;&lsquo;Fairfield Gardens.&rsquo; What a pretty place it must
+      be to live in, with such a name as that! And a sweet lady, no doubt. Come!
+      Come!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Carmina still resisted. &ldquo;I have never even seen my aunt,&rdquo; she said.
+      &ldquo;It is dreadful to pass my life with a stranger. Remember, I was only a
+      child when you came to us after my mother&rsquo;s death. It is hardly six months
+      yet since I lost my father. I have no one but you, and, when I go to this
+      new home, you will leave me. I only ask for one more day to be together,
+      before we part.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The poor old duenna drew back out of sight, in the shadow of a curtain&mdash;and
+      began to cry. Carmina took her hand, under cover of a tablecloth; Carmina
+      knew how to console her. &ldquo;We will go and see sights,&rdquo; she whispered &ldquo;and,
+      when dinner-time comes, you shall have a glass of the Porto-porto-wine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa looked round out of the shadow, as easily comforted as a child.
+      &ldquo;Sights!&rdquo; she exclaimed&mdash;and dried her tears. &ldquo;Porto-porto-wine!&rdquo; she
+      repeated&mdash;and smacked her withered lips at the relishing words. &ldquo;Ah,
+      my child, you have not forgotten the consolations I told you of, when I
+      lived in London in my young days. To think of you, with an English father,
+      and never in London till now! I used to go to museums and concerts
+      sometimes, when my English mistress was pleased with me. That gracious
+      lady often gave me a glass of the fine strong purple wine. The Holy Virgin
+      grant that Aunt Gallilee may be as kind a woman! Such a head of hair as
+      the other one she cannot hope to have. It was a joy to dress it. Do you
+      think I wouldn&rsquo;t stay here in England with you if I could? What is to
+      become of my old man in Italy, with his cursed asthma, and nobody to nurse
+      him? Oh, but those were dull years in London! The black endless streets&mdash;the
+      dreadful Sundays&mdash;the hundreds of thousands of people, always in a
+      hurry; always with grim faces set on business, business, business! I was
+      glad to go back and be married in Italy. And here I am in London again,
+      after God knows how many years. No matter. We will enjoy ourselves to-day;
+      and when we go to Madam Gallilee&rsquo;s to-morrow, we will tell a little lie,
+      and say we only arrived on the evening that has not yet come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The duenna&rsquo;s sense of humour was so tickled by this prospective view of
+      the little lie, that she leaned back in her chair and laughed. Carmina&rsquo;s
+      rare smile showed itself faintly. The terrible first interview with the
+      unknown aunt still oppressed her. She took up a newspaper in despair. &ldquo;Oh,
+      my old dear!&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;let us get out of this dreadful room, and be
+      reminded of Italy!&rdquo; Teresa lifted her ugly hands in bewilderment.
+      &ldquo;Reminded of Italy&mdash;in London?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there no Italian music in London?&rdquo; Carmina asked suggestively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The duenna&rsquo;s bright eyes answered this in their own language. She snatched
+      up the nearest newspaper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was then the height of the London concert season. Morning performances
+      of music were announced in rows. Reading the advertised programmes,
+      Carmina found them, in one remarkable respect, all alike. They would have
+      led an ignorant stranger to wonder whether any such persons as Italian
+      composers, French composers, and English composers had ever existed. The
+      music offered to the English public was music of exclusively German (and
+      for the most part modern German) origin. Carmina held the opinion&mdash;in
+      common with Mozart and Rossini, as well as other people&mdash;that music
+      without melody is not music at all. She laid aside the newspaper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The plan of going to a concert being thus abandoned, the idea occurred to
+      them of seeing pictures. Teresa, in search of information, tried her luck
+      at a great table in the middle of the room, on which useful books were
+      liberally displayed. She returned with a catalogue of the Royal Academy
+      Exhibition (which someone had left on the table), and with the most
+      universally well-informed book, on a small scale, that has ever
+      enlightened humanity&mdash;modestly described on the title-page as an
+      Almanac.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina opened the catalogue at the first page, and discovered a list of
+      Royal Academicians. Were all these gentlemen celebrated painters? Out of
+      nearly forty names, three only had made themselves generally known beyond
+      the limits of England. She turned to the last page. The works of art on
+      show numbered more than fifteen hundred. Teresa, looking over her
+      shoulder, made the same discovery. &ldquo;Our heads will ache, and our feet will
+      ache,&rdquo; she remarked, &ldquo;before we get out of that place.&rdquo; Carmina laid aside
+      the catalogue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa opened the Almanac at hazard, and hit on the page devoted to
+      Amusements. Her next discovery led her to the section inscribed &ldquo;Museums.&rdquo;
+       She scored an approving mark at that place with her thumbnail&mdash;and
+      read the list in fluent broken English.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The British Museum? Teresa&rsquo;s memory of that magnificent building recalled
+      it vividly in one respect. She shook her head. &ldquo;More headache and
+      footache, there!&rdquo; Bethnal Green; Indian Museum; College of Surgeons;
+      Practical Geology; South Kensington; Patent Museum&mdash;all unknown to
+      Teresa. &ldquo;The saints preserve us! what headaches and footaches in all
+      these, if they are as big as that other one!&rdquo; She went on with the list&mdash;and
+      astonished everybody in the room by suddenly clapping her hands. Sir John
+      Soane&rsquo;s Museum, Lincoln&rsquo;s Inn Fields. &ldquo;Ah, but I remember that! A nice
+      little easy museum in a private house, and all sorts of pretty things to
+      see. My dear love, trust your old Teresa. Come to Soane!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In ten minutes more they were dressed, and on the steps of the hotel. The
+      bright sunlight, the pleasant air, invited them to walk. On the same
+      afternoon, when Ovid had set forth on foot for Lincoln&rsquo;s Inn Fields,
+      Carmina and Teresa set forth on foot for Lincoln&rsquo;s Inn Fields. Trivial
+      obstacles had kept the man away from the College. Would trivial obstacles
+      keep the women away from the Museum?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They crossed the Strand, and entered a street which led out of it towards
+      the North; Teresa&rsquo;s pride in her memory forbidding her thus far to ask
+      their way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Their talk&mdash;dwelling at first on Italy, and on the memory of
+      Carmina&rsquo;s Italian mother&mdash;reverted to the formidable subject of Mrs.
+      Gallilee. Teresa&rsquo;s hopeful view of the future turned to the cousins, and
+      drew the picture of two charming little girls, eagerly waiting to give
+      their innocent hearts to their young relative from Italy. &ldquo;Are there only
+      two?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Surely you told me there was a boy, besides the girls?&rdquo;
+       Carmina set her right. &ldquo;My cousin Ovid is a great doctor,&rdquo; she continued
+      with an air of importance. &ldquo;Poor papa used to say that our family would
+      have reason to be proud of him.&rdquo; &ldquo;Does he live at home?&rdquo; asked simple
+      Teresa. &ldquo;Oh, dear, no! He has a grand house of his own. Hundreds of sick
+      people go there to be cured, and give hundreds of golden guineas.&rdquo;
+       Hundreds of golden guineas gained by only curing sick people, represented
+      to Teresa&rsquo;s mind something in the nature of a miracle: she solemnly raised
+      her eyes to heaven. &ldquo;What a cousin to have! Is he young? is he handsome?
+      is he married?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Instead of answering these questions, Carmina looked over her shoulder.
+      &ldquo;Is this poor creature following us?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had now turned to the right, and had entered a busy street leading
+      directly to Covent Garden. The &ldquo;creature&rdquo; (who was undoubtedly following
+      them) was one of the starved and vagabond dogs of London. Every now and
+      then, the sympathies of their race lead these inveterate wanderers to
+      attach themselves, for the time, to some human companion, whom their
+      mysterious insight chooses from the crowd. Teresa, with the hard feeling
+      towards animals which is one of the serious defects of the Italian
+      character, cried, &ldquo;Ah, the mangy beast!&rdquo; and lifted her umbrella. The dog
+      starred back, waited a moment, and followed them again as they went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina&rsquo;s gentle heart gave its pity to this lost and hungry
+      fellow-creature. &ldquo;I must buy that poor dog something to eat,&rdquo; she said&mdash;and
+      stopped suddenly as the idea struck her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dog, accustomed to kicks and curses, was ignorant of kindness.
+      Following close behind her, when she checked herself, he darted away in
+      terror into the road. A cab was driven by rapidly at the same moment. The
+      wheel passed over the dog&rsquo;s neck. And there was an end, as a man remarked
+      looking on, of the troubles of a cur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This common accident struck the girl&rsquo;s sensitive nature with horror.
+      Helpless and speechless, she trembled piteously. The nearest open door was
+      the door of a music-seller&rsquo;s shop. Teresa led her in, and asked for a
+      chair and a glass of water. The proprietor, feeling the interest in
+      Carmina which she seldom failed to inspire among strangers, went the
+      length of offering her a glass of wine. Preferring water, she soon
+      recovered herself sufficiently to be able to leave her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I change my mind about going to the museum?&rdquo; she said to her
+      companion. &ldquo;After what has happened, I hardly feel equal to looking at
+      curiosities.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa&rsquo;s ready sympathy tried to find some acceptable alternative. &ldquo;Music
+      would be better, wouldn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; she suggested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The so-called Italian Opera was open that night, and the printed
+      announcement of the performance was in the shop. They both looked at it.
+      Fortune was still against them. A German opera appeared on the bill.
+      Carmina turned to the music-seller in despair. &ldquo;Is there no music, sir,
+      but German music to be heard in London?&rdquo; she asked. The hospitable
+      shopkeeper produced a concert programmed for that afternoon&mdash;the
+      modest enterprise of an obscure piano-forte teacher, who could only
+      venture to address pupils, patrons, and friends. What did he promise?
+      Among other things, music from &ldquo;Lucia,&rdquo; music from &ldquo;Norma,&rdquo; music from
+      &ldquo;Ernani.&rdquo; Teresa made another approving mark with her thumb-nail; and
+      Carmina purchased tickets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The music-seller hurried to the door to stop the first empty cab that
+      might pass. Carmina showed a deplorable ignorance of the law of chances.
+      She shrank from the bare idea of getting into a cab. &ldquo;We may run over some
+      other poor creature,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;If it isn&rsquo;t a dog, it may be a child next
+      time.&rdquo; Teresa and the music-seller suggested a more reasonable view as
+      gravely as they could. Carmina humbly submitted to the claims of common
+      sense&mdash;without yielding, for all that. &ldquo;I know I&rsquo;m wrong,&rdquo; she
+      confessed. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t spoil my pleasure; I can&rsquo;t do it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The strange parallel was now complete. Bound for the same destination,
+      Carmina and Ovid had failed to reach it alike. And Carmina had stopped to
+      look at the garden of the British Museum, before she overtook Ovid in the
+      quiet square.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      If, on entering the hall, Ovid had noticed the placards, he would have
+      found himself confronted by a coincidence. The person who gave the concert
+      was also the person who taught music to his half-sisters. Not many days
+      since, he had himself assisted the enterprise, by taking a ticket at his
+      mother&rsquo;s request. Seeing nothing, remembering nothing&mdash;hurried by the
+      fear of losing sight of the two strangers if there was a large audience&mdash;he
+      impatiently paid for another ticket, at the doors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room was little more than half full, and so insufficiently ventilated
+      that the atmosphere was oppressive even under those circumstances. He
+      easily discovered the two central chairs, in the midway row of seats,
+      which she and her companion had chosen. There was a vacant chair (among
+      many others) at one extremity of the row in front of them. He took that
+      place. To look at her, without being discovered&mdash;there, so far, was
+      the beginning and the end of his utmost desire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The performances had already begun. So long as her attention was directed
+      to the singers and players on the platform, he could feast his eyes on her
+      with impunity. In an unoccupied interval, she looked at the audience&mdash;and
+      discovered him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Had he offended her?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If appearances were to be trusted, he had produced no impression of any
+      sort. She quietly looked away, towards the other side of the room. The
+      mere turning of her head was misinterpreted by Ovid as an implied rebuke.
+      He moved to the row of seats behind her. She was now nearer to him than
+      she had been yet. He was again content, and more than content. The next
+      performance was a solo on the piano. A round of applause welcomed the
+      player. Ovid looked at the platform for the first time. In the bowing man,
+      with a prematurely bald head and a servile smile, he recognized Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s music-master. The inevitable inference followed. His mother
+      might be in the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After careful examination of the scanty audience, he failed to discover
+      her&mdash;thus far. She would certainly arrive, nevertheless. My money&rsquo;s
+      worth for my money was a leading principle in Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sighed as he looked towards the door of entrance. Not for long had he
+      revelled in the luxury of a new happiness. He had openly avowed his
+      dislike of concerts, when his mother had made him take a ticket for this
+      concert. With her quickness of apprehension what might she not suspect, if
+      she found him among the audience?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Come what might of it, he still kept his place; he still feasted his eyes
+      on the slim figure of the young girl, on the gentle yet spirited carriage
+      of her head. But the pleasure was no longer pleasure without alloy. His
+      mother had got between them now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The solo on the piano came to an end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the interval that followed, he turned once more towards the entrance.
+      Just as he was looking away again, he heard Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s loud voice.
+      She was administering a maternal caution to one of the children. &ldquo;Behave
+      better here than you behaved in the carriage, or I shall take you away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If she found him in his present place&mdash;if she put her own clever
+      construction on what she saw&mdash;her opinion would assuredly express
+      itself in some way. She was one of those women who can insult another
+      woman (and safely disguise it) by an inquiring look. For the girl&rsquo;s sake,
+      Ovid instantly moved away from her to the seats at the back of the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee made a striking entrance&mdash;dressed to perfection;
+      powdered and painted to perfection; leading her daughters, and followed by
+      her governess. The usher courteously indicated places near the platform.
+      Mrs. Galilee astonished him by a little lecture on acoustics, delivered
+      with the sweetest condescension. Her Christian humility smiled, and call
+      the usher, Sir. &ldquo;Sound, sir, is most perfectly heard towards the centre of
+      the auditorium.&rdquo; She led the way towards the centre. Vacant places invited
+      her to the row of seats occupied by Carmina and Teresa. She, the unknown
+      aunt, seated herself next to the unknown niece.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They looked at each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps, it was the heat of the room. Perhaps, she had not perfectly
+      recovered the nervous shock of seeing the dog killed. Carmina&rsquo;s head sank
+      on good Teresa&rsquo;s shoulder. She had fainted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      &ldquo;May I ask for a cup of tea, Miss Minerva?&rdquo;
+     </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Delighted, I&rsquo;m sure, Mr. Le Frank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And was Mrs. Gallilee pleased with the Concert?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Charmed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank shook his head. &ldquo;I am afraid there was a drawback,&rdquo; he
+      suggested. &ldquo;You forget the lady who fainted. So alarming to the audience.
+      So disagreeable to the artists.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take care, Mr. Le Frank! These new houses are flimsily built; they might
+      hear you upstairs. The fainting lady is upstairs. All the elements of a
+      romance are upstairs. Is your tea to your liking?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In this playfully provocative manner, Miss Minerva (the governess) trifled
+      with the curiosity of Mr. Le Frank (the music-master), as the proverbial
+      cat trifles with the terror of the captive mouse. The man of the bald head
+      and the servile smile showed a polite interest in the coming disclosure;
+      he opened his deeply-sunk eyes, and lazily lifted his delicate eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had called at Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s house, after the concert, to get a little
+      tea (with a large infusion of praise) in the schoolroom. A striking
+      personal contrast confronted him, in the face of the lady who was
+      dispensing the hospitalities of the table. Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s plump cheeks
+      were, in colour, of the obtrusively florid sort. The relics of yellow
+      hair, still adhering to the sides of his head, looked as silkily frail as
+      spun glass. His noble beard made amends for his untimely baldness. The
+      glossy glory of it exhaled delicious perfumes; the keenest eyes might have
+      tried in vain to discover a hair that was out of place. Miss Minerva&rsquo;s
+      eager sallow face, so lean, and so hard, and so long, looked, by contrast,
+      as if it wanted some sort of discreet covering thrown over some part of
+      it. Her coarse black hair projected like a penthouse over her bushy black
+      eyebrows and her keen black eyes. Oh, dear me (as they said in the
+      servants&rsquo; hall), she would never be married&mdash;so yellow and so
+      learned, so ugly and so poor! And yet, if mystery is interesting, this was
+      an interesting woman. The people about her felt an uneasy perception of
+      something secret, ominously secret, in the nature of the governess which
+      defied detection. If Inquisitive Science, vowed to medical research, could
+      dissect firmness of will, working at its steadiest repressive action&mdash;then,
+      the mystery of Miss Minerva&rsquo;s inner nature might possibly have been
+      revealed. As it was, nothing more remarkable exposed itself to view than
+      an irritable temper; serving perhaps as safety-valve to an underlying
+      explosive force, which (with strong enough temptation and sufficient
+      opportunity) might yet break out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gently, Mr. Le Frank! The tea is hot&mdash;you may burn your mouth. How
+      am I to tell you what has happened?&rdquo; Miss Minerva dropped the playfully
+      provocative tone, with infinite tact, exactly at the right moment. &ldquo;Just
+      imagine,&rdquo; she resumed, &ldquo;a scene on the stage, occurring in private life.
+      The lady who fainted at your concert, turns out to be no less a person
+      that Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s niece!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The general folly which reads a prospectus and blindly speculates in
+      shares, is matched by the equally diffused stupidity, which is incapable
+      of discovering that there can be any possible relation between fiction and
+      truth. Say it&rsquo;s in a novel&mdash;and you are a fool if you believe it. Say
+      it&rsquo;s in a newspaper&mdash;and you are a fool if you doubt it. Mr. Le
+      Frank, following the general example, followed it on this occasion a
+      little too unreservedly. He avowed his doubts of the circumstance just
+      related, although it was, on the authority of a lady, a circumstance
+      occurring in real life! Far from being offended, Miss Minerva cordially
+      sympathized with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It <i>is</i> too theatrical to be believed,&rdquo; she admitted; &ldquo;but this
+      fainting young person is positively the interesting stranger we have been
+      expecting from Italy. You know Mrs. Gallilee. Hers was the first
+      smelling-bottle produced; hers was the presence of mind which suggested a
+      horizontal position. &lsquo;Help the heart,&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;don&rsquo;t impede it.&rsquo; The
+      whole theory of fainting fits, in six words! In another moment,&rdquo; proceeded
+      the governess making a theatrical point without suspecting it&mdash;&ldquo;in
+      another moment, Mrs. Gallilee herself stood in need of the
+      smelling-bottle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank was not a true believer, even yet. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t mean <i>she</i>
+      fainted!&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva held up the indicative forefinger, with which she emphasized
+      instruction when her pupils required rousing. &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s strength of
+      mind&mdash;as I was about to say, if you had listened to me&mdash;resisted
+      the shock. What the effort must have cost her you will presently
+      understand. Our interesting young lady was accompanied by a hideous old
+      foreign woman who completely lost her head. She smacked her hands
+      distractedly; she called on the saints (without producing the slightest
+      effect)&mdash;but she mixed up a name, remarkable even in Italy, with the
+      rest of the delirium; and <i>that</i> was serious. Put yourself in Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s place&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn&rsquo;t do it,&rdquo; said Mr. Le Frank, with humility.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva passed over this reply without notice. Perhaps she was not a
+      believer in the humility of musicians.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The young lady&rsquo;s Christian name,&rdquo; she proceeded, &ldquo;is Carmina; (put the
+      accent, if you please, on the <i>first</i> syllable). The moment Mrs.
+      Gallilee heard the name, it struck her like a blow. She enlightened the
+      old woman, and asserted herself as Miss Carmina&rsquo;s aunt in an instant. &lsquo;I
+      am Mrs. Gallilee:&rsquo; that was all she said. The result&rdquo;&mdash;Miss Minerva
+      paused, and pointed to the ceiling; &ldquo;the result is up there. Our charming
+      guest was on the sofa, and the hideous old nurse was fanning her, when I
+      had the honour of seeing them just now. No, Mr. Le Frank! I haven&rsquo;t done
+      yet. There is a last act in this drama of private life still to relate. A
+      medical gentleman was present at the concert, who offered his services in
+      reviving Miss Carmina. The same gentleman is now in attendance on the
+      interesting patient. Can you guess who he is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank had sold a ticket for his concert to the medical adviser of
+      the family&mdash;one Mr. Null. A cautious guess in this direction seemed
+      to offer the likeliest chance of success.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is a patron of music,&rdquo; the pianist began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He hates music,&rdquo; the governess interposed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean Mr. Null,&rdquo; Mr. Le Frank persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>&ldquo;I</i> mean&mdash;&rdquo; Miss Minerva paused (like the cat with the mouse
+      again!)&mdash;<i>&ldquo;I</i> mean, Mr. Ovid Vere.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What form the music-master&rsquo;s astonishment might have assumed may be matter
+      for speculation, it was never destined to become matter of fact. At the
+      moment when Miss Minerva overwhelmed him with the climax of her story, a
+      little, rosy, elderly gentleman, with a round face, a sweet smile, and a
+      curly gray head, walked into the room, accompanied by two girls. Persons
+      of small importance&mdash;only Mr. Gallilee and his daughters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How d&rsquo;ye-do, Mr. Le Frank. I hope you got plenty of money by the concert.
+      I gave away my own two tickets. You will excuse me, I&rsquo;m sure. Music, I
+      can&rsquo;t think why, always sends me to sleep. Here are your two pupils, Miss
+      Minerva, safe and sound. It struck me we were rather in the way, when that
+      sweet young creature was brought home. Sadly in want of quiet, poor thing&mdash;not
+      in want of <i>us.</i> Mrs. Gallilee and Ovid, so clever and attentive,
+      were just the right people in the right place. So I put on my hat&mdash;I&rsquo;m
+      always available, Mr. Le Frank; I have the great advantage of never having
+      anything to do&mdash;and I said to the girls, &lsquo;Let&rsquo;s have a walk.&rsquo; We had
+      no particular place to go to&mdash;that&rsquo;s another advantage of mine&mdash;so
+      we drifted about. I didn&rsquo;t mean it, but, somehow or other, we stopped at a
+      pastry-cook&rsquo;s shop. What was the name of the pastry-cook?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So far Mr. Gallilee proceeded, speaking in the oddest self-contradictory
+      voice, if such a description is permissible&mdash;a voice at once high in
+      pitch and mild in tone: in short, as Mr. Le Frank once professionally
+      remarked, a soft falsetto. When the good gentleman paused to make his
+      little effort of memory, his eldest daughter&mdash;aged twelve, and always
+      ready to distinguish herself&mdash;saw her opportunity, and took the rest
+      of the narrative into her own hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Maria, named after her mother, was one of the successful new products
+      of the age we live in&mdash;the conventionally-charming child (who has
+      never been smacked); possessed of the large round eyes that we see in
+      pictures, and the sweet manners and perfect principles that we read of in
+      books. She called everybody &ldquo;dear;&rdquo; she knew to a nicety how much oxygen
+      she wanted in the composition of her native air; and&mdash;alas, poor
+      wretch!&mdash;she had never wetted her shoes or dirtied her face since the
+      day when she was born.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Miss Minerva,&rdquo; said Maria, &ldquo;the pastry-cook&rsquo;s name was Timbal. We
+      have had ices.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His mind being now set at rest on the subject of the pastry-cook, Mr.
+      Gallilee turned to his youngest daughter&mdash;aged ten, and one of the
+      unsuccessful products of the age we live in. This was a curiously slow,
+      quaint, self-contained child; the image of her father, with an occasional
+      reflection of his smile; incurably stupid, or incurably perverse&mdash;the
+      friends of the family were not quite sure which. Whether she might have
+      been over-crammed with useless knowledge, was not a question in connection
+      with the subject which occurred to anybody.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rouse yourself, Zo,&rdquo; said Mr. Gallilee. &ldquo;What did we have besides ices?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zoe (known to her father, by vulgar abbreviation, as &ldquo;Zo&rdquo;) took Mr.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s stumpy red hand, and held hard by it as if that was the one way
+      in which a dull child could rouse herself, with a prospect of success.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve had so many of them,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. Ask Maria.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria responded with the sweetest readiness. &ldquo;Dear Zoe, you are so slow!
+      Cheesecakes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee patted Zoe&rsquo;s head as encouragingly as if she had discovered
+      the right answer by herself. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s right&mdash;ices and cheese-cakes,&rdquo;
+       he said. &ldquo;We tried cream-ice, and then we tried water-ice. The children,
+      Miss Minerva, preferred the cream-ice. And, do you know, I&rsquo;m of their
+      opinion. There&rsquo;s something in a cream-ice&mdash;what do you think yourself
+      of cream-ices, Mr. Le Frank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was one among the many weaknesses of Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s character to be
+      incapable of opening his lips without, sooner or later, taking somebody
+      into his confidence. In the merest trifles, he instinctively invited
+      sympathy and agreement from any person within his reach&mdash;from a total
+      stranger quite as readily as from an intimate friend. Mr. Le Frank,
+      representing the present Court of Social Appeal, attempted to deliver
+      judgment on the question of ices, and was interrupted without ceremony by
+      Miss Minerva. She, too, had been waiting her opportunity to speak, and she
+      now took it&mdash;not amiably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With all possible respect, Mr. Gallilee, I venture to entreat that you
+      will be a little more thoughtful, where the children are concerned. I beg
+      your pardon, Mr. Le Frank, for interrupting you&mdash;but it is really a
+      little too hard on Me. I am held responsible for the health of these
+      girls; I am blamed over and over again, when it is not my fault, for
+      irregularities in their diet&mdash;and there they are, at this moment,
+      chilled with ices and cloyed with cakes! What will Mrs. Gallilee say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t tell her,&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee suggested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The girls will be thirsty for the rest of the evening,&rdquo; Miss Minerva
+      persisted; &ldquo;the girls will have no appetite for the last meal before
+      bedtime. And their mother will ask Me what it means.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My good creature,&rdquo; cried Mr. Gallilee, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t be afraid of the girls&rsquo; 
+      appetites! Take off their hats, and give them something nice for supper.
+      They inherit my stomach, Miss Minerva&mdash;and they&rsquo;ll &lsquo;tuck in,&rsquo; as we
+      used to say at school. Did they say so in your time, Mr. Le Frank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s governess and vulgar expressions were anomalies never to
+      be reconciled, under any circumstances. Miss Minerva took off the hats in
+      stern silence. Even &ldquo;Papa&rdquo; might have seen the contempt in her face, if
+      she had not managed to hide it in this way, by means of the girls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the silence that ensued, Mr. Le Frank had his chance of speaking, and
+      showed himself to be a gentleman with a happily balanced character&mdash;a
+      musician, with an eye to business. Using gratitude to Mr. Gallilee as a
+      means of persuasion, he gently pushed the interests of a friend who was
+      giving a concert next week. &ldquo;We poor artists have our faults, my dear sir;
+      but we are all earnest in helping each other. My friend sang for nothing
+      at my concert. Don&rsquo;t suppose for a moment that he expects it of me! But I
+      am going to play for nothing at his concert. May I appeal to your kind
+      patronage to take two tickets?&rdquo; The reply ended appropriately in musical
+      sound&mdash;a golden tinkling, in Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having paid his tribute to art and artists, Mr. Gallilee looked furtively
+      at Miss Minerva. On the wise principle of letting well alone, he perceived
+      that the happy time had arrived for leaving the room. How was he to make
+      his exit? He prided himself on his readiness of resource, in difficulties
+      of this sort, and he was equal to the occasion as usual&mdash;he said he
+      would go to his club.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We really have a capital smoking-room at that club,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I do like
+      a good cigar; and&mdash;what do <i>you</i> think Mr. Le Frank?&mdash;isn&rsquo;t
+      a pint of champagne nice drinking, this hot weather? Just cooled with ice&mdash;I
+      don&rsquo;t know whether you feel the weather, Miss Minerva, as I do?&mdash;and
+      poured, fizzing, into a silver mug. Lord, how delicious! Good-bye, girls.
+      Give me a kiss before I go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria led the way, as became the elder. She not only gave the kiss, but
+      threw an appropriate sentiment into the bargain. &ldquo;I do love you, dear
+      papa!&rdquo; said this perfect daughter&mdash;with a look in Miss Minerva&rsquo;s
+      direction, which might have been a malicious look in any eyes but Maria&rsquo;s.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee turned to his youngest child. &ldquo;Well, Zo&mdash;what do <i>you</i>
+      say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo took her father&rsquo;s hand once more, and rubbed her head against it like a
+      cat. This new method of expressing filial affection seemed to interest Mr.
+      Gallilee. &ldquo;Does your head itch, my dear?&rdquo; he asked. The idea was new to
+      Zo. She brightened, and looked at her father with a sly smile. &ldquo;Why do you
+      do it?&rdquo; Miss Minerva asked sharply. Zo clouded over again, and answered,
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee rewarded her with a kiss, and went away to
+      champagne and the club.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank left the schoolroom next. He paid the governess the
+      compliment of reverting to her narrative of events at the concert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am greatly struck,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;by what you told me about Mr. Ovid Vere.
+      We may, perhaps, have misjudged him in thinking that he doesn&rsquo;t like
+      music. His coming to my concert suggests a more cheering view. Do you
+      think there would be any impropriety in my calling to thank him? Perhaps
+      it would be better if I wrote, and enclosed two tickets for my friend&rsquo;s
+      concert? To tell you the truth, I&rsquo;ve pledged myself to dispose of a
+      certain number of tickets. My friend is so much in request&mdash;it&rsquo;s
+      expecting too much to ask him to sing for nothing. I think I&rsquo;ll write.
+      Good-evening!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Left alone with her pupils, Miss Minerva looked at her watch. &ldquo;Prepare
+      your lessons for to-morrow,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girls produced their books. Maria&rsquo;s library of knowledge was in
+      perfect order. The pages over which Zo pondered in endless perplexity were
+      crumpled by weary fingers, and stained by frequent tears. Oh, fatal
+      knowledge! mercifully forbidden to the first two of our race, who shall
+      count the crimes and stupidities committed in your name?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva leaned back in her easy-chair. Her mind was occupied by the
+      mysterious question of Ovid&rsquo;s presence at the concert. She raised her
+      keenly penetrating eyes to the ceiling, and listened for sounds from
+      above.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder,&rdquo; she thought to herself, &ldquo;what they are doing upstairs?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee was as complete a mistress of the practice of domestic
+      virtue as of the theory of acoustics and fainting fits. At dressing with
+      taste, and ordering dinners with invention; at heading her table
+      gracefully, and making her guests comfortable; at managing refractory
+      servants and detecting dishonest tradespeople, she was the equal of the
+      least intellectual woman that ever lived. Her preparations for the
+      reception of her niece were finished in advance, without an oversight in
+      the smallest detail. Carmina&rsquo;s inviting bedroom, in blue, opened into
+      Carmina&rsquo;s irresistible sitting-room, in brown. The ventilation was
+      arranged, the light and shade were disposed, the flowers were attractively
+      placed, under Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s infallible superintendence. Before Carmina
+      had recovered her senses she was provided with a second mother, who played
+      the part to perfection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The four persons, now assembled in the pretty sitting-room upstairs, were
+      in a position of insupportable embarrassment towards each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Finding her son at a concert (after he had told her that he hated music)
+      Mrs. Gallilee, had first discovered him hurrying to the assistance of a
+      young lady in a swoon, with all the anxiety and alarm which he might have
+      shown in the case of a near and dear friend. And yet, when this stranger
+      was revealed as a relation, he had displayed an amazement equal to her
+      own! What explanation could reconcile such contradictions as these?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for Carmina, her conduct complicated the mystery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was she doing at a concert, when she ought to have been on her way to
+      her aunt&rsquo;s house? Why, if she must faint when the hot room had not
+      overpowered anyone else, had she failed to recover in the usual way? There
+      she lay on the sofa, alternately flushing and turning pale when she was
+      spoken to; ill at ease in the most comfortable house in London; timid and
+      confused under the care of her best friends. Making all allowance for a
+      sensitive temperament, could a long journey from Italy, and a childish
+      fright at seeing a dog run over, account for such a state of things as
+      this?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Annoyed and perplexed&mdash;but yet far too prudent to commit herself
+      ignorantly to inquiries which might lead to future embarrassment&mdash;Mrs.
+      Gallilee tried suggestive small talk as a means of enlightenment. The
+      wrinkled duenna, sitting miserably on satin supported by frail gilt legs,
+      seemed to take her tone of feeling from her young mistress, exactly as she
+      took her orders. Mrs. Gallilee spoke to her in English, and spoke to her
+      in Italian&mdash;and could make nothing of the experiment in either case.
+      The wild old creature seemed to be afraid to look at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid himself proved to be just as difficult to fathom, in another way
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He certainly answered when his mother spoke to him, but always briefly,
+      and in the same absent tone. He asked no questions, and offered no
+      explanations. The sense of embarrassment, on his side, had produced
+      unaccountable changes. He showed the needful attention to Carmina, with a
+      silent gentleness which presented him in a new character. His customary
+      manner with ailing persons, women as well as men, was rather abrupt: his
+      quick perception hurried him into taking the words out of their mouths
+      (too pleasantly to give offence) when they were describing their symptoms.
+      There he sat now, contemplating his pale little cousin, with a patient
+      attention wonderful to see; listening to the commonplace words which
+      dropped at intervals from her lips, as if&mdash;in his state of health,
+      and with the doubtful prospect which it implied&mdash;there were no
+      serious interests to occupy his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee could endure it no longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If she had not deliberately starved her imagination, and emptied her heart
+      of any tenderness of feeling which it might once have possessed, her son&rsquo;s
+      odd behaviour would have interested instead of perplexing her. As it was,
+      her scientific education left her as completely in the dark, where
+      questions of sentiment were concerned, as if her experience of humanity,
+      in its relation to love, had been experience in the cannibal islands. She
+      decided on leaving her niece to repose, and on taking her son away with
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In your present state of health, Ovid,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;Carmina must not
+      accept your professional advice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Something in those words stung Ovid&rsquo;s temper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My professional advice?&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;You talk as if she was seriously
+      ill!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina&rsquo;s sweet smile stopped him there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We don&rsquo;t know what may happen,&rdquo; she said, playfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God forbid <i>that</i> should happen!&rdquo; He spoke so fervently that the
+      women all looked at him in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee turned to her niece, and proceeded quietly with what she had
+      to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ovid is so sadly overworked, my dear, that I actually rejoice in his
+      giving up practice, and going away from us to-morrow. We will leave you
+      for the present with your old friend. Pray ring, if you want anything.&rdquo;
+       She kissed her hand to Carmina, and, beckoning to her son, advanced
+      towards the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa looked at her, and suddenly looked away again. Mrs. Gallilee
+      stopped on her way out, at a chiffonier, and altered the arrangement of
+      some of the china on it. The duenna followed on tiptoe&mdash;folded her
+      thumb and two middle fingers into the palm of her hand&mdash;and,
+      stretching out the forefinger and the little finger, touched Mrs. Gallilee
+      on the back, so softly that she was unaware of it. &ldquo;The Evil Eye,&rdquo; Teresa
+      whispered to herself in Italian, as she stole back to her place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid lingered near his cousin: neither of them had seen what Teresa had
+      done. He rose reluctantly to go. Feeling his little attentions gratefully,
+      Carmina checked him with innocent familiarity as he left his chair. &ldquo;I
+      must thank you,&rdquo; she said, simply; &ldquo;it seems hard indeed that you, who
+      cure others, should suffer from illness yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa, watching them with interest, came a little nearer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She could now examine Ovid&rsquo;s face with close and jealous scrutiny. Mrs.
+      Gallilee reminded her son that she was waiting for him. He had some last
+      words yet to say. The duenna drew back from the sofa, still looking at
+      Ovid: she muttered to herself, &ldquo;Holy Teresa, my patroness, show me that
+      man&rsquo;s soul in his face!&rdquo; At last, Ovid took his leave. &ldquo;I shall call and
+      see how you are to-morrow,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;before I go.&rdquo; He nodded kindly to
+      Teresa. Instead of being satisfied with that act of courtesy, she wanted
+      something more. &ldquo;May I shake hands?&rdquo; she asked. Mrs. Gallilee was a
+      Liberal in politics; never had her principles been tried, as they were
+      tried when she heard those words. Teresa wrung Ovid&rsquo;s hand with tremulous
+      energy&mdash;still intent on reading his character in his face. He asked
+      her, smiling, what she saw to interest her. &ldquo;A good man, I hope,&rdquo; she
+      answered, sternly. Carmina and Ovid were amused. Teresa rebuked them, as
+      if they had been children. &ldquo;Laugh at some fitter time,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;not
+      now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Descending the stairs, Mrs. Gallilee and Ovid met the footman. &ldquo;Mr. Mool
+      is in the library, ma&rsquo;am,&rdquo; the man said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you anything to do, Ovid, for the next half-hour?&rdquo; his mother asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you wish me to see Mr. Mool? If it&rsquo;s law-business, I am afraid I shall
+      not be of much use.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The lawyer is here by appointment, with a copy of your late uncle&rsquo;s
+      Will,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee answered. &ldquo;You may have some interest in it. I think
+      you ought to hear it read.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid showed no inclination to adopt this proposal. He asked an idle
+      question. &ldquo;I heard of their finding the Will&mdash;are there any romantic
+      circumstances?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee surveyed her son with an expression of good-humoured
+      contempt. &ldquo;What a boy you are, in some things! Have you been reading a
+      novel lately? My dear, when the people in Italy made up their minds, at
+      last, to have the furniture in your uncle&rsquo;s room taken to pieces, they
+      found the Will. It had slipped behind a drawer, in a rotten old cabinet,
+      full of useless papers. Nothing romantic (thank God!), and nothing (as Mr.
+      Mool&rsquo;s letter tells me) that can lead to misunderstandings or disputes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid&rsquo;s indifference was not to be conquered. He left it to his mother to
+      send him word if he had a legacy &ldquo;I am not as much interested in it as you
+      are,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;Plenty of money left to you, of course?&rdquo; He was
+      evidently thinking all the time of something else.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee stopped in the hall, with an air of downright alarm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your mind is in a dreadful state,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you really forgotten what I told you, only yesterday? The Will
+      appoints me Carmina&rsquo;s guardian.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had plainly forgotten it&mdash;he started, when his mother recalled the
+      circumstance. &ldquo;Curious,&rdquo; he said to himself, &ldquo;that I was not reminded of
+      it, when I saw Carmina&rsquo;s rooms prepared for her.&rdquo; His mother, anxiously
+      looking at him, observed that his face brightened when he spoke of
+      Carmina. He suddenly changed his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Make allowances for an overworked man,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You are quite right. I
+      ought to hear the Will read&mdash;I am at your service.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Even Mrs. Gallilee now drew the right inference at last. She made no
+      remark. Something seemed to move feebly under her powder and paint. Soft
+      emotion trying to find its way to the surface? Impossible!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they entered the library together, Miss Minerva returned to the
+      schoolroom. She had lingered on the upper landing, and had heard the
+      conversation between mother and son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The library at Fairfield Gardens possessed two special attractions,
+      besides the books. It opened into a large conservatory; and it was adorned
+      by an admirable portrait of Mrs. Gallilee, painted by her brother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Waiting the appearance of the fair original, Mr. Mool looked at the
+      portrait, and then mentally reviewed the history of Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s
+      family. What he did next, no person acquainted with the habits of lawyers
+      will be weak enough to believe. Mr. Mool blushed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is this the language of exaggeration, describing a human anomaly on the
+      roll of attorneys? The fact shall be left to answer the question. Mr. Mool
+      had made a mistake in his choice of a profession. The result of the
+      mistake was&mdash;a shy lawyer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Attended by such circumstances as these, the history of the family
+      assumes, for the moment, a certain importance. It is connected with a
+      blushing attorney. It will explain what happened on the reading of the
+      Will. And it is sure beforehand of a favourable reception&mdash;for it is
+      all about money.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Robert Graywell began life as the son of a small farmer. He was
+      generally considered to be rather an eccentric man; but prospered,
+      nevertheless, as a merchant in the city of London. When he retired from
+      business, he possessed a house and estate in the country, and a handsome
+      fortune safely invested in the Funds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His children were three in number:&mdash;his son Robert, and his daughters
+      Maria and Susan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The death of his wife, to whom he was devotedly attached, was the first
+      serious calamity of his life. He retired to his estate a soured and broken
+      man. Loving husbands are not always, as a necessary consequence, tender
+      fathers. Old Robert&rsquo;s daughters afforded him no consolation on their
+      mother&rsquo;s death. Their anxiety about their mourning dresses so disgusted
+      him that he kept out of their way. No extraordinary interest was connected
+      with their prospects in life: they would be married&mdash;and there would
+      be an end of them. As for the son, he had long since placed himself beyond
+      the narrow range of his father&rsquo;s sympathies. In the first place, his
+      refusal to qualify himself for a mercantile career had made it necessary
+      to dispose of the business to strangers. In the second place, young Robert
+      Graywell proved&mdash;without any hereditary influence, and in the face of
+      the strongest discouragement&mdash;to be a born painter! One of the
+      greatest artists of that day saw the boy&rsquo;s first efforts, and pronounced
+      judgment in these plain words: &ldquo;What a pity he has not got his bread to
+      earn by his brush!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the death of old Robert, his daughters found themselves (to use their
+      own expression) reduced to a trumpery legacy of ten thousand pounds each.
+      Their brother inherited the estate, and the bulk of the property&mdash;not
+      because his father cared about founding a family, but because the boy had
+      always been his mother&rsquo;s favourite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first of the three children to marry was the eldest sister.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria considered herself fortunate in captivating Mr. Vere&mdash;a man of
+      old family, with a high sense of what he owed to his name. He had a
+      sufficient income, and he wanted no more. His wife&rsquo;s dowry was settled on
+      herself. When he died, he left her a life-interest in his property
+      amounting to six hundred a year. This, added to the annual proceeds of her
+      own little fortune, made an income of one thousand pounds. The remainder
+      of Mr. Vere&rsquo;s property was left to his only surviving child, Ovid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a thousand a year for herself, and with two thousand a year for her
+      son, on his coming of age, the widowed Maria might possibly have been
+      satisfied&mdash;but for the extraordinary presumption of her younger
+      sister.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Susan, ranking second in age, ranked second also in beauty; and yet, in
+      the race for a husband, Susan won the prize!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Soon after her sister&rsquo;s marriage, she made a conquest of a Scotch
+      nobleman, possessed of a palace in London, and a palace in Scotland, and a
+      rent-roll of forty thousand pounds. Maria, to use her own expression,
+      never recovered it. From the horrid day when Susan became Lady Northlake,
+      Maria became a serious woman. All her earthly interests centred now in the
+      cultivation of her intellect. She started on that glorious career, which
+      associated her with the march of science. In only a year afterwards&mdash;as
+      an example of the progress which a resolute woman can make&mdash;she was
+      familiar with zoophyte fossils, and had succeeded in dissecting the
+      nervous system of a bee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was there no counter-attraction in her married life?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very little. Mr. Vere felt no sympathy with his wife&rsquo;s scientific
+      pursuits.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On her husband&rsquo;s death, did she find no consolation in her son? Let her
+      speak for herself. &ldquo;My son fills my heart. But the school, the university,
+      and the hospital have all in turn taken his education out of my hands. My
+      mind must be filled, as well as my heart.&rdquo; She seized her exquisite
+      instruments, and returned to the nervous system of the bee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In course of time, Mr. John Gallilee&mdash;&ldquo;drifting about,&rdquo; as he said of
+      himself&mdash;drifted across the path of science.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The widowed Mrs. Vere (as exhibited in public) was still a fine woman. Mr.
+      Gallilee admired &ldquo;that style&rdquo;; and Mr. Gallilee had fifty thousand pounds.
+      Only a little more, to my lord and my lady, than one year&rsquo;s income. But,
+      invested at four percent, it added an annual two thousand pounds to Mrs.
+      Vere&rsquo;s annual one thousand. Result, three thousand a year, encumbered with
+      Mr. Gallilee. On reflection, Mrs. Vere accepted the encumbrance&mdash;and
+      reaped her reward. Susan was no longer distinguished as the sister who had
+      her dresses made in Paris; and Mrs. Gallilee was not now subjected to the
+      indignity of getting a lift in Lady Northlake&rsquo;s carriage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was the history of Robert, during this interval of time? In two
+      words, Robert disgraced himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Taking possession of his country house, the new squire was invited to
+      contribute towards the expense of a pack of hounds kept by subscription in
+      the neighbourhood, and was advised to make acquaintance with his
+      fellow-sportsmen by giving a hunt-breakfast. He answered very politely;
+      but the fact was not to be concealed&mdash;the new man refused to
+      encourage hunting: he thought that noble amusement stupid and cruel. For
+      the same reason, he refused to preserve game. A last mistake was left to
+      make, and he made it. After returning the rector&rsquo;s visit, he failed to
+      appear at church. No person with the smallest knowledge of the English
+      character, as exhibited in an English county, will fail to foresee that
+      Robert&rsquo;s residence on his estate was destined to come, sooner or later, to
+      an untimely end. When he had finished his sketches of the picturesque
+      aspects of his landed property, he disappeared. The estate was not
+      entailed. Old Robert&mdash;who had insisted on the minutest formalities
+      and details in providing for his dearly-loved wife&mdash;was impenetrably
+      careless about the future of his children. &ldquo;My fortune has no value now in
+      my eyes,&rdquo; he said to judicious friends; &ldquo;let them run through it all, if
+      they please. It would do them a deal of good if they were obliged to earn
+      their own living, like better people than themselves.&rdquo; Left free to take
+      his own way, Robert sold the estate merely to get rid of it. With no
+      expensive tastes, except the taste for buying pictures, he became a richer
+      man than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When their brother next communicated with them, Lady Northlake and Mrs.
+      Gallilee heard of him as a voluntary exile in Italy. He was building a
+      studio and a gallery; he was contemplating a series of pictures; and he
+      was a happy man for the first time in his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another interval passed&mdash;and the sisters heard of Robert again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having already outraged the sense of propriety among his English
+      neighbours, he now degraded himself in the estimation of his family, by
+      marrying a &ldquo;model.&rdquo; The letter announcing this event declared, with
+      perfect truth, that he had chosen a virtuous woman for his wife. She sat
+      to artists, as any lady might sit to any artist, &ldquo;for the head only.&rdquo; Her
+      parents gained a bare subsistence by farming their own little morsel of
+      land; they were honest people&mdash;and what did brother Robert care for
+      rank? His own grandfather had been a farmer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Northlake and Mrs. Gallilee felt it due to themselves to hold a
+      consultation, on the subject of their sister-in-law. Was it desirable, in
+      their own social interests, to cast Robert off from that moment?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Susan (previously advised by her kind-hearted husband) leaned to the side
+      of mercy. Robert&rsquo;s letter informed them that he proposed to live, and die,
+      in Italy. If he held to this resolution, his marriage would surely be an
+      endurable misfortune to his relatives in London. &ldquo;Suppose we write to
+      him,&rdquo; Susan concluded, &ldquo;and say we are surprised, but we have no doubt he
+      knows best. We offer our congratulations to Mrs. Robert, and our sincere
+      wishes for his happiness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To Lady Northlake&rsquo;s astonishment, Mrs. Gallilee adopted this indulgent
+      point of view, without a word of protest. She had her reasons&mdash;but
+      they were not producible to a relative whose husband had forty thousand a
+      year. Robert had paid her debts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An income of three thousand pounds, even in these days, represents a
+      handsome competence&mdash;provided you don&rsquo;t &ldquo;owe a duty to society.&rdquo; In
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s position, an income of three thousand pounds represented
+      genteel poverty. She was getting into debt again; and she was meditating
+      future designs on her brother&rsquo;s purse. A charming letter to Robert was the
+      result. It ended with, &ldquo;Do send me a photograph of your lovely wife!&rdquo; When
+      the poor &ldquo;model&rdquo; died, not many years afterwards, leaving one little
+      daughter, Mrs. Gallilee implored her brother to return to England. &ldquo;Come,
+      dearest Robert, and find consolation and a home, under the roof of your
+      affectionate Maria.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Robert remained in Italy, and was buried in Italy. At the date of his
+      death, he had three times paid his elder sister&rsquo;s debts. On every occasion
+      when he helped her in this liberal way, she proved her gratitude by
+      anticipating a larger, and a larger, and a larger legacy if she outlived
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Knowing (as the family lawyer) what sums of money Mrs. Gallilee had
+      extracted from her brother, Mr. Mool also knew that the advances thus made
+      had been considered as representing the legacy, to which she might
+      otherwise have had some sisterly claim. It was his duty to have warned her
+      of this, when she questioned him generally on the subject of the Will; and
+      he had said nothing about it, acting under a most unbecoming motive&mdash;in
+      plain words, the motive of fear. From the self-reproachful feeling that
+      now disturbed him, had risen that wonderful blush which made its
+      appearance on Mr. Mool&rsquo;s countenance. He was actually ashamed of himself.
+      After all, is it too much to have suggested that he was a human anomaly on
+      the roll of attorneys?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee made her appearance in the library&mdash;and Mr. Mool&rsquo;s
+      pulse accelerated its beat. Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s son followed her into the room&mdash;and
+      Mr. Mool&rsquo;s pulse steadied itself again. By special arrangement with the
+      lawyer, Ovid had been always kept in ignorance of his mother&rsquo;s affairs. No
+      matter how angry she might be in the course of the next few minutes, she
+      could hardly express her indignation in the presence of her son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Joyous anticipation has the happiest effect on female beauty. Mrs.
+      Gallilee looked remarkably well, that day. Having rather a round and full
+      face, she wore her hair (coloured from youthful nature) in a fringe across
+      her forehead, balanced on either side by clusters of charming little
+      curls. Her mourning for Robert was worthy of its Parisian origin; it
+      showed to perfect advantage the bloom of her complexion and the whiteness
+      of her neck&mdash;also worthy of their Parisian origin. She looked like a
+      portrait of the period of Charles the Second, endowed with life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how do you do, Mr. Mool? Have you been looking at my ferns?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The ferns were grouped at the entrance, leading from the library to the
+      conservatory. They had certainly not escaped the notice of the lawyer, who
+      possessed a hot-house of his own, and who was an enthusiast in botany. It
+      now occurred to him&mdash;if he innocently provoked embarrassing results&mdash;that
+      ferns might be turned to useful and harmless account as a means of
+      introducing a change of subject. &ldquo;Even when she hasn&rsquo;t spoken a word,&rdquo;
+       thought Mr. Mool, consulting his recollections, &ldquo;I have felt her eyes go
+      through me like a knife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spare us the technicalities, please,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee continued, pointing
+      to the documents on the table. &ldquo;I want to be exactly acquainted with the
+      duties I owe to Carmina. And, by the way, I naturally feel some interest
+      in knowing whether Lady Northlake has any place in the Will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee never said &ldquo;my sister,&rdquo; never spoke in the family circle of
+      &ldquo;Susan.&rdquo; The inexhaustible sense of injury, aroused by that magnificent
+      marriage, asserted itself in keeping her sister at the full distance
+      implied by never forgetting her title.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The first legacy mentioned in the Will,&rdquo; said Mr. Mool, &ldquo;is a legacy to
+      Lady Northlake.&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s face turned as hard as iron. &ldquo;One hundred
+      pounds,&rdquo; Mr. Mool continued, &ldquo;to buy a mourning ring.&rdquo;&rsquo; Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s
+      eyes became eloquent in an instant, and said as if in words, &ldquo;Thank
+      Heaven!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So like your uncle&rsquo;s unpretending good sense,&rdquo; she remarked to her son.
+      &ldquo;Any other legacy to Lady Northlake would have been simply absurd. Yes,
+      Mr. Mool? Perhaps my name follows?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool cast a side-look at the ferns. He afterwards described his
+      sensations as reminding him of previous experience in a dentist&rsquo;s chair,
+      at the awful moment when the operator says &ldquo;Let me look,&rdquo; and has his
+      devilish instrument hidden in his hand. The &ldquo;situation,&rdquo; to use the
+      language of the stage, was indeed critical enough already. Ovid added to
+      the horror of it by making a feeble joke. &ldquo;What will you take for your
+      chance, mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before bad became worse, Mr. Mool summoned the energy of despair. He
+      wisely read the exact words of the Will, this time: &ldquo;&lsquo;And I give and
+      bequeath to my sister, Mrs. Maria Gallilee, one hundred pounds.&rdquo;&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid&rsquo;s astonishment could only express itself in action. He started to his
+      feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool went on reading. &ldquo;&lsquo;Free of legacy duty, to buy a mourning ring&mdash;&ldquo;&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Impossible!&rdquo; Ovid broke out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool finished the sentence. &ldquo;&lsquo;And my sister will understand the motive
+      which animates me in making this bequest.&rdquo;&rsquo; He laid the Will on the table,
+      and ventured to look up. At the same time, Ovid turned to his mother,
+      struck by the words which had been just read, and eager to inquire what
+      their meaning might be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Happily for themselves, the two men never knew what the preservation of
+      their tranquillity owed to that one moment of delay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If they had looked at Mrs. Gallilee, when she was first aware of her
+      position in the Will, they might have seen the incarnate Devil
+      self-revealed in a human face. They might have read, in her eyes and on
+      her lips, a warning hardly less fearful than the unearthly writing on the
+      wall, which told the Eastern Monarch of his coming death. &ldquo;See this woman,
+      and know what I can do with her, when she has repelled her guardian angel,
+      and her soul is left to ME.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the revelation showed itself, and vanished. Her face was composed
+      again, when her son and her lawyer looked at it. Her voice was under
+      control; her inbred capacity for deceit was ready for action. All those
+      formidable qualities in her nature, which a gentler and wiser training
+      than hers had been might have held in check&mdash;by development of
+      preservative influences that lay inert&mdash;were now driven back to their
+      lurking-place; leaving only the faintest traces of their momentary
+      appearance on the surface. Her breathing seemed to be oppressed; her
+      eyelids drooped heavily&mdash;and that was all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is the room too hot for you?&rdquo; Ovid asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a harmless question, but any question annoyed her at that moment.
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; she exclaimed irritably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The atmosphere of the conservatory is rich in reviving smells,&rdquo; Mr. Mool
+      remarked. &ldquo;Do I detect, among the delightful perfumes which reach us, the
+      fragrant root-stock of the American fern? If I am wrong, Mrs. Gallilee,
+      may I send you some of the sweet-smelling Maidenhair from my own little
+      hot-house?&rdquo; He smiled persuasively. The ferns were already justifying his
+      confidence in their peace-making virtues, turned discreetly to account.
+      Those terrible eyes rested on him mercifully. Not even a covert allusion
+      to his silence in the matter of the legacy escaped her. Did the lawyer&rsquo;s
+      artlessly abrupt attempt to change the subject warn her to be on her
+      guard? In any case, she thanked him with the readiest courtesy for his
+      kind offer. Might she trouble him in the meantime to let her see the Will?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She read attentively the concluding words of the clause in which her name
+      appeared&mdash;&ldquo;My sister will understand the motive which animates me in
+      making this bequest&rdquo;&mdash;and then handed back the Will to Mr. Mool.
+      Before Ovid could ask for it, she was ready with a plausible explanation.
+      &ldquo;When your uncle became a husband and a father,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;those claims
+      on him were paramount. He knew that a token of remembrance (the smaller
+      the better) was all I could accept, if I happened to outlive him. Please
+      go on, Mr. Mool.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In one respect, Ovid resembled his late uncle. They both belonged to that
+      high-minded order of men, who are slow to suspect, and therefore easy to
+      deceive. Ovid tenderly took his mother&rsquo;s hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ought to have known it,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;without obliging you to tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee did <i>not</i> blush. Mr. Mool did.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on!&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee repeated. Mr. Mool looked at Ovid. &ldquo;The next name,
+      Mr. Vere, is yours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does my uncle remember me as he has remembered my mother?&rdquo; asked Ovid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir&mdash;and let me tell you, a very pretty compliment is attached
+      to the bequest. &lsquo;It is needless&rsquo; (your late uncle says) &lsquo;to leave any more
+      important proof of remembrance to my nephew. His father has already
+      provided for him; and, with his rare abilities, he will make a second
+      fortune by the exercise of his profession.&rsquo; Most gratifying, Mrs.
+      Gallilee, is it nor? The next clause provides for the good old housekeeper
+      Teresa, and for her husband if he survives her, in the following terms&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee was becoming impatient to hear more of herself. &ldquo;We may, I
+      think, pass over that,&rdquo; she suggested, &ldquo;and get to the part of it which
+      relates to Carmina and me. Don&rsquo;t think I am impatient; I am only desirous&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The growling of a dog in the conservatory interrupted her. &ldquo;That tiresome
+      creature!&rdquo; she said sharply; &ldquo;I shall be obliged to get rid of him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool volunteered to drive the dog out of the conservatory. Mrs.
+      Gallilee, as irritable as ever, stopped him at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t, Mr. Mool! That dog&rsquo;s temper is not to be trusted. He shows it with
+      Miss Minerva, my governess&mdash;growls just in that way whenever he sees
+      her. I dare say he smells you. There! Now he barks! You are only making
+      him worse. Come back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Being at the door, gentle Mr. Mool tried the ferns as peace-makers once
+      more. He gathered a leaf, and returned to his place in a state of meek
+      admiration. &ldquo;The flowering fern!&rdquo; he said softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A really fine specimen, Mrs. Gallilee, of the Osmunda Regalis. What a
+      world of beauty in this bipinnate frond! One hardly knows where the stalk
+      ends and the leaf begins!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The dog, a bright little terrier, came trotting into the library He
+      saluted the company briskly with his tail, not excepting Mr. Mool. No
+      growl, or approach to a growl, now escaped him. The manner in which he
+      laid himself down at Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s feet completely refuted her aspersion
+      on his temper. Ovid suggested that he might have been provoked by a cat in
+      the conservatory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile, Mr. Mool turned over a page of the Will, and arrived at the
+      clauses relating to Carmina and her guardian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It may not be amiss,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;to mention, in the first place, that the
+      fortune left to Miss Carmina amounts, in round numbers, to one hundred and
+      thirty thousand pounds. The Trustees&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Skip the Trustees,&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool skipped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the matter of the guardian,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;there is a preliminary clause,
+      in the event of your death or refusal to act, appointing Lady Northlake&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Skip Lady Northlake,&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool skipped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are appointed Miss Carmina&rsquo;s guardian, until she comes of age,&rdquo; he
+      resumed. &ldquo;If she marries in that interval&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused to turn over a page. Not only Mrs. Gallilee, but Ovid also, now
+      listened with the deepest interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If she marries in that interval, with her guardian&rsquo;s approval&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose I don&rsquo;t approve of her choice?&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee interposed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid looked at his mother&mdash;and quickly looked away again. The
+      restless little terrier caught his eye, and jumped up to be patted. Ovid
+      was too pre-occupied to notice this modest advance. The dog&rsquo;s eyes and
+      ears expressed reproachful surprise. His friend Ovid had treated him
+      rudely for the first time in his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If the young lady contracts a matrimonial engagement of which you
+      disapprove,&rdquo; Mr. Mool answered, &ldquo;you are instructed by the testator to
+      assert your reasons in the presence of&mdash;well, I may describe it, as a
+      family council; composed of Mr. Gallilee, and of Lord and Lady Northlake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excessively foolish of Robert,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee remarked. &ldquo;And what, Mr.
+      Mool, is this meddling council of three to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A majority of the council, Mrs. Gallilee, is to decide the question
+      absolutely. If the decision confirms your view, and if Miss Carmina still
+      persists in her resolution notwithstanding&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I to give way?&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not until your niece comes of age, ma&rsquo;am. Then, she decides for herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And inherits the fortune?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only an income from part of it&mdash;if her marriage is disapproved by
+      her guardian and her relatives.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what becomes of the rest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The whole of it,&rdquo; said Mr. Mool, &ldquo;will be invested by the Trustees, and
+      will be divided equally, on her death, among her children.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose she leaves no children?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That case is provided for, ma&rsquo;am, by the last clause. I will only say
+      now, that you are interested in the result.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee turned swiftly and sternly to her son. &ldquo;When I am dead and
+      gone,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I look to you to defend my memory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To defend your memory?&rdquo; Ovid repeated, wondering what she could possibly
+      mean.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I do become interested in the disposal of Robert&rsquo;s fortune&mdash;which
+      God forbid!&mdash;can&rsquo;t you foresee what will happen?&rdquo; his mother inquired
+      bitterly. &ldquo;Lady Northlake will say, &lsquo;Maria intrigued for this!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool looked doubtfully at the ferns. No! His vegetable allies were not
+      strong enough to check any further outpouring of such family feeling as
+      this. Nothing was to be trusted, in the present emergency, but the
+      superior authority of the Will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;there are some further instructions, Mrs. Gallilee,
+      which, as I venture to think, exhibit your late brother&rsquo;s well-known
+      liberality of feeling in a very interesting light. They relate to the
+      provision made for his daughter, while she is residing under your roof.
+      Miss Carmina is to have the services of the best masters, in finishing her
+      education.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly!&rdquo; cried Mrs. Gallilee, with the utmost fervour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the use of a carriage to herself, whenever she may require it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Mr. Mool! <i>Two</i> carriages&mdash;in such a climate as this. One
+      open, and one closed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And to defray these and other expenses, the Trustees are authorized to
+      place at your disposal one thousand a year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too much! too much!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool might have agreed with her&mdash;if he had nor known that Robert
+      Graywell had thought of his sister&rsquo;s interests, in making this excessive
+      provision for expenses incurred on his daughter&rsquo;s account.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps, her dresses and her pocket money are included?&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee
+      resumed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool smiled, and shook his head. &ldquo;Mr. Graywell&rsquo;s generosity has no
+      limits,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;where his daughter is concerned. Miss Carmina is to
+      have five hundred a year for pocket-money and dresses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee appealed to the sympathies of her son. &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it touching?&rdquo;
+       she said. &ldquo;Dear Carmina! my own people in Paris shall make her dresses.
+      Well, Mr. Mool?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Allow me to read the exact language of the Will next,&rdquo; Mr. Mool answered.
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;If her sweet disposition leads her into exceeding her allowance, in the
+      pursuit of her own little charities, my Trustees are hereby authorized, at
+      their own discretion, to increase the amount, within the limit of another
+      five hundred pounds annually.&rsquo; It sounds presumptuous, perhaps, on my
+      part,&rdquo; said Mr. Mool, venturing on a modest confession of enthusiasm, &ldquo;but
+      one can&rsquo;t help thinking, What a good father! what a good child!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee had another appropriate remark ready on her lips, when the
+      unlucky dog interrupted her once more. He made a sudden rush into the
+      conservatory, barking with all his might. A crashing noise followed the
+      dog&rsquo;s outbreak, which sounded like the fall of a flower-pot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid hurried into the conservatory&mdash;with the dog ahead of him,
+      tearing down the steps which led into the back garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The pot lay broken on the tiled floor. Struck by the beauty of the flower
+      that grew in it, he stooped to set it up again. If, instead of doing this,
+      he had advanced at once to the second door, he would have seen a lady
+      hastening into the house; and, though her back view only was presented, he
+      could hardly have failed to recognize Miss Minerva. As it was, when he
+      reached the door, the garden was empty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked up at the house, and saw Carmina at the open window of her
+      bedroom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sad expression on that sweet young face grieved him. Was she thinking
+      of her happy past life? or of the doubtful future, among strangers in a
+      strange country? She noticed Ovid&mdash;and her eyes brightened. His
+      customary coldness with women melted instantly: he kissed his hand to her.
+      She returned the salute (so familiar to her in Italy) with her gentle
+      smile, and looked back into the room. Teresa showed herself at the window.
+      Always following her impulses without troubling herself to think first,
+      the duenna followed them now. &ldquo;We are dull up here,&rdquo; she called out. &ldquo;Come
+      back to us, Mr. Ovid.&rdquo; The words had hardly been spoken before they both
+      turned from the window. Teresa pointed significantly into the room. They
+      disappeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid went back to the library.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anybody listening?&rdquo; Mr. Mool inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have not discovered anybody, but I doubt if a stray cat could have
+      upset that heavy flower-pot.&rdquo; He looked round him as he made the reply.
+      &ldquo;Where is my mother?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee had gone upstairs, eager to tell Carmina of the handsome
+      allowance made to her by her father. Having answered in these terms, Mr.
+      Mool began to fold up the Will&mdash;and suddenly stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very inconsiderate, on my part,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I forgot, Mr. Ovid, that you
+      haven&rsquo;t heard the end of it. Let me give you a brief abstract. You know,
+      perhaps, that Miss Carmina is a Catholic? Very natural&mdash;her poor
+      mother&rsquo;s religion. Well, sir, her good father forgets nothing. All
+      attempts at proselytizing are strictly forbidden.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid smiled. His mother&rsquo;s religious convictions began and ended with the
+      inorganic matter of the earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The last clause,&rdquo; Mr. Mool proceeded, &ldquo;seemed to agitate Mrs. Gallilee
+      quite painfully. I reminded her that her brother had no near relations
+      living, but Lady Northlake and herself. As to leaving money to my lady, in
+      my lord&rsquo;s princely position&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me,&rdquo; Ovid interposed, &ldquo;what is there to agitate my mother in
+      this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool made his apologies for not getting sooner to the point, with the
+      readiest good-will. &ldquo;Professional habit, Mr. Ovid,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;We are
+      apt to be wordy&mdash;paid, in fact, at so much a folio, for so many
+      words!&mdash;and we like to clear the ground first. Your late uncle ends
+      his Will, by providing for the disposal of his fortune, in two possible
+      events, as follows: Miss Carmina may die unmarried, or Miss Carmina (being
+      married) may die without offspring.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Seeing the importance of the last clause now, Ovid stopped him again. &ldquo;Do
+      I remember the amount of the fortune correctly?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Was it a
+      hundred and thirty thousand pounds?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what becomes of all that money, if Carmina never marries, or if she
+      leaves no children?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In either of those cases, sir, the whole of the money goes to Mrs.
+      Gallilee and her daughters.&rdquo;&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Time had advanced to midnight, after the reading of the Will&mdash;and
+      Ovid was at home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The silence of the quiet street in which he lived was only disturbed by
+      the occasional rolling of carriage wheels, and by dance-music from the
+      house of one of his neighbours who was giving a ball. He sat at his
+      writing-table, thinking. Honest self-examination had laid out the state of
+      his mind before him like a map, and had shown him, in its true
+      proportions, the new interest that filled his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of that interest he was now the willing slave. If he had not known his
+      mother to be with her, he would have gone back to Carmina when the lawyer
+      left the house. As it was, he had sent a message upstairs, inviting
+      himself to dinner, solely for the purpose of seeing Carmina again&mdash;and
+      he had been bitterly disappointed when he heard that Mr. and Mrs. Gallilee
+      were engaged, and that his cousin would take tea in her room. He had eaten
+      something at this club, without caring what it was. He had gone to the
+      Opera afterwards, merely because his recollections of a favourite
+      singing-lady of that season vaguely reminded him of Carmina. And there he
+      was, at midnight, on his return from the music, eager for the next
+      opportunity of seeing his cousin, a few hours hence&mdash;when he had
+      arranged to say good-bye at the family breakfast-table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To feel this change in him as vividly as he felt it, could lead to but one
+      conclusion in the mind of a man who was incapable of purposely deceiving
+      himself. He was as certain as ever of the importance of rest and change,
+      in the broken state of his health. And yet, in the face of that
+      conviction, his contemplated sea-voyage had already become one of the
+      vanished illusions of his life!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His friend had arranged to travel with him, that morning, from London to
+      the port at which the yacht was waiting for them. They were hardly
+      intimate enough to trust each other unreservedly with secrets. The
+      customary apology for breaking an engagement was the alternative that
+      remained. With the paper on his desk and with the words on his mind, he
+      was yet in such a strange state of indecision that he hesitated to write
+      the letter!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His morbidly-sensitive nerves were sadly shaken. Even the familiar record
+      of the half-hour by the hall clock startled him. The stroke of the bell
+      was succeeded by a mild and mournful sound outside the door&mdash;the
+      mewing of a cat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose, without any appearance of surprise, and opened the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With grace and dignity entered a small black female cat; exhibiting, by
+      way of variety of colour, a melancholy triangular patch of white over the
+      lower part of her face, and four brilliantly clean white paws. Ovid went
+      back to his desk. As soon as he was in his chair again, the cat jumped on
+      his shoulder, and sat there purring in his ear. This was the place she
+      occupied, whenever her master was writing alone. Passing one day through a
+      suburban neighbourhood, on his round of visits, the young surgeon had been
+      attracted by a crowd in a by-street. He had rescued his present companion
+      from starvation in a locked-up house, the barbarous inhabitants of which
+      had gone away for a holiday, and had forgotten the cat. When Ovid took the
+      poor creature home with him in his carriage, popular feeling decided that
+      the unknown gentleman was &ldquo;a rum &lsquo;un.&rdquo; From that moment, this fortunate
+      little member of a brutally-slandered race attached herself to her new
+      friend, and to that friend only. If Ovid had owned the truth, he must have
+      acknowledged that her company was a relief to him, in the present state of
+      his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When a man&rsquo;s flagging purpose is in want of a stimulant, the most trifling
+      change in the circumstances of the moment often applies the animating
+      influence. Even such a small interruption as the appearance of his cat
+      rendered this service to Ovid. To use the common and expressive phrase, it
+      had &ldquo;shaken him up.&rdquo; He wrote the letter&mdash;and his patient companion
+      killed the time by washing her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His mind being so far relieved, he went to bed&mdash;the cat following him
+      upstairs to her bed in a corner of the room. Clothes are unwholesome
+      superfluities not contemplated in the system of Nature. When we are
+      exhausted, there is no such thing as true repose for us until we are freed
+      from our dress. Men subjected to any excessive exertion&mdash;fighting,
+      rowing, walking, working&mdash;must strip their bodies as completely as
+      possible, or they are nor equal to the call on them. Ovid&rsquo;s knowledge of
+      his own temperament told him that sleep was not to be hoped for, that
+      night. But the way to bed was the way to rest notwithstanding, by getting
+      rid of his clothes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the sunrise he rose and went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took his letter with him, and dropped it into the box in his friend&rsquo;s
+      door. The sooner he committed himself to the new course that he had taken,
+      the more certain he might feel of not renewing the miserable and useless
+      indecision of the past night. &ldquo;Thank God, that&rsquo;s done!&rdquo; he said to
+      himself, as he heard the letter fall into the box, and left the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After walking in the Park until he was weary, he sat down by the
+      ornamental lake, and watched the waterfowl enjoying their happy lives.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wherever he went, whatever he did, Carmina was always with him. He had
+      seen thousands of girls, whose personal attractions were far more
+      remarkable&mdash;and some few among them whose manner was perhaps equally
+      winning. What was the charm in the little half-foreign cousin that had
+      seized on him in an instant, and that seemed to fasten its subtle hold
+      more and more irresistibly with every minute of his life? He was content
+      to feel the charm without caring to fathom it. The lovely morning light
+      took him in imagination to her bedside; he saw here sleeping peacefully in
+      her new room. Would the time come when she might dream of him? He looked
+      at his watch. It was seven o&rsquo;clock. The breakfast-hour at Fairfield
+      Gardens had been fixed for eight, to give him time to catch the morning
+      train. Half an hour might be occupied in walking back to his own house.
+      Add ten minutes to make some change in his dress&mdash;and he might set
+      forth for his next meeting with Carmina. No uneasy anticipation of what
+      the family circle might think of his sudden change of plan troubled his
+      mind. A very different question occupied him. For the first time in his
+      life, he wondered what dress a woman would wear at breakfast time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He opened his house door with his own key. An elderly person, in a coarse
+      black gown, was seated on the bench in the hall. She rose, and advanced
+      towards him. In speechless astonishment, he confronted Carmina&rsquo;s faithful
+      companion&mdash;Teresa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you please, I want to speak to you,&rdquo; she said, in her best English.
+      Ovid took her into his consulting-room. She wasted no time in apologies or
+      explanations. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t speak!&rdquo; she broke out. &ldquo;Carmina has had a bad night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall be at the house in half an hour!&rdquo; Ovid eagerly assured her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The duenna shook her forefinger impatiently. &ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t want a doctor.
+      She wants a friend, when I am gone. What is her life here? A new life,
+      among new people. Don&rsquo;t speak! She&rsquo;s frightened and miserable. So young,
+      so shy, so easily startled. And I must leave her&mdash;I must! I must! My
+      old man is failing fast; he may die, without a creature to comfort him, if
+      I don&rsquo;t go back. I could tear my hair when I think of it. Don&rsquo;t speak!
+      It&rsquo;s <i>my</i> business to speak. Ha! I know, what I know. Young doctor,
+      you&rsquo;re in love with Carmina! I&rsquo;ve read you like a book. You&rsquo;re quick to
+      see, sudden to feel&mdash;like one of my people. <i>Be</i> one of my
+      people. Help me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She dragged a chair close to Ovid, and laid her hand suddenly and heavily
+      on his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not my fault, mind; <i>I</i> have said nothing to disturb her. No!
+      I&rsquo;ve made the best of it. I&rsquo;ve lied to her. What do I care? I would lie
+      like Judas Iscariot himself to spare Carmina a moment&rsquo;s pain. It&rsquo;s such a
+      new life for her&mdash;try to see it for yourself&mdash;such a new life.
+      You and I shook hands yesterday. Do it again. Are you surprised to see me?
+      I asked your mother&rsquo;s servants where you lived; and here I am&mdash;with
+      the cruel teeth of anxiety gnawing me alive when I think of the time to
+      come. Oh, my lamb! my angel! she&rsquo;s alone. Oh, my God, only seventeen years
+      old, and alone in the world! No father, no mother; and soon&mdash;oh, too
+      soon, too soon&mdash;not even Teresa! What are you looking at? What is
+      there so wonderful in the tears of a stupid old fool? Drops of hot water.
+      Ha! ha! if they fall on your fine carpet here, they won&rsquo;t hurt it. You&rsquo;re
+      a good fellow; you&rsquo;re a dear fellow. Hush! I know the Evil Eye when I see
+      it. No more of that! A secret in your ear&mdash;I&rsquo;ve said a word for you
+      to Carmina already. Give her time; she&rsquo;s not cold; young and innocent,
+      that&rsquo;s all. Love will come&mdash;I know, what I know&mdash;love will
+      come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laughed&mdash;and, in the very act of laughing, changed again. Fright
+      looked wildly at Ovid out of her staring eyes. Some terrifying remembrance
+      had suddenly occurred to her. She sprang to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You said you were going away,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You said it, when you left us
+      yesterday. It can&rsquo;t be! it shan&rsquo;t be! You&rsquo;re not going to leave Carmina,
+      too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid&rsquo;s first impulse was to tell the whole truth. He resisted the impulse.
+      To own that Carmina was the cause of his abandonment of the sea-voyage,
+      before she was even sure of the impression she had produced on him, would
+      be to place himself in a position from which his self-respect recoiled.
+      &ldquo;My plans are changed,&rdquo; was all he said to Teresa. &ldquo;Make your mind easy;
+      I&rsquo;m not going away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The strange old creature snapped her fingers joyously. &ldquo;Good-bye! I want
+      no more of you.&rdquo; With those cool and candid words of farewell, she
+      advanced to the door&mdash;stopped suddenly to think&mdash;and came back.
+      Only a moment had passed, and she was as sternly in earnest again as ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I call you by your name?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, Ovid! I may not see you again before I go back to my husband.
+      This is my last word&mdash;never forget it. Even Carmina may have
+      enemies!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What could she be thinking of? &ldquo;Enemies&mdash;in my mother&rsquo;s house!&rdquo; Ovid
+      exclaimed. &ldquo;What can you possibly mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa returned to the door, and only answered him when she had opened it
+      to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Evil Eye never lies,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Wait&mdash;and you will see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee was on her way to the breakfast-room, when her son entered
+      the house. They met in the hall. &ldquo;Is your packing done?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was in no humour to wait, and make his confession at that moment. &ldquo;Not
+      yet,&rdquo; was his only reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee led the way into the room. &ldquo;Ovid&rsquo;s luggage is not ready
+      yet,&rdquo; she announced; &ldquo;I believe he will lose his train.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They were all at the breakfast table, the children and the governess
+      included. Carmina&rsquo;s worn face, telling its tale of a wakeful night,
+      brightened again, as it had brightened at the bedroom window, when she saw
+      Ovid. She took his hand frankly, and made light of her weary looks. &ldquo;No,
+      my cousin,&rdquo; she said, playfully; &ldquo;I mean to be worthier of my pretty bed
+      to-night; I am not going to be your patient yet.&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee (with this
+      mouth full at the moment) offered good advice. &ldquo;Eat and drink as I do, my
+      dear,&rdquo; he said to Carmina; &ldquo;and you will sleep as I do. Off I go when the
+      light&rsquo;s out&mdash;flat on my back, as Mrs. Gallilee will tell you&mdash;and
+      wake me if you can, till it&rsquo;s time to get up. Have some buttered eggs,
+      Ovid. They&rsquo;re good, ain&rsquo;t they, Zo?&rdquo; Zo looked up from her plate, and
+      agreed with her father, in one emphatic word, &ldquo;Jolly!&rdquo; Miss Minerva, queen
+      of governesses, instantly did her duty. &ldquo;Zoe! how often must I tell you
+      not to talk slang? Do you ever hear your sister say &lsquo;Jolly?&rsquo;&rdquo; That
+      highly-cultivated child, Maria, strong in conscious virtue, added her
+      authority in support of the protest. &ldquo;No young lady who respects herself,
+      Zoe, will ever talk slang.&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee was unworthy of such a daughter.
+      He muttered under his breath, &ldquo;Oh, bother!&rdquo; Zo held out her plate for
+      more. Mr. Gallilee was delighted. &ldquo;My child all over!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;We
+      are both of us good feeders. Zo will grow up a fine woman.&rdquo; He appealed to
+      his stepson to agree with him. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s your medical opinion, Ovid, isn&rsquo;t
+      it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina&rsquo;s pretty smile passed like rippling light over her eyes and her
+      lips. In her brief experience of England, Mr. Gallilee was the one
+      exhilarating element in family life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s mind still dwelt on her son&rsquo;s luggage, and on the rigorous
+      punctuality of railway arrangements.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is your servant about?&rdquo; she said to Ovid. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s his business to see
+      that you are ready in time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was useless to allow the false impression that prevailed to continue
+      any longer. Ovid set them all right, in the plainest and fewest words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My servant is not to blame,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have written an apology to my
+      friend&mdash;I am not going away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For the moment, this astounding announcement was received in silent dismay&mdash;excepting
+      the youngest member of the company. After her father, Ovid was the one
+      other person in the world who held a place in Zo&rsquo;s odd little heart. Her
+      sentiments were now expressed without hesitation and without reserve. She
+      put down her spoon, and she cried, &ldquo;Hooray!&rdquo; Another exhibition of
+      vulgarity. But even Miss Minerva was too completely preoccupied by the
+      revelation which had burst on the family to administer the necessary
+      reproof. Her eager eyes were riveted on Ovid. As for Mr. Gallilee, he held
+      his bread and butter suspended in mid-air, and stared open-mouthed at his
+      stepson, in helpless consternation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee always set the right example. Mrs. Gallilee was the first to
+      demand an explanation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does this extraordinary proceeding mean?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid was impenetrable to the tone in which that question was put. He had
+      looked at his cousin, when he declared his change of plan&mdash;and he was
+      looking at her still. Whatever the feeling of the moment might be,
+      Carmina&rsquo;s sensitive face expressed it vividly. Who could mistake the
+      faintly-rising colour in her cheeks, the sweet quickening of light in her
+      eyes, when she met Ovid&rsquo;s look? Still hardly capable of estimating the
+      influence that she exercised over him, her sense of the interest taken in
+      her by Ovid was the proud sense that makes girls innocently bold. Whatever
+      the others might think of his broken engagement, her artless eyes said
+      plainly, &ldquo;My feeling is happy surprise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee summoned her son to attend her, in no friendly voice. She,
+      too, had looked at Carmina&mdash;and had registered the result of her
+      observation privately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are we to hear your reasons?&rdquo; she inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid had made the one discovery in the world, on which his whole heart was
+      set. He was so happy, that he kept his mother out of his secret, with a
+      masterly composure worthy of herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think a sea-voyage is the right thing for me,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rather a sudden change of opinion,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee remarked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid coolly agreed with her. It <i>was</i> rather sudden, he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The governess still looked at him, wondering whether he would provoke an
+      outbreak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a little pause, Mrs. Gallilee accepted her son&rsquo;s short answer&mdash;with
+      a sudden submission which had a meaning of its own. She offered Ovid
+      another cup of tea; and, more remarkable yet, she turned to her eldest
+      daughter, and deliberately changed the subject. &ldquo;What are your lessons, my
+      dear, to-day?&rdquo; she asked, with bland maternal interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By this time, bewildered Mr. Gallilee had finished his bread and butter.
+      &ldquo;Ovid knows best, my dear,&rdquo; he said cheerfully to his wife. Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s sudden recovery of her temper did not include her husband. If a
+      look could have annihilated that worthy man, his corporal presence must
+      have vanished into air, when he had delivered himself of his opinion. As
+      it was, he only helped Zo to another spoonful of jam. &ldquo;When Ovid first
+      thought of that voyage,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;I said, Suppose he&rsquo;s sick? A
+      dreadful sensation isn&rsquo;t it, Miss Minerva? First you seem to sink into
+      your shoes, and then it all comes up&mdash;eh? You&rsquo;re <i>not</i> sick at
+      sea? I congratulate you! I most sincerely congratulate you! My dear Ovid,
+      come and dine with me to-night at the club.&rdquo; He looked doubtfully at his
+      wife, as he made that proposal. &ldquo;Got the headache, my dear? I&rsquo;ll take you
+      out with pleasure for a walk. What&rsquo;s the matter with her, Miss Minerva?
+      Oh, I see! Hush! Maria&rsquo;s going to say grace.&mdash;Amen! Amen!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They all rose from the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee was the first to open the door. The smoking-room at Fairfield
+      Gardens was over the kitchen; he preferred enjoying his cigar in the
+      garden of the Square. He looked at Carmina and Ovid, as if he wanted one
+      of them to accompany him. They were both at the aviary, admiring the
+      birds, and absorbed in their own talk. Mr. Gallilee resigned himself to
+      his fate; appealing, on his way out, to somebody to agree with him as
+      usual. &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; he said with a little sigh, &ldquo;a cigar keeps one company.&rdquo;
+       Miss Minerva (absorbed in her own thoughts) passed near him, on her way to
+      the school-room with her pupils. &ldquo;You would find it so yourself, Miss
+      Minerva&mdash;that is to say, if you smoked, which of course you don&rsquo;t. Be
+      a good girl, Zo; attend to your lessons.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo&rsquo;s perversity in the matter of lessons put its own crooked construction
+      on this excellent advice. She answered in a whisper, &ldquo;Give us a holiday.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The passing aspirations of idle minds, being subject to the law of
+      chances, are sometimes fulfilled, and so exhibit poor human wishes in a
+      consolatory light. Thanks to the conversation between Carmina and Ovid, Zo
+      got her holiday after all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee, still as amiable as ever, had joined her son and her niece
+      at the aviary. Ovid said to his mother, &ldquo;Carmina is fond of birds. I have
+      been telling her she may see all the races of birds assembled in the
+      Zoological Gardens. It&rsquo;s a perfect day. Why shouldn&rsquo;t we go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The stupidest woman living would have understood what this proposal really
+      meant. Mrs. Gallilee sanctioned it as composedly as if Ovid and Carmina
+      had been brother and sister. &ldquo;I wish I could go with you,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;but
+      my household affairs fill my morning. And there is a lecture this
+      afternoon, which I cannot possibly lose. I don&rsquo;t know, Carmina, whether
+      you are interested in these things. We are to have the apparatus, which
+      illustrates the conversion of radiant energy into sonorous vibrations.
+      Have you ever heard, my dear, of the Diathermancy of Ebonite? Not in your
+      way, perhaps?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina looked as unintelligent as Zo herself. Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s science
+      seemed to frighten her. The Diathermancy of Ebonite, by some
+      incomprehensible process, drove her bewildered mind back on her old
+      companion. &ldquo;I want to give Teresa a little pleasure before we part,&rdquo; she
+      said timidly; &ldquo;may she go with us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course!&rdquo; cried Mrs. Gallilee. &ldquo;And, now I think of it, why shouldn&rsquo;t
+      the children have a little pleasure too? I will give them a holiday. Don&rsquo;t
+      be alarmed, Ovid; Miss Minerva will look after them. In the meantime,
+      Carmina, tell your good old friend to get ready.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina hastened away, and so helped Mrs. Gallilee to the immediate object
+      which she had in view&mdash;a private interview with her son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid anticipated a searching inquiry into the motives which had led him to
+      give up the sea voyage. His mother was far too clever a woman to waste her
+      time in that way. Her first words told him that his motive was as plainly
+      revealed to her as the sunlight shining in at the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s a charming girl,&rdquo; she said, when Carmina closed the door behind
+      her. &ldquo;Modest and natural&mdash;quite the sort of girl, Ovid, to attract a
+      clever man like you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid was completely taken by surprise, and owned it by his silence. Mrs.
+      Gallilee went on in a tone of innocent maternal pleasantry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know you began young,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;your first love was that poor
+      little wizen girl of Lady Northlake&rsquo;s who died. Child&rsquo;s play, you will
+      tell me, and nothing more. But, my dear, I am afraid I shall require some
+      persuasion, before I quite sympathize with this new&mdash;what shall I
+      call it?&mdash;infatuation is too hard a word, and &lsquo;fancy&rsquo; means nothing.
+      We will leave it a blank. Marriages of cousins are debatable marriages, to
+      say the least of them; and Protestant fathers and Papist mothers do
+      occasionally involve difficulties with children. Not that I say, No. Far
+      from it. But if this is to go on, I do hesitate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Something in his mother&rsquo;s tone grated on Ovid&rsquo;s sensibilities. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t at
+      all follow you,&rdquo; he said, rather sharply; &ldquo;you are looking a little too
+      far into the future.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then we will return to the present,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee replied&mdash;still
+      with the readiest submission to the humour of her son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On recent occasions, she had expressed the opinion that Ovid would do
+      wisely&mdash;at his age, and with his professional prospects&mdash;to wait
+      a few years before he thought of marrying. Having said enough in praise of
+      her niece to satisfy him for the time being (without appearing to be
+      meanly influenced, in modifying her opinion, by the question of money),
+      her next object was to induce him to leave England immediately, for the
+      recovery of his health. With Ovid absent, and with Carmina under her sole
+      superintendence, Mrs. Gallilee could see her way to her own private ends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really,&rdquo; she resumed, &ldquo;you ought to think seriously of change of air and
+      scene. You know you would not allow a patient, in your present state of
+      health, to trifle with himself as your are trifling now. If you don&rsquo;t like
+      the sea, try the Continent. Get away somewhere, my dear, for your own
+      sake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was only possible to answer this, in one way. Ovid owned that his
+      mother was right and asked for time to think. To his infinite relief, he
+      was interrupted by a knock at the door. Miss Minerva entered the room&mdash;not
+      in a very amiable temper, judging by appearances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid I disturb you,&rdquo; she began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid seized the opportunity of retreat. He had some letters to write&mdash;he
+      hurried away to the library.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there any mistake?&rdquo; the governess asked, when she and Mrs. Gallilee
+      were alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In what respect, Miss Minerva?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I met your niece, ma&rsquo;am, on the stairs. She says you wish the children to
+      have a holiday.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, to go with my son and Miss Carmina to the Zoological Gardens.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Carmina said I was to go too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Carmina was perfectly right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The governess fixed her searching eyes on Mrs. Gallilee. &ldquo;You really wish
+      me to go with them?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know why.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the course of their experience, Mrs. Gallilee and Miss Minerva had once
+      quarrelled fiercely&mdash;and Mrs. Gallilee had got the worst of it. She
+      learnt her lesson. For the future she knew how to deal with her governess.
+      When one said, &ldquo;I know why,&rdquo; the other only answered, &ldquo;Do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s have it out plainly, ma&rsquo;am,&rdquo; Miss Minerva proceeded. &ldquo;I am not to
+      let Mr. Ovid&rdquo; (she laid a bitterly strong emphasis on the name, and
+      flushed angrily)&mdash;&ldquo;I am not to let Mr. Ovid and Miss Carmina be alone
+      together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a good guesser,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee remarked quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Miss Minerva more quietly still; &ldquo;I have only seen what you
+      have seen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did I tell you what I have seen?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite needless, ma&rsquo;am. Your son is in love with his cousin. When am I to
+      be ready?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The bland mistress mentioned the hour. The rude governess left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee looked at the closing door with a curious smile. She had
+      already suspected Miss Minerva of being crossed in love. The suspicion was
+      now confirmed, and the man was discovered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Soured by a hopeless passion,&rdquo; she said to herself. &ldquo;And the object is&mdash;my
+      son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On entering the Zoological Gardens, Ovid turned at once to the right,
+      leading Carmina to the aviaries, so that she might begin by seeing the
+      birds. Miss Minerva, with Maria in dutiful attendance, followed them.
+      Teresa kept at a little distance behind; and Zo took her own erratic
+      course, now attaching herself to one member of the little party, and now
+      to another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they reached the aviaries the order of march became confused;
+      differences in the birds made their appeal to differences in the taste of
+      the visitors. Insatiably eager for useful information, that prize-pupil
+      Maria held her governess captive at one cage; while Zo darted away towards
+      another, out of reach of discipline, and good Teresa volunteered to bring
+      her back. For a minute, Ovid and his cousin were left alone. He might have
+      taken a lover&rsquo;s advantage even of that small opportunity. But Carmina had
+      something to say to him&mdash;and Carmina spoke first.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has Miss Minerva been your mother&rsquo;s governess for a long time?&rdquo; she
+      inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For some years,&rdquo; Ovid replied. &ldquo;Will you let me put a question on my
+      side? Why do you ask?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina hesitated&mdash;and answered in a whisper, &ldquo;She looks
+      ill-tempered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She <i>is</i> ill-tempered,&rdquo; Ovid confessed. &ldquo;I suspect,&rdquo; he added with a
+      smile, &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t like Miss Minerva.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina attempted no denial; her excuse was a woman&rsquo;s excuse all over:
+      &ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t like <i>me.&rdquo;</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been looking at her. Does she beat the children?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Carmina! do you think she would be my mother&rsquo;s governess if she
+      treated the children in that way? Besides, Miss Minerva is too well-bred a
+      woman to degrade herself by acts of violence. Family misfortunes have very
+      materially lowered her position in the world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was reminded, as he said those words, of the time when Miss Minerva had
+      entered on her present employment, and when she had been the object of
+      some little curiosity on his own part. Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s answer, when he
+      once asked why she kept such an irritable woman in the house, had been
+      entirely satisfactory, so far as she herself was concerned: &ldquo;Miss Minerva
+      is remarkably well informed, and I get her cheap.&rdquo; Exactly like his
+      mother! But it left Miss Minerva&rsquo;s motives involved in utter obscurity.
+      Why had this highly cultivated woman accepted an inadequate reward for her
+      services, for years together? Why&mdash;to take the event of that morning
+      as another example&mdash;after plainly showing her temper to her employer,
+      had she been so ready to submit to a suddenly decreed holiday, which
+      disarranged her whole course of lessons for the week? Little did Ovid
+      think that the one reconciling influence which adjusted these
+      contradictions, and set at rest every doubt that grew out of them, was to
+      be found in himself. Even the humiliation of watching him in his mother&rsquo;s
+      interest, and of witnessing his devotion to another woman, was a sacrifice
+      which Miss Minerva could endure for the one inestimable privilege of being
+      in Ovid&rsquo;s company.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before Carmina could ask any more questions a shrill voice, at its highest
+      pitch of excitement, called her away. Zo had just discovered the most
+      amusing bird in the Gardens&mdash;the low comedian of the feathered race&mdash;otherwise
+      known as the Piping Crow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina hurried to the cage as if she had been a child herself. Seeing
+      Ovid left alone, the governess seized <i>her</i> chance of speaking to
+      him. The first words that passed her lips told their own story. While
+      Carmina had been studying Miss Minerva, Miss Minerva had been studying
+      Carmina. Already, the same instinctive sense of rivalry had associated, on
+      a common ground of feeling, the two most dissimilar women that ever
+      breathed the breath of life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does your cousin know much about birds?&rdquo; Miss Minerva began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The opinion which declares that vanity is a failing peculiar to the sex is
+      a slander on women. All the world over, there are more vain men in it than
+      vain women. If Ovid had not been one of the exceptions to a general rule
+      among men, or even if his experience of the natures of women had been a
+      little less limited, he too might have discovered Miss Minerva&rsquo;s secret.
+      Even her capacity for self-control failed, at the moment when she took
+      Carmina&rsquo;s place. Those keen black eyes, so hard and cold when they looked
+      at anyone else&mdash;flamed with an all-devouring sense of possession when
+      they first rested on Ovid. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s mine. For one golden moment he&rsquo;s mine!&rdquo;
+       They spoke&mdash;and, suddenly, the every-day blind was drawn down again;
+      there was nobody present but a well-bred woman, talking with delicately
+      implied deference to a distinguished man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So far, we have not spoken of the birds,&rdquo; Ovid innocently answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet you seemed to be both looking at them!&rdquo; She at once covered this
+      unwary outbreak of jealousy under an impervious surface of compliment.
+      &ldquo;Miss Carmina is not perhaps exactly pretty, but she is a singularly
+      interesting girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid cordially (too cordially) agreed. Miss Minerva had presented her
+      better self to him under a most agreeable aspect. She tried&mdash;struggled&mdash;fought
+      with herself&mdash;to preserve appearances. The demon in her got
+      possession again of her tongue. &ldquo;Do you find the young lady intelligent?&rdquo;
+       she inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Only one word&mdash;spoken perhaps a little sharply. The miserable woman
+      shrank under it. &ldquo;An idle question on my part,&rdquo; she said, with the
+      pathetic humility that tries to be cheerful. &ldquo;And another warning, Mr.
+      Vere, never to judge by appearances.&rdquo; She looked at him, and returned to
+      the children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid&rsquo;s eyes followed her compassionately. &ldquo;Poor wretch!&rdquo; he thought. &ldquo;What
+      an infernal temper, and how hard she tries to control it!&rdquo; He joined
+      Carmina, with a new delight in being near her again. Zo was still in
+      ecstasies over the Piping Crow. &ldquo;Oh, the jolly little chap! Look how he
+      cocks his head! He mocks me when I whistle. Buy him,&rdquo; cried Zo, tugging at
+      Ovid&rsquo;s coat tails in the excitement that possessed her; &ldquo;buy him, and let
+      me take him home with me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Some visitors within hearing began to laugh. Miss Minerva opened her lips;
+      Maria opened her lips. To the astonishment of both of them the coming
+      rebuke proved to be needless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A sudden transformation to silence and docility had made a new creature of
+      Zo, before they could speak&mdash;and Ovid had unconsciously worked the
+      miracle. For the first time in the child&rsquo;s experience, he had suffered his
+      coat tails to be pulled without immediately attending to her. Who was he
+      looking at? It was only too easy to see that Carmina had got him all to
+      herself. The jealous little heart swelled in Zo&rsquo;s bosom. In silent
+      perplexity she kept watch on the friend who had never disappointed her
+      before. Little by little, her slow intelligence began to realise the
+      discovery of something in his face which made him look handsomer than
+      ever, and which she had never seen in it yet. They all left the aviaries,
+      and turned to the railed paddocks in which the larger birds were
+      assembled. And still Zo followed so quietly, so silently, that her elder
+      sister&mdash;threatened with a rival in good behaviour&mdash;looked at her
+      in undisguised alarm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Incited by Maria (who felt the necessity of vindicating her character)
+      Miss Minerva began a dissertation on cranes, suggested by the birds with
+      the brittle-looking legs hopping up to her in expectation of something to
+      eat. Ovid was absorbed in attending to his cousin; he had provided himself
+      with some bread, and was helping Carmina to feed the birds. But one person
+      noticed Zo, now that her strange lapse into good behaviour had lost the
+      charm of novelty. Old Teresa watched her. There was something plainly
+      troubling the child in secret; she had a mind to know what it might be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo approached Ovid again, determined to understand the change in him if
+      perseverance could do it. He was talking so confidentially to Carmina,
+      that he almost whispered in her ear. Zo eyed him, without daring to touch
+      his coat tails again. Miss Minerva tried hard to go on composedly with the
+      dissertation on cranes. &ldquo;Flocks of these birds, Maria, pass periodically
+      over the southern and central countries of Europe&rdquo;&mdash;Her breath failed
+      her, as she looked at Ovid: she could say no more. Zo stopped those
+      maddening confidences; Zo, in desperate want of information, tugged boldly
+      at Carmina&rsquo;s skirts this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The young girl turned round directly. &ldquo;What is it, dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With big tears of indignation rising in her eyes, Zo pointed to Ovid. &ldquo;I
+      say!&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;is he going to buy the Piping Crow for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To Zo&rsquo;s discomfiture they both smiled. She dried her eyes with her fists,
+      and waited doggedly for an answer. Carmina set the child&rsquo;s mind at ease
+      very prettily and kindly; and Ovid added the pacifying influence of a
+      familiar pat on her cheek. Noticed at last, and satisfied that the bird
+      was not to be bought for anybody, Zo&rsquo;s sense of injury was appeased; her
+      jealousy melted away as the next result. After a pause&mdash;produced, as
+      her next words implied, by an effort of memory&mdash;she suddenly took
+      Carmina into her confidence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t tell!&rdquo; she began. &ldquo;I saw another man look like Ovid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When, dear?&rdquo; Carmina asked&mdash;meaning, at what past date.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When his face was close to yours,&rdquo; Zo answered&mdash;meaning, under what
+      recent circumstances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid, hearing this reply, knew his small sister well enough to foresee
+      embarrassing results if he allowed the conversation to proceed. He took
+      Carmina&rsquo;s arm, and led her a little farther on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva obstinately followed them, with Maria in attendance, still
+      imperfectly enlightened on the migration of cranes. Zo looked round, in
+      search of another audience. Teresa had been listening; she was present,
+      waiting for events. Being herself what stupid people call &ldquo;an oddity,&rdquo; her
+      sympathies were attracted by this quaint child. In Teresa&rsquo;s opinion,
+      seeing the animals was very inferior, as an amusement, to exploring Zo&rsquo;s
+      mind. She produced a cake of chocolate, from a travelling bag which she
+      carried with her everywhere. The cake was sweet, it was flavoured with
+      vanilla, and it was offered to Zo, unembittered by advice not to be greedy
+      and make herself ill. Staring hard at Teresa, she took an experimental
+      bite. The wily duenna chose that propitious moment to present herself in
+      the capacity of a new audience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who was that other man you saw, who looked like Mr. Ovid?&rdquo; she asked;
+      speaking in the tone of serious equality which is always flattering to the
+      self-esteem of children in intercourse with elders. Zo was so proud of
+      having her own talk reported by a grown-up stranger, that she even forgot
+      the chocolate. &ldquo;I wanted to say more than that,&rdquo; she announced. &ldquo;Would you
+      like to hear the end of it?&rdquo; And this admirable foreign person answered,
+      &ldquo;I should very much like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo hesitated. To follow out its own little train of thought, in words, was
+      no easy task to the immature mind which Miss Minerva had so mercilessly
+      overworked. Led by old Dame Nature (first of governesses!) Zo found her
+      way out of the labyrinth by means of questions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know Joseph?&rdquo; she began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa had heard the footman called by his name: she knew who Joseph was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know Matilda?&rdquo; Zo proceeded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa had heard the housemaid called by her name: she knew who Matilda
+      was. And better still, she helped her little friend by a timely guess at
+      what was coming, presented under the form of a reminder. &ldquo;You saw Mr.
+      Ovid&rsquo;s face close to Carmina&rsquo;s face,&rdquo; she suggested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo nodded furiously&mdash;the end of it was coming already.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And before that,&rdquo; Teresa went on, &ldquo;you saw Joseph&rsquo;s face close to
+      Matilda&rsquo;s face.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I saw Joseph kiss Matilda!&rdquo; Zo burst out, with a scream of triumph. &ldquo;Why
+      doesn&rsquo;t Ovid kiss Carmina?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A deep bass voice, behind them, answered gravely: &ldquo;Because the governess
+      is in the way.&rdquo; And a big bamboo walking-stick pointed over their heads at
+      Miss Minerva. Zo instantly recognised the stick, and took it into her own
+      hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa turned&mdash;and found herself in the presence of a remarkable man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In the first place, the stranger was almost tall enough to be shown as a
+      giant; he towered to a stature of six feet six inches, English measure. If
+      his immense bones had been properly covered with flesh, he might have
+      presented the rare combination of fine proportions with great height. He
+      was so miserably&mdash;it might almost be said, so hideously&mdash;thin
+      that his enemies spoke of him as &ldquo;the living skeleton.&rdquo; His massive
+      forehead, his great gloomy gray eyes, his protuberant cheek-bones,
+      overhung a fleshless lower face naked of beard, whiskers, and moustache.
+      His complexion added to the startling effect which his personal appearance
+      produced on strangers. It was of the true gipsy-brown, and, being darker
+      in tone than his eyes, added remarkably to the weird look, the dismal
+      thoughtful scrutiny, which it was his habit to fix on persons talking with
+      him, no matter whether they were worthy of attention or not. His straight
+      black hair hung as gracelessly on either side of his hollow face as the
+      hair of an American Indian. His great dusky hands, never covered by gloves
+      in the summer time, showed amber-coloured nails on bluntly-pointed
+      fingers, turned up at the tips. Those tips felt like satin when they
+      touched you. When he wished to be careful, he could handle the frailest
+      objects with the most exquisite delicacy. His dress was of the recklessly
+      loose and easy kind. His long frock-coat descended below his knees; his
+      flowing trousers were veritable bags; his lean and wrinkled throat turned
+      about in a widely-opened shirt-collar, unconfined by any sort of neck-tie.
+      He had a theory that a head-dress should be solid enough to resist a
+      chance blow&mdash;a fall from a horse, or the dropping of a loose brick
+      from a house under repair. His hard black hat, broad and curly at the
+      brim, might have graced the head of a bishop, if it had not been
+      secularised by a queer resemblance to the bell-shaped hat worn by dandies
+      in the early years of the present century. In one word he was, both in
+      himself and in his dress, the sort of man whom no stranger is careless
+      enough to pass without turning round for a second look. Teresa, eyeing him
+      with reluctant curiosity, drew back a step, and privately reviled him (in
+      the secrecy of her own language) as an ugly beast! Even his name startled
+      people by the outlandish sound of it. Those enemies who called him &ldquo;the
+      living skeleton&rdquo; said it revealed his gipsy origin. In medical and
+      scientific circles he was well and widely known as&mdash;Doctor Benjulia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo ran away with his bamboo stick. After a passing look of gloomy
+      indifference at the duenna, he called to the child to come back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She obeyed him in an oddly indirect way, as if she had been returning
+      against her will. At the same time she looked up in his face, with an
+      absence of shyness which showed, like the snatching away of his stick,
+      that she was familiarly acquainted with him, and accustomed to take
+      liberties. And yet there was an expression of uneasy expectation in her
+      round attentive eyes. &ldquo;Do you want it back again?&rdquo; she asked, offering the
+      stick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I do. What would your mother say to me, if you tumbled over my
+      big bamboo, and dashed out your brains on this hard gravel walk?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you been to see Mama?&rdquo; Zo asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have <i>not</i> been to see Mama&mdash;but I know what she would say to
+      me if you dashed out your brains, for all that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would she say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She would say&mdash;Doctor Benjulia, your name ought to be Herod.&rdquo;&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who was Herod?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Herod was a Royal Jew, who killed little girls when they took away his
+      walking-stick. Come here, child. Shall I tickle you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew you&rsquo;d say that,&rdquo; Zo answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When men in general thoroughly enjoy the pleasure of talking nonsense to
+      children, they can no more help smiling than they can help breathing. The
+      doctor was an extraordinary exception to this rule; his grim face never
+      relaxed&mdash;not even when Zo reminded him that one of his favourite
+      recreations was tickling her. She obeyed, however, with the curious
+      appearance of reluctant submission showing itself once more. He put two of
+      his soft big finger-tips on her spine, just below the back of her neck,
+      and pressed on the place. Zo started and wriggled under his touch. He
+      observed her with as serious an interest as if he had been conducting a
+      medical experiment. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s how you make our dog kick with his leg,&rdquo; said
+      Zo, recalling her experience of the doctor in the society of the dog. &ldquo;How
+      do you do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I touch the Cervical Plexus,&rdquo; Doctor Benjulia answered as gravely as
+      ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This attempt at mystifying the child failed completely. Zo considered the
+      unknown tongue in which he had answered her as being equivalent to
+      lessons. She declined to notice the Cervical Plexus, and returned to the
+      little terrier at home. &ldquo;Do you think the dog likes it?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind the dog. Do <i>you</i> like it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Doctor Benjulia turned to Teresa. His gloomy gray eyes rested on her, as
+      they might have rested on any inanimate object near him&mdash;on the
+      railing that imprisoned the birds, or on the pipes that kept the
+      monkey-house warm. &ldquo;I have been playing the fool, ma&rsquo;am, with this child,&rdquo;
+       he said; &ldquo;and I fear I have detained you. I beg your pardon.&rdquo; He pulled
+      off his episcopal hat, and walked grimly on, without taking any further
+      notice of Zo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa made her best courtesy in return. The magnificent civility of the
+      ugly giant daunted, while it flattered her. &ldquo;The manners of a prince,&rdquo; she
+      said, &ldquo;and the complexion of a gipsy. Is he a nobleman?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo answered, &ldquo;He&rsquo;s a doctor,&rdquo;&mdash;as if that was something much better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you like him?&rdquo; Teresa inquired next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo answered the duenna as she had answered the doctor: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the meantime, Ovid and his cousin had not been unobservant of what was
+      passing at a little distance from them. Benjulia&rsquo;s great height, and his
+      evident familiarity with the child, stirred Carmina&rsquo;s curiosity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid seemed to be disinclined to talk of him. Miss Minerva made herself
+      useful, with the readiest politeness. She mentioned his odd name, and
+      described him as one of Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s old friends. &ldquo;Of late years,&rdquo; she
+      proceeded, &ldquo;he is said to have discontinued medical practice, and devoted
+      himself to chemical experiments. Nobody seems to know much about him. He
+      has built a house in a desolate field&mdash;in some lost suburban
+      neighbourhood that nobody can discover. In plain English, Dr. Benjulia is
+      a mystery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hearing this, Carmina appealed again to Ovid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I am asked riddles,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I am never easy till the answer is
+      guessed for me. And when I hear of mysteries, I am dying to have them
+      revealed. You are a doctor yourself. Do tell me something more!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid might have evaded her entreaties by means of an excuse. But her eyes
+      were irresistible: they looked him into submission in an instant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doctor Benjulia is what we call a Specialist,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I mean that he
+      only professes to treat certain diseases. Brains and nerves are Benjulia&rsquo;s
+      diseases. Without quite discontinuing his medical practice, he limits
+      himself to serious cases&mdash;when other doctors are puzzled, you know,
+      and want him to help them. With this exception, he has certainly
+      sacrificed his professional interests to his mania for experiments in
+      chemistry. What those experiments are, nobody knows but himself. He keeps
+      the key of his laboratory about him by day and by night. When the place
+      wants cleaning, he does the cleaning with his own hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina listened with great interest: &ldquo;Has nobody peeped in at the
+      windows?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are no windows&mdash;only a skylight in the roof.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t somebody get up on the roof, and look in through the skylight?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid laughed. &ldquo;One of his men-servants is said to have tried that
+      experiment,&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what did the servant see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A large white blind, drawn under the skylight, and hiding the whole room
+      from view. Somehow, the doctor discovered him&mdash;and the man was
+      instantly dismissed. Of course there are reports which explain the mystery
+      of the doctor and his laboratory. One report says that he is trying to
+      find a way of turning common metals into gold. Another declares that he is
+      inventing some explosive compound, so horribly destructive that it will
+      put an end to war. All I can tell you is, that his mind (when I happen to
+      meet him) seems to be as completely absorbed as ever in brains and nerves.
+      But, what they can have to do with chemical experiments, secretly pursued
+      in a lonely field, is a riddle to which I have thus far found no answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he married?&rdquo; Carmina inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The question seemed to amuse Ovid. &ldquo;If Doctor Benjulia had a wife, you
+      think we might get at his secrets? There is no such chance for us&mdash;he
+      manages his domestic affairs for himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t he even got a housekeeper?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not even a housekeeper!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While he was making that reply, he saw the doctor slowly advancing towards
+      them. &ldquo;Excuse me for one minute,&rdquo; he resumed; &ldquo;I will just speak to him,
+      and come back to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina turned to Miss Minerva in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ovid seems to have some reason for keeping the tall man away from us,&rdquo;
+       she said. &ldquo;Does he dislike Doctor Benjulia?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But for restraining motives, the governess might have gratified her hatred
+      of Carmina by a sharp reply. She had her reasons&mdash;not only after what
+      she had overheard in the conservatory, but after what she had seen in the
+      Gardens&mdash;for winning Carmina&rsquo;s confidence, and exercising over her
+      the influence of a trusted friend. Miss Minerva made instant use of her
+      first opportunity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can tell you what I have noticed myself,&rdquo; she said confidentially.
+      &ldquo;When Mrs. Gallilee gives parties, I am allowed to be present&mdash;to see
+      the famous professors of science. On one of these occasions they were
+      talking of instinct and reason. Your cousin, Mr. Ovid Vere, said it was no
+      easy matter to decide where instinct ended and reason began. In his own
+      experience, he had sometimes found people of feeble minds, who judged by
+      instinct, arrive at sounder conclusions than their superiors in
+      intelligence, who judged by reason. The talk took another turn&mdash;and,
+      soon after, Doctor Benjulia joined the guests. I don&rsquo;t know whether you
+      have observed that Mr. Gallilee is very fond of his stepson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, yes! Carmina had noticed that. &ldquo;I like Mr. Gallilee,&rdquo; she said warmly;
+      &ldquo;he is such a nice, kind-hearted, natural old man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva concealed a sneer under a smile. Fond of Mr. Gallilee? what
+      simplicity! &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; she resumed, &ldquo;the doctor paid his respects to the
+      master of the house, and then he shook hands with Mr. Ovid; and then the
+      scientific gentlemen all got round him, and had learned talk. Mr. Gallilee
+      came up to his stepson, looking a little discomposed. He spoke in a
+      whisper&mdash;you know his way?&mdash;&lsquo;Ovid, do you like Doctor Benjulia?
+      Don&rsquo;t mention it; I hate him.&rsquo; Strong language for Mr. Gallilee, wasn&rsquo;t
+      it? Mr. Ovid said, &lsquo;Why do you hate him?&rsquo; And poor Mr. Gallilee answered
+      like a child, &lsquo;Because I do.&rsquo; Some ladies came in, and the old gentleman
+      left us to speak to them. I ventured to say to Mr. Ovid, &lsquo;Is that instinct
+      or reason?&rsquo; He took it quite seriously. &lsquo;Instinct,&rsquo; he said&mdash;&lsquo;and it
+      troubles me.&rsquo; I leave you, Miss Carmina, to draw your own conclusion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They both looked up. Ovid and the doctor were walking slowly away from
+      them, and were just passing Teresa and the child. At the same moment, one
+      of the keepers of the animals approached Benjulia. After they had talked
+      together for a while, the man withdrew. Zo (who had heard it all, and had
+      understood a part of it) ran up to Carmina, charged with news.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a sick monkey in the gardens, in a room all by himself!&rdquo; the
+      child cried. &ldquo;And, I say, look there!&rdquo; She pointed excitedly to Benjulia
+      and Ovid, walking on again slowly in the direction of the aviaries.
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s the big doctor who tickles me! He says he&rsquo;ll see the poor monkey,
+      as soon as he&rsquo;s done with Ovid. And what do you think he said besides? He
+      said perhaps he&rsquo;d take the monkey home with him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder what&rsquo;s the matter with the poor creature?&rdquo; Carmina asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After what Mr. Ovid has told us, I think I know,&rdquo; Miss Minerva answered.
+      &ldquo;Doctor Benjulia wouldn&rsquo;t be interested in the monkey unless it had a
+      disease of the brain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Ovid had promised to return to Carmina in a minute. The minutes passed,
+      and still Doctor Benjulia held him in talk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now that he was no longer seeking amusement, in his own dreary way, by
+      mystifying Zo, the lines seemed to harden in the doctor&rsquo;s fleshless face.
+      A scrupulously polite man, he was always cold in his politeness. He waited
+      to have his hand shaken, and waited to be spoken to. And yet, on this
+      occasion, he had something to say. When Ovid opened the conversation, he
+      changed the subject directly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Benjulia! what brings You to the Zoological Gardens?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One of the monkeys has got brain disease; and they fancy I might like to
+      see the beast before they kill him. Have you been thinking lately of that
+      patient we lost?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not at the moment remembering the patient, Ovid made no immediate reply.
+      The doctor seemed to distrust his silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t mean to say you have forgotten the case?&rdquo; he resumed. &ldquo;We
+      called it hysteria, not knowing what else it was. I don&rsquo;t forgive the girl
+      for slipping through our fingers; I hate to be beaten by Death, in that
+      way. Have you made up your mind what to do, on the next occasion? Perhaps
+      you think you could have saved her life if you had been sent for, now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, indeed, I am just as ignorant&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give ignorance time,&rdquo; Benjulia interposed, &ldquo;and ignorance will become
+      knowledge&mdash;if a man is in earnest. The proper treatment might occur
+      to you to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He held to his idea with such obstinacy that Ovid set him right, rather
+      impatiently. &ldquo;The proper treatment has as much chance of occurring to the
+      greatest ass in the profession,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;as it has of occurring to
+      me. I can put my mind to no good medical use; my work has been too much
+      for me. I am obliged to give up practice, and rest&mdash;for a time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not even a formal expression of sympathy escaped Doctor Benjulia. Having
+      been a distrustful friend so far, he became an inquisitive friend now.
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re going away, of course,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Where to? On the Continent? Not
+      to Italy&mdash;if you really want to recover your health!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the objection to Italy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor put his great hand solemnly on his young friend&rsquo;s shoulder.
+      &ldquo;The medical schools in that country are recovering their past
+      reputation,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;They are becoming active centres of physiological
+      inquiry. You will be dragged into it, to a dead certainty. They&rsquo;re sure to
+      try what they can strike out by collision with a man like you. What will
+      become of that overworked mind of yours, when a lot of professors are
+      searching it without mercy? Have you ever been to Canada?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Have you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been everywhere. Canada is just the place for you, in this summer
+      season. Bracing air; and steady-going doctors who leave the fools in
+      Europe to pry into the secrets of Nature. Thousands of miles of land, if
+      you like riding. Thousands of miles of water, if you like sailing. Pack
+      up, and go to Canada.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What did all this mean? Was he afraid that his colleague might stumble on
+      some discovery which he was in search of himself? And did the discovery
+      relate to his own special subject of brains and nerves? Ovid made an
+      attempt to understand him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me something about yourself, Benjulia,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Are you returning
+      to your regular professional work?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia struck his bamboo stick emphatically on the gravel-walk. &ldquo;Never!
+      Unless I know more than I know now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This surely meant that he was as much devoted to his chemical experiments
+      as ever? In that case, how could Ovid (who knew nothing of chemical
+      experiments) be an obstacle in the doctor&rsquo;s way? Baffled thus far, he made
+      another attempt at inducing Benjulia to explain himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When is the world to hear of your discoveries?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor&rsquo;s massive forehead gathered ominously into a frown, &ldquo;Damn the
+      world!&rdquo; That was his only reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid was not disposed to allow himself to be kept in the dark in this way.
+      &ldquo;I suppose you are going on with your experiments?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gloom of Benjulia&rsquo;s grave eyes deepened: they stared with a stern
+      fixedness into vacancy. His great head bent slowly over his broad breast.
+      The whole man seemed to be shut up in himself. &ldquo;I go on a way of my own,&rdquo;
+       he growled. &ldquo;Let nobody cross it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After that reply, to persist in making inquiries would only have ended in
+      needlessly provoking an irritable man. Ovid looked back towards Carmina.
+      &ldquo;I must return to my friends,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor lifted his head, like a man awakened. &ldquo;Have I been rude?&rdquo; he
+      asked. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk to me about my experiments. That&rsquo;s my raw place, and
+      you hit me on it. What did you say just now? Friends? who are your
+      friends?&rdquo; He rubbed his hand savagely over his forehead&mdash;it was a way
+      he had of clearing his mind. &ldquo;I know,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;I saw your friends
+      just now. Who&rsquo;s the young lady?&rdquo; His most intimate companions had never
+      heard him laugh: they had sometimes seen his thin-lipped mouth widen
+      drearily into a smile. It widened now. &ldquo;Whoever she is,&rdquo; he proceeded, &ldquo;Zo
+      wonders why you don&rsquo;t kiss her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This specimen of Benjulia&rsquo;s attempts at pleasantry was not exactly to
+      Ovid&rsquo;s taste. He shifted the topic to his little sister. &ldquo;You were always
+      fond of Zo,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia looked thoroughly puzzled. Fondness for anybody was, to all
+      appearance, one of the few subjects on which he had not qualified himself
+      to offer an opinion. He gave his head another savage rub, and returned to
+      the subject of the young lady. &ldquo;Who is she?&rdquo; he asked again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My cousin,&rdquo; Ovid replied as shortly as possible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your cousin? A girl of Lady Northlake&rsquo;s?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No: my late uncle&rsquo;s daughter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia suddenly came to a standstill. &ldquo;What!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;has that
+      misbegotten child grown up to be a woman?&rdquo;&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid started. Words of angry protest were on his lips, when he perceived
+      Teresa and Zo on one side of him, and the keeper of the monkeys on the
+      other. Benjulia dismissed the man, with the favourable answer which Zo had
+      already reported. They walked on again. Ovid was at liberty to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know what you said of my cousin, just now?&rdquo; he began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His tone seemed to surprise the doctor. &ldquo;What did I say?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You used a very offensive word. You called Carmina a &lsquo;misbegotten child.&rsquo; 
+      Are you repeating some vile slander on the memory of her mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia came to another standstill. &ldquo;Slander?&rdquo; he repeated&mdash;and said
+      no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid&rsquo;s anger broke out. &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;Or a lie, if you like, told of
+      a woman as high above reproach as your mother or mine!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are hot,&rdquo; the doctor remarked, and walked on again. &ldquo;When I was in
+      Italy&mdash;&rdquo; he paused to calculate, &ldquo;when I was at Rome, fifteen years
+      ago, your cousin was a wretched little rickety child. I said to Robert
+      Graywell, &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t get too fond of that girl; she&rsquo;ll never live to grow up.&rsquo; 
+      He said something about taking her away to the mountain air. I didn&rsquo;t
+      think, myself, the mountain air would be of any use. It seems I was wrong.
+      Well! it&rsquo;s a surprise to me to find her&mdash;&rdquo; he waited, and calculated
+      again, &ldquo;to find her grown up to be seventeen years old.&rdquo; To Ovid&rsquo;s ears,
+      there was an inhuman indifference in his tone as he said this, which it
+      was impossible not to resent, by looks, if not in words. Benjulia noticed
+      the impression that he had produced, without in the least understanding
+      it. &ldquo;Your nervous system&rsquo;s in a nasty state,&rdquo; he remarked; &ldquo;you had better
+      take care of yourself. I&rsquo;ll go and look at the monkey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His face was like the face of the impenetrable sphinx; his deep bass voice
+      droned placidly. Ovid&rsquo;s anger had passed by him like the passing of the
+      summer air. &ldquo;Good-bye!&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and take care of those nasty nerves. I
+      tell you again&mdash;they mean mischief.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not altogether willingly, Ovid made his apologies. &ldquo;If I have
+      misunderstood you, I beg your pardon. At the same time, I don&rsquo;t think I am
+      to blame. Why did you mislead me by using that detestable word?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wasn&rsquo;t it the right word?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The right word&mdash;when you only wanted to speak of a poor sickly
+      child! Considering that you took your degree at Oxford&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You could expect nothing better from the disadvantages of my education,&rdquo;
+       said the doctor, finishing the sentence with the grave composure that
+      distinguished him. &ldquo;When I said &lsquo;misbegotten,&rsquo; perhaps I ought to have
+      said &lsquo;half-begotten&rsquo;? Thank you for reminding me. I&rsquo;ll look at the
+      dictionary when I get home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid&rsquo;s mind was not set at ease yet. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s one other thing,&rdquo; he
+      persisted, &ldquo;that seems unaccountable.&rdquo; He started, and seized Benjulia by
+      the arm. &ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; he cried, with a sudden outburst of alarm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; asked the doctor, stopping directly. &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; said Ovid, recoiling from a stain on the gravel walk, caused by
+      the remains of an unlucky beetle, crushed under his friend&rsquo;s heavy foot.
+      &ldquo;You trod on the beetle before I could stop you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia&rsquo;s astonishment at finding an adult male human being (not in a
+      lunatic asylum) anxious to spare the life of a beetle, literally struck
+      him speechless. His medical instincts came to his assistance. &ldquo;You had
+      better leave London at once,&rdquo; he suggested. &ldquo;Get into pure air, and be out
+      of doors all day long.&rdquo; He turned over the remains of the beetle with the
+      end of his stick. &ldquo;The common beetle,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t damaged a
+      Specimen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid returned to the subject, which had suffered interruption through his
+      abortive little act of mercy. &ldquo;You knew my uncle in Italy. It seems
+      strange, Benjulia, that I should never have heard of it before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; I knew your uncle; and,&rdquo; he added with especial emphasis, &ldquo;I knew
+      his wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I can&rsquo;t say I felt any particular interest in either of them.
+      Nothing happened afterwards to put me in mind of the acquaintance till you
+      told me who the young lady was, just now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely my mother must have reminded you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not that I can remember. Women in her position don&rsquo;t much fancy talking
+      of a relative who has married&rdquo;&mdash;he stopped to choose his next words.
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to be rude; suppose we say married beneath him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Reflection told Ovid that this was true. Even in conversation with himself
+      (before the arrival in England of Robert&rsquo;s Will), his mother rarely
+      mentioned her brother&mdash;and still more rarely his family. There was
+      another reason for Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s silence, known only to herself. Robert
+      was in the secret of her debts, and Robert had laid her under heavy
+      pecuniary obligations. The very sound of his name was revolting to his
+      amiable sister: it reminded her of that humiliating sense, known in
+      society as a sense of gratitude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina was still waiting&mdash;and there was nothing further to be gained
+      by returning to the subject of her mother with such a man as Benjulia.
+      Ovid held out his hand to say good-bye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Taking the offered hand readily enough, the doctor repeated his odd
+      question&mdash;&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t been rude, have I?&rdquo;&mdash;with an unpleasant
+      appearance of going through a form purely for form&rsquo;s sake. Ovid&rsquo;s natural
+      generosity of feeling urged him to meet the advance, strangely as it had
+      been made, with a friendly reception.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid it is I who have been rude,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Will you go back with
+      me, and be introduced to Carmina?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia made his acknowledgments in his own remarkable way. &ldquo;No, thank
+      you,&rdquo; he said, quietly, &ldquo;I&rsquo;d rather see the monkey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In the meantime, Zo had become the innocent cause of a difference of
+      opinion between two no less dissimilar personages than Maria and the
+      duenna.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having her mind full of the sick monkey, the child felt a natural
+      curiosity to see the other monkeys who were well. Amiable Miss Minerva
+      consulted her young friend from Italy before she complied with Zo&rsquo;s
+      wishes. Would Miss Carmina like to visit the monkey-house? Ovid&rsquo;s cousin,
+      remembering Ovid&rsquo;s promise, looked towards the end of the walk. He was not
+      returning to her&mdash;he was not even in sight. Carmina resigned herself
+      to circumstances, with a little air of pique which was duly registered in
+      Miss Minerva&rsquo;s memory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arriving at the monkey-house, Teresa appeared in a new character. She
+      surprised her companions by showing an interest in natural history.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are they all monkeys in that big place?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know much
+      about foreign beasts. How do they like it, I wonder?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This comprehensive inquiry was addressed to the governess, as the most
+      learned person present. Miss Minerva referred to her elder pupil with an
+      encouraging smile. &ldquo;Maria will inform you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Her studies in
+      natural history have made her well acquainted with the habits of monkeys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus authorised to exhibit her learning, even the discreet Maria actually
+      blushed with pleasure. It was that young lady&rsquo;s most highly-prized reward
+      to display her knowledge (in imitation of her governess&rsquo;s method of
+      instruction) for the benefit of unfortunate persons of the lower rank,
+      whose education had been imperfectly carried out. The tone of amiable
+      patronage with which she now imparted useful information to a woman old
+      enough to be her grandmother, would have made the hands of the bygone
+      generation burn to box her ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The monkeys are kept in large and airy cages,&rdquo; Maria began; &ldquo;and the
+      temperature is regulated with the utmost care. I shall be happy to point
+      out to you the difference between the monkey and the ape. You are not
+      perhaps aware that the members of the latter family are called &lsquo;Simiadae,&rsquo; 
+      and are without tails and cheek-pouches?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Listening so far in dumb amazement, Teresa checked the flow of information
+      at tails and cheek-pouches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What gibberish is this child talking to me?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;I want to know
+      how the monkeys amuse themselves in that large house?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria&rsquo;s perfect training condescended to enlighten even this state of
+      mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They have ropes to swing on,&rdquo; she answered sweetly; &ldquo;and visitors feed
+      them through the wires of the cage. Branches of trees are also placed for
+      their diversion; reminding many of them no doubt of the vast tropical
+      forests in which, as we learn from travellers, they pass in flocks from
+      tree to tree.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa held up her hand as a signal to stop. &ldquo;A little of You, my young
+      lady, goes a long way,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Consider how much I can hold, before
+      you cram me at this rate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria was bewildered, but nor daunted yet. &ldquo;Pardon me,&rdquo; she pleaded; &ldquo;I
+      fear I don&rsquo;t quite understand you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then there are two of us puzzled,&rdquo; the duenna remarked. <i>&ldquo;I</i> don&rsquo;t
+      understand <i>you.</i> I shan&rsquo;t go into that house. A Christian can&rsquo;t be
+      expected to care about beasts&mdash;but right is right all the world over.
+      Because a monkey is a nasty creature (as I have heard, not even good to
+      eat when he&rsquo;s dead), that&rsquo;s no reason for taking him out of his own
+      country and putting him into a cage. If we are to see creatures in prison,
+      let&rsquo;s see creatures who have deserved it&mdash;men and women, rogues and
+      sluts. The monkeys haven&rsquo;t deserved it. Go in&mdash;I&rsquo;ll wait for you at
+      the door.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Setting her bitterest emphasis on this protest, which expressed inveterate
+      hostility to Maria (using compassion for caged animals as the readiest
+      means at hand), Teresa seated herself in triumph on the nearest bench.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A young person, possessed of no more than ordinary knowledge, might have
+      left the old woman to enjoy the privilege of saying the last word. Miss
+      Minerva&rsquo;s pupil, exuding information as it were at every pore in her skin,
+      had been rudely dried up at a moment&rsquo;s notice. Even earthly perfection has
+      its weak places within reach. Maria lost her temper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will allow me to remind you,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that intelligent curiosity
+      leads us to study the habits of animals that are new to us. We place them
+      in a cage&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa lost <i>her</i> temper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re an animal that&rsquo;s new to me,&rdquo; cried the irate duenna. &ldquo;I never in
+      all my life met with such a child before. If you please, madam governess,
+      put this girl into a cage. My intelligent curiosity wants to study a
+      monkey that&rsquo;s new to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was fortunate for Teresa that she was Carmina&rsquo;s favourite and friend,
+      and, as such, a person to be carefully handled. Miss Minerva stopped the
+      growing quarrel with the readiest discretion and good-feeling. She patted
+      Teresa on the shoulder, and looked at Carmina with a pleasant smile.
+      &ldquo;Worthy old creature! how full of humour she is! The energy of the people,
+      Miss Carmina. I often remark the quaint force with which they express
+      their ideas. No&mdash;not a word of apology, I beg and pray. Maria, my
+      dear, take your sister&rsquo;s hand, and we will follow.&rdquo; She put her arm in
+      Carmina&rsquo;s arm with the happiest mixture of familiarity and respect, and
+      she nodded to Carmina&rsquo;s old companion with the cordiality of a
+      good-humoured friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa was not further irritated by being kept waiting for any length of
+      time. In a few minutes Carmina joined her on the bench.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tired of the beasts already, my pretty one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Worse than tired&mdash;driven away by the smell! Dear old Teresa, why did
+      you speak so roughly to Miss Minerva and Maria?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I hate them! because I hate the family! Was your poor father
+      demented in his last moments, when he trusted you among these detestable
+      people?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina listened in astonishment. &ldquo;You said just the contrary of the
+      family,&rdquo; she exclaimed, &ldquo;only yesterday!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa hung her head in confusion. Her well-meant attempt to reconcile
+      Carmina to the new life on which she had entered was now revealed as a
+      sham, thanks to her own outbreak of temper. The one honest alternative
+      left was to own the truth, and put Carmina on her guard without alarming
+      her, if possible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll never tell a lie again, as long as I live,&rdquo; Teresa declared. &ldquo;You
+      see I didn&rsquo;t like to discourage you. After all, I dare say I&rsquo;m more wrong
+      than right in my opinion. But it <i>is</i> my opinion, for all that. I
+      hate those women, mistress and governess, both alike. There! now it&rsquo;s out.
+      Are you angry with me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am never angry with you, my old friend; I am only a little vexed. Don&rsquo;t
+      say you hate people, after only knowing them for a day or two! I am sure
+      Miss Minerva has been very kind&mdash;to me, as well as to you. I feel
+      ashamed of myself already for having begun by disliking her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa took her young mistress&rsquo;s hand, and patted it compassionately.
+      &ldquo;Poor innocent, if you only had my experience to help you! There are good
+      ones and bad ones among all creatures. I say to you the Gallilees are bad
+      ones! Even their music-master (I saw him this morning) looks like a rogue.
+      You will tell me the poor old gentleman is harmless, surely. I shall not
+      contradict that&mdash;I shall only ask, what is the use of a man who is as
+      weak as water? Oh, I like him, but I distinguish! I also like Zo. But what
+      is a child&mdash;especially when that beastly governess has muddled her
+      unfortunate little head with learning? No, my angel, there&rsquo;s but one
+      person among these people who comforts me, when I think of the day that
+      will part us. Ha! do I see a little colour coming into your cheeks? You
+      sly girl! you know who it is. <i>There</i> is what I call a Man! If I was
+      as young as you are, and as pretty as you are&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A warning gesture from Carmina closed Teresa&rsquo;s lips. Ovid was rapidly
+      approaching them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked a little annoyed, and he made his apologies without mentioning
+      the doctor&rsquo;s name. His cousin was interested enough in him already to ask
+      herself what this meant. Did he really dislike Benjulia, and had there
+      been some disagreement between them?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was the tall doctor so very interesting?&rdquo; she ventured to inquire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not in the least!&rdquo; He answered as if the subject was disagreeable to him&mdash;and
+      yet he returned to it. &ldquo;By-the-by, did you ever hear Benjulia&rsquo;s name
+      mentioned, at home in Italy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never! Did he know my father and mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He says so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, do introduce me to him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We must wait a little. He prefers being introduced to the monkey to-day.
+      Where are Miss Minerva and the children?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa replied. She pointed to the monkey-house, and then drew Ovid aside.
+      &ldquo;Take her to see some more birds, and trust me to keep the governess out
+      of your way,&rdquo; whispered the good creature. &ldquo;Make love&mdash;hot love to
+      her, doctor!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In a minute more the cousins were out of sight. How are you to make love
+      to a young girl, after an acquaintance of a day or two? The question would
+      have been easily answered by some men. It thoroughly puzzled Ovid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am so glad to get back to you!&rdquo; he said, honestly opening his mind to
+      her. &ldquo;Were you half as glad when you saw me return?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew nothing of the devious and serpentine paths by which love finds
+      the way to its ends. It had not occurred to him to approach her with those
+      secret tones and stolen looks which speak for themselves. She answered
+      with the straightforward directness of which he had set the example.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope you don&rsquo;t think me insensible to your kindness,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I am
+      more pleased and more proud than I can tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Proud!&rdquo; Ovid repeated, not immediately understanding her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;My poor father used to say you would be an honour
+      to the family. Ought I not to be proud, when I find such a man taking so
+      much notice of me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked up at him shyly. At that moment, he would have resigned all his
+      prospects of celebrity for the privilege of kissing her. He made another
+      attempt to bring her&mdash;in spirit&mdash;a little nearer to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Carmina, do you remember where you first saw me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can you ask?&mdash;it was in the concert-room. When I saw you there,
+      I remembered passing you in the large Square. It seems a strange
+      coincidence that you should have gone to the very concert that Teresa and
+      I went to by accident.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid ran the risk, and made his confession. &ldquo;It was no coincidence,&rdquo; he
+      said. &ldquo;After our meeting in the Square I followed you to the concert.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This bold avowal would have confused a less innocent girl. It only took
+      Carmina by surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What made you follow us?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Us? Did she suppose he had followed the old woman? Ovid lost no time in
+      setting her right. &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t even see Teresa,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I followed You.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was silent. What did her silence mean? Was she confused, or was she
+      still at a loss to understand him? That morbid sensitiveness, which was
+      one of the most serious signs of his failing health, was by this time
+      sufficiently irritated to hurry him into extremities. &ldquo;Did you ever hear,&rdquo;
+       he asked, &ldquo;of such a thing as love at first sight?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She started. Surprise, confusion, doubt, succeeded each other in rapid
+      changes on her mobile and delicate face. Still silent, she roused her
+      courage, and looked at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If he had returned the look, he would have told the story of his first
+      love without another word to help him. But his shattered nerves unmanned
+      him, at the moment of all others when it was his interest to be bold. The
+      fear that he might have allowed himself to speak too freely&mdash;a
+      weakness which would never have misled him in his days of health and
+      strength&mdash;kept his eyes on the ground. She looked away again with a
+      quick flush of shame. When such a man as Ovid spoke of love at first
+      sight, what an instance of her own vanity it was to have thought that his
+      mind was dwelling on <i>her!</i> He had kindly lowered himself to the
+      level of a girl&rsquo;s intelligence, and had been trying to interest her by
+      talking the language of romance. She was so dissatisfied with herself that
+      she made a movement to turn back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was too bitterly disappointed, on his side, to attempt to prolong the
+      interview. A deadly sense of weakness was beginning to overpower him. It
+      was the inevitable result of his utter want of care for himself. After a
+      sleepless night, he had taken a long walk before breakfast; and to these
+      demands on his failing reserves of strength, he had now added the fatigue
+      of dawdling about a garden. Physically and mentally he had no energy left.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t mean it,&rdquo; he said to Carmina sadly; &ldquo;I am afraid I have offended
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how little you know me,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;if you think that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This time their eyes met. The truth dawned on her&mdash;and he saw it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took her hand. The clammy coldness of his grasp startled her. &ldquo;Do you
+      still wonder why I followed you?&rdquo; he asked. The words were so faintly
+      uttered that she could barely hear them. Heavy drops of perspiration stood
+      on his forehead; his face faded to a gray and ghastly whiteness&mdash;he
+      staggered, and tried desperately to catch at the branch of a tree near
+      them. She threw her arms round him. With all her little strength she tried
+      to hold him up. Her utmost effort only availed to drag him to the grass
+      plot by their side, and to soften his fall. Even as the cry for help
+      passed her lips, she saw help coming. A tall man was approaching her&mdash;not
+      running, even when he saw what had happened; only stalking with long
+      strides. He was followed by one of the keepers of the gardens. Doctor
+      Benjulia had his sick monkey to take care of. He kept the creature
+      sheltered under his long frock-coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t do that, if you please,&rdquo; was all the doctor said, as Carmina tried
+      to lift Ovid&rsquo;s head from the grass. He spoke with his customary composure,
+      and laid his hand on the heart of the fainting man, as coolly as if it had
+      been the heart of a stranger. &ldquo;Which of you two can run the fastest?&rdquo; he
+      asked, looking backwards and forwards between Carmina and the keeper. &ldquo;I
+      want some brandy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The refreshment room was within sight. Before the keeper quite understood
+      what was required of him, Carmina was speeding over the grass like
+      Atalanta herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia looked after her, with his usual grave attention. &ldquo;That wench can
+      run,&rdquo; he said to himself, and turned once more to Ovid. &ldquo;In his state of
+      health, he&rsquo;s been fool enough to over-exert himself.&rdquo; So he disposed of
+      the case in his own mind. Having done that, he remembered the monkey,
+      deposited for the time being on the grass. &ldquo;Too cold for him,&rdquo; he
+      remarked, with more appearance of interest than he had shown yet. &ldquo;Here,
+      keeper! Pick up the monkey till I&rsquo;m ready to take him again.&rdquo; The man
+      hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He might bite me, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pick him up!&rdquo; the doctor reiterated; &ldquo;he can&rsquo;t bite anybody, after what
+      I&rsquo;ve done to him.&rdquo; The monkey was indeed in a state of stupor. The keeper
+      obeyed his instructions, looking half stupefied himself: he seemed to be
+      even more afraid of the doctor than of the monkey. &ldquo;Do you think I&rsquo;m the
+      Devil?&rdquo; Benjulia asked with dismal irony. The man looked as if he would
+      say &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; if he dared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina came running back with the brandy. The doctor smelt it first, and
+      then took notice of her. &ldquo;Out of breath?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you give him the brandy?&rdquo; she answered impatiently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strong lungs,&rdquo; Benjulia proceeded, sitting down cross-legged by Ovid, and
+      administering the stimulant without hurrying himself. &ldquo;Some girls would
+      not have been able to speak, after such a run as you have had. I didn&rsquo;t
+      think much of you or your lungs when you were a baby.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he coming to himself?&rdquo; Carmina asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know what a pump is?&rdquo; Benjulia rejoined. &ldquo;Very well; a pump
+      sometimes gets out of order. Give the carpenter time, and he&rsquo;ll put it
+      right again.&rdquo; He let his mighty hand drop on Ovid&rsquo;s breast. <i>&ldquo;This</i>
+      pump is out of order; and I&rsquo;m the carpenter. Give me time, and I&rsquo;ll set it
+      right again. You&rsquo;re not a bit like your mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Watching eagerly for the slightest signs of recovery in Ovid&rsquo;s face,
+      Carmina detected a faint return of colour. She was so relieved that she
+      was able to listen to the doctor&rsquo;s oddly discursive talk, and even to join
+      in it. &ldquo;Some of our friends used to think I was like my father,&rdquo; she
+      answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did they?&rdquo; said Benjulia&mdash;and shut his thin-lipped mouth as if he
+      was determined to drop the subject for ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid stirred feebly, and half opened his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia got up. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t want me any longer,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Now, Mr.
+      Keeper, give me back the monkey.&rdquo; He dismissed the man, and tucked the
+      monkey under one arm as if it had been a bundle. &ldquo;There are your friends,&rdquo;
+       he resumed, pointing to the end of the walk. &ldquo;Good-day!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina stopped him. Too anxious to stand on ceremony, she laid her hand
+      on his arm. He shook it off&mdash;not angrily: just brushing it away, as
+      he might have brushed away the ash of his cigar or a splash of mud in the
+      street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does this fainting fit mean?&rdquo; she asked timidly. &ldquo;Is Ovid going to
+      be ill?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seriously ill&mdash;unless you do the right thing with him, and do it at
+      once.&rdquo; He walked away. She followed him, humbly and yet resolutely. &ldquo;Tell
+      me, if you please,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;what we are to do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked back over his shoulder. &ldquo;Send him away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She returned, and knelt down by Ovid&mdash;still slowly reviving. With a
+      fond and gentle hand, she wiped the moisture from his forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just as we were beginning to understand each other!&rdquo; she said to herself,
+      with a sad little sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Two days passed. In spite of the warnings that he had received, Ovid
+      remained in London.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The indisputable authority of Benjulia had no more effect on him than the
+      unanswerable arguments of Mrs. Gallilee. &ldquo;Recent circumstances&rdquo; (as his
+      mother expressed it) &ldquo;had strengthened his infatuated resistance to
+      reason.&rdquo; The dreaded necessity for Teresa&rsquo;s departure had been hastened by
+      a telegram from Italy: Ovid felt for Carmina&rsquo;s distress with sympathies
+      which made her dearer to him than ever. On the second morning after the
+      visit to the Zoological Gardens, her fortitude had been severely tried.
+      She had found the telegram under her pillow, enclosed in a farewell
+      letter. Teresa had gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Carmina,&mdash;I have kissed you, and cried over you, and I am writing
+      good-bye as well as my poor eyes will let me. Oh, my heart&rsquo;s darling, I
+      cannot be cruel enough to wake you, and see you suffer! Forgive me for
+      going away, with only this dumb farewell. I am so fond of you&mdash;that
+      is my only excuse. While he still lives, my helpless old man has his claim
+      on me. Write by every post, and trust me to write back&mdash;and remember
+      what I said when I spoke of Ovid. Love the good man who loves <i>you;</i>
+      and try to make the best of the others. They cannot surely be cruel to the
+      poor angel who depends on their kindness. Oh, how hard life is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The paper was blotted, and the rest was illegible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The miserable day of Teresa&rsquo;s departure was passed by Carmina in the
+      solitude of her room: gently and firmly, she refused to see anyone. This
+      strange conduct added to Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s anxieties. Already absorbed in
+      considering Ovid&rsquo;s obstinacy, and the means of overcoming it, she was now
+      confronted by a resolute side in the character of her niece, which took
+      her by surprise. There might be difficulties to come, in managing Carmina,
+      which she had not foreseen. Meanwhile, she was left to act on her own
+      unaided discretion in the serious matter of her son&rsquo;s failing health.
+      Benjulia had refused to help her; he was too closely occupied in his
+      laboratory to pay or receive visits. &ldquo;I have already given my advice&rdquo; (the
+      doctor wrote). &ldquo;Send him away. When he has had a month&rsquo;s change, let me
+      see his letters; and then, if I have anything more to say, I will tell you
+      what I think of your son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Left in this position, Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s hard self-denial yielded to the one
+      sound conclusion that lay before her. The only influence that could be now
+      used over Ovid, with the smallest chance of success, was the influence of
+      Carmina. Three days after Teresa&rsquo;s departure, she invited her niece to
+      take tea in her own boudoir. Carmina found her reading. &ldquo;A charming book,&rdquo;
+       she said, as she laid it down, &ldquo;on a most interesting subject,
+      Geographical Botany. The author divides the earth into twenty-five
+      botanical regions&mdash;but, I forget; you are not like Maria; you don&rsquo;t
+      care about these things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am so ignorant,&rdquo; Carmina pleaded. &ldquo;Perhaps, I may know better when I
+      get older.&rdquo; A book on the table attracted her by its beautiful binding.
+      She took it up. Mrs. Gallilee looked at her with compassionate good
+      humour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Science again, my dear,&rdquo; she said facetiously, &ldquo;inviting you in a pretty
+      dress! You have taken up the &lsquo;Curiosities of Coprolites.&rsquo; That book is one
+      of my distinctions&mdash;a presentation copy from the author.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are Coprolites?&rdquo; Carmina asked, trying to inform herself on the
+      subject of her aunt&rsquo;s distinctions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still good-humoured, but with an effort that began to appear, Mrs.
+      Gallilee lowered herself to the level of her niece.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coprolites,&rdquo; she explained, &ldquo;are the fossilised indigestions of extinct
+      reptiles. The great philosopher who has written that book has discovered
+      scales, bones, teeth, and shells&mdash;the undigested food of those
+      interesting Saurians. What a man! what a field for investigation! Tell me
+      about your own reading. What have you found in the library?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very interesting books&mdash;at least to me,&rdquo; Carmina answered. &ldquo;I have
+      found many volumes of poetry. Do you ever read poetry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee laid herself back in her chair, and submitted patiently to
+      her niece&rsquo;s simplicity. &ldquo;Poetry?&rdquo; she repeated, in accents of resignation.
+      &ldquo;Oh, good heavens!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Unlucky Carmina tried a more promising topic. &ldquo;What beautiful flowers you
+      have in the drawing-room!&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing remarkable, my dear. Everybody has flowers in their drawing-rooms&mdash;they
+      are part of the furniture.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you arrange them yourself, aunt?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee still endured it. &ldquo;The florist&rsquo;s man,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;does all
+      that. I sometimes dissect flowers, but I never trouble myself to arrange
+      them. What would be the use of the man if I did?&rdquo; This view of the
+      question struck Carmina dumb. Mrs. Gallilee went on. &ldquo;By-the-by, talking
+      of flowers reminds one of other superfluities. Have you tried the piano in
+      your room? Will it do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The tone is quite perfect!&rdquo; Carmina answered with enthusiasm. &ldquo;Did you
+      choose it?&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee looked as if she was going to say &ldquo;Good
+      Heavens!&rdquo; again, and perhaps to endure it no longer. Carmina was too
+      simple to interpret these signs in the right way. Why should her aunt not
+      choose a piano? &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you like music?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee made a last effort. &ldquo;When you see a little more of society,
+      my child, you will know that one <i>must</i> like music. So again with
+      pictures&mdash;one <i>must</i> go to the Royal Academy Exhibition. So
+      again&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before she could mention any more social sacrifices, the servant came in
+      with a letter, and stopped her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee looked at the address. The weary indifference of her manner
+      changed to vivid interest, the moment she saw the handwriting. &ldquo;From the
+      Professor!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;Excuse me, for one minute.&rdquo; She read the
+      letter, and closed it again with a sigh of relief. &ldquo;I knew it!&rdquo; she said
+      to herself. &ldquo;I have always maintained that the albuminoid substance of
+      frog&rsquo;s eggs is insufficient (viewed as nourishment) to transform a tadpole
+      into a frog&mdash;and, at last, the Professor owns that I am right. I beg
+      your pardon, Carmina; I am carried away by a subject that I have been
+      working at in my stolen intervals for weeks past. Let me give you some
+      tea. I have asked Miss Minerva to join us. What is keeping her, I wonder?
+      She is usually so punctual. I suppose Zoe has been behaving badly again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In a few minutes more, the governess herself confirmed this maternal
+      forewarning of the truth. Zo had declined to commit to memory &ldquo;the
+      political consequences of the granting of Magna Charta&rdquo;&mdash;and now
+      stood reserved for punishment, when her mother &ldquo;had time to attend to it.&rdquo;
+       Mrs. Gallilee at once disposed of this little responsibility. &ldquo;Bread and
+      water for tea,&rdquo; she said, and proceeded to the business of the evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish to speak to you both,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;on the subject of my son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The two persons addressed waited in silence to hear more. Carmina&rsquo;s head
+      drooped: she looked down. Miss Minerva attentively observed Mrs. Gallilee.
+      &ldquo;Why am I invited to hear what she has to say about her son?&rdquo; was the
+      question which occurred to the governess. &ldquo;Is she afraid that Carmina
+      might tell me about it, if I was not let into the family secrets?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Admirably reasoned, and correctly guessed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee had latterly observed that the governess was insinuating
+      herself into the confidence of her niece&mdash;that is to say, into the
+      confidence of a young lady, whose father was generally reported to have
+      died in possession of a handsome fortune. Personal influence, once
+      obtained over an heiress, is not infrequently misused. To check the
+      further growth of a friendship of this sort (without openly offending Miss
+      Minerva) was an imperative duty. Mrs. Gallilee saw her way to the discreet
+      accomplishment of that object. Her niece and her governess were interested&mdash;diversely
+      interested&mdash;in Ovid. If she invited them both together, to consult
+      with her on the delicate subject of her son, there would be every chance
+      of exciting some difference of opinion, sufficiently irritating to begin
+      the process of estrangement, by keeping them apart when they had left the
+      tea-table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is most important that there should be no misunderstanding among us,&rdquo;
+       Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. &ldquo;Let me set the example of speaking without
+      reserve. We all three know that Ovid persists in remaining in London&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She paused, on the point of finishing the sentence. Although she <i>had</i>
+      converted a Professor, Mrs. Gallilee was still only a woman. There did
+      enter into her other calculations, the possibility of exciting some
+      accidental betrayal of her governess&rsquo;s passion for her son. On alluding to
+      Ovid, she turned suddenly to Miss Minerva. &ldquo;I am sure you will excuse my
+      troubling you with family anxieties,&rdquo; she said&mdash;&ldquo;especially when they
+      are connected with the health of my son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was cleverly done, but it laboured under one disadvantage. Miss Minerva
+      had no idea of what the needless apology meant, having no suspicion of the
+      discovery of her secret by her employer. But to feel herself baffled in
+      trying to penetrate Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s motives was enough, of itself, to put
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s governess on her guard for the rest of the evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You honour me, madam, by admitting me to your confidence&rdquo;&mdash;was what
+      she said. &ldquo;Trip me up, you cat, if you can!&rdquo;&mdash;was what she thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee resumed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We know that Ovid persists in remaining in London, when change of air and
+      scene are absolutely necessary to the recovery of his health. And we know
+      why. Carmina, my child, don&rsquo;t think for a moment that I blame you! don&rsquo;t
+      even suppose that I blame my son. You are too charming a person not to
+      excuse, nay even to justify, any man&rsquo;s admiration. But let us (as we hard
+      old people say) look the facts in the face. If Ovid had not seen you, he
+      would be now on the health-giving sea, on his way to Spain and Italy. You
+      are the innocent cause of his obstinate indifference, his most deplorable
+      and dangerous disregard of the duty which he owes to himself. He refuses
+      to listen to his mother, he sets the opinion of his skilled medical
+      colleague at defiance. But one person has any influence over him now.&rdquo; She
+      paused again, and tried to trip up the governess once more. &ldquo;Miss Minerva,
+      let me appeal to You. I regard you as a member of our family; I have the
+      sincerest admiration of your tact and good sense. Am I exceeding the
+      limits of delicacy, if I say plainly to my niece, Persuade Ovid to go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If Carmina had possessed an elder sister, with a plain personal appearance
+      and an easy conscience, not even that sister could have matched the
+      perfect composure with which Miss Minerva replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t possess your happy faculty of expressing yourself, Mrs. Gallilee.
+      But, if I had been in your place, I should have said to the best of my
+      poor ability exactly what you have said now.&rdquo; She bent her head with a
+      graceful gesture of respect, and looked at Carmina with a gentle sisterly
+      interest while she stirred her tea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the very opening of the skirmish, Mrs. Gallilee was defeated. She had
+      failed to provoke the slightest sign of jealousy, or even of ill-temper.
+      Unquestionably the most crafty and most cruel woman of the two&mdash;possessing
+      the most dangerously deceitful manner, and the most mischievous readiness
+      of language&mdash;she was, nevertheless, Miss Minerva&rsquo;s inferior in the
+      one supreme capacity of which they both stood in need, the capacity for
+      self-restraint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She showed this inferiority on expressing her thanks. The underlying
+      malice broke through the smooth surface that was intended to hide it. &ldquo;I
+      am apt to doubt myself,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;and such sound encouragement as yours
+      always relieves me. Of course I don&rsquo;t ask you for more than a word of
+      advice. Of course I don&rsquo;t expect <i>you</i> to persuade Ovid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not!&rdquo; Miss Minerva agreed. &ldquo;May I ask for a little more sugar
+      in my tea?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee turned to Carmina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, my dear? I have spoken to you, as I might have spoken to one of my
+      own daughters, if she had been of your age. Tell me frankly, in return,
+      whether I may count on your help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still pale and downcast, Carmina obeyed. &ldquo;I will do my best, if you wish
+      it. But&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes? Go on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She still hesitated. Mrs. Gallilee tried gentle remonstrance. &ldquo;My child,
+      surely you are not afraid of me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was certainly afraid. But she controlled herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are Ovid&rsquo;s mother, and I am only his cousin,&rdquo; she resumed. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+      like to hear you say that my influence over him is greater than yours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was far from the poor girl&rsquo;s intention; but there was an implied rebuke
+      in this. In her present state of irritation, Mrs. Gallilee felt it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come! come!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t affect to be ignorant, my dear, of what you
+      know perfectly well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina lifted her head. For the first time in the experience of the two
+      elder women, this gentle creature showed that she could resent an insult.
+      The fine spirit that was in her fired her eyes, and fixed them firmly on
+      her aunt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you accuse me of deceit?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us call it false modesty,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee retorted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina rose without another word&mdash;and walked out of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the extremity of her surprise, Mrs. Gallilee appealed to Miss Minerva.
+      &ldquo;Is she in a passion?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She didn&rsquo;t bang the door,&rdquo; the governess quietly remarked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not joking, Miss Minerva.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not joking either, madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The tone of that answer implied an uncompromising assertion of equality.
+      You are not to suppose (it said) that a lady drops below your level,
+      because she receives a salary and teaches your children. Mrs. Gallilee was
+      so angry, by this time, that she forgot the importance of preventing a
+      conference between Miss Minerva and her niece. For once, she was the
+      creature of impulse&mdash;the overpowering impulse to dismiss her insolent
+      governess from her hospitable table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I offer you another cup of tea?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you&mdash;no more. May I return to my pupils?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By all means!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina had not been five minutes in her own room before she heard a knock
+      at the door. Had Mrs. Gallilee followed her? &ldquo;Who is there?&rdquo; she asked.
+      And a voice outside answered,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only Miss Minerva!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid I have startled you?&rdquo; said the governess, carefully closing
+      the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought it was my aunt,&rdquo; Carmina answered, as simply as a child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you been crying?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn&rsquo;t help it, Miss Minerva.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee spoke cruelly to you&mdash;I don&rsquo;t wonder at your feeling
+      angry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina gently shook her head. &ldquo;I have been crying,&rdquo; she explained,
+      &ldquo;because I am sorry and ashamed. How can I make it up with my aunt? Shall
+      I go back at once and beg her pardon? I think you are my friend, Miss
+      Minerva. Will you advise me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was so prettily and innocently said that even the governess was touched&mdash;for
+      a moment. &ldquo;Shall I prove to you that I am your friend?&rdquo; she proposed. &ldquo;I
+      advise you not to go back yet to your aunt&mdash;and I will tell you why.
+      Mrs. Gallilee bears malice; she is a thoroughly unforgiving woman. And I
+      should be the first to feel it, if she knew what I have just said to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Miss Minerva! you don&rsquo;t think that I would betray your confidence?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, my dear, I don&rsquo;t. I felt attracted towards you, when we first met.
+      You didn&rsquo;t return the feeling&mdash;you (very naturally) disliked me. I am
+      ugly and ill-tempered: and, if there is anything good in me, it doesn&rsquo;t
+      show itself on the surface. Yes! yes! I believe you are beginning to
+      understand me. If I can make your life here a little happier, as time goes
+      on, I shall be only too glad to do it.&rdquo; She put her long yellow hands on
+      either side of Carmina&rsquo;s head, and kissed her forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The poor child threw her arms round Miss Minerva&rsquo;s neck, and cried her
+      heart out on the bosom of the woman who was deceiving her. &ldquo;I have nobody
+      left, now Teresa has gone,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Oh, do try to be kind to me&mdash;I
+      feel so friendless and so lonely!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva neither moved nor spoke. She waited, and let the girl cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her heavy black eyebrows gathered into a frown; her sallow face deepened
+      in colour. She was in a state of rebellion against herself. Through all
+      the hardening influences of the woman&rsquo;s life&mdash;through the
+      fortifications against good which watchful evil builds in human hearts&mdash;that
+      innocent outburst of trust and grief had broken its way; and had purified
+      for a while the fetid inner darkness with divine light. She had entered
+      the room, with her own base interests to serve. In her small sordid way
+      she, like her employer, was persecuted by debts&mdash;miserable debts to
+      sellers of expensive washes, which might render her ugly complexion more
+      passable in Ovid&rsquo;s eyes; to makers of costly gloves, which might show Ovid
+      the shape of her hands, and hide their colour; to skilled workmen in fine
+      leather, who could tempt Ovid to look at her high instep, and her fine
+      ankle&mdash;the only beauties that she could reveal to the only man whom
+      she cared to please. For the time, those importunate creditors ceased to
+      threaten her. For the time, what she had heard in the conservatory, while
+      they were reading the Will, lost its tempting influence. She remained in
+      the room for half an hour more&mdash;and she left it without having
+      borrowed a farthing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you easier now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina dried her eyes, and looked shyly at Miss Minerva. &ldquo;I have been
+      treating you as if I had a sister,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t think me too
+      familiar, I hope?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish I was your sister, God knows!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The words were hardly out of her mouth before she was startled by her own
+      fervour. &ldquo;Shall I tell you what to do with Mrs. Gallilee?&rdquo; she said
+      abruptly. &ldquo;Write her a little note.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes! yes! and you will take it for me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina&rsquo;s eyes brightened through her tears, the suggestion was such a
+      relief! In a minute the note was written: &ldquo;My dear Aunt, I have behaved
+      very badly, and I am very much ashamed of it. May I trust to your kind
+      indulgence to forgive me? I will try to be worthier of your kindness for
+      the future; and I sincerely beg your pardon.&rdquo; She signed her name in
+      breathless haste. &ldquo;Please take it at once!&rdquo; she said eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva smiled. &ldquo;If I take it,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I shall do harm instead of
+      good&mdash;I shall be accused of interfering. Give it to one of the
+      servants. Not yet! When Mrs. Gallilee is angry, she doesn&rsquo;t get over it so
+      soon as you seem to think. Leave her to dabble in science first,&rdquo; said the
+      governess in tones of immeasurable contempt. &ldquo;When she has half stifled
+      herself with some filthy smell, or dissected some wretched insect or
+      flower, she may be in a better humour. Wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina thought of the happy days at home in Italy, when her father used
+      to laugh at her little outbreaks of temper, and good Teresa only shrugged
+      her shoulders. What a change&mdash;oh, me, what a change for the worse!
+      She drew from her bosom a locket, hung round her neck by a thin gold chain&mdash;and
+      opened it, and kissed the glass over the miniature portraits inside.
+      &ldquo;Would you like to see them?&rdquo; she said to Miss Minerva. &ldquo;My mother&rsquo;s
+      likeness was painted for me by my father; and then he had his photograph
+      taken to match it. I open my portraits and look at them, while I say my
+      prayers. It&rsquo;s almost like having them alive again, sometimes. Oh, if I
+      only had my father to advise me now&mdash;!&rdquo; Her heart swelled&mdash;but
+      she kept back the tears: she was learning that self-restraint, poor soul,
+      already! &ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;I ought not to want advice. After that
+      fainting-fit in the Gardens, if I can persuade Ovid to leave us, I ought
+      to do it&mdash;and I will do it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva crossed the room, and looked out of window. Carmina had
+      roused the dormant jealousy; Carmina had fatally weakened the good
+      influences which she had herself produced. The sudden silence of her new
+      friend perplexed her. She too went to the window. &ldquo;Do you think it would
+      be taking a liberty?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A short answer&mdash;and still looking out of window! Carmina tried again.
+      &ldquo;Besides, there are my aunt&rsquo;s wishes to consider. After my bad behaviour&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva turned round from the window sharply. &ldquo;Of course! There can&rsquo;t
+      be a doubt of it.&rdquo; Her tone softened a little. &ldquo;You are young, Carmina&mdash;I
+      suppose I may call you by your name&mdash;you are young and simple. Do
+      those innocent eyes of yours ever see below the surface?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t quite understand you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think your aunt&rsquo;s only motive in wishing Mr. Ovid Vere to leave
+      London is anxiety about his health? Do you feel no suspicion that she
+      wants to keep him away from You?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina toyed with her locket, in an embarrassment which she was quite
+      unable to disguise. &ldquo;Are you afraid to trust me?&rdquo; Miss Minerva asked. That
+      reproach opened the girl&rsquo;s lips instantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid to tell you how foolish I am,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Perhaps, I
+      still feel a little strangeness between us? It seems to be so formal to
+      call you Miss Minerva. I don&rsquo;t know what your Christian name is. Will you
+      tell me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva replied rather unwillingly. &ldquo;My name is Frances. Don&rsquo;t call
+      me Fanny!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because it&rsquo;s too absurd to be endured! What does the mere sound of Fanny
+      suggest? A flirting, dancing creature&mdash;plump and fair, and playful
+      and pretty!&rdquo; She went to the looking-glass, and pointed disdainfully to
+      the reflection of herself. &ldquo;Sickening to think of,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;when you
+      look at that. Call me Frances&mdash;a man&rsquo;s name, with only the difference
+      between an i and an e. No sentiment in it; hard, like me. Well, what was
+      it you didn&rsquo;t like to say of yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina dropped her voice to a whisper. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s no use asking me what I do
+      see, or don&rsquo;t see, in my aunt,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;I am afraid we shall never
+      be&mdash;what we ought to be to each other. When she came to that concert,
+      and sat by me and looked at me&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped, and shuddered over the
+      recollection of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva urged her to go on&mdash;first, by a gesture; then by a
+      suggestion: &ldquo;They said you fainted under the heat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t feel the heat. I felt a horrid creeping all over me. Before I
+      looked at her, mind!&mdash;when I only knew that somebody was sitting next
+      to me. And then, I did look round. Her eyes and my eyes flashed into each
+      other. In that one moment, I lost all sense of myself as if I was dead. I
+      can only tell you of it in that way. It was a dreadful surprise to me to
+      remember it&mdash;and a dreadful pain&mdash;when they brought me to myself
+      again. Though I do look so little and so weak, I am stronger than people
+      think; I never fainted before. My aunt is&mdash;how can I say it properly?&mdash;hard
+      to get on with since that time. Is there something wicked in my nature? I
+      do believe she feels in the same way towards me. Yes; I dare say it&rsquo;s
+      imagination, but it&rsquo;s as bad as reality for all that. Oh, I am sure you
+      are right&mdash;she does want to keep Ovid out of my way!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because she doesn&rsquo;t like you?&rdquo; said Miss Minerva. &ldquo;Is that the only
+      reason you can think of?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What other reason can there be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The governess summoned her utmost power of self-restraint. She needed it,
+      even to speak of the bare possibility of Carmina&rsquo;s marriage to Ovid, as if
+      it was only a matter of speculative interest to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some people object to marriages between cousins,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You are
+      cousins. Some people object to marriages between Catholics and
+      Protestants. You are a Catholic&mdash;&rdquo; No! She could not trust herself to
+      refer to him directly; she went on to the next sentence. &ldquo;And there might
+      be some other reason,&rdquo; she resumed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know what that is?&rdquo; Carmina asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No more than you do&mdash;thus far.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She spoke the plain truth. Thanks to the dog&rsquo;s interruption, and to the
+      necessity of saving herself from discovery, the last clauses of the Will
+      had been read in her absence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you even guess what it is?&rdquo; Carmina persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee is very ambitious,&rdquo; the governess replied: &ldquo;and her son has
+      a fortune of his own. She may wish him to marry a lady of high rank. But&mdash;no&mdash;she
+      is always in need of money. In some way, money may be concerned in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In what way?&rdquo; Carmina asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have already told you,&rdquo; Miss Minerva answered, &ldquo;that I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before the conversation could proceed, they were interrupted by the
+      appearance of Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s maid, with a message from the schoolroom.
+      Miss Maria wanted a little help in her Latin lesson. Noticing Carmina&rsquo;s
+      letter, as she advanced to the door, it struck Miss Minerva that the woman
+      might deliver it. &ldquo;Is Mrs. Gallilee at home?&rdquo; she asked. Mrs. Gallilee had
+      just gone out. &ldquo;One of her scientific lectures, I suppose,&rdquo; said Miss
+      Minerva to Carmina. &ldquo;Your note must wait till she comes back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door closed on the governess&mdash;and the lady&rsquo;s-maid took a liberty.
+      She remained in the room; and produced a morsel of folded paper, hitherto
+      concealed from view. Smirking and smiling, she handed the paper to
+      Carmina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From Mr. Ovid, Miss.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      &ldquo;Pray come to me; I am waiting for you in the garden of the Square.&rdquo;
+     </h3>
+    <p>
+      In those two lines, Ovid&rsquo;s note began and ended. Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s maid&mdash;deeply
+      interested in an appointment which was not without precedent in her own
+      experience&mdash;ventured on an expression of sympathy, before she
+      returned to the servants&rsquo; hall. &ldquo;Please to excuse me, Miss; I hope Mr.
+      Ovid isn&rsquo;t ill? He looked sadly pale, I thought. Allow me to give you your
+      hat.&rdquo; Carmina thanked her, and hurried downstairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid was waiting at the gate of the Square&mdash;and he did indeed look
+      wretchedly ill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was useless to make inquiries; they only seemed to irritate him. &ldquo;I am
+      better already, now you have come to me.&rdquo; He said that, and led the way to
+      a sheltered seat among the trees. In the later evening-time the Square was
+      almost empty. Two middle-aged ladies, walking up and down (who
+      considerately remembered their own youth, and kept out of the way), and a
+      boy rigging a model yacht (who was too closely occupied to notice them),
+      were the only persons in the enclosure besides themselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does my mother know that you have come here?&rdquo; Ovid asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee has gone out. I didn&rsquo;t stop to think of it, when I got your
+      letter. Am I doing wrong?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid took her hand. &ldquo;Is it doing wrong to relieve me of anxieties that I
+      have no courage to endure? When we meet in the house either my mother or
+      her obedient servant, Miss Minerva, is sure to interrupt us. At last, my
+      darling, I have got you to myself! You know that I love you. Why can&rsquo;t I
+      look into your heart, and see what secrets it is keeping from me? I try to
+      hope; but I want some little encouragement. Carmina! shall I ever hear you
+      say that you love me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She trembled, and turned away her head. Her own words to the governess
+      were in her mind; her own conviction of the want of all sympathy between
+      his mother and herself made her shrink from answering him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand your silence.&rdquo; With those words he dropped her hand, and
+      looked at her no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was sadly, not bitterly spoken. She attempted to find excuses; she
+      showed but too plainly how she pitied him. &ldquo;If I only had myself to think
+      of&mdash;&rdquo; Her voice failed her. A new life came into his eyes, the colour
+      rose in his haggard face: even those few faltering words had encouraged
+      him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She tried again to make him understand her. &ldquo;I am so afraid of distressing
+      you, Ovid; and I am so anxious not to make mischief between you and your
+      mother&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What has my mother to do with it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She went on, without noticing the interruption. &ldquo;You won&rsquo;t think me
+      ungrateful? We had better speak of something else. Only this evening, your
+      mother sent for me, and&mdash;don&rsquo;t be angry!&mdash;I am afraid she might
+      be vexed if she knew what you have been saying to me. Perhaps I am wrong?
+      Perhaps she only thinks I am too young. Oh, Ovid, how you look at me! Your
+      mother hasn&rsquo;t said in so many words&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What has she said?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In that question she saw the chance of speaking to him of other interests
+      than the interests of love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must go away to another climate,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;and your mother tells me
+      I must persuade you to do it. I obey her with a heavy heart. Dear Ovid,
+      you know how I shall miss you; you know what a loss it will be to me, when
+      you say good-bye&mdash;but there is only one way to get well again. I
+      entreat you to take that way! Your mother thinks I have some influence
+      over you. Have I any influence?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Judge for yourself,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;You wish me to leave you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For your own sake. Only for your own sake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you wish me to come back again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s cruel to ask the question!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It rests with you, Carmina. Send me away when you like, and where you
+      like. But, before I go, give me my one reason for making the sacrifice. No
+      change will do anything for me, no climate will restore my health&mdash;unless
+      you give me your love. I am old enough to know myself; I have thought of
+      it by day and by night. Am I cruel to press you in this way? I will only
+      say one word more. It doesn&rsquo;t matter what becomes of me&mdash;if you
+      refuse to be my wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Without experience, without advice&mdash;with her own heart protesting
+      against her silence&mdash;the restraint that she had laid on herself grew
+      harder and harder to endure. The tears rose in her eyes. He saw them; they
+      embittered his mind against his mother. With a darkening face he rose, and
+      walked up and down before her, struggling with himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is my mother&rsquo;s doing,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His tone terrified her. The dread, present to her mind all through the
+      interview, of making herself a cause of estrangement between mother and
+      son, so completely overcame her that she even made an attempt to defend
+      Mrs. Gallilee! At the first words, he sat down by her again. For a moment,
+      he scrutinised her face without mercy&mdash;and then repented of his own
+      severity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor child,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you are afraid to tell me what has happened. I
+      won&rsquo;t press you to speak against your own inclinations. It would be cruel
+      and needless&mdash;I have got at the truth at last. In the one hope of my
+      life, my mother is my enemy. She is bent on separating us; she shall not
+      succeed. I won&rsquo;t leave you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina looked at him. His eyes dropped before her, in confusion and
+      shame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you angry with me?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No reproaches could have touched his heart as that question touched it.
+      &ldquo;Angry with you? Oh, my darling, if you only knew how angry I am with
+      myself! It cuts me to the heart to see how I have distressed you. I am a
+      miserable selfish wretch; I don&rsquo;t deserve your love. Forgive me, and
+      forget me. I will make the best atonement I can, Carmina. I will go away
+      to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Under hard trial, she had preserved her self-control. She had resisted
+      him; she had resisted herself. His sudden submission disarmed her in an
+      instant. With a low cry of love and fear she threw her arms round his
+      neck, and laid her burning cheek against his face. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t help it,&rdquo; she
+      whispered; &ldquo;oh, Ovid, don&rsquo;t despise me!&rdquo; His arms closed round her; his
+      lips were pressed to hers. &ldquo;Kiss me,&rdquo; he said. She kissed him, trembling
+      in his embrace. That innocent self-abandonment did not plead with him in
+      vain. He released her&mdash;and only held her hand. There was silence
+      between them; long, happy silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was the first to speak again. &ldquo;How can I go away now?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She only smiled at that reckless forgetfulness of the promise, by which he
+      had bound himself a few minutes since. &ldquo;What did you tell me,&rdquo; she asked
+      playfully, &ldquo;when you called yourself by hard names, and said you didn&rsquo;t
+      deserve my love?&rdquo; Her smile vanished softly, and left only a look of
+      tender entreaty in its place. &ldquo;Set me an example of firmness, Ovid&mdash;don&rsquo;t
+      leave it all to me! Remember what you have made me say. Remember&rdquo;&mdash;she
+      only hesitated for a moment&mdash;&ldquo;remember what an interest I have in you
+      now. I love you, Ovid. Say you will go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He said it gratefully. &ldquo;My life is yours; my will is yours. Decide for me,
+      and I will begin my journey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was so impressed by her sense of this new responsibility, that she
+      answered him as gravely as if she had been his wife. &ldquo;I must give you time
+      to pack up,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say time to be with You!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She fell into thought. He asked if she was still considering when to send
+      him away. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;it isn&rsquo;t that. I was wondering at myself. What
+      is it that makes a great man like you so fond of me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His arm stole round her waist. He could just see her in the darkening
+      twilight under the trees; the murmuring of the leaves was the only sound
+      near them&mdash;his kisses lingered on her face. She sighed softly. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
+      make it too hard for me to send you away!&rdquo; she whispered. He raised her,
+      and put her arm in his. &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we will walk a little in the
+      cool air.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They returned to the subject of his departure. It was still early in the
+      week. She inquired if Saturday would be too soon to begin his journey. No:
+      he felt it, too&mdash;the longer they delayed, the harder the parting
+      would be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you thought yet where you will go?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must begin with a sea-voyage,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;Long railway journeys, in
+      my present state, will only do me harm. The difficulty is where to go to.
+      I have been to America; India is too hot; Australia is too far. Benjulia
+      has suggested Canada.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he mentioned the doctor&rsquo;s name, her hand mechanically pressed his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That strange man!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Even his name startles one; I hardly know
+      what to think of him. He seemed to have more feeling for the monkey than
+      for you or me. It was certainly kind of him to take the poor creature
+      home, and try what he could do with it. Are you sure he is a great
+      chemist?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid stopped. Such a question, from Carmina, sounded strange to him. &ldquo;What
+      makes you doubt it?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You won&rsquo;t laugh at me, Ovid?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know I won&rsquo;t!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you shall hear. We knew a famous Italian chemist at Rome&mdash;such a
+      nice old man! He and my father used to play piquet; and I looked at them,
+      and tried to learn&mdash;and I was too stupid. But I had plenty of
+      opportunities of noticing our old friend&rsquo;s hands. They were covered with
+      stains; and he caught me looking at them. He was not in the least
+      offended; he told me his experiments had spotted his skin in that way, and
+      nothing would clean off the stains. I saw Doctor Benjulia&rsquo;s great big
+      hands, while he was giving you the brandy&mdash;and I remembered
+      afterwards that there were no stains on them. I seem to surprise you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do indeed surprise me. After knowing Benjulia for years, I have never
+      noticed, what you have discovered on first seeing him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps he has some way of cleaning the stains off his hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid agreed to this, as the readiest means of dismissing the subject.
+      Carmina had really startled him. Some irrational connection between the
+      great chemist&rsquo;s attention to the monkey, and the perplexing purity of his
+      hands, persisted in vaguely asserting itself in Ovid&rsquo;s mind. His
+      unacknowledged doubts of Benjulia troubled him as they had never troubled
+      him yet. He turned to Carmina for relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Still thinking, my love?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thinking of you,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;I want you to promise me something&mdash;and
+      I am afraid to ask it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Afraid? You don&rsquo;t love me, after all!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I will say it at once! How long do you expect to be away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For two or three months, perhaps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Promise to wait till you return, before you tell your mother&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That we are engaged?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have my promise, Carmina; but you make me uneasy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In my absence, you will be under my mother&rsquo;s care. And you don&rsquo;t like my
+      mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Few words and plain words&mdash;and they sorely troubled her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If she owned that he was right, what would the consequence be? He might
+      refuse to leave her. Even assuming that he controlled himself, he would
+      take his departure harassed by anxieties, which might exercise the worst
+      possible influence over the good effect of the journey. To prevaricate
+      with herself or with him was out of the question. That very evening she
+      had quarrelled with his mother; and she had yet to discover whether Mrs.
+      Gallilee had forgiven her. In her heart of hearts she hated deceit&mdash;and
+      in her heart of hearts she longed to set his mind at ease. In that
+      embarrassing position, which was the right way out? Satan persuaded Eve;
+      and Love persuaded Carmina. Love asked if she was cruel enough to make her
+      heart&rsquo;s darling miserable when he was so fond of her? Before she could
+      realise it, she had begun to deceive him. Poor humanity! poor Carmina!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are almost as hard on me as if you were Doctor Benjulia himself!&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;I feel your mother&rsquo;s superiority&mdash;and you tell me I don&rsquo;t like
+      her. Haven&rsquo;t you seen how good she has been to me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She thought this way of putting it irresistible. Ovid resisted,
+      nevertheless. Carmina plunged into lower depths of deceit immediately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you seen my pretty rooms&mdash;my piano&mdash;my pictures&mdash;my
+      china&mdash;my flowers? I should be the most insensible creature living if
+      I didn&rsquo;t feel grateful to your mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet, you are afraid of her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook his arm impatiently. &ldquo;I say, No!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was as obstinate as ever. &ldquo;I say, Yes! If you&rsquo;re not afraid, why do you
+      wish to keep our engagement from my mother&rsquo;s knowledge?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His reasoning was unanswerable. But where is the woman to be found who is
+      not supple enough to slip through the stiff fingers of Reason? She
+      sheltered herself from his logic behind his language.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Must I remind you again of the time when you were angry?&rdquo; she rejoined.
+      &ldquo;You said your mother was bent on separating us. If I don&rsquo;t want her to
+      know of our engagement just yet&mdash;isn&rsquo;t that a good reason?&rdquo; She
+      rested her head caressingly on his shoulder. &ldquo;Tell me,&rdquo; she went on,
+      thinking of one of Miss Minerva&rsquo;s suggestions, &ldquo;doesn&rsquo;t my aunt look to a
+      higher marriage for you than a marriage with me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was impossible to deny that Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s views might justify that
+      inquiry. Had she not more than once advised him to wait a few years&mdash;in
+      other words, to wait until he had won the highest honours of his
+      profession&mdash;before he thought of marrying at all? But Carmina was too
+      precious to him to be humiliated by comparisons with other women, no
+      matter what their rank might be. He paid her a compliment, instead of
+      giving her an answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My mother can&rsquo;t look higher than you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I wish I could feel
+      sure, Carmina&mdash;in leaving you with her&mdash;that I am leaving you
+      with a friend whom you trust and love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a sadness in his tone that grieved her. &ldquo;Wait till you come
+      back,&rdquo; she replied, speaking as gaily as she could. &ldquo;You will be ashamed
+      to remember your own misgivings. And don&rsquo;t forget, dear, that I have
+      another friend besides your mother&mdash;the best and kindest of friends&mdash;to
+      take care of me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid heard this with some surprise. &ldquo;A friend in my mother&rsquo;s house?&rdquo; he
+      asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Minerva.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; His tone expressed such immeasurable amazement, that Carmina&rsquo;s
+      sense of justice was roused in defence of her new friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I began by wronging Miss Minerva, I had the excuse of being a
+      stranger,&rdquo; she said, warmly. &ldquo;You have known her for years, and you ought
+      to have found out her good qualities long since! Are all men alike, I
+      wonder? Even my kind dear father used to call ugly women the inexcusable
+      mistakes of Nature. Poor Miss Minerva says herself she is ugly, and
+      expects everybody to misjudge her accordingly. I don&rsquo;t misjudge her, for
+      one. Teresa has left me; and you are going away next. A miserable
+      prospect, Ovid, but not quite without hope. Frances&mdash;yes, I call her
+      by her Christian name, and she calls me by mine!&mdash;Frances will
+      console me, and make my life as happy as it can be till you come back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Excepting bad temper, and merciless cultivation of the minds of children,
+      Ovid knew of nothing that justified his prejudice against the governess.
+      Still, Carmina&rsquo;s sudden conversion inspired him with something like alarm.
+      &ldquo;I suppose you have good reasons for what you tell me,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The best reasons,&rdquo; she replied, in the most positive manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He considered for a moment how he could most delicately inquire what those
+      reasons might be. But valuable opportunities may be lost, even in a
+      moment. &ldquo;Will you help me to do justice to Miss Minerva?&rdquo; he cautiously
+      began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; Carmina interposed. &ldquo;Surely, I heard somebody calling to me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They paused, and listened. A voice hailed them from the outer side of the
+      garden. They started guiltily. It was the voice of Mrs. Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      &ldquo;Carmina! are you in the Square?&rdquo;
+     </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave it to me,&rdquo; Ovid whispered. &ldquo;We will come to you directly,&rdquo; he
+      called back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee was waiting for them at the gate. Ovid spoke, the moment
+      they were within sight of each other. &ldquo;You will have no more cause to
+      complain of me,&rdquo; he said cheerfully; &ldquo;I am going away at the end of the
+      week.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s answer was addressed to Carmina instead of to her son.
+      &ldquo;Thank you, my dear,&rdquo; she said, and pressed her niece&rsquo;s hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was too dark to see more of faces than their shadowy outline. The
+      learned lady&rsquo;s tone was the perfection of amiability. She sent Ovid across
+      the road to knock at the house-door, and took Carmina&rsquo;s arm
+      confidentially. &ldquo;You little goose!&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;how could you suppose
+      I was angry with you? I can&rsquo;t even regret your mistake, you have written
+      such a charming note.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid was waiting for them in the hall. They went into the library. Mrs.
+      Gallilee enfolded her son in a fervent motherly embrace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This completes the enjoyment of a most delightful evening,&rdquo; she said.
+      &ldquo;First a perfect lecture&mdash;and then the relief of overpowering anxiety
+      about my son. I suppose your professional studies, Ovid, have never taken
+      you as high as the Interspacial Regions? We were an immense audience
+      to-night, to hear the Professor on that subject, and I really haven&rsquo;t
+      recovered it yet. Fifty miles above us&mdash;only fifty miles&mdash;there
+      is an atmosphere of cold that would freeze the whole human family to death
+      in a second of time. Moist matter, in that terrific emptiness, would
+      explode, and become stone; and&mdash;listen to this, Carmina&mdash;the
+      explosion itself would be frozen, and produce no sound. Think of serious
+      people looking up in that dreadful direction, and talking of going to
+      Heaven. Oh, the insignificance of man, except&mdash;I am going to make a
+      joke, Ovid&mdash;except when he pleases his old mother by going away for
+      the benefit of his health! And where are you going? Has sensible Carmina
+      advised you? I agree with her beforehand, whatever she has said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid informed his mother of Benjulia&rsquo;s suggestion, and asked her what she
+      thought of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s overflowing geniality instantly flooded the absent doctor.
+      He was rude, he was ugly; but what an inestimable friend! what admirable
+      advice! In Ovid&rsquo;s state of health he must not write letters; his mother
+      would write and thank the doctor, and ask for introductions to local
+      grandees who occupied a position in colonial society. She seized the
+      newspaper: a steamer for Canada sailed from Liverpool on Saturday. Ovid
+      could secure his cabin the next morning (&ldquo;amidships, my dear, if you can
+      possibly get it&rdquo;), and could leave London by Friday&rsquo;s train. In her
+      eagerness to facilitate his departure, she proposed to superintend the
+      shutting up of his house, in his absence, and to arrange the disposal of
+      the servants, if he considered it worth while to keep them. She even
+      thought of the cat. The easiest way to provide for the creature would be
+      of course to have her poisoned; but Ovid was so eccentric in some things,
+      that practical suggestions were thrown away on him. &ldquo;Sixpence a week for
+      cat&rsquo;s meat isn&rsquo;t much,&rdquo; cried Mrs. Gallilee in an outburst of generosity.
+      &ldquo;We will receive the cat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid made his acknowledgments resignedly. Carmina could see that Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s overpowering vitality was beginning to oppress her son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I needn&rsquo;t trouble you, mother,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;My domestic affairs were all
+      settled when I first felt the necessity of getting rest. My manservant
+      travels with me. My housemaid and kitchenmaid will go to their friends in
+      the country; the cook will look after the house; and her nephew, the
+      little page, is almost as fond of the cat as I am. If you will send for a
+      cab, I think I will go home. Like other people in my wretched state, I
+      feel fatigued towards night-time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His lips just touched Carmina&rsquo;s delicate little ear, while his mother
+      turned away to ring the bell. &ldquo;Expect me to-morrow,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;I love
+      you!&mdash;love you!&mdash;love you!&rdquo; He seemed to find the perfection of
+      luxury in the reiteration of those words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Ovid had left them, Carmina expected to hear something of her aunt&rsquo;s
+      discovery in the Square.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s innocence was impenetrable. Not finding her niece in the
+      house, she had thought of the Square. What could be more natural than that
+      the cousins should take an evening walk, in one of the prettiest
+      enclosures in London? Her anticipation of Ovid&rsquo;s recovery, and her
+      admiration of Carmina&rsquo;s powers of persuasion appeared, for the time, to be
+      the only active ideas in that comprehensive mind. When the servant brought
+      in the tray, with the claret and soda-water, she sent for Miss Minerva to
+      join them, and hear the good news; completely ignoring the interruption of
+      their friendly relations, earlier in the evening. She became festive and
+      facetious at the sight of the soda-water. &ldquo;Let us imitate the men, Miss
+      Minerva, and drink a toast before we go to bed. Be cheerful, Carmina, and
+      share half a bottle of soda-water with me. A pleasant journey to Ovid, and
+      a safe return!&rdquo; Cheered by the influences of conviviality, the friend of
+      Professors, the tender nurse of half-developed tadpoles, lapsed into
+      learning again. Mrs. Gallilee improvised an appropriate little lecture on
+      Canada&mdash;on the botany of the Dominion; on the geology of the
+      Dominion; on the number of gallons of water wasted every hour by the falls
+      of Niagara. &ldquo;Science will set it all right, my dears; we shall make that
+      idle water work for us, one of these days. Good-night, Miss Minerva! Dear
+      Carmina, pleasant dreams!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Safe in the solitude of her bedroom, the governess ominously knitted her
+      heavy eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In all my experience,&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;I never saw Mrs. Gallilee in such
+      spirits before. What mischief is she meditating, when she has got rid of
+      her son?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The lapse of a few hours exercised no deteriorating influence on Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s amiability.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the next day, thanks to his mother&rsquo;s interference, Ovid was left in the
+      undisturbed enjoyment of Carmina&rsquo;s society. Not only Miss Minerva, but
+      even Mr. Gallilee and the children, were kept out of the way with a
+      delicately-exercised dexterity, which defied the readiest suspicion to
+      take offence. In one word, all that sympathy and indulgence could do to
+      invite Ovid&rsquo;s confidence, was unobtrusively and modestly done. Never had
+      the mistress of domestic diplomacy reached her ends with finer art.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the afternoon, a messenger delivered Benjulia&rsquo;s reply to Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s announcement of her son&rsquo;s contemplated journey&mdash;despatched
+      by the morning&rsquo;s post. The doctor was confined to the house by an attack
+      of gout. If Ovid wanted information on the subject of Canada, Ovid must go
+      to him, and get it. That was all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you ever been to Doctor Benjulia&rsquo;s house?&rdquo; Carmina asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then all you have told me about him is mere report? Now you will find out
+      the truth! Of course you will go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid felt no desire to make a voyage of exploration to Benjulia&rsquo;s house&mdash;and
+      said so plainly. Carmina used all her powers of persuasion to induce him
+      to change his mind. Mrs. Gallilee (superior to the influence of girlish
+      curiosity) felt the importance of obtaining introductions to Canadian
+      society, and agreed with her niece. &ldquo;I shall order the carriage,&rdquo; she
+      said, assuming a playfully despotic tone; &ldquo;and, if you don&rsquo;t go to the
+      doctor&mdash;Carmina and I will pay him a visit in your place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Threatened, if he remained obstinate, with such a result as this, Ovid had
+      no alternative but to submit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The one order that could be given to the coachman was to drive to the
+      village of Hendon, on the north-western side of London, and to trust to
+      inquiries for the rest of the way. Between Hendon and Willesden, there are
+      pastoral solitudes within an hour&rsquo;s drive of Oxford Street&mdash;wooded
+      lanes and wild-flowers, farms and cornfields, still unprofaned by the
+      devastating brickwork of the builder of modern times. Following winding
+      ways, under shadowing trees, the coachman made his last inquiry at a
+      roadside public-house. Hearing that Benjulia&rsquo;s place of abode was now
+      within half a mile of him, Ovid set forth on foot; leaving the driver and
+      the horses to take their ease at their inn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He arrived at an iron gate, opening out of a lonely lane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There, in the middle of a barren little field, he saw Benjulia&rsquo;s house&mdash;a
+      hideous square building of yellow brick, with a slate roof. A low wall
+      surrounded the place, having another iron gate at the entrance. The
+      enclosure within was as barren as the field without: not even an attempt
+      at flower-garden or kitchen-garden was visible. At a distance of some two
+      hundred yards from the house stood a second and smaller building, with a
+      skylight in the roof, which Ovid recognised (from description) as the
+      famous laboratory. Behind it was the hedge which parted Benjulia&rsquo;s morsel
+      of land from the land of his neighbour. Here, the trees rose again, and
+      the fields beyond were cultivated. No dwellings, and no living creatures
+      appeared. So near to London&mdash;and yet, in its loneliness, so far away&mdash;there
+      was something unnatural in the solitude of the place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Led by a feeling of curiosity, which was fast degenerating into suspicion,
+      Ovid approached the laboratory, without showing himself in front of the
+      house. No watch-dog barked; no servant appeared on the look-out for a
+      visitor. He was ashamed of himself as he did it, but (so strongly had he
+      been impressed by Carmina&rsquo;s observation of the doctor) he even tried the
+      locked door of the laboratory, and waited and listened! It was a breezy
+      summer-day; the leaves of the trees near him rustled cheerfully. Was there
+      another sound audible? Yes&mdash;low and faint, there rose through the
+      sweet woodland melody a moaning cry. It paused; it was repeated; it
+      stopped. He looked round him, not quite sure whether the sound proceeded
+      from the outside or the inside of the building. He shook the door. Nothing
+      happened. The suffering creature (if it was a suffering creature) was
+      silent or dead. Had chemical experiment accidentally injured some living
+      thing? Or&mdash;?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He recoiled from pursuing that second inquiry. The laboratory had, by this
+      time, become an object of horror to him. He returned to the
+      dwelling-house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He put his hand on the latch of the gate, and looked back at the
+      laboratory. He hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That moaning cry, so piteous and so short-lived, haunted his ears. The
+      idea of approaching Benjulia became repellent to him. What he might
+      afterwards think of himself&mdash;what his mother and Carmina might think
+      of him&mdash;if he returned without having entered the doctors&rsquo; house,
+      were considerations which had no influence over his mind, in its present
+      mood. The impulse of the moment was the one power that swayed him. He put
+      the latch back in the socket. &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t go in,&rdquo; he said to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was too late. As he turned from the house a manservant appeared at the
+      door&mdash;crossed the enclosure&mdash;and threw the gate open for Ovid,
+      without uttering a word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They entered the passage. The speechless manservant opened a door on the
+      right, and made a bow, inviting the visitor to enter. Ovid found himself
+      in a room as barren as the field outside. There were the plastered walls,
+      there was the bare floor, left exactly as the builders had left them when
+      the house was finished. After a short absence, the man appeared again. He
+      might be depressed in spirits, or crabbed in temper: the fact remained
+      that, even now, he had nothing to say. He opened a door on the opposite
+      side of the passage&mdash;made another bow&mdash;and vanished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t come near me!&rdquo; cried Benjulia, the moment Ovid showed himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor was seated in an inner corner of the room; robed in a long
+      black dressing-gown, buttoned round his throat, which hid every part of
+      him below his fleshless face, except his big hands, and his tortured gouty
+      foot. Rage and pain glared in his gloomy gray eyes, and shook his clenched
+      fists, resting on the arms of an easy chair. &ldquo;Ten thousand red-hot devils
+      are boring ten thousand holes through my foot,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;If you touch the
+      pillow on my stool, I shall fly at your throat.&rdquo; He poured some cooling
+      lotion from a bottle into a small watering-pot, and irrigated his foot as
+      if it had been a bed of flowers. By way of further relief to the pain, he
+      swore ferociously; addressing his oaths to himself, in thunderous
+      undertones which made the glasses ring on the sideboard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Relieved, in his present frame of mind, to have escaped the necessity of
+      shaking hands, Ovid took a chair, and looked about him. Even here he
+      discovered but little furniture, and that little of the heavy
+      old-fashioned sort. Besides the sideboard, he perceived a dining-table,
+      six chairs, and a dingy brown carpet. There were no curtains on the
+      window, and no pictures or prints on the drab-coloured walls. The empty
+      grate showed its bleak black cavity undisguised; and the mantelpiece had
+      nothing on it but the doctor&rsquo;s dirty and strong-smelling pipe. Benjulia
+      set down his watering-pot, as a sign that the paroxysm of pain had passed
+      away. &ldquo;A dull place to live in, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; In those words he welcomed the
+      visitor to his house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Irritated by the accident which had forced him into the repellent presence
+      of Benjulia, Ovid answered in a tone which matched the doctor on his own
+      hard ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s your own fault if the place is dull. Why haven&rsquo;t you planted trees,
+      and laid out a garden?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dare say I shall surprise you,&rdquo; Benjulia quietly rejoined; &ldquo;but I have
+      a habit of speaking my mind. I don&rsquo;t object to a dull place; and I don&rsquo;t
+      care about trees and gardens.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t seem to care about furniture either,&rdquo; said Ovid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now that he was out of pain for awhile, the doctor&rsquo;s innate insensibility
+      to what other people might think of him, or might say to him, resumed its
+      customary torpor in its own strangely unconscious way. He seemed only to
+      understand that Ovid&rsquo;s curiosity was in search of information about
+      trifles. Well, there would be less trouble in giving him his information,
+      than in investigating his motives. So Benjulia talked of his furniture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dare say you&rsquo;re right,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;My sister-in-law&mdash;did you know I
+      had a relation of that sort?&mdash;my sister-in-law got the tables and
+      chairs, and beds and basins. Buying things at shops doesn&rsquo;t interest me. I
+      gave her a cheque; and I told her to furnish a room for me to eat in, and
+      a room for me to sleep in&mdash;and not to forget the kitchen and the
+      garrets for the servants. What more do I want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His intolerable composure only added to his guest&rsquo;s irritability.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A selfish way of putting it,&rdquo; Ovid broke out. &ldquo;Have you nobody to think
+      of but yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody&mdash;I am happy to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s downright cynicism, Benjulia!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor reflected. &ldquo;Is it?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Perhaps you may be right again. I
+      think it&rsquo;s only indifference, myself. Curiously enough my brother looks at
+      it from your point of view&mdash;he even used the same word that you used
+      just now. I suppose he found my cynicism beyond the reach of reform. At
+      any rate, he left off coming here. I got rid of <i>him</i> on easy terms.
+      What do you say? That inhuman way of talking is unworthy of me? Really I
+      don&rsquo;t think so. I&rsquo;m not a downright savage. It&rsquo;s only indifference.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does your brother return your indifference? You must be a nice pair, if
+      he does!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia seemed to find a certain dreary amusement in considering the
+      question that Ovid had proposed. He decided on doing justice to his absent
+      relative.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My brother&rsquo;s intelligence is perhaps equal to such a small effort as you
+      suggest,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He has just brains enough to keep himself out of an
+      asylum for idiots. Shall I tell you what he is in two words? A stupid
+      sensualist&mdash;that&rsquo;s what he is. I let his wife come here sometimes,
+      and cry. It doesn&rsquo;t trouble <i>me;</i> and it seems to relieve <i>her.</i>
+      More of my indifference&mdash;eh? Well, I don&rsquo;t know. I gave her the
+      change out of the furniture-cheque, to buy a new bonnet with. You might
+      call that indifference, and you might be right once more. I don&rsquo;t care
+      about money. Will you have a drink? You see I can&rsquo;t move. Please ring for
+      the man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid refused the drink, and changed the subject. &ldquo;Your servant is a
+      remarkably silent person,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s his merit,&rdquo; Benjulia answered; &ldquo;the women-servants have quarrelled
+      with every other man I&rsquo;ve had. They can&rsquo;t quarrel with this man. I have
+      raised his wages in grateful acknowledgment of his usefulness to me. I
+      hate noise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that the reason why you don&rsquo;t keep a watch-dog?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t like dogs. They bark.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had apparently some other disagreeable association with dogs, which he
+      was not disposed to communicate. His hollow eyes stared gloomily into
+      vacancy. Ovid&rsquo;s presence in the room seemed to have become, for the time
+      being, an impression erased from his mind. He recovered himself, with the
+      customary vehement rubbing of his head, and turned the talk to the object
+      of Ovid&rsquo;s visit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you have taken my advice,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re going to Canada, and you
+      want to get at what I can tell you before you start. Here&rsquo;s my journal. It
+      will jog my memory, and help us both.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His writing materials were placed on a movable table, screwed to his
+      chair. Near them lay a shabby-looking book, guarded by a lock. Ten minutes
+      after he had opened his journal, and had looked here and there through the
+      pages, his hard intellect had grasped all that it required. Steadily and
+      copiously his mind emptied its information into Ovid&rsquo;s mind; without a
+      single digression from beginning to end, and with the most mercilessly
+      direct reference to the traveller&rsquo;s practical wants. Not a word escaped
+      him, relating to national character or to the beauties of Nature. Mrs.
+      Gallilee had criticized the Falls of Niagara as a reservoir of wasted
+      power. Doctor Benjulia&rsquo;s scientific superiority over the woman asserted
+      itself with magnificent ease. Niagara being nothing but useless water, he
+      never mentioned Niagara at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I served your purpose as a guide?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Never mind thanking
+      me. Yes or no will do. Very good. I have got a line of writing to give you
+      next.&rdquo; He mended his quill pen, and made an observation. &ldquo;Have you ever
+      noticed that women have one pleasure which lasts to the end of their
+      lives?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Young and old, they have the same inexhaustible
+      enjoyment of society; and, young and old, they are all alike incapable of
+      understanding a man, when he says he doesn&rsquo;t care to go to a party. Even
+      your clever mother thinks you want to go to parties in Canada.&rdquo; He tried
+      his pen, and found it would do&mdash;and began his letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Seeing his hands at work, Ovid was again reminded of Carmina&rsquo;s discovery.
+      His eyes wandered a little aside, towards the corner formed by the pillar
+      of the chimney-piece and the wall of the room. The big bamboo-stick rested
+      there. A handle was attached to it, made of light-coloured horn, and on
+      that handle there were some stains. Ovid looked at them with a surgeon&rsquo;s
+      practised eye. They were dry stains of blood. (Had he washed his hands on
+      the last occasion when he used his stick? And had he forgotten that the
+      handle wanted washing too?)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia finished his letter, and wrote the address. He took up the
+      envelope, to give it to Ovid&mdash;and stopped, as if some doubt tempted
+      him to change his mind. The hesitation was only momentary. He persisted in
+      his first intention, and gave Ovid the letter. It was addressed to a
+      doctor at Montreal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That man won&rsquo;t introduce you to society,&rdquo; Benjulia announced, &ldquo;and won&rsquo;t
+      worry your brains with medical talk. Keep off one subject on your side. A
+      mad bull is nothing to my friend if you speak of Vivisection.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid looked at him steadily, when he uttered the last word. Benjulia
+      looked back, just as steadily at Ovid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the moment of that reciprocal scrutiny, did the two men suspect each
+      other? Ovid, on his side, determined not to leave the house without
+      putting his suspicions to the test.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you for the letter,&rdquo; he began; &ldquo;and I will not forget the
+      warning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor&rsquo;s capacity for the exercise of the social virtues had its
+      limits. His reserves of hospitality were by this time near their end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there anything more I can do for you?&rdquo; he interposed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can answer a simple question,&rdquo; Ovid replied. &ldquo;My cousin Carmina&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia interrupted him again: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think we said enough about your
+      cousin in the Gardens?&rdquo; he suggested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid acknowledged the hint with a neatness of retort almost worthy of his
+      mother. &ldquo;You have your own merciful disposition to blame, if I return to
+      the subject,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;My cousin cannot forget your kindness to the
+      monkey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The sooner she forgets my kindness the better. The monkey is dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad to hear it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought the creature was living in pain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that I heard a moaning&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the building behind your house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You heard the wind in the trees.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing of the sort. Are your chemical experiments ever made on animals?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor parried that direct attack, without giving ground by so much as
+      a hair&rsquo;s breadth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did I say when I gave you your letter of introduction?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;I
+      said, A mad bull is nothing to my friend, if you speak to him of
+      Vivisection. Now I have something more to tell you. I am like my friend.&rdquo;
+       He waited a little. &ldquo;Will that do?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Ovid; &ldquo;that will do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They were as near to an open quarrel as two men could be: Ovid took up his
+      hat to go. Even at that critical moment, Benjulia&rsquo;s strange jealousy of
+      his young colleague&mdash;as a possible rival in some field of discovery
+      which he claimed as his own&mdash;showed itself once more. There was no
+      change in his tone; he still spoke like a judicious friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A last word of advice,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You are travelling for your health;
+      don&rsquo;t let inquisitive strangers lead you into talk. Some of them might be
+      physiologists.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And might suggest new ideas,&rdquo; Ovid rejoined, determined to make him speak
+      out this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia nodded, in perfect agreement with his guest&rsquo;s view.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you afraid of new ideas?&rdquo; Ovid went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps I am&mdash;in <i>your</i> head.&rdquo; He made that admission, without
+      hesitation or embarrassment. &ldquo;Good-bye!&rdquo; he resumed. &ldquo;My sensitive foot
+      feels noises: don&rsquo;t bang the door.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Getting out into the lane again, Ovid looked at his letter to the doctor
+      at Montreal. His first impulse was to destroy it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Benjulia had hesitated before giving him the letter, so he now
+      hesitated before tearing it up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Contrary to the usual practice in such cases, the envelope was closed.
+      Under those circumstances, Ovid&rsquo;s pride decided him on using the
+      introduction. Time was still to pass, before events opened his eyes to the
+      importance of his decision. To the end of his life he remembered that
+      Benjulia had been near to keeping back the letter, and that he had been
+      near to tearing it up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XX.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The wise ancient who asserted that &ldquo;Time flies,&rdquo; must have made that
+      remarkable discovery while he was in a state of preparation for a journey.
+      When are we most acutely sensible of the shortness of life? When do we
+      consult our watches in perpetual dread of the result? When does the night
+      steal on us unawares, and the morning take us by surprise? When we are
+      going on a journey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The remaining days of the week went by with a rush. Ovid had hardly time
+      to ask himself if Friday had really come, before the hours of his life at
+      home were already numbered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had still a little time to spare when he presented himself at Fairfield
+      Gardens late in the afternoon. Finding no one in the library, he went up
+      to the drawing-room. His mother was alone, reading.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you anything to say to me, before I tell Carmina that you are here?&rdquo;
+       Mrs. Gallilee put that question quietly, so far as her voice was
+      concerned. But she still kept her eyes on her book. Ovid knew that she was
+      offering him his first and last chance of speaking plainly, before he went
+      away. In Carmina&rsquo;s interests he spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I am leaving the one person in the world who is most
+      precious to me, under your care.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee asked, &ldquo;that you and Carmina are engaged to
+      be married?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that; and I am not sure that you approve of the engagement. Will
+      you be plainer with me than you were on the last occasion when we spoke on
+      this subject?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When was that?&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you and I were alone for a few minutes, on the morning when I
+      breakfasted here. You said it was quite natural that Carmina should have
+      attracted me; but you were careful not to encourage the idea of a marriage
+      between us. I understood that you disapproved of it&mdash;but you didn&rsquo;t
+      plainly tell me why.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can women always give their reason?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;when they are women like you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, my dear, for a pretty compliment. I can trust my memory. I
+      think I hinted at the obvious objections to an engagement. You and Carmina
+      are cousins; and you belong to different religious communities. I may add
+      that a man with your brilliant prospects has, in my opinion, no reason to
+      marry unless his wife is in a position to increase his influence and
+      celebrity. I had looked forward to seeing my clever son rise more nearly
+      to a level with persons of rank, who are members of our family. There is
+      my confession, Ovid. If I did hesitate on the occasion to which you have
+      referred, I have now, I think, told you why.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I to understand that you hesitate still?&rdquo; Ovid asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo; With that brief reply she rose to put away her book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid followed her to the bookcase. &ldquo;Has Carmina conquered you?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She put her book back in its place. &ldquo;Carmina has conquered me,&rdquo; she
+      answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You say it coldly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does that matter, if I say it truly?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The struggle in him between hope and fear burst its way out. &ldquo;Oh, mother,
+      no words can tell you how fond I am of Carmina! For God&rsquo;s sake take care
+      of her, and be kind to her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For <i>your</i> sake,&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee, gently correcting the language
+      of her excitable son, from her own protoplastic point of view. &ldquo;You do me
+      an injustice if you feel anxious about Carmina, when you leave her here.
+      My dead brother&rsquo;s child, is <i>my</i> child. You may be sure of that.&rdquo; She
+      took his hand, and drew him to her, and kissed his forehead with dignity
+      and deliberation. If Mr. Mool had been present, during the registration of
+      that solemn pledge, he would have been irresistibly reminded of the other
+      ceremony, which is called signing a deed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you any instructions to give me?&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. &ldquo;For
+      instance, do you object to my taking Carmina to parties? I mean, of
+      course, parties which will improve her mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He fell sadly below his mother&rsquo;s level in replying to this. &ldquo;Do everything
+      you can to make her life happy while I am away.&rdquo; Those were his only
+      instructions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Mrs. Gallilee had not done with him yet. &ldquo;With regard to visitors,&rdquo;
+       she went on, &ldquo;I presume you wish me to be careful, if I find young men
+      calling here oftener than usual?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid actually laughed at this. &ldquo;Do you think I doubt her?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;The
+      earth doesn&rsquo;t hold a truer girl than my little Carmina!&rdquo; A thought struck
+      him while he said it. The brightness faded out of his face; his voice lost
+      its gaiety. &ldquo;There is one person who may call on you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;whom I
+      don&rsquo;t wish her to see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Unfortunately, he is a man who has excited her curiosity. I mean
+      Benjulia.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was now Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s turn to be amused. Her laugh was not one of her
+      foremost fascinations. It was hard in tone, and limited in range&mdash;it
+      opened her mouth, but it failed to kindle any light in her eyes. &ldquo;Jealous
+      of the ugly doctor!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;Oh, Ovid, what next?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You never made a greater mistake in your life,&rdquo; her son answered sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what is the objection to him?&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee rejoined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not easy to meet that question with a plain reply. If Ovid asserted
+      that Benjulia&rsquo;s chemical experiments were assumed&mdash;for some reason
+      known only to himself&mdash;as a cloak to cover the atrocities of the
+      Savage Science, he would only raise the doctor in his mother&rsquo;s estimation.
+      If, on the other hand, he described what had passed between them when they
+      met in the Zoological Gardens, Mrs. Gallilee might summon Benjulia to
+      explain the slur which he had indirectly cast on the memory of Carmina&rsquo;s
+      mother&mdash;and might find, in the reply, some plausible reason for
+      objecting to her son&rsquo;s marriage. Having rashly placed himself in this
+      dilemma, Ovid unwisely escaped from it by the easiest way. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think
+      Benjulia a fit person,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to be in the company of a young girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee accepted this expression of opinion with a readiness, which
+      would have told a more suspicious man that he had made a mistake. Ovid had
+      roused the curiosity&mdash;perhaps awakened the distrust&mdash;of his
+      clever mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know best,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee replied; &ldquo;I will bear in mind what you
+      say.&rdquo; She rang the bell for Carmina, and left the room. Ovid found the
+      minutes passing slowly, for the first time since the day had been fixed
+      for his departure. He attributed this impression to his natural impatience
+      for the appearance of his cousin&mdash;until the plain evidence of the
+      clock pointed to a delay of five endless minutes, and more. As he
+      approached the door to make inquiries, it opened at last. Hurrying to meet
+      Carmina, he found himself face to face with Miss Minerva!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She came in hastily, and held out her hand without looking at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forgive me for intruding on you,&rdquo; she said, with a rapidity of utterance
+      and a timidity of manner strangely unlike herself. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m obliged to prepare
+      the children&rsquo;s lessons for to-morrow; and this is my only opportunity of
+      bidding you good-bye. You have my best wishes&mdash;my heartfelt wishes&mdash;for
+      your safety and your health, and&mdash;and your enjoyment of the journey.
+      Good-bye! good-bye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After holding his hand for a moment, she hastened back to the door. There
+      she stopped, turned towards him again, and looked at him for the first
+      time. &ldquo;I have one thing more to say,&rdquo; she broke out. &ldquo;I will do all I can
+      to make Carmina&rsquo;s life pleasant in your absence.&rdquo; Before he could thank
+      her, she was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In another minute Carmina came in, and found Ovid looking perplexed and
+      annoyed. She had passed Frances on the stairs&mdash;had there been any
+      misunderstanding between Ovid and the governess?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you seen Miss Minerva?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He put his arm round her, and seated her by him on the sofa. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+      understand Miss Minerva,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;How is it that she came here, when I
+      was expecting You?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She asked me, as a favour, to let her see you first; and she seemed to be
+      so anxious about it that I gave way. I didn&rsquo;t do wrong, Ovid&mdash;did I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My darling, you are always kind, and always right! But why couldn&rsquo;t she
+      say good-bye (with the others) downstairs? Do <i>you</i> understand this
+      curious woman?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I do.&rdquo; She paused, and toyed with the hair over Ovid&rsquo;s forehead.
+      &ldquo;Miss Minerva is fond of you, poor thing,&rdquo; she said innocently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fond of me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The surprise which his tone expressed, failed to attract her attention.
+      She quietly varied the phrase that she had just used.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Minerva has a true regard for you&mdash;and knows that you don&rsquo;t
+      return it,&rdquo; she explained, still playing with Ovid&rsquo;s hair. &ldquo;I want to see
+      how it looks,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;when it&rsquo;s parted in the middle. No! it looks
+      better as you always wear it. How handsome you are, Ovid! Don&rsquo;t you wish I
+      was beautiful, too? Everybody in the house loves you; and everybody is
+      sorry you are going away. I like Miss Minerva, I like everybody, for being
+      so fond of my dear, dear hero. Oh, what shall I do when day after day
+      passes, and only takes you farther and farther away from me? No! I won&rsquo;t
+      cry. You shan&rsquo;t go away with a heavy heart, my dear one, if I can help it.
+      Where is your photograph? You promised me your photograph. Let me look at
+      it. Yes! it&rsquo;s like you, and yet not like you. It will do to think over,
+      when I am alone. My love, it has copied your eyes, but it has not copied
+      the divine kindness and goodness that I see in them!&rdquo; She paused, and laid
+      her head on his bosom. &ldquo;I shall cry, in spite of my resolution, if I look
+      at you any longer. We won&rsquo;t look&mdash;we won&rsquo;t talk&mdash;I can feel your
+      arm round me&mdash;I can hear your heart. Silence is best. I have been
+      told of people dying happily; and I never understood it before. I think I
+      could die happily now.&rdquo; She put her hand over his lips before he could
+      reprove her, and nestled closer to him. &ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; she said softly; &ldquo;hush!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They neither moved nor spoke: that silent happiness was the best
+      happiness, while it lasted. Mrs. Gallilee broke the charm. She suddenly
+      opened the door, pointed to the clock, and went away again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cruel time had come. They made their last promises; shared their last
+      kisses; held each other in the last embrace. She threw herself on the
+      sofa, as he left her&mdash;with a gesture which entreated him to go, while
+      she could still control herself. Once, he looked round, when he reached
+      the door&mdash;and then it was over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alone on the landing, he dashed the tears away from his eyes. Suffering
+      and sorrow tried hard to get the better of his manhood: they had shaken,
+      but had not conquered him. He was calm, when he joined the members of the
+      family, waiting in the library.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perpetually setting an example, Mrs. Gallilee ascended her domestic
+      pedestal as usual. She favoured her son with one more kiss, and reminded
+      him of the railway. &ldquo;We understand each other, Ovid&mdash;you have only
+      five minutes to spare. Write, when you get to Quebec. Now, Maria! say
+      good-bye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria presented herself to her brother with a grace which did honour to
+      the family dancing-master. Her short farewell speech was a model of its
+      kind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Ovid, I am only a child; but I feel truly anxious for the recovery
+      of your health. At this favourable season you may look forward to a
+      pleasant voyage. Please accept my best wishes.&rdquo; She offered her cheek to
+      be kissed&mdash;and looked like a young person who had done her duty, and
+      knew it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee&mdash;modestly secluded behind the window curtains&mdash;appeared,
+      at a sign from his wife. One of his plump red hands held a bundle of
+      cigars. The other clutched an enormous new travelling-flask&mdash;the
+      giant of its tribe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear boy, it&rsquo;s possible there may be good brandy and cigars on board;
+      but that&rsquo;s not my experience of steamers&mdash;is it yours?&rdquo; He stopped to
+      consult his wife. &ldquo;My dear, is it yours?&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee held up the
+      &ldquo;Railway Guide,&rdquo; and shook it significantly. Mr. Gallilee went on in a
+      hurry. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s some of the right stuff in this flask, Ovid, if you will
+      accept it. Five-and-forty years old&mdash;would you like to taste it?
+      Would you like to taste it, my dear?&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee seized the &ldquo;Railway
+      Guide&rdquo; again, with a terrible look. Her husband crammed the big flask into
+      one of Ovid&rsquo;s pockets, and the cigars into the other. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll find them a
+      comfort when you&rsquo;re away from us. God bless you, my son! You don&rsquo;t mind my
+      calling you my son? I couldn&rsquo;t be fonder of you, if I really was your
+      father. Let&rsquo;s part as cheerfully as we can,&rdquo; said poor Mr. Gallilee, with
+      the tears rolling undisguisedly over his fat cheeks. &ldquo;We can write to each
+      other&mdash;can&rsquo;t we? Oh dear! dear! I wish I could take it as easy as
+      Maria does. Zo! come and give him a kiss, poor fellow. Where&rsquo;s Zo?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee made the discovery&mdash;she dragged Zo into view, from
+      under the table. Ovid took his little sister on his knee, and asked why
+      she had hidden herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I don&rsquo;t want to say good-bye!&rdquo; cried the child, giving her reason
+      with a passionate outbreak of sorrow that shook her from head to foot.
+      &ldquo;Take me with you, Ovid, take me with you!&rdquo; He did his best to console
+      her, under adverse circumstances. Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s warning voice sounded
+      like a knell&mdash;&ldquo;Time! time!&rdquo; Zo&rsquo;s shrill treble rang out louder still.
+      Zo was determined to write to Ovid, if she was not allowed to go with him.
+      &ldquo;Pa&rsquo;s going to write to you&mdash;why shouldn&rsquo;t I?&rdquo; she screamed through
+      her tears. &ldquo;Dear Zoe, you are too young,&rdquo; Maria remarked. &ldquo;Damned
+      nonsense!&rdquo; sobbed Mr. Gallilee; &ldquo;she <i>shall</i> write!&rdquo; &ldquo;Time, time!&rdquo;
+       Mrs. Gallilee reiterated. Taking no part in the dispute, Ovid directed two
+      envelopes for Zo, and quieted her in that way. He hurried into the hall;
+      he glanced at the stairs that led to the drawing-room. Carmina was on the
+      landing, waiting for a farewell look at him. On the higher flight of
+      stairs, invisible from the hall, Miss Minerva was watching the scene of
+      departure. Reckless of railways and steamers, Ovid ran up to Carmina.
+      Another and another kiss; and then away to the house-door, with Zo at his
+      heels, trying to get into the cab with him. A last kind word to the child,
+      as they carried her back to the house; a last look at the familiar faces
+      in the doorway; a last effort to resist that foretaste of death which
+      embitters all human partings&mdash;and Ovid was gone!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      VOLUME TWO <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXI.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the afternoon of the day that followed Ovid&rsquo;s departure, the three
+      ladies of the household were in a state of retirement&mdash;each in her
+      own room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The writing-table in Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s boudoir was covered with letters. Her
+      banker&rsquo;s pass-book and her cheque-book were on the desk; Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s
+      affairs having been long since left as completely in the hands of his
+      wife, as if Mr. Gallilee had been dead. A sheet of paper lay near the
+      cheque-book, covered with calculations divided into two columns. The
+      figures in the right-hand column were contained in one line at the top of
+      the page. The figures in the left-hand column filled the page from top to
+      bottom. With her fan in her hand, and her pen in the ink-bottle, Mrs.
+      Gallilee waited, steadily thinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the hottest day of the season. All the fat women in London fanned
+      themselves on that sultry afternoon; and Mrs. Gallilee followed the
+      general example. When she looked to the right, her calculations showed the
+      balance at the bank. When she looked to the left, her calculations showed
+      her debts: some partially paid, some not paid at all. If she wearied of
+      the prospect thus presented, and turned for relief to her letters, she was
+      confronted by polite requests for money; from tradespeople in the first
+      place, and from secretaries of fashionable Charities in the second. Here
+      and there, by way of variety, were invitations to parties, representing
+      more pecuniary liabilities, incurred for new dresses, and for
+      hospitalities acknowledged by dinners and conversaziones at her own house.
+      Money that she owed, money that she must spend; nothing but outlay of
+      money&mdash;and where was it to come from?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So far as her pecuniary resources were concerned, she was equally removed
+      from hope and fear. Twice a year the same income flowed in regularly from
+      the same investments. What she could pay at any future time was far more
+      plainly revealed to her than what she might owe. With tact and management
+      it would be possible to partially satisfy creditors, and keep up
+      appearances for six months more. To that conclusion her reflections led
+      her, and left her to write cheques.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And after the six months&mdash;what then?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having first completed her correspondence with the tradespeople, and
+      having next decided on her contributions to the Charities, this iron
+      matron took up her fan again, cooled herself, and met the question of the
+      future face to face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid was the central figure in the prospect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If he lived devoted to his profession, and lived unmarried, there was a
+      last resource always left to Mrs. Gallilee. For years past, his
+      professional gains had added largely to the income which he had inherited
+      from his father. Unembarrassed by expensive tastes, he had some thousands
+      of pounds put by&mdash;for the simple reason that he was at a loss what
+      else to do with them. Thus far, her brother&rsquo;s generosity had spared Mrs.
+      Gallilee the hard necessity of making a confession to her son. As things
+      were now, she must submit to tell the humiliating truth; and Ovid (with no
+      wife to check <i>his</i> liberal instincts) would do what Ovid&rsquo;s uncle
+      (with no wife living to check his liberal instincts) had done already.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the prospect, if her son remained a bachelor. But her son had
+      resolved to marry Carmina. What would be the result if she was weak enough
+      to allow it?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There would be, not one result, but three results. Natural; Legal;
+      Pecuniary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The natural result would be&mdash;children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The legal result (if only one of those children lived) would be the loss
+      to Mrs. Gallilee and her daughters of the splendid fortune reserved for
+      them in the Will, if Carmina died without leaving offspring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The pecuniary result would be (adding the husband&rsquo;s income to the wife&rsquo;s)
+      about eight thousand a year for the young married people.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And how much for a loan, applicable to the mother-in-law&rsquo;s creditors?
+      Judging Carmina by the standard of herself&mdash;by what other standard do
+      we really judge our fellow-creatures, no matter how clever we may be?&mdash;Mrs.
+      Gallilee decided that not one farthing would be left to help her to pay
+      debts, which were steadily increasing with every new concession that she
+      made to the claims of society. Young Mrs. Ovid Vere, at the head of a
+      household, would have the grand example of her other aunt before her eyes.
+      Although her place of residence might not be a palace, she would be a poor
+      creature indeed, if she failed to spend eight thousand a year, in the
+      effort to be worthy of the social position of Lady Northlake. Add to these
+      results of Ovid&rsquo;s contemplated marriage the loss of a thousand a year,
+      secured to the guardian by the Will, while the ward remained under her
+      care&mdash;and the statement of disaster would be complete. &ldquo;We must leave
+      this house, and submit to be Lady Northlake&rsquo;s poor relations&mdash;there
+      is the price I pay for it, if Ovid and Carmina become man and wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She quietly laid aside her fan, as the thought in her completed itself in
+      this form.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The trivial action, and the look which accompanied it, had a sinister
+      meaning of their own, beyond the reach of words. And Ovid was already on
+      the sea. And Teresa was far away in Italy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The clock on the mantelpiece struck five; the punctual parlour-maid
+      appeared with her mistress&rsquo;s customary cup of tea. Mrs. Gallilee asked for
+      the governess. The servant answered that Miss Minerva was in her room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are the young ladies?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My master has taken them out for a walk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have they had their music lesson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not yet, ma&rsquo;am. Mr. Le Frank left word yesterday that he would come at
+      six this evening.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does Mr. Gallilee know that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I heard Miss Minerva tell my master, while I was helping the young ladies
+      to get ready.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well. Ask Miss Minerva to come here, and speak to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva sat at the open window of her bedroom, looking out vacantly
+      at the backs of houses, in the street behind Fairfield Gardens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The evil spirit was the dominant spirit in her again. She, too, was
+      thinking of Ovid and Carmina. Her memory was busy with the parting scene
+      on the previous day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The more she thought of all that had happened in that short space of time,
+      the more bitterly she reproached herself. Her one besetting weakness had
+      openly degraded her, without so much as an attempt at resistance on her
+      part. The fear of betraying herself if she took leave of the man she
+      secretly loved, in the presence of his family, had forced her to ask a
+      favour of Carmina, and to ask it under circumstances which might have led
+      her rival to suspect the truth. Admitted to a private interview with Ovid,
+      she had failed to control her agitation; and, worse still, in her
+      ungovernable eagerness to produce a favourable impression on him at
+      parting, she had promised&mdash;honestly promised, in that moment of
+      impulse&mdash;to make Carmina&rsquo;s happiness her own peculiar care! Carmina,
+      who had destroyed in a day the hope of years! Carmina, who had taken him
+      away from her; who had clung round him when he ran upstairs, and had
+      kissed him&mdash;fervently, shamelessly kissed him&mdash;before the
+      servants in the hall!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She started to her feet, roused to a frenzy of rage by her own
+      recollections. Standing at the window, she looked down at the pavement of
+      the courtyard&mdash;it was far enough below to kill her instantly if she
+      fell on it. Through the heat of her anger there crept the chill and
+      stealthy prompting of despair. She leaned over the window-sill&mdash;she
+      was not afraid&mdash;she might have done it, but for a trifling
+      interruption. Somebody spoke outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the parlour-maid. Instead of entering the room, she spoke through
+      the open door. The woman was one of Miss Minerva&rsquo;s many enemies in the
+      house. &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee wishes to see you,&rdquo; she said&mdash;and shut the door
+      again, the instant the words were out of her mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The very name was full of promise at that moment. It suggested hope&mdash;merciless
+      hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She left the window, and consulted her looking-glass. Even to herself, her
+      haggard face was terrible to see. She poured eau-de-cologne and water into
+      her basin, and bathed her burning head and eyes. Her shaggy black hair
+      stood in need of attention next. She took almost as much pains with it as
+      if she had been going into the presence of Ovid himself. &ldquo;I must make a
+      calm appearance,&rdquo; she thought, still as far as ever from suspecting that
+      her employer had guessed her secret, &ldquo;or his mother may find me out.&rdquo; Her
+      knees trembled under her. She sat down for a minute to rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was she merely wanted for some ordinary domestic consultation? or was
+      there really a chance of hearing the question of Ovid and Carmina brought
+      forward at the coming interview?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She believed what she hoped: she believed that the time had come when Mrs.
+      Gallilee had need of an ally&mdash;perhaps of an accomplice. Only let her
+      object be the separation of the two cousins&mdash;and Miss Minerva was
+      eager to help her, in either capacity. Suppose she was too cautious to
+      mention her object? Miss Minerva was equally ready for her employer, in
+      that case. The doubt which had prompted her fruitless suggestions to
+      Carmina, when they were alone in the young girl&rsquo;s room&mdash;the doubt
+      whether a clue to the discovery of Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s motives might not be
+      found, in that latter part of the Will which she had failed to overhear&mdash;was
+      as present as ever in the governess&rsquo;s mind. &ldquo;The learned lady is not
+      infallible,&rdquo; she thought as she entered Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s room. &ldquo;If one
+      unwary word trips over her tongue, I shall pick it up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s manner was encouraging at the outset. She had left her
+      writing-table; and she now presented herself, reclining in an easy chair,
+      weary and discouraged&mdash;the picture of a woman in want of a helpful
+      friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My head aches with adding up figures, and writing letters,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I
+      wish you would finish my correspondence for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva took her place at the desk. She at once discovered the
+      unfinished correspondence to be a false pretence. Three cheques for
+      charitable subscriptions, due at that date, were waiting to be sent to
+      three secretaries, with the customary letters. In five minutes, the
+      letters were ready for the post. &ldquo;Anything more?&rdquo; Miss Minerva asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not that I remember. Do you mind giving me my fan? I feel perfectly
+      helpless&mdash;I am wretchedly depressed to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The heat, perhaps?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. The expenses. Every year, the demands on our resources seem to
+      increase. On principle, I dislike living up to our income&mdash;and I am
+      obliged to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here, plainly revealed to the governess&rsquo;s experienced eyes, was another
+      false pretence&mdash;used to introduce the true object of the interview,
+      as something which might accidentally suggest itself in the course of
+      conversation. Miss Minerva expressed the necessary regret with innocent
+      readiness. &ldquo;Might I suggest economy?&rdquo; she asked with impenetrable gravity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Admirably advised,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee admitted; &ldquo;but how is it to be done?
+      Those subscriptions, for instance, are more than I ought to give. And what
+      happens if I lower the amount? I expose myself to unfavourable comparison
+      with other people of our rank in society.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva still patiently played the part expected of her. &ldquo;You might
+      perhaps do with only one carriage-horse,&rdquo; she remarked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My good creature, look at the people who have only one carriage-horse!
+      Situated as I am, can I descend to that level? Don&rsquo;t suppose I care two
+      straws about such things, myself. My one pride and pleasure in life is the
+      pride and pleasure of improving my mind. But I have Lady Northlake for a
+      sister; and I must not be entirely unworthy of my family connections. I
+      have two daughters; and I must think of their interests. In a few years,
+      Maria will be presented at Court. Thanks to you, she will be one of the
+      most accomplished girls in England. Think of Maria&rsquo;s mother in a one-horse
+      chaise. Dear child! tell me all about her lessons. Is she getting on as
+      well as ever?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Examine her yourself, Mrs. Gallilee. I can answer for the result.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Miss Minerva! I have too much confidence in you to do anything of the
+      kind. Besides, in one of the most important of Maria&rsquo;s accomplishments, I
+      am entirely dependent on yourself. I know nothing of music. You are not
+      responsible for her progress in that direction. Still, I should like to
+      know if you are satisfied with Maria&rsquo;s music?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite satisfied.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t think she is getting&mdash;how can I express it?&mdash;shall I
+      say beyond the reach of Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s teaching?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you would consider Mr. Le Frank equal to the instruction of an
+      older and more advanced pupil than Maria?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus far, Miss Minerva had answered the questions submitted to her with
+      well-concealed indifference. This last inquiry roused her attention. Why
+      did Mrs. Gallilee show an interest, for the first time, in Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s
+      capacity as a teacher? Who was this &ldquo;older and more advanced pupil,&rdquo; for
+      whose appearance in the conversation the previous questions had so
+      smoothly prepared the way? Feeling delicate ground under her, the
+      governess advanced cautiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have always thought Mr. Le Frank an excellent teacher,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you give me no more definite answer than that?&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am quite unacquainted, madam, with the musical proficiency of the pupil
+      to whom you refer. I don&rsquo;t even know (which adds to my perplexity) whether
+      you are speaking of a lady or a gentleman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am speaking,&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee quietly, &ldquo;of my niece, Carmina.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Those words set all further doubt at rest in Miss Minerva&rsquo;s mind.
+      Introduced by such elaborate preparation, the allusion to Carmina&rsquo;s name
+      could only lead, in due course, to the subject of Carmina&rsquo;s marriage. By
+      indirect methods of approach, Mrs. Gallilee had at last reached the object
+      that she had in view.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXII.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      There was an interval of silence between the two ladies.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee waited for Miss Minerva to speak next. Miss Minerva waited
+      to be taken into Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s confidence. The sparrows twittered in the
+      garden; and, far away in the schoolroom, the notes of the piano announced
+      that the music lesson had begun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The birds are noisy,&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the piano sounds out of tune,&rdquo; Miss Minerva remarked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no help for it. Either Mrs. Gallilee must return to the matter
+      in hand&mdash;-or the matter in hand must drop.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid I have not made myself understood,&rdquo; she resumed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid I have been very stupid,&rdquo; Miss Minerva confessed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Resigning herself to circumstances, Mrs. Gallilee put the adjourned
+      question under a new form. &ldquo;We were speaking of Mr. Le Frank as a teacher,
+      and of my niece as a pupil,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Have you been able to form any
+      opinion of Carmina&rsquo;s musical abilities?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva remained as prudent as ever. She answered, &ldquo;I have had no
+      opportunity of forming an opinion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee met this cautious reply by playing her trump card. She
+      handed a letter to Miss Minerva. &ldquo;I have received a proposal from Mr. Le
+      Frank,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Will you tell me what you think of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The letter was short and servile. Mr. Le Frank presented his best
+      respects. If Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s charming niece stood in need of musical
+      instruction, he ventured to hope that he might have the honour and
+      happiness of superintending her studies. Looking back to the top of the
+      letter, the governess discovered that this modest request bore a date of
+      eight days since. &ldquo;Have you written to Mr. Le Frank?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only to say that I will take his request into consideration,&rdquo; Mrs.
+      Gallilee replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Had she waited for her son&rsquo;s departure, before she committed herself to a
+      decision? On the chance that this might be the case, Miss Minerva
+      consulted her memory. When Mrs. Gallilee first decided on engaging a
+      music-master to teach the children, her son had disapproved of employing
+      Mr. Le Frank. This circumstance might possibly be worth bearing in mind.
+      &ldquo;Do you see any objection to accepting Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s proposal?&rdquo; Mrs.
+      Gallilee asked. Miss Minerva saw an objection forthwith, and, thanks to
+      her effort of memory, discovered an especially mischievous way of stating
+      it. &ldquo;I feel a certain delicacy in offering an opinion,&rdquo; she said modestly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee was surprised. &ldquo;Do you allude to Mr. Le Frank?&rdquo; she
+      inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I don&rsquo;t doubt that his instructions would be of service to any young
+      lady.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you thinking of my niece?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Mrs. Gallilee. I am thinking of your son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In what way, if you please?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In this way. I believe your son would object to employing Mr. Le Frank as
+      Miss Carmina&rsquo;s teacher.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On musical grounds?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; on personal grounds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva explained her meaning. &ldquo;I think you have forgotten what
+      happened, when you first employed Mr. Le Frank to teach Maria and Zoe. His
+      personal appearance produced an unfavourable impression on your son; and
+      Mr. Ovid made certain inquiries which you had not thought necessary.
+      Pardon me if I persist in mentioning the circumstances. I owe it to myself
+      to justify my opinion&mdash;an opinion, you will please to remember, that
+      I did not volunteer. Mr. Ovid&rsquo;s investigations brought to light a very
+      unpleasant report, relating to Mr. Le Frank and a young lady who had been
+      one of his pupils.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An abominable slander, Miss Minerva! I am surprised that you should refer
+      to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am referring, madam, to the view of the matter taken by Mr. Ovid. If
+      Mr. Le Frank had failed to defend himself successfully, he would of course
+      not have been received into this house. But your son had his own opinion
+      of the defence. I was present at the time, and I heard him say that, if
+      Maria and Zoe had been older, he should have advised employing a
+      music-master who had no false reports against him to contradict. As they
+      were only children, he would say nothing more. That is what I had in my
+      mind, when I gave my opinion. I think Mr. Ovid will be annoyed when he
+      hears that Mr. Le Frank is his cousin&rsquo;s music-master. And, if any foolish
+      gossip reaches him in his absence, I fear it might lead to mischievous
+      results&mdash;I mean, to misunderstandings not easily set right by
+      correspondence, and quite likely therefore to lead, in the end, to
+      distrust and jealousy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There she paused, and crossed her hands on her lap, and waited for what
+      was to come next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If Mrs. Gallilee could have looked into her mind at that moment as well as
+      into her face, she would have read Miss Minerva&rsquo;s thoughts in these plain
+      terms: &ldquo;All this time, madam, you have been keeping up appearances in the
+      face of detection. You are going to use Mr. Le Frank as a means of making
+      mischief between Ovid and Carmina. If you had taken me into your
+      confidence, I might have been willing to help you. As it is, please
+      observe that I am not caught in the trap you have set for me. If Mr. Ovid
+      discovers your little plot, you can&rsquo;t lay the blame on your governess&rsquo;s
+      advice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee felt that she had again measured herself with Miss Minerva,
+      and had again been beaten. She had confidently reckoned on the governess&rsquo;s
+      secret feeling towards her son to encourage, without hesitation or
+      distrust, any project for promoting the estrangement of Ovid and Carmina.
+      There was no alternative now but to put her first obstacle in the way of
+      the marriage, on her own sole responsibility.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t doubt that you have spoken sincerely,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;but you have
+      failed to do justice to my son&rsquo;s good sense; and you are&mdash;naturally
+      enough, in your position&mdash;incapable of estimating his devoted
+      attachment to Carmina.&rdquo; Having planted that sting, she paused to observe
+      the effect. Not the slightest visible result rewarded her. She went on.
+      &ldquo;Almost the last words he said to me expressed his confidence&mdash;his
+      affectionate confidence&mdash;in my niece. The bare idea of his being
+      jealous of anybody, and especially of such a person as Mr. Le Frank, is
+      simply ridiculous. I am astonished that you don&rsquo;t see it in that light.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should see it in that light as plainly as you do,&rdquo; Miss Minerva quietly
+      replied, &ldquo;if Mr. Ovid was at home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What difference does that make?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me&mdash;it makes a great difference, as I think. He has gone away
+      on a long journey, and gone away in bad health. He will have his hours of
+      depression. At such times, trifles are serious things; and even well-meant
+      words&mdash;in letters&mdash;are sometimes misunderstood. I can offer no
+      better apology for what I have said; and I can only regret that I have
+      made so unsatisfactory a return for your flattering confidence in me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Having planted <i>her</i> sting, she rose to retire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you any further commands for me?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should like to be quite sure that I have not misunderstood you,&rdquo; said
+      Mrs. Gallilee. &ldquo;You consider Mr. Le Frank to be competent, as director of
+      any young lady&rsquo;s musical studies? Thank you. On the one point on which I
+      wished to consult you, my mind is at ease. Do you know where Carmina is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In her room, I believe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you have the goodness to send her here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With the greatest pleasure. Good-evening!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So ended Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s first attempt to make use of Miss Minerva,
+      without trusting her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The mistress of the house, and the governess of the house, had their own
+      special reasons for retiring to their own rooms. Carmina was in solitude
+      as a matter of necessity. The only friends that the poor girl could gather
+      round her now, were the absent and the dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had written to Ovid&mdash;merely for the pleasure of thinking that her
+      letter would accompany him, in the mail-steamer which took him to Quebec.
+      She had written to Teresa. She had opened her piano, and had played the
+      divinely beautiful music of Mozart, until its tenderness saddened her, and
+      she closed the instrument with an aching heart. For a while she sat by the
+      window, thinking of Ovid. The decline of day has its melancholy affinities
+      with the decline of life. As the evening wore on, her loneliness had
+      become harder and harder to endure. She rang for the maid, and asked if
+      Miss Minerva was at leisure. Miss Minerva had been sent for by Mrs.
+      Gallilee. Where was Zo? In the schoolroom, waiting until Mr. Le Frank had
+      done with Maria, to take her turn at the piano. Left alone again, Carmina
+      opened her locket, and put Ovid&rsquo;s portrait by it on the table. Her sad
+      fancy revived her dead parents&mdash;imagined her lover being presented to
+      them&mdash;saw him winning their hearts by his genial voice, his sweet
+      smile, his wise and kindly words. Miss Minerva, entering the room, found
+      her still absorbed in her own little melancholy daydream; recalling the
+      absent, reviving the dead&mdash;as if she had been nearing the close of
+      life. And only seventeen years old. Alas for Carmina, only seventeen!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee wishes to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She started. &ldquo;Is there anything wrong?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. What makes you think so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You speak in such a strange way. Oh, Frances, I have been longing for you
+      to keep me company! And now you are here, you look at me as coldly as if I
+      had offended you. Perhaps you are not well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s it. I am not well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have some of my lavender water! Let me bathe your forehead, and then blow
+      on it to cool you this hot weather. No? Sit down, dear, at any rate. What
+      does my aunt want with me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I had better not tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your aunt is sure to ask you what I have said. I have tried her temper;
+      you know what her temper is! She has sent me here instead of sending a
+      maid, on the chance that I may commit some imprudence. I give you her
+      message exactly as the servant might have given it&mdash;and you can tell
+      her so with a safe conscience. No more questions!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One more, please. Is it anything about Ovid?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then my aunt can wait a little. Do sit down! I want to speak to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About Ovid, of course!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina&rsquo;s look and tone at once set Miss Minerva&rsquo;s mind at ease. Her
+      conduct, on the day of Ovid&rsquo;s departure, had aroused no jealous suspicion
+      in her innocent rival. She refused to take the offered chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have already told you your aunt is out of temper,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Go to her
+      at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina rose unwillingly. &ldquo;There were so many things I wanted to say to
+      you,&rdquo; she began&mdash;and was interrupted by a rapid little series of
+      knocks at the door. Was the person in a hurry? The person proved to be the
+      discreet and accomplished Maria. She made her excuses to Carmina with
+      sweetness, and turned to Miss Minerva with sorrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I regret to say that you are wanted in the schoolroom. Mr. Le Frank can
+      do nothing with Zoe. Oh, dear!&rdquo; She sighed over her sister&rsquo;s wickedness,
+      and waited for instructions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be called away, under any circumstances, was a relief to Miss Minerva.
+      Carmina&rsquo;s affectionate welcome had irritated her in the most
+      incomprehensible manner. She was angry with herself for being irritated;
+      she felt inclined to abuse the girl for believing her. &ldquo;You fool, why
+      don&rsquo;t you see through me? Why don&rsquo;t you write to that other fool who is in
+      love with you, and tell him how I hate you both?&rdquo; But for her
+      self-command, she might have burst out with such mad words as those.
+      Maria&rsquo;s appearance was inexpressibly welcome. &ldquo;Say I will follow you
+      directly,&rdquo; she answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria, in the language of the stage, made a capital exit. With a few
+      hurried words of apology, Miss Minerva prepared to follow. Carmina stopped
+      her at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be hard on Zo!&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must do my duty,&rdquo; Miss Minerva answered sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We were sometimes naughty ourselves when we were children,&rdquo; Carmina
+      pleaded. &ldquo;And only the other day she had bread and water for tea. I am so
+      fond of Zo! And besides&mdash;&rdquo; she looked doubtfully at Miss Minerva&mdash;&ldquo;I
+      don&rsquo;t think Mr. Le Frank is the sort of man to get on with children.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After what had just passed between Mrs. Gallilee and herself, this
+      expression of opinion excited the governess&rsquo;s curiosity. &ldquo;What makes you
+      say that?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, my dear, for one thing Mr. Le Frank is so ugly. Don&rsquo;t you agree
+      with me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think you had better keep your opinion to yourself. If he heard of it&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he vain? My poor father used to say that all bad musicians were vain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t call Mr. Le Frank a bad musician?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I do! I heard him at his concert. Mere execution of the most
+      mechanical kind. A musical box is as good as that man&rsquo;s playing. This is
+      how he does it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her girlish good spirits had revived in her friend&rsquo;s company. She turned
+      gaily to the piano, and amused herself by imitating Mr. Le Frank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another knock at the door&mdash;a single peremptory knock this time&mdash;stopped
+      the performance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva had left the door ajar, when Carmina had prevented her from
+      quitting the room. She looked through the open space, and discovered&mdash;Mr.
+      Le Frank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His bald head trembled, his florid complexion was livid with suppressed
+      rage. &ldquo;That little devil has run away!&rdquo; he said&mdash;and hurried down the
+      stairs again, as if he dare not trust himself to utter a word more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has he heard me?&rdquo; Carmina asked in dismay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He may only have heard you playing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Offering this hopeful suggestion, Miss Minerva felt no doubt, in her own
+      mind, that Mr. Le Frank was perfectly well acquainted with Carmina&rsquo;s
+      opinion of him. It was easy enough to understand that he should himself
+      inform the governess of an incident, so entirely beyond the reach of his
+      own interference as the flight of Zo. But it was impossible to assume that
+      the furious anger which his face betrayed, could have been excited by a
+      child who had run away from a lesson. No: the vainest of men and musicians
+      had heard that he was ugly, and that his pianoforte-playing resembled the
+      performance of a musical box.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They left the room together&mdash;Carmina, ill at ease, to attend on her
+      aunt; Miss Minerva, pondering on what had happened, to find the fugitive
+      Zo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The footman had already spared her the trouble of searching the house. He
+      had seen Zo running out bare-headed into the Square, and had immediately
+      followed her. The young rebel was locked up. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care,&rdquo; said Zo; &ldquo;I
+      hate Mr. Le Frank!&rdquo; Miss Minerva&rsquo;s mind was too seriously preoccupied to
+      notice this aggravation of her pupil&rsquo;s offence. One subject absorbed her
+      attention&mdash;the interview then in progress between Carmina and her
+      aunt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How would Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s scheme prosper now? Mr. Le Frank might, or might
+      not, consent to be Carmina&rsquo;s teacher. Another result, however, was
+      certain. Miss Minerva thoroughly well knew the vindictive nature of the
+      man. He neither forgave nor forgot&mdash;he was Carmina&rsquo;s enemy for life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIV.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      The month of July was near its end.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      On the morning of the twenty-eighth, Carmina was engaged in replying to a
+      letter received from Teresa. Her answer contained a record of domestic
+      events, during an interval of serious importance in her life under Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s roof. Translated from the Italian, the letter was expressed in
+      these terms:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you vexed with me, dearest, for this late reply to your sad news from
+      Italy? I have but one excuse to offer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can I hear of your anxiety about your husband, and not feel the wish to
+      help you to bear your burden by writing cheerfully of myself? Over and
+      over again, I have thought of you and have opened my desk. My spirits have
+      failed me, and I have shut it up again. Am I now in a happier frame of
+      mind? Yes, my good old nurse, I am happier. I have had a letter from Ovid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has arrived safely at Quebec, and he is beginning to feel better
+      already, after the voyage. You cannot imagine how beautifully, how
+      tenderly he writes! I am almost reconciled to his absence, when I read his
+      letter. Will that give you some idea of the happiness and the consolation
+      that I owe to this best and dearest of men?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, my old granny, I see you start, and make that favourite mark with
+      your thumb-nail under the word &lsquo;consolation&rsquo;! I hear you say to yourself,
+      &lsquo;Is she unhappy in her English home? And is Aunt Gallilee to blame for
+      it?&rsquo; Yes! it is even so. What I would not for the whole world write to
+      Ovid, I may confess to you. Aunt Gallilee is indeed a hard, hard woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you remember telling me, in your dear downright way, that Mr. Le Frank
+      looked like a rogue? I don&rsquo;t know whether he is a rogue&mdash;but I do
+      know that it is through his conduct that my aunt is offended with me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It happened three weeks ago.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She sent for me, and said that my education must be completed, and that
+      my music in particular must be attended to. I was quite willing to obey
+      her, and I said so with all needful readiness and respect. She answered
+      that she had already chosen a music-master for me&mdash;and then, to my
+      astonishment, she mentioned his name. Mr. Le Frank, who taught her
+      children, was also to teach me! I have plenty of faults, but I really
+      think vanity is not one of them. It is only due to my excellent master in
+      Italy to say, that I am a better pianoforte player than Mr. Le Frank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never breathed a word of this, mind, to my aunt. It would have been
+      ungrateful and useless. She knows and cares nothing about music.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So we parted good friends, and she wrote the same evening to engage my
+      master. The next day she got his reply. Mr. Le Frank refused to be my
+      professor of music&mdash;and this, after he had himself proposed to teach
+      me, in a letter addressed to my aunt! Being asked for his reasons, he made
+      an excuse. The spare time at his disposal, when he had written, had been
+      since occupied by another pupil. The true reason for his conduct is, that
+      he heard me speak of him&mdash;rashly enough, I don&rsquo;t deny it&mdash;as an
+      ugly man and a bad player. Miss Minerva sounded him on the subject, at my
+      request, for the purpose of course of making my apologies. He affected not
+      to understand what she meant&mdash;with what motive I am sure I don&rsquo;t
+      know. False and revengeful, you may say, and perhaps you may be right. But
+      the serious part of it, so far as I am concerned, is my aunt&rsquo;s behaviour
+      to me. If I had thwarted her in the dearest wish of her life, she could
+      hardly treat me with greater coldness and severity. She has not stirred
+      again, in the matter of my education. We only meet at meal-times; and she
+      receives me, when I sit down at table, as she might receive a perfect
+      stranger. Her icy civility is unendurable. And this woman is my darling
+      Ovid&rsquo;s mother!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I done with my troubles now? No, Teresa; not even yet. Oh, how I
+      wish I was with you in Italy!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your letters persist in telling me that I am deluded in believing Miss
+      Minerva to be truly my friend. Do pray remember&mdash;even if I am wrong&mdash;what
+      a solitary position mine is, in Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s house! I can play with
+      dear little Zo; but whom can I talk to, whom can I confide in, if it turns
+      out that Miss Minerva has been deceiving me?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I wrote to you, I refused to acknowledge that any such dreadful
+      discovery as this could be possible; I resented the bare idea of it as a
+      cruel insult to my friend. Since that time&mdash;my face burns with shame
+      while I write it&mdash;I am a little, just a little, shaken in my own
+      opinion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I tell you how it began? Yes; I will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My good old friend, you have your prejudices. But you speak your mind
+      truly&mdash;and whom else can I consult? Not Ovid! The one effort of my
+      life is to prevent him from feeling anxious about me. And, besides, I have
+      contended against his opinion of Miss Minerva, and have brought him to
+      think of her more kindly. Has he been right, notwithstanding? and are you
+      right? And am I alone wrong? You shall judge for yourself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Minerva began to change towards me, after I had done the thing of
+      all others which ought to have brought us closer together than ever. She
+      is very poorly paid by my aunt, and she has been worried by little debts.
+      When she owned this, I most willingly lent her the money to pay her bills&mdash;a
+      mere trifle, only thirty pounds. What do you think she did? She crushed up
+      the bank-notes in her hand, and left the room in the strangest headlong
+      manner&mdash;as if I had insulted her instead of helping her! All the next
+      day, she avoided me. The day after, I myself went to her room, and asked
+      what was the matter. She gave me a most extraordinary answer. She said, &lsquo;I
+      don&rsquo;t know which of us two I most detest&mdash;myself or you. Myself for
+      borrowing your money, or you for lending it.&rsquo; I left her; not feeling
+      offended, only bewildered and distressed. More than an hour passed before
+      she made her excuses. &lsquo;I am ill and miserable&rsquo;&mdash;that was all she
+      said. She did indeed look so wretched that I forgave her directly. Would
+      you not have done so too, in my place?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This happened a fortnight since. Only yesterday, she broke out again, and
+      put my affection for her to a far more severe trial. I have not got over
+      it yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was a message for her in Ovid&rsquo;s letter&mdash;expressed in the
+      friendliest terms. He remembered with gratitude her kind promise, on
+      saying good-bye; he believed she would do all that lay in her power to
+      make my life happy in his absence; and he only regretted her leaving him
+      in such haste that he had no time to thank her personally. Such was the
+      substance of the message. I was proud and pleased to go to her room
+      myself, and read it to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you guess how she received me? Nobody&mdash;I say it positively&mdash;nobody
+      could guess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She actually flew into a rage! Not only with me (which I might have
+      pardoned), but with Ovid (which is perfectly inexcusable). &lsquo;How dare he
+      write to <i>you,&rsquo;</i> she burst out, &lsquo;of what I said to him when we took
+      leave of each other? And how dare you come here, and read it to me? What
+      do I care about your life, in his absence? Of what earthly consequence are
+      his remembrance and his gratitude to Me!&rsquo; She spoke of him, with such fury
+      and such contempt, that she roused me at last. I said to her, &lsquo;You
+      abominable woman, there is but one excuse for you&mdash;you&rsquo;re mad!&rsquo; I
+      left the room&mdash;and didn&rsquo;t I bang the door! We have not met since. Let
+      me hear your opinion, Teresa. I was in a passion when I told her she was
+      mad; but was I altogether wrong? Do you really think the poor creature is
+      in her right senses?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Looking back at your letter, I see that you ask if I have made any new
+      acquaintances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been introduced to one of the sweetest women I ever met with. And
+      who do you think she is? My other aunt&mdash;Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s younger
+      sister, Lady Northlake! They say she was not so handsome as Mrs. Gallilee,
+      when they were both young. For my part, I can only declare that no such
+      comparison is possible between them now. In look, in voice, in manner
+      there is something so charming in Lady Northlake that I quite despair of
+      describing it. My father used to say that she was amiable and weak; led by
+      her husband, and easily imposed upon. I am not clever enough to have his
+      eye for character: and perhaps I am weak and easily imposed upon too.
+      Before I had been ten minutes in Lady Northlake&rsquo;s company, I would have
+      given everything I possess in the world to have had <i>her</i> for my
+      guardian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She had called to say good-bye, on leaving London; and my aunt was not at
+      home. We had a long delightful talk together. She asked me so kindly to
+      visit her in Scotland, and be introduced to Lord Northlake, that I
+      accepted the invitation with a glad heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When my aunt returned, I quite forgot that we were on bad terms. I gave
+      her an enthusiastic account of all that had passed between her sister and
+      myself. How do you think she met this little advance on my part? She
+      positively refused to let me go to Scotland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As soon as I had in some degree got over my disappointment, I asked for
+      her reasons. &lsquo;I am your guardian,&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;and I am acting in the
+      exercise of my own discretion. I think it better you should stay with me.&rsquo; 
+      I made no further remark. My aunt&rsquo;s cruelty made me think of my dead
+      father&rsquo;s kindness. It was as much as I could do to keep from crying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thinking over it afterwards, I supposed (as this is the season when
+      everybody leaves town) that she had arranged to take me into the country
+      with her. Mr. Gallilee, who is always good to me, thought so too, and
+      promised me some sailing at the sea-side. To the astonishment of
+      everybody, she has not shown any intention of going away from London! Even
+      the servants ask what it means.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is a letter of complaints. Am I adding to your anxieties instead of
+      relieving them? My kind old nurse, there is no need to be anxious. At the
+      worst of my little troubles, I have only to think of Ovid&mdash;and his
+      mother&rsquo;s ice melts away from me directly; I feel brave enough to endure
+      anything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take my heart&rsquo;s best love, dear&mdash;no, next best love, after Ovid!&mdash;and
+      give some of it to your poor suffering husband. May I ask one little
+      favour? The English gentleman who has taken our old house at Rome, will
+      not object to give you a few flowers out of what was once my garden. Send
+      them to me in your next letter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXV.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the twelfth of August, Carmina heard from Ovid again. He wrote from
+      Montreal; describing the presentation of that letter of introduction which
+      he had once been tempted to destroy. In the consequences that followed the
+      presentation&mdash;apparently harmless consequences at the time&mdash;the
+      destinies of Ovid, of Carmina, and of Benjulia proved to be seriously
+      involved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid&rsquo;s letter was thus expressed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to know, my love, if there is any other man in the world who is as
+      fond of his darling as I am of you? If such a person exists, and if
+      adverse circumstances compel him to travel, I should like to ask a
+      question. Is he perpetually calling to mind forgotten things, which he
+      ought to have said to his sweetheart before he left her?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is my case. Let me give you an instance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have made a new friend here&mdash;one Mr. Morphew. Last night, he was
+      so kind as to invite me to a musical entertainment at his house. He is a
+      medical man; and he amuses himself in his leisure hours by playing on that
+      big and dreary member of the family of fiddles, whose name is Violoncello.
+      Assisted by friends, he hospitably cools his guests, in the hot season, by
+      the amateur performance of quartets. My dear, I passed a delightful
+      evening. Listening to the music? Not listening to a single note of it.
+      Thinking of You.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I roused your curiosity? I fancy I can see your eyes brighten; I
+      fancy I can hear you telling me to go on!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My thoughts reminded me that music is one of the enjoyments of your life.
+      Before I went away, I ought to have remembered this, and to have told you
+      that the manager of the autumn concerts at the opera-house is an old
+      friend of mine. He will be only too glad to place a box at your disposal,
+      on any night when his programme attracts your notice; I have already made
+      amends for my forgetfulness, by writing to him by this mail. Miss Minerva
+      will be your companion at the theatre. If Mr. Le Frank (who is sure to be
+      on the free list) pays you a visit in your box, tell him from me to put a
+      wig on his bald head, and to try if <i>that</i> will make him look like an
+      honest man!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did I forget anything else before my departure? Did I tell you how
+      precious you are to me? how beautiful you are to me? how entirely
+      worthless my life is without you? I dare say I did; but I tell it all over
+      again&mdash;and, when you are tired of the repetition, you have only to
+      let me know.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the meanwhile, have I nothing else to say? have I no travelling
+      adventures to relate? You insist on hearing of everything that happens to
+      me; and you are to have your own way before we are married, as well as
+      after. My sweet Carmina, your willing slave has something more serious
+      than common travelling adventures to relate&mdash;he has a confession to
+      make. In plain words, I have been practising my profession again, in the
+      city of Montreal!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder whether you will forgive me, when you are informed of the
+      circumstances? It is a sad little story; but I am vain enough to think
+      that my part in it will interest you. I have been a vain man, since that
+      brightest and best of all possible days when you first made <i>your</i>
+      confession&mdash;when you said that you loved me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look back in my letter, and you will see Mr. Morphew mentioned as a new
+      friend of mine, in Canada. I became acquainted with him through a letter
+      of introduction, given to me by Benjulia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say nothing to anybody of what I am now going to tell you&mdash;and be
+      especially careful, if you happen to see him, to keep Benjulia in the
+      dark. I sincerely hope you will not see him. He is a hard-hearted man&mdash;and
+      he might say something which would distress you, if he knew of the result
+      which has followed his opening to me the door of his friend&rsquo;s house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Morphew is a worthy busy old gentleman, who follows his professional
+      routine, and whose medical practice consists principally in bringing
+      infant Canadians into the world. His services happened to be specially in
+      request, at the time when I made his acquaintance. He was called away from
+      his table, on the day after the musical party, when I dined with him. I
+      was the only guest&mdash;and his wife was left to entertain me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The good lady began by speaking of Benjulia. She roundly declared him to
+      be a brute&mdash;and she produced my letter of introduction (closed by the
+      doctor&rsquo;s own hand, before he gave it to me) as a proof. Would you like to
+      read the letter, too? Here is a copy:&mdash;&lsquo;The man who brings this is an
+      overworked surgeon, named Ovid Vere. He wants rest and good air. Don&rsquo;t
+      encourage him to use his brains; and give him information enough to take
+      him, by the shortest way, to the biggest desert in Canada.&rsquo; You will now
+      understand that I am indebted to myself for the hospitable reception which
+      has detained me at Montreal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To return to my story. Mr. Morphew&rsquo;s services were again in request, ten
+      minutes after he had left the house. This time the patient was a man&mdash;and
+      the messenger declared that he was at the point of death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Morphew seemed to be at a loss what to do. &lsquo;In this dreadful case,&rsquo; 
+      she said, &lsquo;death is a mercy. What I cannot bear to think of is the poor
+      man&rsquo;s lonely position. In his last moments, there will not be a living
+      creature at his bedside.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hearing this, I ventured to make some inquiries. The answers painted such
+      a melancholy picture of poverty and suffering, and so vividly reminded me
+      of a similar case in my own experience, that I forgot I was an invalid
+      myself, and volunteered to visit the dying man in Mr. Morphew&rsquo;s place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The messenger led me to the poorest quarter of the city and to a garret
+      in one of the wretchedest houses in the street. There he lay, without
+      anyone to nurse him, on a mattress on the floor. What his malady was, you
+      will not ask to know. I will only say that any man but a doctor would have
+      run out of the room, the moment he entered it. To save the poor creature
+      was impossible. For a few days longer, I could keep pain in subjection,
+      and could make death easy when it came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At my next visit he was able to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I discovered that he was a member of my own profession&mdash;a mulatto
+      from the Southern States of America, by birth. The one fatal event of his
+      life had been his marriage. Every worst offence of which a bad woman can
+      be guilty, his vile wife had committed&mdash;and his infatuated love clung
+      to her through it all. She had disgraced and ruined him. Not once, but
+      again and again he had forgiven her, under circumstances which degraded
+      him in his own estimation, and in the estimation of his best friends. On
+      the last occasion when she left him, he had followed her to Montreal. In a
+      fit of drunken frenzy, she had freed him from her at last by
+      self-destruction. Her death affected his reason. When he was discharged
+      from the asylum, he spent his last miserable savings in placing a monument
+      over her grave. As long as his strength held out, he made daily
+      pilgrimages to the cemetery. And now, when the shadow of death was
+      darkening over him, his one motive for clinging to life, his one reason
+      for vainly entreating me to cure him, still centred in devotion to the
+      memory of his wife. &lsquo;Nobody will take care of her grave,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;when I
+      am gone.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My love, I have always thought fondly of you. After hearing this
+      miserable story, my heart overflowed with gratitude to God for giving me
+      Carmina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He died yesterday. His last words implored me to have him buried in the
+      same grave with the woman who had dishonoured him. Who am I that I should
+      judge him? Besides, I shall fulfil his last wishes as a thank-offering for
+      You.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is still something more to tell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the day before his death he asked me to open an old portmanteau&mdash;literally,
+      the one thing that he possessed. He had no money left, and no clothes. In
+      a corner of the portmanteau there was a roll of papers, tied with a piece
+      of string&mdash;and that was all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can make you but one return,&rsquo; he said; &lsquo;I give you my book.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was too weak to tell me what the book was about, or to express any
+      wish relative to its publication. I am ashamed to say I set no sort of
+      value on the manuscript presented to me&mdash;except as a memorial of a
+      sad incident in my life. Waking earlier than usual this morning, I opened
+      and examined my gift for the first time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To my amazement, I found myself rewarded a hundredfold for the little
+      that I had been able to do. This unhappy man must have been possessed of
+      abilities which (under favouring circumstances) would, I don&rsquo;t hesitate to
+      say, have ranked him among the greatest physicians of our time. The
+      language in which he writes is obscure, and sometimes grammatically
+      incorrect. But he, and he alone, has solved a problem in the treatment of
+      disease, which has thus far been the despair of medical men throughout the
+      whole civilised world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If a stranger was looking over my shoulder, he would be inclined to say,
+      This curious lover writes to his young lady as if she was a medical
+      colleague! We understand each other, Carmina, don&rsquo;t we? My future career
+      is an object of interest to my future wife. This poor fellow&rsquo;s gratitude
+      has opened new prospects to me; and who will be so glad to hear of it as
+      you?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Before I close my letter, you will expect me to say a word more about my
+      health. Sometimes I feel well enough to take my cabin in the next vessel
+      that sails for Liverpool. But there are other occasions, particularly when
+      I happen to over-exert myself in walking or riding, which warn me to be
+      careful and patient. My next journey will take me inland, to the mighty
+      plains and forest of this grand country. When I have breathed the
+      health-giving air of those regions, I shall be able to write definitely of
+      the blessed future day which is to unite us once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My mother has, I suppose, given her usual conversazione at the end of the
+      season. Let me hear how you like the scientific people at close quarters,
+      and let me give you a useful hint. When you meet in society with a
+      particularly positive man, who looks as if he was sitting for his
+      photograph, you may safely set that man down as a Professor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seriously, I do hope that you and my mother get on well together. You say
+      too little of each other in your letters to me, and I am sometimes
+      troubled by misgivings. There is another odd circumstance, connected with
+      our correspondence, which sets me wondering. I always send messages to
+      Miss Minerva; and Miss Minerva never sends any messages back to me. Do you
+      forget? or am I an object of perfect indifference to your friend?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My latest news of you all is from Zo. She has sent me a letter, in one of
+      the envelopes that I directed for her when I went away. Miss Minerva&rsquo;s
+      hair would stand on end if she could see the blots and the spelling. Zo&rsquo;s
+      account of the family circle (turned into intelligible English), will I
+      think personally interest you. Here it is, in its own Roman brevity&mdash;with
+      your pretty name shortened to two syllables: &lsquo;Except Pa and Car, we are a
+      bad lot at home.&rsquo; After that, I can add nothing that is worth reading.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take the kisses, my angel, that I leave for you on the blank morsel of
+      paper below, and love me as I love you. There is a world of meaning,
+      Carmina, even in those commonplace words. Oh, if I could only go to you by
+      the mail steamer, in the place of my letter!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVI.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The answers to Ovid&rsquo;s questions were not to be found in Carmina&rsquo;s reply.
+      She had reasons for not mentioning the conversazione; and she shrank from
+      writing to him of his mother. Her true position in Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s house&mdash;growing,
+      day by day, harder and harder to endure; threatening, more and more
+      plainly, complications and perils to come&mdash;was revealed in her next
+      letter to her old friend in Italy. She wrote to Teresa in these words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you love me, forget the inhuman manner in which I have spoken of Miss
+      Minerva!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After I had written to you, I would have recalled my letter, if it could
+      have been done. I began, that evening, to feel ashamed of what I had said
+      in my anger. As the hours went on, and bedtime approached, I became so
+      wretched that I ran the risk of another harsh reception, by intruding on
+      her once more. It was a circumstance in my favour that she was, to all
+      appearance, in bad spirits too. There was something in her voice, when she
+      asked what I wanted, which made me think&mdash;though she looks like the
+      last person in the world to be guilty of such weakness&mdash;that she had
+      been crying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I gave the best expression I could to my feelings of repentance and
+      regret. What I actually said to her, has slipped out of my memory; I was
+      frightened and upset&mdash;and I am always stupid in that condition. My
+      attempt at reconciliation may have been clumsy enough; but she might
+      surely have seen that I had no intention to mystify and distress her. And
+      yet, what else could she have imagined?&mdash;to judge by her own actions
+      and words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her bedroom candle was on the table behind me. She snatched it up and
+      held it before my face, and looked at me as if I was some extraordinary
+      object that she had never seen or heard of before! &lsquo;You are little better
+      than a child,&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;I have ten times your strength of will&mdash;what
+      is there in you that I can&rsquo;t resist? Go away from me! Be on your guard
+      against me! I am false; I am suspicious; I am cruel. You simpleton, have
+      you no instincts to protect you? Is there nothing in you that shrinks from
+      me?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She put down the candle, and burst into a wretched mocking laugh. &lsquo;There
+      she stands,&rsquo; cried this strange creature, &lsquo;and looks at me with the eyes
+      of a baby that sees something new! I can&rsquo;t frighten her. I can&rsquo;t disgust
+      her. What does it mean?&rsquo; She dropped into a chair; her voice sank almost
+      to a whisper&mdash;I should have thought she was afraid of me, if such a
+      thing had been possible. &lsquo;What do you know of me, that I don&rsquo;t know of
+      myself?&rsquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was quite beyond me to understand what she meant. I took a chair, and
+      sat down by her. &lsquo;I only know what you said to me yesterday,&rsquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;What did I say?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;You told me you were miserable.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;I told you a lie! Believe what I have said to you to-day. In your own
+      interests, believe it to be the truth!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing would induce me to believe it. &lsquo;No,&rsquo; I said. &lsquo;You were miserable
+      yesterday, and you are miserable to-day. <i>That</i> is the truth!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What put my next bold words into my head, I don&rsquo;t know. It doesn&rsquo;t
+      matter; the thought was in me&mdash;and out it came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;I think you have some burden on your mind,&rsquo; I went on. &lsquo;If I can&rsquo;t
+      relieve you of it, perhaps I can help you bear it. Come! tell me what it
+      is.&rsquo; I waited; but it was of no use&mdash;she never even looked at me.
+      Because I am in love myself, do I think everybody else is like me? I
+      thought she blushed. I don&rsquo;t know what else I thought. &lsquo;Are you in love?&rsquo; 
+      I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She jumped up from her chair, so suddenly and so violently that she threw
+      it on the floor. Still, not a word passed her lips. I found courage enough
+      to go on&mdash;but not courage enough to look at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;I love Ovid, and Ovid loves me,&rsquo; I said. &lsquo;There is my consolation,
+      whatever my troubles may be. Are you not so fortunate?&rsquo; A dreadful
+      expression of pain passed over her face. How could I see it, and not feel
+      the wish to sympathise with her? I ran the risk, and said, &lsquo;Do you love
+      somebody, who doesn&rsquo;t love you?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She turned her back on me, and went to the toilet-table. I think she
+      looked at herself in the glass. &lsquo;Well,&rsquo; she said, speaking to me at last,
+      &lsquo;what else?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Nothing else,&rsquo; I answered&mdash;&lsquo;except that I hope I have not offended
+      you.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She left the glass as suddenly as she had approached it, and took up the
+      candle again. Once more she held it so that it lit my face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Guess who he is,&rsquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;How can I do that?&rsquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She quietly put down the candle again. In some way, quite
+      incomprehensible to myself, I seemed to have relieved her. She spoke to me
+      in a changed voice, gently and sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are the best of good girls, and you mean kindly. It&rsquo;s of no use&mdash;you
+      can do nothing. Forgive my insolence yesterday; I was mad with envy of
+      your happy marriage engagement. You don&rsquo;t understand such a nature as
+      mine. So much the better! ah, so much the better! Good-night!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was such hopeless submission, such patient suffering, in those
+      words, that I could not find it in my heart to leave her. I thought of how
+      I might have behaved, of the wild things I might have said, if Ovid had
+      cared nothing for me. Had some cruel man forsaken her? That was <i>her</i>
+      secret. I asked myself what I could do to encourage her. Your last letter,
+      with our old priest&rsquo;s enclosure, was in my pocket. I took it out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Would you mind reading a short letter,&rsquo; I said, &lsquo;before we wish each
+      other goodnight?&rsquo; I held out the priest&rsquo;s letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She drew back with a dark look; she appeared to have some suspicion of
+      it. &lsquo;Who is the writer?&rsquo; she inquired sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;A person who is a stranger to you.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her face cleared directly. She took the letter from me, and waited to
+      hear what I had to say next. &lsquo;The person,&rsquo; I told her, &lsquo;is a wise and good
+      old man&mdash;the priest who married my father and mother, and baptised
+      me. We all of us used to consult Father Patrizio, when we wanted advice.
+      My nurse Teresa felt anxious about me in Ovid&rsquo;s absence; she spoke to him
+      about my marriage engagement, and of my exile&mdash;forgive me for using
+      the word!&mdash;in this house. He said he would consider, before he gave
+      her his opinion. The next day, he sent her the letter which you have got
+      in your hand.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, I came to a full stop; having something yet to say, but not
+      knowing how to express myself with the necessary delicacy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Why do you wish me to read the letter?&rsquo; she asked, quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think there is something in it which might&mdash;.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, like a fool, I came to another full stop. She was as patient as
+      ever; she only made a little sign to me to go on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;I think Father Patrizio&rsquo;s letter might put you in a better frame of
+      mind,&rsquo; I said; &lsquo;it might keep you from despising yourself.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She went back to her chair, and read the letter. You have permitted me to
+      keep the comforting words of the good Father, among my other treasures. I
+      copy his letter for you in this place&mdash;so that you may read it again,
+      and see what I had in my mind, and understand how it affected poor Miss
+      Minerva.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Teresa, my well-beloved friend,&mdash;I have considered the anxieties
+      that trouble you, with this result: that I can do my best,
+      conscientiously, to quiet your mind. I have had the experience of forty
+      years in the duties of the priesthood. In that long time, the innermost
+      secrets of thousands of men and women have been confided to me. From such
+      means of observation, I have drawn many useful conclusions; and some of
+      them may be also useful to you. I will put what I have to say, in the
+      plainest and fewest words: consider them carefully, on your side. The
+      growth of the better nature, in women, is perfected by one influence&mdash;and
+      that influence is Love. Are you surprised that a priest should write in
+      this way? Did you expect me to say, Religion? Love, my sister, <i>is</i>
+      Religion, in women. It opens their hearts to all that is good for them;
+      and it acts independently of the conditions of human happiness. A
+      miserable woman, tormented by hopeless love, is still the better and the
+      nobler for that love; and a time will surely come when she will show it.
+      You have fears for Carmina&mdash;cast away, poor soul, among strangers
+      with hard hearts! I tell you to have no fears. She may suffer under
+      trials; she may sink under trials. But the strength to rise again is in
+      her&mdash;and that strength is Love.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Having read our old friend&rsquo;s letter, Miss Minerva turned back, and read
+      it again&mdash;and waited a little, repeating some part of it to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Does it encourage you?&rsquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She handed the letter back to me. &lsquo;I have got one sentence in it by
+      heart,&rsquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will know what that sentence is, without my telling you. I felt so
+      relieved, when I saw the change in her for the better&mdash;I was so
+      inexpressibly happy in the conviction that we were as good friends again
+      as ever&mdash;that I bent down to kiss her, on saying goodnight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She put up her hand and stopped me. &lsquo;No,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;not till I have done
+      something to deserve it. You are more in need of help than you think. Stay
+      here a little longer; I have a word to say to you about your aunt.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I returned to my chair, feeling a little startled. Her eyes rested on me
+      absently&mdash;she was, as I imagined, considering with herself, before
+      she spoke. I refrained from interrupting her thoughts. The night was still
+      and dark. Not a sound reached our ears from without. In the house, the
+      silence was softly broken by a rustling movement on the stairs. It came
+      nearer. The door was opened suddenly. Mrs. Gallilee entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What folly possessed me? Why was I frightened? I really could not help it&mdash;I
+      screamed. My aunt walked straight up to me, without taking the smallest
+      notice of Miss Minerva. &lsquo;What are you doing here, when you ought to be in
+      your bed?&rsquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She spoke in such an imperative manner&mdash;with such authority and such
+      contempt&mdash;that I looked at her in astonishment. Some suspicion seemed
+      to be roused in her by finding me and Miss Minerva together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No more gossip!&rsquo; she called out sternly. &lsquo;Do you hear me? Go to bed!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was it not enough to rouse anybody? I felt my pride burning in my face.
+      &lsquo;Am I a child, or a servant?&rsquo; I said. &lsquo;I shall go to bed early or late as
+      I please.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She took one step forward; she seized me by the arm, and forced me to my
+      feet. Think of it, Teresa! In all my life I have never had a hand laid on
+      me except in kindness. Who knows it better than you! I tried vainly to
+      speak&mdash;I saw Miss Minerva rise to interfere&mdash;I heard her say,
+      &lsquo;Mrs. Gallilee, you forget yourself!&rsquo; Somehow, I got out of the room. On
+      the landing, a dreadful fit of trembling shook me from head to foot. I
+      sank down on the stairs. At first, I thought I was going to faint. No; I
+      shook and shivered, but I kept my senses. I could hear their voices in the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee began. &lsquo;Did you tell me just now that I had forgotten
+      myself?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Minerva answered, &lsquo;Certainly, madam. You <i>did</i> forget
+      yourself.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The next words escaped me. After that, they grew louder; and I heard them
+      again&mdash;my aunt first.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;I am dissatisfied with your manner to me, Miss Minerva. It has latterly
+      altered very much for the worse.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;In what respect, Mrs. Gallilee?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;In this respect. Your way of speaking to me implies an assertion of
+      equality&mdash;&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Stop a minute, madam! I am not so rich as you are. But I am at a loss to
+      know in what other way I am not your equal. Did you assert your
+      superiority&mdash;may I ask&mdash;when you came into my room without first
+      knocking at the door?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Miss Minerva! Do you wish to remain in my service?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Say employment, Mrs. Gallilee&mdash;if you please. I am quite
+      indifferent in the matter. I am equally ready, at your entire convenience,
+      to stay or to go.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s voice sounded nearer, as if she was approaching the door.
+      &lsquo;I think we arranged,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;that there was to be a month&rsquo;s notice on
+      either side, when I first engaged you?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Yes&mdash;at my suggestion.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Take your month&rsquo;s notice, if you please.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Dating from to-morrow?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Of course!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My aunt came out, and found me on the stairs. I tried to rise. It was not
+      to be done. My head turned giddy. She must have seen that I was quite
+      prostrate&mdash;and yet she took no notice of the state I was in. Cruel,
+      cruel creature! she accused me of listening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Can&rsquo;t you see that the poor girl is ill?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was Miss Minerva&rsquo;s voice. I looked round at her, feeling fainter and
+      fainter. She stooped; I felt her strong sinewy arms round me; she lifted
+      me gently. &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll take care of you,&rsquo; she whispered&mdash;and carried me
+      downstairs to my room, as easily as if I had been a child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must rest, Teresa. The remembrance of that dreadful night brings it all
+      back again. Don&rsquo;t be anxious about me, my old dear! You shall hear more
+      to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the next day events happened, the influence of which upon Carmina&rsquo;s
+      excitable nature urged her to complete her unfinished letter, without
+      taking the rest that she needed. Once more&mdash;and, as the result
+      proved, for the last time&mdash;she wrote to her faithful old friend in
+      these words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t ask me to tell you how the night passed! Miss Minerva was the first
+      person who came to me in the morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She had barely said a few kind words, when Maria interrupted us,
+      reminding her governess of the morning&rsquo;s lessons. &lsquo;Mrs. Gallilee has sent
+      her,&rsquo; Miss Minerva whispered; &lsquo;I will return to you in the hour before the
+      children&rsquo;s dinner.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The next person who appeared was, as we had both anticipated, Mrs.
+      Gallilee herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She brought me a cup of tea; and the first words she spoke were words of
+      apology for her conduct on the previous night. Her excuse was that she had
+      been &lsquo;harassed by anxieties which completely upset her.&rsquo; And&mdash;can you
+      believe it?&mdash;she implored me not to mention &lsquo;the little
+      misunderstanding between us when I next wrote to her son!&rsquo; Is this woman
+      made of iron and stone, instead of flesh and blood? Does she really think
+      me such a wretch as to cause Ovid, under any provocation, a moment&rsquo;s
+      anxiety while he is away? The fewest words that would satisfy her, and so
+      send her out of my room, were the only words I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After this, an agreeable surprise was in store for me. The familiar voice
+      of good Mr. Gallilee applied for admission&mdash;through the keyhole!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Are you asleep, my dear? May I come in?&rsquo; His kind, fat old face peeped
+      round the door when I said Yes&mdash;and reminded me of Zo, at dinner,
+      when she asks for more pudding, and doesn&rsquo;t think she will get it. Mr.
+      Gallilee had something to ask for, and some doubt of getting it, which
+      accounted for the resemblance. &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve taken the liberty, Carmina, of
+      sending for our doctor. You&rsquo;re a delicate plant, my dear&mdash;&rsquo; (Here,
+      his face disappeared and he spoke to somebody outside)&mdash;&lsquo;You think so
+      yourself, don&rsquo;t you, Mr. Null? And you have a family of daughters, haven&rsquo;t
+      you?&rsquo; (His face appeared again; more like Zo than ever.) &lsquo;Do please see
+      him, my child; I&rsquo;m not easy about you. I was on the stairs last night&mdash;nobody
+      ever notices me, do they, Mr. Null?&mdash;and I saw Miss Minerva&mdash;good
+      creature, and, Lord, how strong!&mdash;carrying you to your bed. Mr.
+      Null&rsquo;s waiting outside. Don&rsquo;t distress me by saying No!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there anybody cruel enough to distress Mr. Gallilee? The doctor came
+      in&mdash;looking like a clergyman; dressed all in black, with a beautiful
+      frill to his shirt, and a spotless white cravat. He stared hard at me; he
+      produced a little glass-tube; he gave it a shake, and put it under my arm;
+      he took it away again, and consulted it; he said, &lsquo;Aha!&rsquo; he approved of my
+      tongue; he disliked my pulse; he gave his opinion at last. &lsquo;Perfect quiet.
+      I must see Mrs. Gallilee.&rsquo; And there was an end of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Gallilee observed the medical proceedings with awe. &lsquo;Mr. Null is a
+      wonderful man,&rsquo; he whispered, before he followed the doctor out. Ill and
+      wretched as I was, this little interruption amused me. I wonder why I
+      write about it here? There are serious things waiting to be told&mdash;am
+      I weakly putting them off?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Minerva came back to me as she had promised. &lsquo;It is well,&rsquo; she said
+      gravely, &lsquo;that the doctor has been to see you.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I asked if the doctor thought me very ill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He thinks you have narrowly escaped a nervous fever; and he has given
+      some positive orders. One of them is that your slightest wishes are to be
+      humoured. If he had not said that, Mrs. Gallilee would have prevented me
+      from seeing you. She has been obliged to give way; and she hates me&mdash;almost
+      as bitterly, Carmina, as she hates you.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This called to my mind the interruption of the previous night, when Miss
+      Minerva had something important to tell me. When I asked what it was, she
+      shook her head, and said painful subjects of conversation were not fit
+      subjects in my present state.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Need I add that I insisted on hearing what she had to say? Oh, how
+      completely my poor father must have been deceived, when he made his
+      horrible sister my guardian! If I had not fortunately offended the
+      music-master, she would have used Mr. Le Frank as a means of making Ovid
+      jealous, and of sowing the seeds of dissension between us. Having failed
+      so far, she is (as Miss Minerva thinks) at a loss to discover any other
+      means of gaining her wicked ends. Her rage at finding herself baffled
+      seems to account for her furious conduct, when she discovered me in Miss
+      Minerva&rsquo;s room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will ask, as I did, what has she to gain by this wicked plotting and
+      contriving, with its shocking accompaniments of malice and anger?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Minerva answered, &lsquo;I still believe that money is the motive. Her son
+      is mistaken about her; her friends are mistaken; they think she is fond of
+      money&mdash;the truer conclusion is, she is short of money. There is the
+      secret of the hard bargains she drives, and the mercenary opinions she
+      holds. I don&rsquo;t doubt that her income would be enough for most other women
+      in her position. It is not enough for a woman who is jealous of her rich
+      sister&rsquo;s place in the world. Wait a little, and you will see that I am not
+      talking at random. You were present at the grand party she gave some
+      week&rsquo;s since?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;I wish I had stayed in my own room,&rsquo; I said. &lsquo;Mrs. Gallilee was offended
+      with me for not admiring her scientific friends. With one or two
+      exceptions, they talked of nothing but themselves and their discoveries&mdash;and,
+      oh, dear, how ugly they were!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Never mind that now, Carmina. Did you notice the profusion of splendid
+      flowers, in the hall and on the staircase, as well as in the
+      reception-rooms?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Did you observe&mdash;no, you are a young girl&mdash;did you hear any of
+      the gentlemen, in the supper-room, expressing their admiration of the
+      luxuries provided for the guests, the exquisite French cookery and the
+      delicious wine? Why was all the money which these things cost spent in one
+      evening? Because Lady Northlake&rsquo;s parties must be matched by Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s parties. Lady Northlake lives in a fashionable neighbourhood in
+      London, and has splendid carriages and horses. This is a fashionable
+      neighbourhood. Judge what this house costs, and the carriages and horses,
+      when I tell you that the rent of the stables alone is over a hundred
+      pounds a year. Lady Northlake has a superb place in Scotland. Mrs.
+      Gallilee is not able to rival her sister in that respect&mdash;but she has
+      her marine villa in the Isle of Wight. When Mr. Gallilee said you should
+      have some sailing this autumn, did you think he meant that he would hire a
+      boat? He referred to the yacht, which is part of the establishment at the
+      sea-side. Lady Northlake goes yachting with her husband; and Mrs. Gallilee
+      goes yachting with her husband. Do you know what it costs, when the first
+      milliner in Paris supplies English ladies with dresses? That milliner&rsquo;s
+      lowest charge for a dress which Mrs. Gallilee would despise&mdash;ordinary
+      material, my dear, and imitation lace&mdash;is forty pounds. Think a
+      little&mdash;and even your inexperience will see that the mistress of this
+      house is spending more than she can afford, and is likely (unless she has
+      resources that we know nothing about) to be, sooner or later, in serious
+      need of money.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This was a new revelation to me, and it altered my opinion of course. But
+      I still failed to see what Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s extravagances had to do with
+      her wicked resolution to prevent Ovid from marrying me. Miss Minerva&rsquo;s
+      only answer to this was to tell me to write to Mr. Mool, while I had the
+      chance, and ask for a copy of my father&rsquo;s Will. &lsquo;I will take the letter to
+      him,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;and bring the reply myself. It will save time, if it does
+      nothing else.&rsquo; The letter was written in a minute. Just as she took it
+      from me, the parlour-maid announced that the early dinner was ready.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two hours later, the reply was in my hands. The old father had taken
+      Maria and Zo for their walk; and Miss Minerva had left the house by
+      herself&mdash;sending word to Mrs. Gallilee that she was obliged to go out
+      on business of her own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Did Mrs. Gallilee see you come in?&rsquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Yes. She was watching for me, no doubt.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did she see you go upstairs to my room?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;And said nothing?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Nothing.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We looked at each other; both of us feeling the same doubt of how the day
+      would end. Miss Minerva pointed impatiently to the lawyer&rsquo;s reply. I
+      opened it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Mool&rsquo;s letter was very kind, but quite incomprehensible in the latter
+      part of it. After referring me to his private residence, in case I wished
+      to consult him personally later in the day, he mentioned some proceeding,
+      called &lsquo;proving the Will,&rsquo; and some strange place called &lsquo;Doctors&rsquo; 
+      Commons.&rsquo; However, there was the copy of the Will, and that was all we
+      wanted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I began reading it. How I pitied the unfortunate men who have to learn
+      the law! My dear Teresa, I might as well have tried to read an unknown
+      tongue. The strange words, the perpetual repetitions, the absence of
+      stops, utterly bewildered me. I handed the copy to Miss Minerva. Instead
+      of beginning on the first page, as I had done, she turned to the last.
+      With what breathless interest I watched her face! First, I saw that she
+      understood what she was reading. Then, after a while, she turned pale. And
+      then, she lifted her eyes to me. &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t be frightened,&rsquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I was frightened. My ignorant imagination pictured some dreadful
+      unknown power given to Mrs. Gallilee by the Will. &lsquo;What can my aunt do to
+      me?&rsquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Minerva composed me&mdash;without concealing the truth. &lsquo;In her
+      position, Carmina, and with her intensely cold and selfish nature, there
+      is no fear of her attempting to reach her ends by violent means. Your
+      happiness may be in danger&mdash;and that prospect, God knows, is bad
+      enough.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When she talked of my happiness, I naturally thought of Ovid. I asked if
+      there was anything about him in the Will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was no doubt a stupid thing to say at such a time; and it seemed to
+      annoy her. &lsquo;You are the only person concerned,&rsquo; she answered sharply. &lsquo;It
+      is Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s interest that you shall never be her son&rsquo;s wife, or any
+      man&rsquo;s wife. If she can have her way, you will live and die an unmarried
+      woman.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This did me good: it made me angry. I began to feel like myself again. I
+      said, &lsquo;Please let me hear the rest of it.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Minerva first patiently explained to me what she had read in the
+      Will. She then returned to the subject of my aunt&rsquo;s extravagance; speaking
+      from experience of what had happened in her own family. &lsquo;If Mrs. Gallilee
+      borrows money,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;her husband will, in all probability, have to
+      repay the loan. And, if borrowings go on in that way, Maria and Zoe will
+      be left wretchedly provided for, in comparison with Lady Northlake&rsquo;s
+      daughters. A fine large fortune would wonderfully improve these doubtful
+      prospects&mdash;can you guess, Carmina, where it is to come from?&rsquo; I could
+      easily guess, now I understood the Will. My good Teresa, if I die without
+      leaving children, the fine large fortune comes from Me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see it all now&mdash;don&rsquo;t you? After I had thanked Miss Minerva,
+      turned away my head on the pillow overpowered by disgust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The clock in the hall struck the hour of the children&rsquo;s tea. Miss Minerva
+      would be wanted immediately. At parting, she kissed me. &lsquo;There is the kiss
+      that you meant to give me last night,&rsquo; she said. &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t despair of
+      yourself. I am to be in the house for a month longer; and I am a match for
+      Mrs. Gallilee. We will say no more now. Compose yourself, and try to
+      sleep.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She went away to her duties. Sleep was out of the question. My attention
+      wandered when I tried to read. Doing nothing meant, in other words,
+      thinking of what had happened. If you had come into my room, I should have
+      told you all about it. The next best thing was to talk to you in this way.
+      You don&rsquo;t know what a relief it has been to me to write these lines.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The night has come, and Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s cruelty has at last proved too
+      much even for my endurance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Try not to be surprised; try not to be alarmed. If my mind to-morrow is
+      the same as my mind to-night, I shall attempt to make my escape. I shall
+      take refuge with Lady Northlake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, if I could go to Ovid! But he is travelling in the deserts of Canada.
+      Until his return to the coast, I can only write to him to the care of his
+      bankers at Quebec. I should not know where to find him, when I arrived;
+      and what a dreadful meeting&mdash;if I did find him&mdash;to be obliged to
+      acknowledge that it is his mother who has driven me away! There will be
+      nothing to alarm him, if I go to his mother&rsquo;s sister. If you could see
+      Lady Northlake, you would feel as sure as I do that she will take my part.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After writing to you, I must have fallen asleep. It was quite dark, when
+      I was awakened by the striking of a match in my room. I looked round,
+      expecting to see Miss Minerva. The person lighting my candle was Mrs.
+      Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She poured out the composing medicine which Mr. Null had ordered for me.
+      I took it in silence. She sat down by the bedside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;My child,&rsquo; she began, &lsquo;we are friends again now. You bear no malice, I
+      am sure.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Distrust still kept me silent. I remembered that she had watched for Miss
+      Minerva&rsquo;s return, and that she had seen Miss Minerva go up to my room. The
+      idea that she meant to be revenged on us both for having our secrets, and
+      keeping them from her knowledge, took complete possession of my mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Are you feeling better?&rsquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Is there anything I can get for you?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Not now&mdash;thank you.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Would you like to see Mr. Null again, before to-morrow?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Oh, no!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These were ungraciously short replies&mdash;but it cost me an effort to
+      speak to her at all. She showed no signs of taking offence; she proceeded
+      as smoothly as ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Carmina, I have my faults of temper; and, with such pursuits as
+      mine, I am not perhaps a sympathetic companion for a young girl. But I
+      hope you believe that it is my duty and my pleasure to be a second mother
+      to you?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; she did really say that! Whether I was only angry, or whether I was
+      getting hysterical, I don&rsquo;t know. I began to feel an oppression in my
+      breathing that almost choked me. There are two windows in my room, and one
+      of them only was open. I was obliged to ask her to open the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She did it; she came back, and fanned me. I submitted as long as I could&mdash;and
+      then I begged her not to trouble herself any longer. She put down the fan,
+      and went on with what she had to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;I wish to speak to you about Miss Minerva. You are aware that I gave her
+      notice, last night, to leave her situation. For your sake, I regret that I
+      did not take this step before you came to England.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My confidence in myself returned when I heard Miss Minerva spoken of in
+      this way. I said at once that I considered her to be one of my best and
+      truest friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;My dear child, that is exactly what I lament! This person has insinuated
+      herself into your confidence&mdash;and she is utterly unworthy of it.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Could I let those abominable words pass in silence? &lsquo;Mrs. Gallilee!&rsquo; I
+      said, &lsquo;you are cruelly wronging a woman whom I love and respect!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Mrs. Gallilee?&rsquo; she repeated. &lsquo;Do I owe it to Miss Minerva that you have
+      left off calling me Aunt? Your obstinacy, Carmina, leaves me no
+      alternative but to speak out. If I had done my duty, I ought to have said
+      long since, what I am going to say now. You are putting your trust in the
+      bitterest enemy you have; an enemy who secretly hates you with the
+      unforgiving hatred of a rival!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look back at my letter, describing what passed between Miss Minerva and
+      me, when I went to her room; and you will know what I felt on hearing her
+      spoken of as &lsquo;a rival.&rsquo; My sense of justice refused to believe it. But,
+      oh, my dear old nurse, there was some deeper sense in me that said, as if
+      in words, It is true!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee went on, without mercy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;I know her thoroughly; I have looked into her false heart. Nobody has
+      discovered her but me. Charge her with it, if you like; and let her deny
+      it if she dare. Miss Minerva is secretly in love with my son.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She got up. Her object was gained: she was even with me, and with the
+      woman who had befriended me, at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Lie down in your bed again,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;and think over what I have told
+      you. In your own interests, think over it well.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was left alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I tell you what saved me from sinking under the shock? Ovid&mdash;thousands
+      and thousands of miles away&mdash;Ovid saved me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I love him with all my heart and soul; and I do firmly believe that I
+      know him better than I know myself. If his mother had betrayed Miss
+      Minerva to him, as she has betrayed her to me, that unhappy woman would
+      have had his truest pity. I am as certain of this, as I am that I see the
+      moon, while I write, shining on my bed. Ovid would have pitied her. And I
+      pitied her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wrote the lines that follow, and sent them to her by the maid. In the
+      fear that she might mistake my motives, and think me angry and jealous, I
+      addressed her with my former familiarity by her christian name:&mdash;&ldquo;&lsquo;Last
+      night, Frances, I ventured to ask if you loved some one who did not love
+      you. And you answered by saying to me, Guess who he is. My aunt has just
+      told me that he is her son. Has she spoken the truth?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am now waiting to receive Miss Minerva&rsquo;s reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For the first time since I have been in the house, my door is locked. I
+      cannot, and will not, see Mrs. Gallilee again. All her former cruelties
+      are, as I feel it, nothing to the cruelty of her coming here when I am
+      ill, and saying to me what she has said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The weary time passes, and still there is no reply. Is Frances angry? or
+      is she hesitating how to answer me&mdash;personally or by writing? No! she
+      has too much delicacy of feeling to answer in her own person.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have only done her justice. The maid has just asked me to open the
+      door. I have got my answer. Read it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Mrs. Gallilee has spoken the truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;How I can have betrayed myself so that she has discovered my miserable
+      secret is more than I can tell I will not own it to her or to any living
+      creature but yourself. Undeserving as I am, I know that I can trust you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is needless to dwell at any length on this confession. Many things in
+      my conduct, which must have perplexed you, will explain themselves flow.
+      There has been, however, one concealment on my part, which it is due to
+      you that I should acknowledge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;If Mrs. Gallilee had taken me into her confidence, I confess that my
+      jealousy would have degraded me into becoming her accomplice. As things
+      were, I was too angry and too cunning to let her make use of me without
+      trusting me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;There are other acts of deceit which I ought to acknowledge&mdash;if I
+      could summon composure enough to write about them. Better to say at once&mdash;I
+      am not worthy of your pardon, not worthy even of your pity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;With the same sincerity, I warn you that the wickedness in me, on which
+      Mrs. Gallilee calculated, may be in me still. The influence of your higher
+      and better nature&mdash;helped perhaps by that other influence of which
+      the old priest spoke in his letter&mdash;has opened my heart to tenderness
+      and penitence of which I never believed myself capable: has brought the
+      burning tears into my eyes which make it a hard task to write to you. All
+      this I know, and yet I dare not believe in myself. It is useless to deny
+      it, Carmina&mdash;I love him. Even now, when you have found me out, I love
+      him. Don&rsquo;t trust me. Oh, God, what torture it is to write it&mdash;but I
+      do write it, I <i>will</i> write it&mdash;don&rsquo;t trust me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;One thing I may say for myself. I know the utter hopelessness of that
+      love which I have acknowledged. I know that he returns your love, and will
+      never return mine. So let it be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;I am not young; I have no right to comfort myself with hopes that I know
+      to be vain. If one of us is to suffer, let it be that one who is used to
+      suffering. I have never been the darling of my parents, like you; I have
+      not been used at home to the kindness and the love that you remember. A
+      life without sweetness and joy has well fitted me for a loveless future.
+      And, besides, you are worthy of him, and I am not. Mrs. Gallilee is wrong,
+      Carmina, if she thinks I am your rival. I am not your rival; I never can
+      be your rival. Believe nothing else, but, for God&rsquo;s sake, believe that!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;I have no more to say&mdash;at least no more that I can remember now.
+      Perhaps, you shrink from remaining in the same house with me? Let me know
+      it, and I shall be ready&mdash;I might almost say, glad&mdash;to go.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you read her letter, Teresa? Am I wrong in feeling that this poor
+      wounded heart has surely some claim on me? If I <i>am</i> wrong, oh, what
+      am I to do? what am I to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The last lines addressed by Carmina to her old nurse were completed on the
+      seventeenth of August, and were posted that night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The day that followed was memorable to Carmina, and memorable to Mrs.
+      Gallilee. Doctor Benjulia had his reasons also for remembering the
+      eighteenth of August.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still in search of a means to undermine the confidence which united Ovid
+      and Carmina, and still calling on her invention in vain, Mrs. Gallilee had
+      passed a sleepless night. Her maid, entering the room at the usual hour,
+      was ordered to leave her in bed, and not to return until the bell rang. On
+      ordinary occasions, Mrs. Gallilee was up in time to receive the letters
+      arriving by the first delivery; the correspondence of the other members of
+      the household being sorted by her own hands, before it was distributed by
+      the servant. On this particular morning (after sleeping a little through
+      sheer exhaustion), she entered the empty breakfast-room two hours later
+      than usual. The letters waiting for her were addressed only to herself.
+      She rang for the maid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any other letters this morning?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two, for my master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No more than that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing more, ma&rsquo;am&mdash;except a telegram for Miss Carmina.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When did it come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Soon after the letters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you given it to her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Being a telegram, ma&rsquo;am, I thought I ought to take it to Miss Carmina at
+      once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite right. You can go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A telegram for Carmina? Was there some private correspondence going on?
+      And were the interests involved too important to wait for the ordinary
+      means of communication by post? Considering these questions, Mrs. Gallilee
+      poured out a cup of tea and looked over her letters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only one of them especially attracted her notice in her present frame of
+      mind. The writer was Benjulia. He dispensed as usual with the customary
+      forms of address.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have had a letter about Ovid, from a friend of mine in Canada. There is
+      an allusion to him of the complimentary sort, which I don&rsquo;t altogether
+      understand. I want to ask you about it&mdash;but I can&rsquo;t spare the time to
+      go a-visiting. So much the better for me&mdash;I hate conversation, and I
+      like work. You have got your carriage&mdash;and your fine friends are out
+      of town. If you want a drive, come to me, and bring your last letters from
+      Ovid with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee decided on considering this characteristic proposal later in
+      the day. Her first and foremost interest took her upstairs to her niece&rsquo;s
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina had left her bed. Robed in her white dressing-gown, she lay on the
+      sofa in the sitting-room. When her aunt came in, she started and shuddered
+      Those signs of nervous aversion escaped the notice of Mrs. Gallilee. Her
+      attention had been at once attracted by a travelling bag, opened as if in
+      preparation for packing. The telegram lay on Carmina&rsquo;s lap. The
+      significant connection between those two objects asserted itself plainly.
+      But it was exactly the opposite of the connection suspected by Mrs.
+      Gallilee. The telegram had prevented Carmina from leaving the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee paved the way for the necessary investigation, by making a
+      few common-place inquiries. How had Carmina passed the night? Had the maid
+      taken care of her at breakfast-time? Was there anything that her aunt
+      could do for her? Carmina replied with a reluctance which she was unable
+      to conceal. Mrs. Gallilee passed over the cold reception accorded to her
+      without remark, and pointed with a bland smile to the telegram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No bad news, I hope?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina handed the telegram silently to her aunt. The change of
+      circumstances which the arrival of the message had produced, made
+      concealment superfluous. Mrs. Gallilee opened the telegram, keeping her
+      suspicions in reserve. It had been sent from Rome by the old foreign
+      woman, named &ldquo;Teresa,&rdquo; and it contained these words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My husband died this morning. Expect me in London from day to day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why is this person coming to London?&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stung by the insolent composure of that question, Carmina answered
+      sharply, &ldquo;Her name is on the telegram; you ought to know!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed?&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee. &ldquo;Perhaps, she likes London?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She hates London! You have had her in the house; you have seen us
+      together. Now she has lost her husband, do you think she can live apart
+      from the one person in the world whom she loves best?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear, these matters of mere sentiment escape my notice,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee
+      rejoined. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s an expensive journey from Italy to England. What was her
+      husband?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her husband was foreman in a manufactory till his health failed him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee concluded, &ldquo;the money failed him, of course.
+      What did he manufacture?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Artists&rsquo; colours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! an artists&rsquo; colourman? Not a very lucrative business, I should think.
+      Has his widow any resources of her own?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My purse is hers!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very generous, I am sure! Even the humblest lodgings are dear in this
+      neighbourhood. However&mdash;with your assistance&mdash;your old servant
+      may be able to live somewhere near you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Having settled the question of Teresa&rsquo;s life in London in this way, Mrs.
+      Gallilee returned to the prime object of her suspicion&mdash;she took
+      possession of the travelling bag.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina looked at her with the submission of utter bewilderment. Teresa
+      had been the companion of her life; Teresa had been received as her
+      attendant, when she was first established under her aunt&rsquo;s roof. She had
+      assumed that her nurse would become a member of the household again, as a
+      matter of course. With Teresa to encourage her, she had summoned the
+      resolution to live with Ovid&rsquo;s mother, until Ovid came back. And now she
+      had been informed, in words too plain to be mistaken, that Teresa must
+      find a home for herself when she returned to London! Surprise,
+      disappointment, indignation held Carmina speechless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This thing,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee proceeded, holding up the bag, &ldquo;will only be
+      in your way here. I will have it put with our own bags and boxes, in the
+      lumber-room. And, by-the-bye, I fancy you don&rsquo;t quite understand
+      (naturally enough, at your age) our relative positions in this house. My
+      child, the authority of your late father is the authority which your
+      guardian holds over you. I hope never to be obliged to exercise it&mdash;especially,
+      if you will be good enough to remember two things. I expect you to consult
+      me in your choice of companions; and to wait for my approval before you
+      make arrangements which&mdash;well! let us say, which require the bag to
+      be removed from the lumber-room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Without waiting for a reply, she turned to the door. After opening it, she
+      paused&mdash;and looked back into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you thought of what I told you, last night?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sorely as they had been tried, Carmina&rsquo;s energies rallied at this. &ldquo;I have
+      done my best to forget it!&rdquo; she answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At Miss Minerva&rsquo;s request?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina took no notice of the question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee persisted. &ldquo;Have you had any communication with that
+      person?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was still no reply. Preserving her temper, Mrs. Gallilee stepped out
+      on the landing, and called to Miss Minerva. The governess answered from
+      the upper floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please come down here,&rdquo; said Mrs. Galilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva obeyed. Her face was paler than usual; her eyes had lost
+      something of their piercing brightness. She stopped outside Carmina&rsquo;s
+      door. Mrs. Gallilee requested her to enter the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After an instant&mdash;only an instant&mdash;of hesitation, Miss Minerva
+      crossed the threshold. She cast one quick glance at Carmina, and lowered
+      her eyes before the look could be returned. Mrs. Gallilee discovered no
+      mute signs of an understanding between them. She turned to the governess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you been here already this morning?&rdquo; she inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there some coolness between you and my niece?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;None, madam, that I know of.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, why don&rsquo;t you speak to her when you come into the room?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Carmina has been ill. I see her resting on the sofa&mdash;and I am
+      unwilling to disturb her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not even by saying good-morning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not even that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are exceedingly careful, Miss Minerva.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have had some experience of sick people, and I have learnt to be
+      careful. May I ask if you have any particular reason for calling me
+      downstairs?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee prepared to put her niece and her governess to the final
+      test.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish you to suspend the children&rsquo;s lesson for an hour or two,&rdquo; she
+      answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly. Shall I tell them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I will tell them myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you wish me to do?&rdquo; said Miss Minerva.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish you to remain here with my niece.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If Mrs. Gallilee, after answering in those terms, had looked at her niece,
+      instead of looking at her governess, she would have seen Carmina&mdash;distrustful
+      of her own self-control&mdash;move on the sofa so as to turn her face to
+      the wall. As it was, Miss Minerva&rsquo;s attitude and look silently claimed
+      some explanation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee addressed her in a whisper. &ldquo;Let me say a word to you at the
+      door.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva followed her to the landing outside. Carmina turned again,
+      listening anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not at all satisfied with her looks, this morning,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee
+      proceeded; &ldquo;and I don&rsquo;t think it right she should be left alone. My
+      household duties must be attended to. Will you take my place at the sofa,
+      until Mr. Null comes?&rdquo; (<i>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo;</i> she thought, &ldquo;if there is jealousy
+      between them, I shall see it!&rdquo;)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She saw nothing: the governess quietly bowed to her, and went back to
+      Carmina. She heard nothing: although the half-closed door gave her
+      opportunities for listening. Ignorant, she had entered the room. Ignorant,
+      she left it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina lay still and silent. With noiseless step, Miss Minerva approached
+      the sofa, and stood by it, waiting. Neither of them lifted her eyes, the
+      one to the other. The woman suffered her torture in secret. The girl&rsquo;s
+      sweet eyes filled slowly with tears. One by one the minutes of the morning
+      passed&mdash;not many in number, before there was a change. In silence,
+      Carmina held out her hand. In silence, Miss Minerva took it and kissed it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIX.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee saw her housekeeper as usual, and gave her orders for the
+      day. &ldquo;If there is anything forgotten,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I must leave it to you.
+      For the next hour or two, don&rsquo;t let me be disturbed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Some of her letters of the morning were still unread, others required
+      immediate acknowledgment. She was not as ready for her duties as usual.
+      For once, the most unendurably industrious of women was idle, and sat
+      thinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even her unimaginative nature began to tremble on the verge of
+      superstition. Twice, had the subtle force of circumstances defeated her,
+      in the attempt to meddle with the contemplated marriage of her son. By
+      means of the music-master, she had planned to give Ovid jealous reasons
+      for doubting Carmina&mdash;and she had failed. By means of the governess,
+      she had planned to give Carmina jealous reasons for doubting Ovid&mdash;and
+      she had failed. When some people talked of Fatality, were they quite such
+      fools as she had hitherto supposed them to be? It would be a waste of time
+      to inquire. What next step could she take?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Urged by the intolerable sense of defeat to find reasons for still looking
+      hopefully to the future, the learned Mrs. Gallilee lowered herself to the
+      intellectual level of the most ignorant servant in the house. The modern
+      Muse of Science unconsciously opened her mind to the vulgar belief in
+      luck. She said to herself, as her kitchen-maid might have said, We will
+      see what comes of it, the third time!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia&rsquo;s letter was among the other letters waiting on the table. She
+      took it up, and read it again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In her present frame of mind, to find her thoughts occupied by the doctor,
+      was to be reminded of Ovid&rsquo;s strange allusion to his professional
+      colleague, on the day of his departure. Speaking of Carmina, he had
+      referred to one person whom he did not wish her to see in his absence; and
+      that person, he had himself admitted to be Benjulia. He had been asked to
+      state his objection to the doctor&mdash;and how had he replied? He had
+      said, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think Benjulia a fit person to be in the company of a young
+      girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Why?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There are many men of mature age, who are not fit persons to be in the
+      company of young girls&mdash;but they are either men who despise, or men
+      who admire, young girls. Benjulia belonged neither to the one nor to the
+      other of these two classes. Girls were objects of absolute indifference to
+      him&mdash;with the one exception of Zo, aged ten. Never yet, after meeting
+      him in society hundreds of times, had Mrs. Gallilee seen him talk to young
+      ladies or even notice young ladies. Ovid&rsquo;s alleged reason for objecting to
+      Benjulia stood palpably revealed as a clumsy excuse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the present posture of events, to arrive at that conclusion was enough
+      for Mrs. Gallilee. Without stopping to pursue the idea, she rang the bell,
+      and ordered her carriage to be ready that afternoon, at three o&rsquo;clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Doubtful, and more than doubtful, though it might be, the bare prospect of
+      finding herself possessed, before the day was out, of a means of action
+      capable of being used against Carmina, raised Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s spirits. She
+      was ready at last to attend to her correspondence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of the letters was from her sister in Scotland. Among other subjects,
+      it referred to Carmina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why won&rsquo;t you let that sweet girl come and stay with us?&rdquo; Lady Northlake
+      asked. &ldquo;My daughters are longing for such a companion; and both my sons
+      are ready to envy Ovid the moment they see her. Tell my nephew, when you
+      next write, that I thoroughly understand his falling in love with that
+      gentle pretty creature at first sight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina&rsquo;s illness was the ready excuse which presented itself in Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s reply. With or without an excuse, Lady Northlake was to be
+      resolutely prevented from taking a foremost place in her niece&rsquo;s heart,
+      and encouraging the idea of her niece&rsquo;s marriage. Mrs. Gallilee felt
+      almost pious enough to thank Heaven that her sister&rsquo;s palace in the
+      Highlands was at one end of Great Britain, and her own marine villa at the
+      other!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The marine villa reminded her of the family migration to the sea-side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When would it be desirable to leave London? Not until her mind was
+      relieved of the heavier anxieties that now weighed on it. Not while events
+      might happen&mdash;in connection with the threatening creditors or the
+      contemplated marriage&mdash;which would baffle her latest calculations,
+      and make her presence in London a matter of serious importance to her own
+      interests. Miss Minerva, again, was a new obstacle in the way. To take her
+      to the Isle of Wight was not to be thought of for a moment. To dismiss her
+      at once, by paying the month&rsquo;s salary, might be the preferable course to
+      pursue&mdash;but for two objections. In the first place (if the friendly
+      understanding between them really continued) Carmina might communicate
+      with the discarded governess in secret. In the second place, to pay Miss
+      Minerva&rsquo;s salary before she had earned it, was a concession from which
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s spite, and Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s principles of paltry economy,
+      recoiled in disgust. No! the waiting policy in London, under whatever
+      aspect it might be viewed, was, for the present, the one policy to pursue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She returned to the demands of her correspondence. Just as she had taken
+      up her pen, the sanctuary of the boudoir was violated by the appearance of
+      a servant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it now? Didn&rsquo;t the housekeeper tell you that I am not to be
+      disturbed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon, ma&rsquo;am. My master&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does your master want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He wishes to see you, ma&rsquo;am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was a circumstance entirely without parallel in the domestic history
+      of the house. In sheer astonishment, Mrs. Gallilee pushed away her
+      letters, and said &ldquo;Show him in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the boys of fifty years since were naughty, the schoolmaster of the
+      period was not accustomed to punish them by appealing to their sense of
+      honour. If a boy wanted a flogging, in those days, the educational system
+      seized a cane, or a birch-rod, and gave it to him. Mr. Gallilee entered
+      his wife&rsquo;s room, with the feelings which had once animated him, on
+      entering the schoolmaster&rsquo;s study to be caned. When he said &ldquo;Good-morning,
+      my dear!&rdquo; his face presented the expression of fifty years since, when he
+      had said, &ldquo;Please, sir, let me off this time!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee, &ldquo;what do you want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only a little word. How well you&rsquo;re looking, my dear!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After a sleepless night, followed by her defeat in Carmina&rsquo;s room, Mrs.
+      Gallilee looked, and knew that she looked, ugly and old. And her wretched
+      husband had reminded her of it. &ldquo;Go on!&rdquo; she answered sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee moistened his dry lips. &ldquo;I think I&rsquo;ll take a chair, if you
+      will allow me,&rdquo; he said. Having taken his chair (at a respectful distance
+      from his wife), he looked all round the room with the air of a visitor who
+      had never seen it before. &ldquo;How very pretty!&rdquo; he remarked softly. &ldquo;Such
+      taste in colour. I think the carpet was your own design, wasn&rsquo;t it? How
+      chaste!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>&ldquo;Will</i> you come to the point, Mr. Gallilee?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With pleasure, my dear&mdash;with pleasure. I&rsquo;m afraid I smell of
+      tobacco?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care if you do!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was such an agreeable surprise to Mr. Gallilee, that he got on his
+      legs again to enjoy it standing up. &ldquo;How kind! Really now, how kind!&rdquo; He
+      approached Mrs. Gallilee confidentially. &ldquo;And do you know, my dear, it was
+      one of the most remarkable cigars I ever smoked.&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee laid down
+      her pen, and eyed him with an annihilating frown. In the extremity of his
+      confusion Mr. Gallilee ventured nearer. He felt the sinister fascination
+      of the serpent in the expression of those awful eyebrows. &ldquo;How well you
+      are looking! How amazingly well you are looking this morning!&rdquo; He leered
+      at his learned wife, and patted her shoulder!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the moment, Mrs. Gallilee was petrified. At his time of life, was this
+      fat and feeble creature approaching her with conjugal endearments? At that
+      early hour of the day, had his guilty lips tasted his favourite champagne,
+      foaming in his well-beloved silver mug, over his much-admired lump of ice?
+      And was <i>this</i> the result?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Gallilee!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, my dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee sat down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you been to the club?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee got up again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee sat down. &ldquo;I was about to say, my dear, that I&rsquo;ll show you
+      over the club with the greatest pleasure&mdash;if that&rsquo;s what you mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you are not a downright idiot,&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee, &ldquo;understand this!
+      Either say what you have to say, or&mdash;&rdquo; she lifted her hand, and let
+      it down on the writing-table with a slap that made the pens ring in the
+      inkstand&mdash;&ldquo;or, leave the room!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee lifted his hand, and searched in the breast-pocket of his
+      coat. He pulled out his cigar-case, and put it back in a hurry. He tried
+      again, and produced a letter. He looked piteously round the room, in sore
+      need of somebody whom he might appeal to, and ended in appealing to
+      himself. &ldquo;What sort of temper will she be in?&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you got there?&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee asked sharply. &ldquo;One of the
+      letters you had this morning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee looked at her with admiration. &ldquo;Wonderful woman!&rdquo; he said.
+      &ldquo;Nothing escapes her! Allow me, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose and presented the letter, as if he was presenting a petition. Mrs.
+      Gallilee snatched it out of his hand. Mr. Gallilee went softly back to his
+      chair, and breathed a devout ejaculation. &ldquo;Oh, Lord!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a letter from one of the tradespeople, whom Mrs. Gallilee had
+      attempted to pacify with a payment &ldquo;on account.&rdquo; The tradesman felt
+      compelled, in justice to himself, to appeal to Mr. Gallilee, as master of
+      the house (!). It was impossible for him (he submitted with the greatest
+      respect) to accept a payment, which did not amount to one-third of the sum
+      owing to him for more than a twelvemonth. &ldquo;Wretch!&rdquo; cried Mrs. Gallilee.
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll settle his bill, and never employ him again!&rdquo; She opened her
+      cheque-book, and dipped her pen in the ink. A faint voice meekly
+      protested. Mr. Gallilee was on his legs again. Mr. Gallilee said. &ldquo;Please
+      don&rsquo;t!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His incredible rashness silenced his wife. There he stood; his round eyes
+      staring at the cheque-book, his fat cheeks quivering with excitement. &ldquo;You
+      mustn&rsquo;t do it,&rdquo; he said, with a first and last outburst of courage. &ldquo;Give
+      me a minute, my dear&mdash;oh, good gracious, give me a minute!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He searched in his pocket again, and produced another letter. His eyes
+      wandered towards the door; drops of perspiration oozed out on his
+      forehead. He laid the second letter on the table; he looked at his wife,
+      and&mdash;ran out of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee opened the second letter. Another dissatisfied tradesman?
+      No: creditors far more formidable than the grocer and the butcher. An
+      official letter from the bankers, informing Mr. Gallilee that &ldquo;the account
+      was overdrawn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She seized her pass-book, and her paper of calculations. Never yet had her
+      rigid arithmetic committed an error. Column by column she revised her
+      figures&mdash;and made the humiliating discovery of her first mistake. She
+      had drawn out all, and more than all, the money deposited in the bank; and
+      the next half-yearly payment of income was not due until Christmas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was but one thing to be done&mdash;to go at once to the bank. If
+      Ovid had not been in the wilds of Canada, Mrs. Gallilee would have made
+      her confession to him without hesitation. As it was, the servant called a
+      cab, and she made her confession to the bankers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The matter was soon settled to her satisfaction. It rested (exactly as
+      Miss Minerva had anticipated) with Mr. Gallilee. In the house, he might
+      abdicate his authority to his heart&rsquo;s content. Out of the house, in
+      matters of business, he was master still. His &ldquo;investments&rdquo; represented
+      excellent &ldquo;security;&rdquo; he had only to say how much he wanted to borrow, and
+      to sign certain papers&mdash;and the thing was done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee went home again, with her pecuniary anxieties at rest for
+      the time. The carriage was waiting for her at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Should she fulfil her intention of visiting Benjulia? She was not a person
+      who readily changed her mind&mdash;and, besides, after the troubles of the
+      morning, the drive into the country would be a welcome relief. Hearing
+      that Mr. Gallilee was still at home, she looked in at the smoking-room.
+      Unerring instinct told her where to find her husband, under present
+      circumstances. There he was, enjoying his cigar in comfort, with his coat
+      off and his feet on a chair. She opened the door. &ldquo;I want you, this
+      evening,&rdquo; she said&mdash;and shut the door again; leaving Mr. Gallilee
+      suffocated by a mouthful of his own smoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before getting into the carriage, she only waited to restore her face with
+      a flush of health (from Paris), modified by a sprinkling of pallor (from
+      London). Benjulia&rsquo;s humour was essentially an uncertain humour. It might
+      be necessary to fascinate the doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXX.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The complimentary allusion to Ovid, which Benjulia had not been able to
+      understand, was contained in a letter from Mr. Morphew, and was expressed
+      in these words:&mdash;&ldquo;Let me sincerely thank you for making us acquainted
+      with Mr. Ovid Vere. Now that he has left us, we really feel as if we had
+      said good-bye to an old friend. I don&rsquo;t know when I have met with such a
+      perfectly unselfish man&mdash;and I say this, speaking from experience of
+      him. In my unavoidable absence, he volunteered to attend a serious case of
+      illness, accompanied by shocking circumstances&mdash;and this at a time
+      when, as you know, his own broken health forbids him to undertake any
+      professional duty. While he could preserve the patient&rsquo;s life&mdash;and he
+      did wonders, in this way&mdash;he was every day at the bedside, taxing his
+      strength in the service of a perfect stranger. I fancy I see you (with
+      your impatience of letter-writing at any length) looking to the end. Don&rsquo;t
+      be alarmed. I am writing to your brother Lemuel by this mail, and I have
+      little time to spare.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Was this &ldquo;serious case of illness&rdquo;&mdash;described as being &ldquo;accompanied
+      by shocking circumstances&rdquo;&mdash;a case of disease of the brain?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the question, proposed by Benjulia&rsquo;s inveterate suspicion of
+      Ovid! The bare doubt cost him the loss of a day&rsquo;s work. He reviled poor
+      Mr. Morphew as &ldquo;a born idiot&rdquo; for not having plainly stated what the
+      patient&rsquo;s malady was, instead of wasting paper on smooth sentences,
+      encumbered by long words. If Ovid had alluded to his Canadian patient in
+      his letters to his mother, his customary preciseness of language might be
+      trusted to relieve Benjulia&rsquo;s suspense. With that purpose in view, the
+      doctor had written to Mrs. Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before he laid down his pen, he looked once more at Mr. Morphew&rsquo;s letter,
+      and paused thoughtfully over one line: &ldquo;I am writing to your brother
+      Lemuel by this mail.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The information of which he was in search might be in <i>that</i> letter.
+      If Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s correspondence with her son failed to enlighten him,
+      here was another chance of making the desired discovery. Surely the wise
+      course to take would be to write to Lemuel as well.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His one motive for hesitating was dislike of his younger brother&mdash;dislike
+      so inveterate that he even recoiled from communicating with Lemuel through
+      the post.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There had never been any sympathy between them; but indifference had only
+      matured into downright enmity, on the doctor&rsquo;s part, a year since.
+      Accident (the result of his own absence of mind, while he was perplexed by
+      an unsuccessful experiment) had placed Lemuel in possession of his hideous
+      secret. The one person in the world who knew how he was really occupied in
+      the laboratory, was his brother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here was the true motive of the bitterly contemptuous tone in which
+      Benjulia had spoken to Ovid of his nearest relation. Lemuel&rsquo;s character
+      was certainly deserving of severe judgment, in some of its aspects. In his
+      hours of employment (as clerk in the office of a London publisher) he
+      steadily and punctually performed the duties entrusted to him. In his
+      hours of freedom, his sensual instincts got the better of him; and his
+      jealous wife had her reasons for complaint. Among his friends, he was the
+      subject of a wide diversity of opinion. Some of them agreed with his
+      brother in thinking him little better than a fool. Others suspected him of
+      possessing natural abilities, but of being too lazy, perhaps too cunning,
+      to exert them. In the office he allowed himself to be called &ldquo;a mere
+      machine&rdquo;&mdash;and escaped the overwork which fell to the share of quicker
+      men. When his wife and her relations declared him to be a mere animal, he
+      never contradicted them&mdash;and so gained the reputation of a person on
+      whom reprimand was thrown away. Under the protection of this unenviable
+      character, he sometimes said severe things with an air of perfect
+      simplicity. When the furious doctor discovered him in the laboratory, and
+      said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be the death of you, if you tell any living creature what I am
+      doing!&rdquo;&mdash;Lemuel answered, with a stare of stupid astonishment, &ldquo;Make
+      your mind easy; I should be ashamed to mention it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Further reflection decided Benjulia on writing. Even when he had a favour
+      to ask, he was unable to address Lemuel with common politeness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hear that Morphew has written to you by the last mail. I want to see
+      the letter.&rdquo; So much he wrote, and no more. What was barely enough for the
+      purpose, was enough for the doctor, when he addressed his brother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXI.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Between one and two o&rsquo;clock, the next afternoon, Benjulia (at work in his
+      laboratory) heard the bell which announced the arrival of a visitor at the
+      house. No matter what the circumstances might be, the servants were
+      forbidden to disturb him at his studies in any other way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very unwillingly he obeyed the call, locking the door behind him. At that
+      hour it was luncheon-time in well-regulated households, and it was in the
+      last degree unlikely that Mrs. Gallilee could be the visitor. Getting
+      within view of the front of the house, he saw a man standing on the
+      doorstep. Advancing a little nearer, he recognised Lemuel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hullo!&rdquo; cried the elder brother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hullo!&rdquo; answered the younger, like an echo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They stood looking at each other with the suspicious curiosity of two
+      strange cats. Between Nathan Benjulia, the famous doctor, and Lemuel
+      Benjulia, the publisher&rsquo;s clerk, there was just family resemblance enough
+      to suggest that they were relations. The younger brother was only a little
+      over the ordinary height; he was rather fat than thin; he wore a moustache
+      and whiskers; he dressed smartly&mdash;and his prevailing expression
+      announced that he was thoroughly well satisfied with himself. But he
+      inherited Benjulia&rsquo;s gipsy complexion; and, in form and colour, he had
+      Benjulia&rsquo;s eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How-d&rsquo;ye-do, Nathan?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What the devil brings you here?&rdquo; was the answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lemuel passed over his brother&rsquo;s rudeness without notice. His mouth curled
+      up at the corners with a mischievous smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought you wished to see my letter,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why couldn&rsquo;t you send it by post?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My wife wished me to take the opportunity of calling on you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s a lie,&rdquo; said Benjulia quietly. &ldquo;Try another excuse. Or do a new
+      thing. For once, speak the truth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Without waiting to hear the truth, he led the way into the room in which
+      he had received Ovid. Lemuel followed, still showing no outward appearance
+      of resentment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you get away from your office?&rdquo; Benjulia inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s easy to get a holiday at this time of year. Business is slack, old
+      boy&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop! I don&rsquo;t allow you to speak to me in that way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No offence, brother Nathan!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Brother Lemuel, I never allow a fool to offend me. I put him in his place&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+      all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The distant barking of a dog became audible from the lane by which the
+      house was approached. The sound seemed to annoy Benjulia. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo;
+       he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lemuel saw his way to making some return for his brother&rsquo;s reception of
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s my dog,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and it&rsquo;s lucky for you that I have left him in
+      the cab.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, he&rsquo;s as sweet-tempered a dog as ever lived. But he has one fault.
+      He doesn&rsquo;t take kindly to scientific gentlemen in your line of business.&rdquo;
+       Lemuel paused, and pointed to his brother&rsquo;s hands. &ldquo;If he smelt that, he
+      might try his teeth at vivisecting You.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The spots of blood which Ovid had once seen on Benjulia&rsquo;s stick, were on
+      his hands now. With unruffled composure he looked at the horrid stains,
+      silently telling their tale of torture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the use of washing my hands,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;when I am going back
+      to my work?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He wiped his finger and thumb on the tail of his coat. &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he resumed,
+      &ldquo;if you have got your letter with you, let me look at it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lemuel produced the letter. &ldquo;There are some bits in it,&rdquo; he explained,
+      &ldquo;which you had better not see. If you want the truth&mdash;that&rsquo;s the
+      reason I brought it myself. Read the first page-and then I&rsquo;ll tell you
+      where to skip.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So far, there was no allusion to Ovid. Benjulia turned to the second page&mdash;and
+      Lemuel pointed to the middle of it. &ldquo;Read as far as that,&rdquo; he went on,
+      &ldquo;and then skip till you come to the last bit at the end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the last page, Ovid&rsquo;s name appeared. He was mentioned, as a &ldquo;delightful
+      person, introduced by your brother,&rdquo;&mdash;and with that the letter ended.
+      In the first bitterness of his disappointment, Benjulia conceived an angry
+      suspicion of those portions of the letter which he had been requested to
+      pass over unread.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What has Morphew got to say to you that I mustn&rsquo;t read?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose you tell me first, what you want to find in the letter,&rdquo; Lemuel
+      rejoined. &ldquo;Morphew is a doctor like you. Is it anything medical?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia answered this in the easiest way&mdash;he nodded his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it Vivisection?&rdquo; Lemuel inquired slyly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia at once handed the letter back, and pointed to the door. His
+      momentary interest in the suppressed passages was at an end. &ldquo;That will
+      do,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Take yourself and your letter away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said Lemuel, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad you don&rsquo;t want to look at it again!&rdquo; He put
+      the letter away, and buttoned his coat, and tapped his pocket
+      significantly. &ldquo;You have got a nasty temper, Nathan&mdash;and there are
+      things here that might try it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the case of any other man, Benjulia would have seen that the one object
+      of these prudent remarks was to irritate him. Misled by his profound
+      conviction of his brother&rsquo;s stupidity, he now thought it possible that the
+      concealed portions of the letter might be worth notice. He stopped Lemuel
+      at the door. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve changed my mind,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I want to look at the
+      letter again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You had better not,&rdquo; Lemuel persisted. &ldquo;Morphew&rsquo;s going to write a book
+      against you&mdash;and he asks me to get it published at our place. I&rsquo;m on
+      his side, you know; I shall do my best to help him; I can lay my hand on
+      literary fellows who will lick his style into shape&mdash;it will be an
+      awful exposure!&rdquo; Benjulia still held out his hand. With over-acted
+      reluctance, Lemuel unbuttoned his coat. The distant dog barked again as he
+      gave the letter back. &ldquo;Please excuse my dear old dog,&rdquo; he said with
+      maudlin tenderness; &ldquo;the poor dumb animal seems to know that I&rsquo;m taking
+      his side in the controversy. <i>Bow-wow</i> means, in his language, Fie
+      upon the cruel hands that bore holes in our head and use saws on our
+      backs. Ah, Nathan, if you have got any dogs in that horrid place of yours,
+      pat them and give them their dinner! You never heard me talk like this
+      before&mdash;did you? I&rsquo;m a new man since I joined the Society for
+      suppressing you. Oh, if I only had the gift of writing!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The effect of this experiment on his brother&rsquo;s temper, failed to fulfil
+      Lemuel&rsquo;s expectations. The doctor&rsquo;s curiosity was roused on the doctor&rsquo;s
+      own subject of inquiry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re quite right about one thing,&rdquo; said Benjulia gravely; &ldquo;I never
+      heard you talk in this way before. You suggest some interesting
+      considerations, of the medical sort. Come to the light.&rdquo; He led Lemuel to
+      the window&mdash;looked at him with the closest attention&mdash;and
+      carefully consulted his pulse. Lemuel smiled. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not joking,&rdquo; said
+      Benjulia sternly. &ldquo;Tell me this. Have you had headaches lately? Do you
+      find your memory failing you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he put those questions, he thought to himself&mdash;seriously thought&mdash;&ldquo;Is
+      this fellow&rsquo;s brain softening? I wish I had him on my table!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lemuel persisted in presenting himself under a sentimental aspect. He had
+      not forgiven his elder brother&rsquo;s rudeness yet&mdash;and he knew, by
+      experience, the one weakness in Benjulia&rsquo;s character which, with his small
+      resources, it was possible to attack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you for your kind inquiries,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;Never mind my head, so
+      long as my heart&rsquo;s in the right place. I don&rsquo;t pretend to be clever&mdash;but
+      I&rsquo;ve got my feelings; and I could put some awkward questions on what you
+      call Medical Research, if I had Morphew to help me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll help you,&rdquo; said Benjulia&mdash;interested in developing the state of
+      his brother&rsquo;s brain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t believe you,&rdquo; said Lemuel&mdash;interested in developing the
+      state of his brother&rsquo;s temper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Try me, Lemuel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, Nathan.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The two brothers returned to their chairs; reduced for once to the same
+      moral level.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said Benjulia, &ldquo;what is it to be? The favourite public bugbear?
+      Vivisection?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well. What can I do for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me first,&rdquo; said Lemuel, &ldquo;what is Law?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody knows.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, what <i>ought</i> it to be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Justice, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me wait a bit, Nathan, and get that into my mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia waited with exemplary patience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now about yourself,&rdquo; Lemuel continued. &ldquo;You won&rsquo;t be offended&mdash;will
+      you? Should I be right, if I called you a dissector of living creatures?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia was reminded of the day when he had discovered his brother in the
+      laboratory. His dark complexion deepened in hue. His cold gray eyes seemed
+      to promise a coming outbreak. Lemuel went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does the Law forbid you to make your experiments on a man?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it does!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why doesn&rsquo;t the Law forbid you to make your experiments on a dog?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia&rsquo;s face cleared again. The one penetrable point in his ironclad
+      nature had not been reached yet. That apparently childish question about
+      the dog appeared, not only to have interested him, but to have taken him
+      by surprise. His attention wandered away from his brother. His clear
+      intellect put Lemuel&rsquo;s objection in closer logical form, and asked if
+      there was any answer to it, thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Law which forbids you to dissect a living man, allows you to dissect a
+      living dog. Why?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was positively no answer to this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suppose he said, Because a dog is an animal? Could he, as a physiologist,
+      deny that a man is an animal too?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suppose he said, Because a dog is the inferior creature in intellect? The
+      obvious answer to this would be, But the lower order of savage, or the
+      lower order of lunatic, compared with the dog, is the inferior creature in
+      intellect; and, in these cases, the dog has, on your own showing, the
+      better right to protection of the two.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suppose he said, Because a man is a creature with a soul, and a dog is a
+      creature without a soul? This would be simply inviting another
+      unanswerable question: How do you know?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Honestly accepting the dilemma which thus presented itself, the conclusion
+      that followed seemed to be beyond dispute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If the Law, in the matter of Vivisection, asserts the principle of
+      interference, the Law has barred its right to place arbitrary limits on
+      its own action. If it protects any living creatures, it is bound, in
+      reason and in justice, to protect all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Lemuel, &ldquo;am I to have an answer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not a lawyer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With this convenient reply, Benjulia opened Mr. Morphew&rsquo;s letter, and read
+      the forbidden part of it which began on the second page. There he found
+      the very questions with which his brother had puzzled him&mdash;followed
+      by the conclusion at which he had himself arrived!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You interpreted the language of your dog just now,&rdquo; he said quietly to
+      Lemuel; &ldquo;and I naturally supposed your brain might be softening. Such as
+      it is, I perceive that your memory is in working order. Accept my excuses
+      for feeling your pulse. You have ceased to be an object of interest to
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He returned to his reading. Lemuel watched him&mdash;still confidently
+      waiting for results.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The letter proceeded in these terms:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your employer may perhaps be inclined to publish my work, if I can
+      satisfy him that it will address itself to the general reader.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We all know what are the false pretences, under which English
+      physiologists practice their cruelties. I want to expose those false
+      pretences in the simplest and plainest way, by appealing to my own
+      experience as an ordinary working member of the medical profession.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take the pretence of increasing our knowledge of the curative action of
+      poisons, by trying them on animals. The very poisons, the action of which
+      dogs and cats have been needlessly tortured to demonstrate, I have
+      successfully used on my human patients in the practice of a lifetime.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should also like to ask what proof there is that the effect of a poison
+      on an animal may be trusted to inform us, with certainty, of the effect of
+      the same poison on a man. To quote two instances only which justify doubt&mdash;and
+      to take birds this time, by way of a change&mdash;a pigeon will swallow
+      opium enough to kill a man, and will not be in the least affected by it;
+      and parsley, which is an innocent herb in the stomach of a human being, is
+      deadly poison to a parrot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should deal in the same way, with the other pretence, of improving our
+      practice of surgery by experiment on living animals.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not long since, I saw the diseased leg of a dog cut off at the hip joint.
+      When the limb was removed, not a single vessel bled. Try the same
+      operation on a man&mdash;and twelve or fifteen vessels must be tied as a
+      matter of absolute necessity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Again. We are told by a great authority that the baking of dogs in ovens
+      has led to new discoveries in treating fever. I have always supposed that
+      the heat, in fever, is not a cause of disease, but a consequence. However,
+      let that be, and let us still stick to experience. Has this infernal
+      cruelty produced results which help us to cure scarlet fever? Our bedside
+      practice tells us that scarlet fever runs it course as it always did. I
+      can multiply such examples as these by hundreds when I write my book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Briefly stated, you now have the method by which I propose to drag the
+      scientific English Savage from his shelter behind the medical interests of
+      humanity, and to show him in his true character,&mdash;as plainly as the
+      scientific Foreign Savage shows himself of his own accord. <i>He</i>
+      doesn&rsquo;t shrink behind false pretences. <i>He</i> doesn&rsquo;t add cant to
+      cruelty. <i>He</i> boldly proclaims the truth:&mdash;I do it, because I
+      like it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia rose, and threw the letter on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>&ldquo;I</i> proclaim the truth,&rdquo; he said; <i>&ldquo;I</i> do it because I like it.
+      There are some few Englishmen who treat ignorant public opinion with the
+      contempt that it deserves&mdash;and I am one of them.&rdquo; He pointed
+      scornfully to the letter. &ldquo;That wordy old fool is right about the false
+      pretences. Publish his book, and I&rsquo;ll buy a copy of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s odd,&rdquo; said Lemuel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s odd?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Nathan, I&rsquo;m only a fool&mdash;but if you talk in that way of false
+      pretences and public opinion, why do you tell everybody that your horrid
+      cutting and carving is harmless chemistry? And why were you in such a rage
+      when I got into your workshop, and found you out? Answer me that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me congratulate you first,&rdquo; said Benjulia. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t every fool who
+      knows that he <i>is</i> a fool. Now you shall have your answer. Before the
+      end of the year, all the world will be welcome to come into my workshop,
+      and see me at the employment of my life. Brother Lemuel, when you stole
+      your way through my unlocked door, you found me travelling on the road to
+      the grandest medical discovery of this century. You stupid ass, do you
+      think I cared about what <i>you</i> could find out? I am in such perpetual
+      terror of being forestalled by my colleagues, that I am not master of
+      myself, even when such eyes as yours look at my work. In a month or two
+      more&mdash;perhaps in a week or two&mdash;I shall have solved the grand
+      problem. I labour at it all day. I think of it, I dream of it, all night.
+      It will kill me. Strong as I am, it will kill me. What do you say? Am I
+      working myself into my grave, in the medical interests of humanity? <i>That</i>
+      for humanity! I am working for my own satisfaction&mdash;for my own pride&mdash;for
+      my own unutterable pleasure in beating other men&mdash;for the fame that
+      will keep my name living hundreds of years hence. Humanity! I say with my
+      foreign brethren&mdash;Knowledge for its own sake, is the one god I
+      worship. Knowledge is its own justification and its own reward. The
+      roaring mob follows us with its cry of Cruelty. We pity their ignorance.
+      Knowledge sanctifies cruelty. The old anatomist stole dead bodies for
+      Knowledge. In that sacred cause, if I could steal a living man without
+      being found out, I would tie him on my table, and grasp my grand discovery
+      in days, instead of months. Where are you going? What? You&rsquo;re afraid to be
+      in the same room with me? A man who can talk as I do, is a man who would
+      stick at nothing? Is that the light in which you lower order of creatures
+      look at us? Look a little higher&mdash;and you will see that a man who
+      talks as I do is a man set above you by Knowledge. Exert yourself, and try
+      to understand me. Have I no virtues, even from your point of view? Am I
+      not a good citizen? Don&rsquo;t I pay my debts? Don&rsquo;t I serve my friends? You
+      miserable creature, you have had my money when you wanted it! Look at that
+      letter on the floor. The man mentioned in it is one of those colleagues
+      whom I distrust. I did my duty by him for all that. I gave him the
+      information he wanted; I introduced him to a friend in a land of
+      strangers. Have I no feeling, as you call it? My last experiments on a
+      monkey horrified me. His cries of suffering, his gestures of entreaty,
+      were like the cries and gestures of a child. I would have given the world
+      to put him out of his misery. But I went on. In the glorious cause I went
+      on. My hands turned cold&mdash;my heart ached&mdash;I thought of a child I
+      sometimes play with&mdash;I suffered&mdash;I resisted&mdash;I went on. All
+      for Knowledge! all for Knowledge!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His brother&rsquo;s presence was forgotten. His dark face turned livid; his
+      gigantic frame shuddered; his breath came and went in deep sobbing gasps&mdash;it
+      was terrible to see him and hear him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lemuel slunk out of the room. The jackal had roused the lion; the mean
+      spirit of mischief in him had not bargained for this. &ldquo;I begin to believe
+      in the devil,&rdquo; he said to himself when he got to the house door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he descended the steps, a carriage appeared in the lane. A footman
+      opened the gate of the enclosure. The carriage approached the house, with
+      a lady in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lemuel ran back to his brother. &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a lady coming!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re
+      in a nice state to see her! Pull yourself together, Nathan&mdash;and, damn
+      it, wash your hands!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took Benjulia&rsquo;s arm, and led him upstairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Lemuel returned to the hall, Mrs. Gallilee was ascending the
+      house-steps. He bowed profoundly, in homage to the well-preserved remains
+      of a fine woman. &ldquo;My brother will be with you directly, ma&rsquo;am. Pray allow
+      me to give you a chair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His hat was in his hand. Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s knowledge of the world easily set
+      him down at his true value. She got rid of him with her best grace. &ldquo;Pray
+      don&rsquo;t let me detain you, sir; I will wait with pleasure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If she had been twenty years younger the hint might have been thrown away.
+      As it was, Lemuel retired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      An unusually long day&rsquo;s work at the office had fatigued good Mr. Mool. He
+      pushed aside his papers, and let his weary eyes rest on a glass vase full
+      of flowers on the table&mdash;a present from a grateful client. As a man,
+      he enjoyed the lovely colours of the nosegay. As a botanist, he lamented
+      the act which had cut the flowers from their parent stems, and doomed them
+      to a premature death. &ldquo;I should not have had the heart to do it myself,&rdquo;
+       he thought; &ldquo;but tastes differ.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The office boy came into the room, with a visiting card in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m going home to dinner,&rdquo; said Mr. Mool. &ldquo;The person must call
+      to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy laid the card on the table. The person was Mrs. Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee, at seven o&rsquo;clock in the evening! Mrs. Gallilee, without a
+      previous appointment by letter! Mr. Mool trembled under the apprehension
+      of some serious family emergency, in imminent need of legal interference.
+      He submitted as a matter of course. &ldquo;Show the lady in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before a word had passed between them, the lawyer&rsquo;s mind was relieved.
+      Mrs. Gallilee shone on him with her sweetest smiles; pressed his hand with
+      her friendliest warmth; admired the nosegay with her readiest enthusiasm.
+      &ldquo;Quite perfect,&rdquo; she said&mdash;&ldquo;especially the Pansy. The round flat
+      edge, Mr. Mool; the upper petals perfectly uniform&mdash;there is a flower
+      that defies criticism! I long to dissect it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool politely resigned the Pansy to dissection (murderous mutilation,
+      he would have called it, in the case of one of his own flowers), and
+      waited to hear what his learned client might have to say to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going to surprise you,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee announced. &ldquo;No&mdash;to shock
+      you. No&mdash;even that is not strong enough. Let me say, to horrify you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool&rsquo;s anxieties returned, complicated by confusion. The behaviour of
+      Mrs. Gallilee exhibited the most unaccountable contrast to her language.
+      She showed no sign of those strong emotions to which she had alluded. &ldquo;How
+      am I to put it?&rdquo; she went on, with a transparent affectation of
+      embarrassment. &ldquo;Shall I call it a disgrace to our family?&rdquo; Mr. Mool
+      started. Mrs. Gallilee entreated him to compose himself; she approached
+      the inevitable disclosure by degrees. &ldquo;I think,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you have met
+      Doctor Benjulia at my house?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have had that honour, Mrs. Gallilee. Not a very sociable person&mdash;if
+      I may venture to say so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Downright rude, Mr. Mool, on some occasions. But that doesn&rsquo;t matter now.
+      I have just been visiting the doctor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Was this visit connected with the &ldquo;disgrace to the family?&rdquo; Mr. Mool
+      ventured to put a question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doctor Benjulia is not related to you, ma&rsquo;am&mdash;is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not the least in the world. Please don&rsquo;t interrupt me again. I am, so to
+      speak, laying a train of circumstances before you; and I might leave one
+      of them out. When Doctor Benjulia was a young man&mdash;I am returning to
+      my train of circumstances, Mr. Mool&mdash;he was at Rome, pursuing his
+      professional studies. I have all this, mind, straight from the doctor
+      himself. At Rome, he became acquainted with my late brother, after the
+      period of his unfortunate marriage. Stop! I have failed to put it strongly
+      enough again. I ought to have said, his disgraceful marriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really, Mrs. Gallilee&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Mool!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon, ma&rsquo;am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t mention it. The next circumstance is ready in my mind. One of the
+      doctor&rsquo;s fellow-students (described as being personally an irresistible
+      man) was possessed of abilities which even attracted our unsociable
+      Benjulia. They became friends. At the time of which I am now speaking, my
+      brother&rsquo;s disgusting wife&mdash;oh, but I repeat it, Mr. Mool! I say
+      again, his disgusting wife&mdash;was the mother of a female child.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your niece, Mrs. Gallilee.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not Miss Carmina?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Carmina is no more my niece than she is your niece. Carry your mind
+      back to what I have just said. I mentioned a medical student who was an
+      irresistible man. Miss Carmina&rsquo;s father was that man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool&rsquo;s astonishment and indignation would have instantly expressed
+      themselves, if he had not been a lawyer. As it was, his professional
+      experience warned him of the imprudence of speaking too soon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Galilee&rsquo;s exultation forced its way outwards. Her eyes glittered; her
+      voice rose. &ldquo;The law, Mr. Mool! what does the law say?&rdquo; she broke out. &ldquo;Is
+      my brother&rsquo;s Will no better than waste-paper? Is the money divided among
+      his only near relations? Tell me! tell me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool suddenly plunged his face into his vase of flowers. Did he feel
+      that the air of the office wanted purifying? or was he conscious that his
+      face might betray him unless he hid it? Mrs. Galilee was at no loss to set
+      her own clever interpretation on her lawyer&rsquo;s extraordinary proceeding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take your time,&rdquo; she said with the most patronising kindness. &ldquo;I know
+      your sensitive nature; I know what I felt myself when this dreadful
+      discovery burst upon me. If you remember, I said I should horrify you.
+      Take your time, my dear sir&mdash;pray take your time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To be encouraged in this way&mdash;as if he was the emotional client, and
+      Mrs. Gallilee the impassive lawyer&mdash;was more than even Mr. Mool could
+      endure. Shy men are, in the innermost depths of their nature, proud men:
+      the lawyer had his professional pride. He came out of his flowery retreat,
+      with a steady countenance. For the first time in his life, he was not
+      afraid of Mrs. Galilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Before we enter on the legal aspect of the case&mdash;&rdquo; he began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The shocking case,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee interposed, in the interests of Virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Under any other circumstances Mr. Mool would have accepted the correction.
+      He actually took no notice of it now! &ldquo;There is one point,&rdquo; he proceeded,
+      &ldquo;on which I must beg you to enlighten me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By all means! I am ready to go into any details, no matter how disgusting
+      they may be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool thought of certain &ldquo;ladies&rdquo; (objects of perfectly needless
+      respect among men) who, being requested to leave the Court, at
+      unmentionable Trials, persist in keeping their places. It was a relief to
+      him to feel&mdash;if his next questions did nothing else&mdash;that they
+      would disappoint Mrs. Galilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I right in supposing that you believe what you have told me?&rdquo; he
+      resumed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Most assuredly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Doctor Benjulia the only person who has spoken to you on the subject?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The only person.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His information being derived from his friend&mdash;the fellow-student
+      whom you mentioned just now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In other words,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee answered viciously, &ldquo;the father of the
+      wretched girl who has been foisted on my care.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If Mr. Mool&rsquo;s courage had been in danger of failing him, he would have
+      found it again now His regard for Carmina, his respect for the memory of
+      her mother, had been wounded to the quick. Strong on his own legal ground,
+      he proceeded as if he was examining a witness in a police court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose the doctor had some reason for believing what his friend told
+      him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ample reason! Vice and poverty generally go together&mdash;<i>this</i>
+      man was poor. He showed Doctor Benjulia money received from his mistress&mdash;her
+      husband&rsquo;s money, it is needless to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her motive might be innocent, Mrs. Gallilee. Had the man any letters of
+      hers to show?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Letters? From a woman in her position? It&rsquo;s notorious, Mr. Mool, that
+      Italian models don&rsquo;t know how to read or write.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I ask if there are any further proofs?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have had proofs enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With all possible respect, ma&rsquo;am, I deny that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee had not been asked to enter into disgusting details. Mrs.
+      Gallilee had been contradicted by her obedient humble servant of other
+      days. She thought it high time to bring the examination to an end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you are determined to believe in the woman&rsquo;s innocence,&rdquo; she said,
+      &ldquo;without knowing any of the circumstances&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool went on from bad to worse: he interrupted her now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me, Mrs. Gallilee, I think you have forgotten that one of my
+      autumn holidays, many years since, was spent in Italy. I was in Rome, like
+      Doctor Benjulia, after your brother&rsquo;s marriage. His wife was, to my
+      certain knowledge, received in society. Her reputation was unblemished;
+      and her husband was devoted to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In plain English,&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee, &ldquo;my brother was a poor weak
+      creature&mdash;and his wife, when you knew her, had not been found out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is just the difficulty I feel,&rdquo; Mr. Mool rejoined. &ldquo;How is it that
+      she is only found out now? Years have passed since she died. More years
+      have passed since this attack on her character reached Doctor Benjulia&rsquo;s
+      knowledge. He is an old friend of yours. Why has he only told you of it
+      to-day? I hope I don&rsquo;t offend you by asking these questions?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, dear, no! your questions are so easily answered. I never encouraged
+      the doctor to speak of my brother and his wife. The subject was too
+      distasteful to me&mdash;and I don&rsquo;t doubt that Doctor Benjulia felt about
+      it as I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Until to-day,&rdquo; the lawyer remarked; &ldquo;Doctor Benjulia appears to have been
+      quite ready to mention the subject to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Under special circumstances, Mr. Mool. Perhaps, you will not allow that
+      special circumstances make any difference?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the contrary, Mr. Mool made every allowance. At the same time, he
+      waited to hear what the circumstances might be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Mrs. Galilee had her reasons for keeping silence. It was impossible to
+      mention Benjulia&rsquo;s reception of her without inflicting a wound on her
+      self-esteem. To begin with, he had kept the door of the room open, and had
+      remained standing. &ldquo;Have you got Ovid&rsquo;s letters? Leave them here; I&rsquo;m not
+      fit to look at them now.&rdquo; Those were his first words. There was nothing in
+      the letters which a friend might not read: she accordingly consented to
+      leave them. The doctor had expressed his sense of obligation by bidding
+      her get into her carriage again, and go. &ldquo;I have been put in a passion; I
+      have made a fool of myself; I haven&rsquo;t a nerve in my body that isn&rsquo;t
+      quivering with rage. Go! go! go!&rdquo; There was his explanation. Impenetrably
+      obstinate, Mrs. Galilee faced him&mdash;standing between the doctor and
+      the door&mdash;without shrinking. She had not driven all the way to
+      Benjulia&rsquo;s house to be sent back again without gaining her object: she had
+      her questions to put to him, and she persisted in pressing them as only a
+      woman can. He was left&mdash;with the education of a gentleman against him&mdash;between
+      the two vulgar alternatives of turning her out by main force, or of
+      yielding, and getting rid of her decently in that way. At any other time,
+      he would have flatly refused to lower himself to the level of a
+      scandal-mongering woman, by entering on the subject. In his present mood,
+      if pacifying Mrs. Galilee, and ridding himself of Mrs. Gallilee, meant one
+      and the same thing, he was ready, recklessly ready, to let her have her
+      own way. She heard the infamous story, which she had repeated to her
+      lawyer; and she had Lemuel Benjulia&rsquo;s visit, and Mr. Morphew&rsquo;s
+      contemplated attack on Vivisection, to thank for getting her information.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool waited, and waited in vain. He reminded his client of what she
+      had just said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mentioned certain circumstances. May I know what they are?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee rose, before she replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your time is valuable, and my time is valuable,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;We shall not
+      convince each other by prolonging our conversation. I came here, Mr. Mool,
+      to ask you a question about the law. Permit me to remind you that I have
+      not had my answer yet. My own impression is that the girl now in my house,
+      not being my brother&rsquo;s child, has no claim on my brother&rsquo;s property? Tell
+      me in two words, if you please&mdash;am I right or wrong?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can do it in one word, Mrs. Gallilee. Wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool entered on the necessary explanation, triumphing in the reply
+      that he had just made. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the smartest thing,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;I ever said
+      in my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;While husbands and wives live together,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;the Law holds
+      that all children, born in wedlock, are the husband&rsquo;s children. Even if
+      Miss Carmina&rsquo;s mother had not been as good and innocent a woman as ever
+      drew the breath of life&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That will do, Mr. Mool. You really mean to say that this girl&rsquo;s interest
+      in my brother&rsquo;s Will&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Remains quite unaffected, ma&rsquo;am, by all that you have told me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I am still obliged to keep her under my care?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or,&rdquo; Mr. Mool answered, &ldquo;to resign the office of guardian, in favour of
+      Lady Northlake&mdash;appointed to act, in your place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t trouble you any further, sir. Good-evening!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned to leave the office. Mr. Mool actually tried to stop her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One word more, Mrs. Galilee.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; we have said enough already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool&rsquo;s audacity arrived at its climax. He put his hand on the lock of
+      the office door, and held it shut.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The young lady, Mrs. Gallilee! I am sure you will never breathe a word of
+      this to the pretty gentle, young lady? Even if it was true; and, as God is
+      my witness, I am sure it&rsquo;s false&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-evening, Mr. Mool!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He opened the door, and let her go; her looks and tones told him that
+      remonstrance was worse than useless. From year&rsquo;s end to year&rsquo;s end, this
+      modest and amiable man had never been heard to swear. He swore now. &ldquo;Damn
+      Doctor Benjulia!&rdquo; he burst out, in the solitude of his office. His dinner
+      was waiting for him at home. Instead of putting on his hat, he went back
+      to his writing-table. His thoughts projected themselves into the future&mdash;and
+      discovered possibilities from which they recoiled. He took up his pen, and
+      began a letter. &ldquo;To John Gallilee, Esquire: Dear Sir,&mdash;Circumstances
+      have occurred, which I am not at liberty to mention, but which make it
+      necessary for me, in justice to my own views and feelings, to withdraw
+      from the position of legal adviser to yourself and family.&rdquo; He paused and
+      considered with himself. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he decided; &ldquo;I may be of some use to that
+      poor child, while I am the family lawyer.&rdquo; He tore up his unfinished
+      letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Mr. Mool got home that night, it was noticed that he had a poor
+      appetite for his dinner. On the other hand, he drank more wine than usual.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXIV.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what is the matter with me. Sometimes I think I am going to
+      be really ill.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the day after Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s interview with her lawyer&mdash;and
+      this was Carmina&rsquo;s answer, when the governess entered her room, after the
+      lessons of the morning, and asked if she felt better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you still taking medicine?&rdquo; Miss Minerva inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Mr. Null says it&rsquo;s a tonic, and it&rsquo;s sure to do me good. It doesn&rsquo;t
+      seem to have begun yet. I feel so dreadfully weak, Frances. The least
+      thing makes me cry; and I put off doing what I ought to do, and want to
+      do, without knowing why. You remember what I told you about Teresa? She
+      may be with us in a few days more, for all I know to the contrary. I must
+      find a nice lodging for her, poor dear&mdash;and here I am, thinking about
+      it instead of doing it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me do it,&rdquo; Miss Minerva suggested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina&rsquo;s sad face brightened. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s kind indeed!&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! I shall take the children out, after dinner to-day. Looking
+      over lodgings will be an amusement to me and to them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is Zo? Why haven&rsquo;t you brought her with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is having her music lesson&mdash;and I must go back to keep her in
+      order. About the lodging? A sitting-room and bedroom will be enough, I
+      suppose? In this neighbourhood, I am afraid the terms will be rather
+      high.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, never mind that! Let us have clean airy rooms&mdash;and a kind
+      landlady. Teresa mustn&rsquo;t know it, if the terms are high.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will she allow you to pay her expenses?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, <i>you</i> put it delicately! My aunt seemed to doubt if Teresa had
+      any money of her own. I forgot, at the time, that my father had left her a
+      little income. She told me so herself, and wondered, poor dear, how she
+      was to spend it all. She mustn&rsquo;t be allowed to spend it all. We will tell
+      her that the terms are half what they may really be&mdash;and I will pay
+      the other half. Isn&rsquo;t it cruel of my aunt not to let my old nurse live in
+      the same house with me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment, a message arrived from one of the persons of whom she was
+      speaking. Mrs. Gallilee wished to see Miss Carmina immediately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; said Miss Minerva, when the servant had withdrawn, &ldquo;why do you
+      tremble so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s something in me, Frances, that shudders at my aunt, ever since&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva understood that sudden pause&mdash;the undesigned allusion to
+      Carmina&rsquo;s guiltless knowledge of her feeling towards Ovid. By unexpressed
+      consent, on either side, they still preserved their former relations as if
+      Mrs. Gallilee had not spoken. Miss Minerva looked at Carmina sadly and
+      kindly. &ldquo;Good-bye for the present!&rdquo; she said&mdash;and went upstairs again
+      to the schoolroom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the hall, Carmina found the servant waiting for her. He opened the
+      library door. The learned lady was at her studies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been speaking to Mr. Null about you,&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the previous evening, Carmina had kept her room. She had breakfasted in
+      bed&mdash;and she now saw her aunt for the first time, since Mrs. Gallilee
+      had left the house on her visit to Benjulia. The girl was instantly
+      conscious of a change&mdash;to be felt rather than to be realised&mdash;a
+      subtle change in her aunt&rsquo;s way of looking at her and speaking to her. Her
+      heart beat fast. She took the nearest chair in silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The doctor,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee proceeded, &ldquo;thinks it of importance to your
+      health to be as much as possible in the air. He wishes you to drive out
+      every day, while the fine weather lasts. I have ordered the open carriage
+      to be ready, after luncheon. Other engagements will prevent me from
+      accompanying you. You will be under the care of my maid, and you will be
+      out for two hours. Mr. Null hopes you will gain strength. Is there
+      anything you want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing&mdash;thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you wish for a new dress?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have no complaint to make of the servants?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The servants are always kind to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I needn&rsquo;t detain you any longer&mdash;I have a person coming to speak to
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina had entered the room in doubt and fear. She left it with
+      strangely-mingled feelings of perplexity and relief. Her sense of a
+      mysterious change in her aunt had strengthened with every word that Mrs.
+      Gallilee had said to her. She had heard of reformatory institutions, and
+      of discreet persons called matrons who managed them. In her imaginary
+      picture of such places, Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s tone and manner realised, in the
+      strangest way, her idea of a matron speaking to a penitent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As she crossed the hall, her thoughts took a new direction. Some
+      indefinable distrust of the coming time got possession of her. An ugly
+      model of the Colosseum, in cork, stood on the hall table. She looked at it
+      absently. &ldquo;I hope Teresa will come soon,&rdquo; she thought&mdash;and turned
+      away to the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She ascended slowly; her head drooping, her mind still preoccupied.
+      Arrived at the first landing, a sound of footsteps disturbed her. She
+      looked up&mdash;and found herself face to face with Mr. Le Frank, leaving
+      the schoolroom after his music lesson. At that sudden discovery, a cry of
+      alarm escaped her&mdash;the common little scream of a startled woman. Mr.
+      Le Frank made an elaborately formal bow: he apologised with sternly stupid
+      emphasis. &ldquo;I <i>beg</i> your pardon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Moved by a natural impulse, penitently conscious of those few foolish
+      words of hers which he had so unfortunately overheard, the poor girl made
+      an effort to conciliate him. &ldquo;I have very few friends, Mr. Le Frank,&rdquo; she
+      said timidly. &ldquo;May I still consider you as one of them? Will you forgive
+      and forget? Will you shake hands?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank made another magnificent bow. He was proud of his voice. In
+      his most resonant and mellifluous tones, he said, &ldquo;You do me honour&mdash;&rdquo;
+       and took the offered hand, and lifted it grandly, and touched it with his
+      lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She held by the baluster with her free hand, and controlled the sickening
+      sensation which that momentary contact with him produced. He might have
+      detected the outward signs of the struggle, but for an interruption which
+      preserved her from discovery. Mrs. Gallilee was standing at the open
+      library door. Mrs. Gallilee said, &ldquo;I am waiting for you, Mr. Le Frank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina hurried up the stairs, pursued already by a sense of her own
+      imprudence. In her first confusion and dismay, but one clear idea
+      presented itself. &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;have I made another mistake?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile, Mrs. Gallilee had received her music-master with the nearest
+      approach to an indulgent welcome, of which a hardened nature is capable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take the easy chair, Mr. Le Frank. You are not afraid of the open
+      window?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, dear no! I like it.&rdquo; He rapidly unrolled some leaves of music which
+      he had brought downstairs. &ldquo;With regard to the song that I had the honour
+      of mentioning&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee pointed to the table. &ldquo;Put the song there for the present. I
+      have a word to say first. How came you to frighten my niece? I heard
+      something like a scream, and naturally looked out. She was making an
+      apology; she asked you to forgive and forget. What does all this mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank exhausted his ingenuity in efforts of polite evasion without
+      the slightest success. From first to last (if the expression may be
+      permitted) Mrs. Gallilee had him under her thumb. He was not released,
+      until he had literally reported Carmina&rsquo;s opinion of him as a man and a
+      musician, and had exactly described the circumstances under which he had
+      heard it. Mrs. Gallilee listened with an interest, which (under less
+      embarrassing circumstances) would have even satisfied Mrs. Le Frank&rsquo;s
+      vanity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was not for a moment deceived by the clumsy affectation of good humour
+      with which he told his story. Her penetration discovered the vindictive
+      feeling towards Carmina, which offered him, in case of necessity, as an
+      instrument ready made to her hand. By fine degrees, she presented herself
+      in the new character of a sympathising friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know now, Mr. Le Frank, why you declined to be my niece&rsquo;s music-master.
+      Allow me to apologise for having ignorantly placed you in a false
+      position. I appreciate the delicacy of your conduct&mdash;I understand,
+      and admire you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s florid cheeks turned redder still. His cold blood began to
+      simmer, heated by an all-pervading glow of flattered self-esteem.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My niece&rsquo;s motives for concealment are plain enough,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee
+      proceeded. &ldquo;Let me hope that she was ashamed to confess the total want of
+      taste, delicacy, and good manners which has so justly offended you. Miss
+      Minerva, however, has no excuse for keeping me in the dark. Her conduct,
+      in this matter, offers, I regret to say, one more instance of her habitual
+      neglect of the duties which attach to her position in my house. There
+      seems to be some private understanding between my governess and my niece,
+      of which I highly disapprove. However, the subject is too distasteful to
+      dwell on. You were speaking of your song&mdash;the last effort of your
+      genius, I think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His &ldquo;genius&rdquo;! The inner glow in Mr. Le Frank grew warmer and warmer. &ldquo;I
+      asked for the honour of an interview,&rdquo; he explained, &ldquo;to make a request.&rdquo;
+       He took up his leaves of music. &ldquo;This is my last, and, I hope, my best
+      effort at composition. May I dedicate it&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To me!&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee exclaimed with a burst of enthusiasm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank felt the compliment. He bowed gratefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Need I say how gladly I accept the honour?&rdquo; With this gracious answer
+      Mrs. Gallilee rose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was the change of position a hint, suggesting that Mr. Le Frank might
+      leave her to her studies, now that his object was gained? Or was it an act
+      of homage offered by Science to Art? Mr. Le Frank was incapable of placing
+      an unfavourable interpretation on any position which a woman&mdash;and
+      such a woman&mdash;could assume in his presence. He felt the compliment
+      again. &ldquo;The first copy published shall be sent to you,&rdquo; he said&mdash;and
+      snatched up his hat, eager to set the printers at work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And five-and-twenty copies more, for which I subscribe,&rdquo; cried his
+      munificent patroness, cordially shaking hands with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank attempted to express his sense of obligation. Generous Mrs.
+      Gallilee refused to hear him. He took his leave; he got as far as the
+      hall; and then he was called back&mdash;softly, confidentially called back
+      to the library.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A thought has just struck me,&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee. &ldquo;Please shut the door
+      for a moment. About that meeting between you and my niece? Perhaps, I am
+      taking a morbid view?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She paused. Mr. Le Frank waited with breathless interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or is there something out of the common way, in that apology of hers?&rdquo;
+       Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. &ldquo;Have you any idea what the motive might be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s ready suspicion was instantly aroused. &ldquo;Not the least
+      idea,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Can you tell me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am as completely puzzled as you are,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee rejoined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank considered. His suspicions made an imaginative effort,
+      assisted by his vanity. &ldquo;After my refusal to teach her,&rdquo; he suggested,
+      &ldquo;that proposal to shake hands may have a meaning&mdash;&rdquo; There, his
+      invention failed him. He stopped, and shook his head ominously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s object being attained, she made no attempt to help him.
+      &ldquo;Perhaps, time will show,&rdquo; she answered discreetly. &ldquo;Good-bye again&mdash;with
+      best wishes for the success of the song.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXV.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The solitude of her own room was no welcome refuge to Carmina, in her
+      present state of mind. She went on to the schoolroom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva was alone. The two girls, in obedience to domestic
+      regulations, were making their midday toilet before dinner. Carmina
+      described her interview with Mrs. Gallilee, and her meeting with Mr. Le
+      Frank. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t scold me,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I make no excuse for my folly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If Mr. Le Frank had left the house, after you spoke to him,&rdquo; Miss Minerva
+      answered, &ldquo;I should not have felt the anxiety which troubles me now. I
+      don&rsquo;t like his going to Mrs. Gallilee afterwards&mdash;especially when you
+      tell me of that change in her manner towards you. Yours is a vivid
+      imagination, Carmina. Are you sure that it has not been playing you any
+      tricks?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perfectly sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva was not quite satisfied. &ldquo;Will you help me to feel as certain
+      about it as you do?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee generally looks in for a
+      few minutes, while the children are at dinner. Stay here, and say
+      something to her in my presence. I want to judge for myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girls came in. Maria&rsquo;s perfect toilet, reflected Maria&rsquo;s perfect
+      character. She performed the duties of politeness with her usual happy
+      choice of words. &ldquo;Dear Carmina, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again
+      in our schoolroom. We are naturally anxious about your health. This lovely
+      weather is no doubt in your favour; and papa thinks Mr. Null a remarkably
+      clever man.&rdquo; Zo stood by frowning, while these smooth conventionalities
+      trickled over her sister&rsquo;s lips. Carmina asked what was the matter. Zo
+      looked gloomily at the dog on the rug. &ldquo;I wish I was Tinker,&rdquo; she said.
+      Maria smiled sweetly. &ldquo;Dear Zoe, what a very strange wish! What would you
+      do, if you were Tinker?&rdquo; The dog, hearing his name, rose and shook
+      himself. Zo pointed to him, with an appearance of the deepest interest. <i>&ldquo;He</i>
+      hasn&rsquo;t got to brush his hair, before he goes out for a walk; <i>his</i>
+      nails don&rsquo;t took black when they&rsquo;re dirty. And, I say!&rdquo; (she whispered the
+      next words in Carmina&rsquo;s ear) <i>&ldquo;he</i> hasn&rsquo;t got a governess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The dinner made its appearance; and Mrs. Gallilee followed the dinner.
+      Maria said grace. Zo, always ravenous at meals, forgot to say Amen.
+      Carmina, standing behind her chair, prompted her. Zo said &ldquo;Amen; oh,
+      bother!&rdquo; the first word at the top of her voice, and the last two in a
+      whisper. Mrs. Gallilee looked at Carmina as she might have looked at an
+      obtrusive person who had stepped in from the street. &ldquo;You had better dress
+      before luncheon,&rdquo; she suggested, &ldquo;or you will keep the carriage waiting.&rdquo;
+       Hearing this, Zo laid down her knife and fork, and looked over her
+      shoulder. &ldquo;Ask if I may go with you,&rdquo; she said. Carmina made the request.
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee answered, &ldquo;the children must walk. My maid will
+      accompany you.&rdquo; Carmina glanced at Miss Minerva on leaving the room. The
+      governess replied by a look. She too had seen the change in Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s manner, and was at a loss to understand it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s maid Marceline belonged to a quick-tempered race: she was
+      a Jersey woman. It is not easy to say which of the two felt most oppressed
+      by their enforced companionship in the carriage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The maid was perhaps the most to be pitied. Secretly drawn towards Carmina
+      like the other servants in the house, she was forced by her mistress&rsquo;s
+      private instruction, to play the part of a spy. &ldquo;If the young lady changes
+      the route which the coachman has my orders to take, or if she communicates
+      with any person while your are out, you are to report it to me.&rdquo; Mrs.
+      Gallilee had not forgotten the discovery of the travelling bag; and Mr.
+      Mool&rsquo;s exposition of the law had informed her, that the superintendence of
+      Carmina was as much a matter of serious pecuniary interest as ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But recent events had, in one respect at least, improved the prospect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If Ovid (as his mother actually ventured to hope!) broke off his
+      engagement, when he heard the scandalous story of Carmina&rsquo;s birth, there
+      was surely a chance that she, like other girls of her sensitive
+      temperament, might feel the calamity that had fallen on her so acutely as
+      to condemn herself to a single life. Misled, partly by the hope of relief
+      from her own vile anxieties; partly by the heartless incapability of
+      appreciating generous feeling in others, developed by the pursuits of her
+      later life, Mrs. Gallilee seriously contemplated her son&rsquo;s future decision
+      as a matter of reasonable doubt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the meanwhile, this detestable child of adultery&mdash;this living
+      obstacle in the way of the magnificent prospects which otherwise awaited
+      Maria and Zoe, to say nothing of their mother&mdash;must remain in the
+      house, submitted to her guardian&rsquo;s authority, watched by her guardian&rsquo;s
+      vigilance. The hateful creature was still entitled to medical attendance
+      when she was ill, and must still be supplied with every remedy that the
+      doctor&rsquo;s ingenuity could suggest. A liberal allowance was paid for the
+      care of her; and the trustees were bound to interfere if it was not fairly
+      earned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Looking after the carriage as it drove away&mdash;Marceline on the front
+      seat presenting the picture of discomfort; and Carmina opposite to her,
+      unendurably pretty and interesting, with the last new poem on her lap&mdash;Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s reflections took their own bitter course. &ldquo;Accidents happen to
+      other carriages, with other girls in them. Not to my carriage, with that
+      girl in it! Nothing will frighten <i>my</i> horses to-day; and, fat as he
+      is, <i>my</i> coachman will not have a fit on the box!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was only too true. At the appointed hour the carriage appeared again&mdash;and
+      (to complete the disappointment) Marceline had no report to make.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva had not forgotten her promise. When she returned from her
+      walk with the children, the rooms had been taken. Teresa&rsquo;s London lodging
+      was within five minutes&rsquo; walk of the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That evening, Carmina sent a telegram to Rome, on the chance that the
+      nurse might not yet have begun her journey. The message (deferring other
+      explanations until they met) merely informed her that her rooms were
+      ready, adding the address and the landlady&rsquo;s name. Guessing in the dark,
+      Carmina and the governess had ignorantly attributed the sinister
+      alteration in Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s manner to the prospect of Teresa&rsquo;s unwelcome
+      return. &ldquo;While you have the means in your power,&rdquo; Miss Minerva advised,
+      &ldquo;it may be as well to let your old friend know that there is a home for
+      her when she reaches London.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXVI.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The weather, to Carmina&rsquo;s infinite relief, changed for the worse the next
+      day. Incessant rain made it impossible to send her out in the carriage
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was an eventful day, nevertheless. On that rainy afternoon, Mr.
+      Gallilee asserted himself as a free agent, in the terrible presence of his
+      wife!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s an uncommonly dull day, my dear,&rdquo; he began. This passed without
+      notice, which was a great encouragement to go on. &ldquo;If you will allows me
+      to say so, Carmina wants a little amusement.&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee looked up from
+      her book. Fearing that he might stop altogether if he took his time as
+      usual, Mr. Gallilee proceeded in a hurry. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s an afternoon
+      performance of conjuring tricks; and, do you know, I really think I might
+      take Carmina to see it. We shall be delighted if you will accompany us, my
+      dear; and they do say&mdash;perhaps you have heard of it yourself?&mdash;that
+      there&rsquo;s a good deal of science in this exhibition.&rdquo; His eyes rolled in
+      uneasy expectation, as he waited to hear what his wife might decide. She
+      waved her hand contemptuously in the direction of the door. Mr. Gallilee
+      retired with the alacrity of a young man. &ldquo;Now we shall enjoy ourselves!&rdquo;
+       he thought as he went up to Carmina&rsquo;s room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were just leaving the house, when the music-master arrived at the
+      door to give his lesson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee immediately put his head out of the cab window. &ldquo;We are going
+      to see the conjuring!&rdquo; he shouted cheerfully. &ldquo;Carmina! don&rsquo;t you see Mr.
+      Le Frank? He is bowing to you. Do you like conjuring, Mr. Le Frank? Don&rsquo;t
+      tell the children where we are going! They would be disappointed, poor
+      things&mdash;but they must have their lessons, mustn&rsquo;t they? Good-bye! I
+      say! stop a minute. If you ever want your umbrella mended, I know a man
+      who will do it cheap and well. Nasty day, isn&rsquo;t it? Go on! go on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The general opinion which ranks vanity among the lighter failings of
+      humanity, commits a serious mistake. Vanity wants nothing but the motive
+      power to develop into absolute wickedness. Vanity can be savagely
+      suspicious and diabolically cruel. What are the two typical names which
+      stand revealed in history as the names of the two vainest men that ever
+      lived? Nero and Robespierre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his obscure sphere, and within his restricted means, the vanity of Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s music-master had developed its inherent qualities, under her
+      cunning and guarded instigation. Once set in action, his suspicion of
+      Carmina passed beyond all limits. There could be no reason but a bad
+      reason for that barefaced attempt to entrap him into a reconciliation.
+      Every evil motive which it was possible to attribute to a girl of her age,
+      no matter how monstrously improbable it might be, occurred to him when he
+      recalled her words, her look, and her manner at their meeting on the
+      stairs. His paltry little mind, at other times preoccupied in
+      contemplating himself and his abilities, was now so completely absorbed in
+      imagining every variety of conspiracy against his social and professional
+      position, that he was not even capable of giving his customary lesson to
+      two children. Before the appointed hour had expired, Miss Minerva remarked
+      that his mind did not appear to be at ease, and suggested that he had
+      better renew the lesson on the next day. After a futile attempt to assume
+      an appearance of tranquillity&mdash;he thanked her and took his leave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On his way downstairs, he found the door of Carmina&rsquo;s room left half open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was absent with Mr. Gallilee. Miss Minerva remained upstairs with the
+      children. Mrs. Gallilee was engaged in scientific research. At that hour
+      of the afternoon, there were no duties which called the servants to the
+      upper part of the house. He listened&mdash;he hesitated&mdash;he went into
+      the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was possible that she might keep a journal: it was certain that she
+      wrote and received letters. If he could only find her desk unlocked and
+      her drawers open, the inmost secrets of her life would be at his mercy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He tried her desk; he tried the cupboard under the bookcase. They were
+      both locked. The cabinet between the windows and the drawer of the table
+      were left unguarded. No discovery rewarded the careful search that he
+      pursued in these two repositories. He opened the books that she had left
+      on the table, and shook them. No forgotten letter, no private memorandum
+      (used as marks) dropped out. He looked all round him; he peeped into the
+      bedroom; he listened, to make sure that nobody was outside; he entered the
+      bedroom, and examined the toilet-table, and opened the doors of the
+      wardrobe&mdash;and still the search was fruitless, persevere as he might.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Returning to the sitting-room, he shook his fist at the writing-desk. &ldquo;You
+      wouldn&rsquo;t be locked,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;unless you had some shameful secrets to
+      keep! <i>I</i> shall have other opportunities; and <i>she</i> may not
+      always remember to turn the key.&rdquo; He stole quietly down the stairs, and
+      met no one on his way out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bad weather continued on the next day. The object of Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s
+      suspicion remained in the house&mdash;and the second opportunity failed to
+      offer itself as yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The visit to the exhibition of conjuring had done Carmina harm instead of
+      good. Her head ached, in the close atmosphere&mdash;she was too fatigued
+      to be able to stay in the room until the performance came to an end. Poor
+      Mr. Gallilee retired in disgrace to the shelter of his club. At dinner,
+      even his perfect temper failed him for the moment. He found fault with the
+      champagne&mdash;and then apologised to the waiter. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry I was a
+      little hard on you just now. The fact is, I&rsquo;m out of sorts&mdash;you have
+      felt in that way yourself, haven&rsquo;t you? The wine&rsquo;s first-rate; and, really
+      the weather is so discouraging, I think I&rsquo;ll try another pint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Carmina&rsquo;s buoyant heart defied the languor of illness and the gloomy
+      day. The post had brought her a letter from Ovid&mdash;enclosing a
+      photograph, taken at Montreal, which presented him in his travelling
+      costume.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wrote in a tone of cheerfulness, which revived Carmina&rsquo;s sinking
+      courage, and renewed for a time at least the happiness of other days. The
+      air of the plains of Canada he declared to be literally intoxicating.
+      Every hour seemed to be giving him back the vital energy that he had lost
+      in his London life. He slept on the ground, in the open air, more soundly
+      than he had ever slept in a bed. But one anxiety troubled his mind. In the
+      roving life which he now enjoyed, it was impossible that his letters could
+      follow him&mdash;and yet, every day that passed made him more unreasonably
+      eager to hear that Carmina was not weary of waiting for him, and that all
+      was well at home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how have these vain aspirations of mine ended?&rdquo;&mdash;the letter went
+      on. &ldquo;They have ended, my darling, in a journey for one of my guides&mdash;an
+      Indian, whose fidelity I have put to the proof, and whose zeal I have
+      stimulated by a promise of reward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Indian takes these lines to be posted at Quebec. He is also provided
+      with an order, authorising my bankers to trust him with the letters that
+      are waiting for me. I begin a canoe voyage to-morrow; and, after due
+      consultation with the crew, we have arranged a date and a place at which
+      my messenger will find me on his return. Shall I confess my own amiable
+      weakness? or do you know me well enough already to suspect the truth? My
+      love, I am sorely tempted to be false to my plans and arrangements to go
+      back with the Indian to Quebec&mdash;and to take a berth in the first
+      steamer that returns to England.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t suppose that I am troubled by any misgivings about what is going on
+      in my absence! It is one of the good signs of my returning health that I
+      take the brightest view of our present lives, and of our lives to come. I
+      feel tempted to go back, for the same reason that makes me anxious for
+      letters. I want to hear from you, because I love you&mdash;I want to
+      return at once, because I love you. There is longing, unutterable longing,
+      in my heart. No doubts, my sweet one, and no fears!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I was a doctor, before I became a lover. My medical knowledge tells
+      me that this is an opportunity of thoroughly fortifying my constitution,
+      and (with God&rsquo;s blessing) of securing to myself reserves of health and
+      strength which will take us together happily on the way to old age. Dear
+      love, you must be my wife&mdash;not my nurse! There is the thought that
+      gives me self-denial enough to let the Indian go away by himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina answered this letter as soon as she had read it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before the mail could carry her reply to its destination, she well knew
+      that the Indian messenger would be on the way back to his master. But Ovid
+      had made her so happy that she felt the impulse to write to him at once,
+      as she might have felt the impulse to answer him at once if he had been
+      present and speaking to her. When the pages were filled, and the letter
+      had been closed and addressed, the effort produced its depressing effect
+      on her spirits.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There now appeared to her a certain wisdom in the loving rapidity of her
+      reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even in the fullness of her joy, she was conscious of an underlying
+      distrust of herself. Although he refused to admit it, Mr. Null had
+      betrayed a want of faith in the remedy from which he had anticipated such
+      speedy results, by writing another prescription. He had also added a glass
+      to the daily allowance of wine, which he had thought sufficient thus far.
+      Without despairing of herself, Carmina felt that she had done wisely in
+      writing her answer, while she was still well enough to rival the cheerful
+      tone of Ovid&rsquo;s letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She laid down to rest on the sofa, with the photograph in her hand. No
+      sense of loneliness oppressed her now; the portrait was the best of all
+      companions. Outside, the heavy rain pattered; in the room, the busy clock
+      ticked. She listened lazily, and looked at her lover, and kissed the
+      faithful image of him&mdash;peacefully happy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The opening of the door was the first little event that disturbed her. Zo
+      peeped in. Her face was red, her hair was tousled, her fingers presented
+      inky signs of a recent writing lesson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m in a rage,&rdquo; she announced; &ldquo;and so is the Other One.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina called her to the sofa, and tried to find out who this second
+      angry person might be. &ldquo;Oh, you know!&rdquo; Zo answered doggedly. &ldquo;She rapped
+      my knuckles. I call her a Beast.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush! you mustn&rsquo;t talk in that way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She&rsquo;ll be here directly,&rdquo; Zo proceeded. &ldquo;You look out! She&rsquo;d rap <i>your</i>
+      knuckles&mdash;only you&rsquo;re too big. If it wasn&rsquo;t raining, I&rsquo;d run away.&rdquo;
+       Carmina assumed an air of severity, and entered a serious protest adapted
+      to her young friend&rsquo;s intelligence. She might as well have spoken in a
+      foreign language. Zo had another reason to give, besides the rap on the
+      knuckles, for running away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say!&rdquo; she resumed&mdash;&ldquo;you know the boy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What boy, dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He comes round sometimes. He&rsquo;s got a hurdy-gurdy. He&rsquo;s got a monkey. He
+      grins. He says, <i>Aha&mdash;gimmee&mdash;haypenny.</i> I mean to go to
+      that boy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As a confession of Zo&rsquo;s first love, this was irresistible. Carmina burst
+      out laughing. Zo indignantly claimed a hearing. &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t done yet!&rdquo; she
+      burst out. &ldquo;The boy dances. Like this.&rdquo; She cocked her head, and slapped
+      her thigh, and imitated the boy. &ldquo;And sometimes he sings!&rdquo; she cried with
+      another outburst of admiration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>&ldquo;Yah-yah-yah-bellah-vitah-yah!</i> That&rsquo;s Italian, Carmina.&rdquo; The door
+      opened again while the performer was in full vigour&mdash;and Miss Minerva
+      appeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she entered the room, Carmina at once saw that Zo had correctly
+      observed her governess. Miss Minerva&rsquo;s heavy eyebrows lowered; her lips
+      were pale; her head was held angrily erect, &ldquo;Carmina!&rdquo; she said sharply,
+      &ldquo;you shouldn&rsquo;t encourage that child.&rdquo; She turned round, in search of the
+      truant pupil. Incurably stupid at her lessons, Zo&rsquo;s mind had its gleams of
+      intelligence, in a state of liberty. One of those gleams had shone
+      propitiously, and had lighted her out of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva took a chair: she dropped into it like a person worn out with
+      fatigue. Carmina spoke to her gently. Words of sympathy were thrown away
+      on that self-tormenting nature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I&rsquo;m not ill,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;A night without sleep; a perverse child to
+      teach in the morning; and a detestable temper at all times&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+      what is the matter with me.&rdquo; She looked at Carmina. &ldquo;You seem to be
+      wonderfully better to-day. Has stupid Mr. Null really done you some good
+      at last?&rdquo; She noticed the open writing-desk, and discovered the letter.
+      &ldquo;Or is it good news?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have heard from Ovid,&rdquo; Carmina answered. The photograph was still in
+      her hand; but her inbred delicacy of feeling kept the portrait hidden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The governess&rsquo;s sallow complexion turned little by little to a dull
+      greyish white. Her hands, loosely clasped in her lap, tightened when she
+      heard Ovid&rsquo;s name. That slight movement over, she stirred no more. After
+      waiting a little, Carmina ventured to speak. &ldquo;Frances,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you
+      have not shaken hands with me yet.&rdquo; Miss Minerva slowly looked up, keeping
+      her hands still clasped on her lap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When is he coming back?&rdquo; she asked. It was said quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina quietly replied, &ldquo;Not yet&mdash;I am sorry to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s good of you, Frances, to say that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No: it&rsquo;s not good of me. I&rsquo;m thinking of myself&mdash;not of you.&rdquo; She
+      suddenly lowered her tone. &ldquo;I wish you were married to him,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a pause. Miss Minerva was the first to speak again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you understand me?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you will help me to understand,&rdquo; Carmina answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you were married to him, even my restless spirit might be at peace.
+      The struggle would be over.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She left her chair, and walked restlessly up and down the room. The
+      passionate emotion which she had resolutely suppressed began to get beyond
+      her control.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was thinking about you last night,&rdquo; she abruptly resumed. &ldquo;You are a
+      gentle little creature&mdash;but I have seen you show some spirit, when
+      your aunt&rsquo;s cold-blooded insolence roused you. Do you know what I would
+      do, if I were in your place? <i>I</i> wouldn&rsquo;t wait tamely till he came
+      back to me&mdash;I would go to him. Carmina! Carmina! leave this horrible
+      house!&rdquo; She stopped, close by the sofa. &ldquo;Let me look at you. Ha! I believe
+      you have thought of it yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have thought of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did I say? You poor little prisoner, you <i>have</i> the right
+      spirit in you! I wish I could give you some of my strength.&rdquo; The
+      half-mocking tone in which she spoke, suddenly failed her. Her piercing
+      eyes grew dim; the hard lines in her face softened. She dropped on her
+      knees, and wound her lithe arms round Carmina, and kissed her. &ldquo;You sweet
+      child!&rdquo; she said&mdash;and burst passionately into tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even then, the woman&rsquo;s fiercely self-dependent nature asserted itself. She
+      pushed Carmina back on the sofa. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t look at me! don&rsquo;t speak to me!&rdquo;
+       she gasped. &ldquo;Leave me to get over it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stifled the sobs that broke from her. Still on her knees, she looked
+      up, shuddering. A ghastly smile distorted her lips. &ldquo;Ah, what fools we
+      are!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Where is that lavender water, my dear&mdash;your
+      favourite remedy for a burning head?&rdquo; She found the bottle before Carmina
+      could help her, and soaked her handkerchief in the lavender water, and
+      tied it round her head. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she went on, as if they had been gossiping
+      on the most commonplace subjects, &ldquo;I think you&rsquo;re right: this is the best
+      of all perfumes.&rdquo; She looked at the clock. &ldquo;The children&rsquo;s dinner will be
+      ready in ten minutes. I must, and will, say what I have to say to you. It
+      may be the last poor return I can make, Carmina, for all your kindness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She returned to her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t help it if I frighten you,&rdquo; she resumed; &ldquo;I must tell you plainly
+      that I don&rsquo;t like the prospect. In the first place, the sooner we two are
+      parted&mdash;oh, only for a while!&mdash;the better for you. After what I
+      went through, last night&mdash;no, I am not going to enter into any
+      particulars; I am only going to repeat, what I have said already&mdash;don&rsquo;t
+      trust me. I mean it, Carmina! Your generous nature shall not mislead you,
+      if <i>I</i> can help it. When you are a happy married woman&mdash;when <i>he</i>
+      is farther removed from me than he is even now&mdash;remember your ugly,
+      ill-tempered friend, and let me come to you. Enough of this! I have other
+      misgivings that are waiting to be confessed. You know that old nurse of
+      yours intimately&mdash;while I only speak from a day or two&rsquo;s experience
+      of her. To my judgment, she is a woman whose fondness for you might be
+      turned into a tigerish fondness, on very small provocation. You write to
+      her constantly. Does she know what you have suffered? Have you told her
+      the truth?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Without reserve?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Entirely without reserve.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When that old woman comes to London, Carmina&mdash;and sees you, and sees
+      Mrs. Gallilee&mdash;don&rsquo;t you think the consequences may be serious? and
+      your position between them something (if you were ten times stronger than
+      you are) that no fortitude can endure?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina started up on the sofa. She was not able to speak. Miss Minerva
+      gave her time to recover herself&mdash;after another look at the clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not alarming you for nothing,&rdquo; she proceeded; &ldquo;I have something
+      hopeful to propose. Your friend Teresa has energies&mdash;wild energies.
+      Make a good use of them. She will do anything you ask or her. Take her
+      with you to Canada!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Frances!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva pointed to the letter on the desk. &ldquo;Does he tell you when he
+      will be back?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. He feels the importance of completely restoring his health&mdash;he
+      is going farther and farther away&mdash;he has sent to Quebec for his
+      letters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then there is no fear of your crossing each other on the voyage. Go to
+      Quebec, and wait for him there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should frighten him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What can I say to him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What you <i>must</i> say, if you are weak enough to wait for him here. Do
+      you think his mother will consider his feelings, when he comes back to
+      marry you? I tell you again I am not talking at random. I have thought it
+      all out: I know how you can make your escape, and defy pursuit. You have
+      plenty of money; you have Teresa to take care of you. Go! For your own
+      sake, for his sake, go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The clock struck the hour. She rose and removed the handkerchief from her
+      head. &ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;Do I hear the rustling of a dress on the landing
+      below?&rdquo; She snatched up a bottle of Mr. Null&rsquo;s medicine&mdash;as a reason
+      for being in the room. The sound of the rustling dress came nearer and
+      nearer. Mrs. Gallilee (on her way to the schoolroom dinner) opened the
+      door. She instantly understood the purpose which the bottle was intended
+      to answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is my business to give Carmina her medicine,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Your business
+      is at the schoolroom table.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She took possession of the bottle, and advanced to Carmina. There were two
+      looking-glasses in the room. One, in the usual position, over the
+      fireplace; the other opposite, on the wall behind the sofa. Turning back,
+      before she left the room, Miss Minerva saw Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s face, when she
+      and Carmina looked at each other, reflected in the glass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girls were waiting for their dinner. Maria received the unpunctual
+      governess with her ready smile, and her appropriate speech. &ldquo;Dear Miss
+      Minerva, we were really almost getting alarmed about you. Pardon me for
+      noticing it, you look&mdash;&rdquo; She caught the eye of the governess, and
+      stopped confusedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said Miss Minerva. &ldquo;How do I look?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria still hesitated. Zo spoke out as usual. &ldquo;You look as if somebody had
+      frightened you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXVII.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      After two days of rain, the weather cleared again.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It was a calm, sunshiny Sunday morning. The flat country round Benjulia&rsquo;s
+      house wore its brightest aspect on that clear autumn day. Even the
+      doctor&rsquo;s gloomy domestic establishment reflected in some degree the change
+      for the better. When he rose that morning, Benjulia presented himself to
+      his household in a character which they were little accustomed to see&mdash;the
+      character of a good-humoured master. He astonished his silent servant by
+      attempting to whistle a tune. &ldquo;If you ever looked cheerful in your life,&rdquo;
+       he said to the man, &ldquo;look cheerful now. I&rsquo;m going to take a holiday!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After working incessantly&mdash;never leaving his laboratory; eating at
+      his dreadful table; snatching an hour&rsquo;s rest occasionally on the floor&mdash;he
+      had completed a series of experiments, with results on which he could
+      absolutely rely. He had advanced by one step nearer towards solving that
+      occult problem in brain disease, which had thus far baffled the
+      investigations of medical men throughout the civilised world. If his
+      present rate of progress continued, the lapse of another month might add
+      his name to the names that remain immortal among physicians, in the Annals
+      of Discovery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So completely had his labours absorbed his mind that he only remembered
+      the letters which Mrs. Gallilee had left with him, when he finished his
+      breakfast on Sunday morning. Upon examination, there appeared no allusion
+      in Ovid&rsquo;s correspondence to the mysterious case of illness which he had
+      attended at Montreal. The one method now left, by which Benjulia could
+      relieve the doubt that still troubled him, was to communicate directly
+      with his friend in Canada. He decided to celebrate his holiday by taking a
+      walk; his destination being the central telegraph office in London.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But, before he left the house, his domestic duties claimed attention. He
+      issued his orders to the cook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At three o&rsquo;clock he would return to dinner. That day was to witness the
+      celebration of his first regular meat for forty-eight hours past; and he
+      expected the strictest punctuality. The cook&mdash;lately engaged&mdash;was
+      a vigourous little woman, with fiery hair and a high colour. She, like the
+      man-servant, felt the genial influence of her master&rsquo;s amiability. He
+      looked at her, for the first time since she had entered the house. A
+      twinkling light showed itself furtively in his dreary gray eyes: he took a
+      dusty old hand-screen from the sideboard, and made her a present of it!
+      &ldquo;There,&rdquo; he said with his dry humour, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t spoil your complexion before
+      the kitchen fire.&rdquo; The cook possessed a sanguine temperament, and a taste
+      to be honoured and encouraged&mdash;the taste for reading novels. She put
+      her own romantic construction on the extraordinary compliment which the
+      doctor&rsquo;s jesting humour had paid to her. As he walked out, grimly smiling
+      and thumping his big stick on the floor, a new idea illuminated her mind.
+      Her master admired her; her master was no ordinary man&mdash;it might end
+      in his marrying her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On his way to the telegraph office, Benjulia left Ovid&rsquo;s letters at Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If he had personally returned them, he would have found the learned lady
+      in no very gracious humour. On the previous day she had discovered Carmina
+      and Miss Minerva engaged in a private conference&mdash;without having been
+      able even to guess what the subject under discussion between them might
+      be. They were again together that morning. Maria and Zo had gone to church
+      with their father; Miss Minerva was kept at home by a headache. At that
+      hour, and under those circumstances, there was no plausible pretence which
+      would justify Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s interference. She seriously contemplated the
+      sacrifice of a month&rsquo;s salary, and the dismissal of her governess without
+      notice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the footman opened the door, Benjulia handed in the packet of
+      letters. After his latest experience of Mrs. Gallilee, he had no intention
+      of returning her visit. He walked away without uttering a word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cable took his message to Mr. Morphew in these terms:&mdash;&ldquo;Ovid&rsquo;s
+      patient at Montreal. Was the complaint brain disease? Yes or no.&rdquo; Having
+      made arrangements for the forwarding of the reply from his club, he set
+      forth on the walk back to his house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At five minutes to three, he was at home again. As the clock struck the
+      hour, he rang the bell. The man-servant appeared, without the dinner.
+      Benjulia&rsquo;s astonishing amiability&mdash;on his holiday&mdash;was even
+      equal to this demand on its resources.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ordered roast mutton at three,&rdquo; he said, with terrifying tranquillity.
+      &ldquo;Where is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The dinner will be ready in ten minutes, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why is it not ready now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The cook hopes you will excuse her, sir. She is a little behindhand
+      to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What has hindered her, if you please?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The silent servant&mdash;on all other occasions the most impenetrable of
+      human beings&mdash;began to tremble. The doctor had, literally, kicked a
+      man out of the house who had tried to look through the laboratory
+      skylight. He had turned away a female servant at half an hour&rsquo;s notice,
+      for forgetting to shut the door, a second time in one day. But what were
+      these highhanded proceedings, compared with the awful composure which,
+      being kept waiting for dinner, only asked what had hindered the cook, and
+      put the question politely, by saying, &ldquo;if you please&rdquo;?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you were making love to her?&rdquo; the doctor suggested, as gently as
+      ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This outrageous insinuation stung the silent servant into speech. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+      incapable of the action, sir!&rdquo; he answered indignantly; &ldquo;the woman was
+      reading a story.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia bent his head, as if in acknowledgment of a highly satisfactory
+      explanation. &ldquo;Oh? reading a story? People who read stories are said to
+      have excitable brains. Should you call the cook excitable?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should, sir! Most cooks are excitable. They say it&rsquo;s the kitchen fire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do they? You can go now. Don&rsquo;t hurry the cook&mdash;I&rsquo;ll wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited, apparently following some new train of thought which highly
+      diverted him. Ten minutes passed&mdash;then a quarter of an hour then
+      another five minutes. When the servant returned with the dinner, the
+      master&rsquo;s private reflections continued to amuse him: his thin lips were
+      still widening grimly, distended by his formidable smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On being carved, the mutton proved to be underdone. At other times, this
+      was an unpardonable crime in Benjulia&rsquo;s domestic code of laws. All he said
+      now was, &ldquo;Take it away.&rdquo; He dined on potatoes, and bread and cheese. When
+      he had done, he was rather more amiable than ever. He said, &ldquo;Ask the cook
+      to come and see me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cook presented herself, with one hand on her palpitating heart, and
+      the other holding her handkerchief to her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you crying about?&rdquo; Benjulia inquired; &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t scolded you,
+      have I?&rdquo; The cook began an apology; the doctor pointed to a chair. &ldquo;Sit
+      down, and recover yourself.&rdquo; The cook sat down, faintly smiling through
+      her tears. This otherwise incomprehensible reception of a person who had
+      kept the dinner waiting twenty minutes, and who had not done the mutton
+      properly even then (taken in connection with the master&rsquo;s complimentary
+      inquiries, reported downstairs by the footman), could bear but one
+      interpretation. It wasn&rsquo;t every woman who had her beautiful hair, and her
+      rosy complexion. Why had she not thought of going upstairs first, just to
+      see whether she looked her best in the glass? Would he begin by making a
+      confession? or would he begin by kissing her?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He began by lighting his pipe. For a while he smoked placidly with his eye
+      on the cook. &ldquo;I hear you have been reading a story,&rdquo; he resumed. &ldquo;What is
+      the name of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Pamela; or Virtue Rewarded,&rsquo; sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia went on with his smoking. The cook, thus far demure and downcast,
+      lifted her eyes experimentally. He was still looking at her. Did he want
+      encouragement? The cook cautiously offered a little literary information,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The author&rsquo;s name is on the book, sir. Name of Richardson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The information was graciously received, &ldquo;Yes; I&rsquo;ve heard of the name, and
+      heard of the book. Is it interesting?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, it&rsquo;s a beautiful story! My only excuse for being late with the
+      dinner&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s Pamela?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A young person in service, sir. I&rsquo;m sure I wish I was more like her! I
+      felt quite broken-hearted when you sent the mutton down again; and you so
+      kind as to overlook the error in the roasting&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia stopped the apology once more. He pursued his own ends with a
+      penitent cook, just as he pursued his own ends with a vivisected animal.
+      Nothing moved him out of his appointed course, in the one or in the other.
+      He returned to Pamela.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what becomes of her at the end of the story?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cook simpered. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s Pamela who is the virtuous young person, sir. And
+      so the story comes true&mdash;Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who rewards her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Was there ever anything so lucky as this? Pamela&rsquo;s situation was fast
+      becoming the cook&rsquo;s situation. The bosom of the vigourous little woman
+      began to show signs of tender agitation&mdash;distributed over a large
+      surface. She rolled her eyes amorously. Benjulia puffed out another
+      mouthful of smoke. &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he repeated, &ldquo;who rewards Pamela?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her master, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does he do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cook&rsquo;s eyes sank modestly to her lap. The cook&rsquo;s complexion became
+      brighter than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her master marries her, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That was all he said. He was not astonished, or confused, or encouraged&mdash;he
+      simply intimated that he now knew how Pamela&rsquo;s master had rewarded Pamela.
+      And, more dispiriting still, he took the opportunity of knocking the ashes
+      out of his pipe, and filled it, and lit it again. If the cook had been one
+      of the few miserable wretches who never read novels, she might have felt
+      her fondly founded hopes already sinking from under her. As it was,
+      Richardson sustained her faith in herself; Richardson reminded her that
+      Pamela&rsquo;s master had hesitated, and that Pamela&rsquo;s Virtue had not earned its
+      reward on easy terms. She stole another look at the doctor. The eloquence
+      of women&rsquo;s eyes, so widely and justly celebrated in poetry and prose, now
+      spoke in the cook&rsquo;s eyes. They said, &ldquo;Marry me, dear sir, and you shall
+      never have underdone mutton again.&rdquo; The hearts of other savages have been
+      known to soften under sufficient influences&mdash;why should the
+      scientific savage, under similar pressure, not melt a little too? The
+      doctor took up the talk again: he made a kind allusion to the cook&rsquo;s
+      family circumstances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you first came here, I think you told me you had no relations?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am an orphan, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you had been some time out of a situation, when I engaged you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir; my poor little savings were nearly at an end!&rdquo; Could he resist
+      that pathetic picture of the orphan&rsquo;s little savings&mdash;framed, as it
+      were, in a delicately-designed reference to her fellow-servant in the
+      story? &ldquo;I was as poor as Pamela,&rdquo; she suggested softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And as virtuous,&rdquo; Benjulia added.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cook&rsquo;s eloquent eyes said, &ldquo;Thank you, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laid down his pipe. That was a good sign, surely? He drew his chair
+      nearer to her. Better and better! His arm was long enough, in the new
+      position, to reach her waist. Her waist was ready for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have nothing in particular to do, this afternoon; and I have nothing
+      particular to do.&rdquo; He delivered himself of this assertion rather abruptly.
+      At the same time, it was one of those promising statements which pave the
+      way for anything. He might say, &ldquo;Having nothing particular to do to-day&mdash;why
+      shouldn&rsquo;t we make love?&rdquo; Or he might say, &ldquo;Having nothing particular to do
+      to-morrow&mdash;why shouldn&rsquo;t we get the marriage license?&rdquo; Would he put
+      it in that way? No: he made a proposal of quite another kind. He said,
+      &ldquo;You seem to be fond of stories. Suppose I tell you a story?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps, there was some hidden meaning in this. There was unquestionably a
+      sudden alteration in his look and manner; the cook asked herself what it
+      meant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If she had seen the doctor at his secret work in the laboratory, the
+      change in him might have put her on her guard. He was now looking
+      (experimentally) at the inferior creature seated before him in the chair,
+      as he looked (experimentally) at the other inferior creatures stretched
+      under him on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His story began in the innocent, old-fashioned way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Once upon a time, there was a master and there was a maid. We will call
+      the master by the first letter of the alphabet&mdash;Mr. A. And we will
+      call the maid by the second letter&mdash;Miss B.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cook drew a long breath of relief. There <i>was</i> a hidden meaning
+      in the doctor&rsquo;s story. The unfortunate woman thought to herself, &ldquo;I have
+      not only got fine hair and a beautiful complexion; I am clever as well!&rdquo;
+       On her rare evenings of liberty, she sometimes gratified another highly
+      creditable taste, besides the taste for reading novels. She was an eager
+      play-goer. That notable figure in the drama&mdash;the man who tells his
+      own story, under pretence of telling the story of another person&mdash;was
+      no unfamiliar figure in her stage experience. Her encouraging smile made
+      its modest appearance once more. In the very beginning of her master&rsquo;s
+      story, she saw already the happy end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We all of us have our troubles in life,&rdquo; Benjulia went on; &ldquo;and Miss B.
+      had her troubles. For a long time, she was out of a situation; and she had
+      no kind parents to help her. Miss B. was an orphan. Her little savings
+      were almost gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was too distressing. The cook took out her handkerchief, and pitied
+      Miss B. with all her heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor proceeded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But virtue, as we know when we read &lsquo;Pamela,&rsquo; is sure of its reward.
+      Circumstances occurred in the household of Mr. A. which made it necessary
+      for him to engage a cook. He discovered an advertisement in a newspaper,
+      which informed him that Miss B. was in search of a situation. Mr. A. found
+      her to be a young and charming woman. Mr. A. engaged her.&rdquo; At that
+      critical part of the story, Benjulia paused. &ldquo;And what did Mr. A. do
+      next?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cook could restrain herself no longer. She jumped out of her chair,
+      and threw her arms round the doctor&rsquo;s neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia went on with his story as if nothing had happened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what did Mr. A. do next?&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;He put his hand in his pocket&mdash;he
+      gave Miss B. a month&rsquo;s wages&mdash;and he turned her out of the house. You
+      impudent hussy, you have delayed my dinner, spoilt my mutton, and hugged
+      me round the neck! There is your money. Go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With glaring eyes and gaping mouth, the cook stood looking at him, like a
+      woman struck to stone. In a moment more, the rage burst out of her in a
+      furious scream. She turned to the table, and snatched up a knife. Benjulia
+      wrenched it from her hand, and dropped back into his chair completely
+      overpowered by the success of his little joke. He did what he had never
+      done within the memory of his oldest friend&mdash;he burst out laughing.
+      &ldquo;This <i>has</i> been a holiday!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Why haven&rsquo;t I got somebody
+      with me to enjoy it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that laugh, at those words, the cook&rsquo;s fury in its fiercest heat became
+      frozen by terror. There was something superhuman in the doctor&rsquo;s
+      diabolical joy. Even <i>he</i> felt the wild horror in the woman&rsquo;s eyes as
+      they rested on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with you?&rdquo; he asked. She muttered and mumbled&mdash;and,
+      shrinking away from him, crept towards the door. As she approached the
+      window, a man outside passed by it on his way to the house. She pointed to
+      him; and repeated Benjulia&rsquo;s own words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somebody to enjoy it with you,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She opened the dining-room door. The man-servant appeared in the hall,
+      with a gentleman behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gentleman was a scrupulously polite person. He looked with alarm at
+      the ghastly face of the cook as she ran past him, making for the kitchen
+      stairs. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid I intrude on you at an unfortunate time,&rdquo; he said to
+      Benjulia. &ldquo;Pray excuse me; I will call again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come in, sir.&rdquo; The doctor spoke absently, looking towards the hall, and
+      thinking of something else.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gentleman entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name is Mool,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have had the honour of meeting you at one
+      of Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s parties.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very likely. I don&rsquo;t remember it myself. Take a seat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was still thinking of something else. Modest Mr. Mool took a seat in
+      confusion. The doctor crossed the room, and opened the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me for a minute,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I will be back directly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He went to the top of the kitchen stairs, and called to the housemaid. &ldquo;Is
+      the cook down there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is she doing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Crying her heart out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia turned away again with the air of a disappointed man. A violent
+      moral shock sometimes has a serious effect on the brain&mdash;especially
+      when it is the brain of an excitable woman. Always a physiologist, even in
+      those rare moments when he was amusing himself, it had just struck
+      Benjulia that the cook&mdash;after her outbreak of fury&mdash;might be a
+      case worth studying. But, she had got relief in crying; her brain was
+      safe; she had ceased to interest him. He returned to the dining-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      &ldquo;You look hot, sir; have a drink. Old English ale, out of the barrel.&rdquo;
+     </h3>
+    <p>
+      The tone was hearty. He poured out the sparkling ale into a big tumbler,
+      with hospitable good-will. Mr. Mool was completely, and most agreeably,
+      taken by surprise. He too was feeling the influence of the doctor&rsquo;s good
+      humour&mdash;enriched in quality by pleasant remembrances of his interview
+      with the cook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I live in the suburbs, Doctor Benjulia, on this side of London,&rdquo; Mr. Mool
+      explained; &ldquo;and I have had a nice walk from my house to yours. If I have
+      done wrong, sir, in visiting you on Sunday, I can only plead that I am
+      engaged in business during the week&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. One day&rsquo;s the same as another, provided you don&rsquo;t interrupt
+      me. You don&rsquo;t interrupt me now. Do you smoke?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mind my smoking?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like it, doctor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very amiable on your part, I&rsquo;m sure. What did you say your name was?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mool.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia looked at him suspiciously. Was he a physiologist, and a rival?
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re not a doctor&mdash;are you?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a lawyer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One of the few popular prejudices which Benjulia shared with his inferior
+      fellow-creatures was the prejudice against lawyers. But for his angry
+      recollection of the provocation successfully offered to him by his
+      despicable brother, Mrs. Gallilee would never have found her way into his
+      confidence. But for his hearty enjoyment of the mystification of the cook,
+      Mr. Mool would have been requested to state the object of his visit in
+      writing, and would have gone home again a baffled man. The doctor&rsquo;s
+      holiday amiability had reached its full development indeed, when he
+      allowed a strange lawyer to sit and talk with him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen of your profession,&rdquo; he muttered, &ldquo;never pay visits to people
+      whom they don&rsquo;t know, without having their own interests in view. Mr.
+      Mool, you want something of me. What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool&rsquo;s professional tact warned him to waste no time on prefatory
+      phrases.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I venture on my present intrusion,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;in consequence of a
+      statement recently made to me, in my office, by Mrs. Gallilee.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; cried Benjulia. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t like your beginning, I can tell you. Is
+      it necessary to mention the name of that old&mdash;?&rdquo; He used a word,
+      described in dictionaries as having a twofold meaning. (First, &ldquo;A female
+      of the canine kind.&rdquo; Second, &ldquo;A term of reproach for a woman.&rdquo;) It shocked
+      Mr. Mool; and it is therefore unfit to be reported.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really, Doctor Benjulia!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does that mean that you positively must talk about her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool smiled. &ldquo;Let us say that it may bear that meaning,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on, then&mdash;and get it over. She made a statement in your office.
+      Out with it, my good fellow. Has it anything to do with me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should not otherwise, Doctor Benjulia, have ventured to present myself
+      at your house.&rdquo; With that necessary explanation, Mr. Mool related all that
+      had passed between Mrs. Gallilee and himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the outset of the narrative, Benjulia angrily laid aside his pipe, on
+      the point of interrupting the lawyer. He changed his mind; and, putting a
+      strong constraint on himself, listened in silence. &ldquo;I hope, sir,&rdquo; Mr. Mool
+      concluded, &ldquo;you will not take a hard view of my motive. It is only the
+      truth to say that I am interested in Miss Carmina&rsquo;s welfare. I felt the
+      sincerest respect and affection for her parents. You knew them too. They
+      were good people. On reflection you must surely regret it, if you have
+      carelessly repeated a false report? Won&rsquo;t you help me to clear the poor
+      mother&rsquo;s memory of this horrid stain?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia smoked in silence. Had that simple and touching appeal found its
+      way to him? He began very strangely, when he consented at last to open his
+      lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re what they call, a middle-aged man,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I suppose you have
+      had some experience of women?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool blushed. &ldquo;I am a married man, sir,&rdquo; he replied gravely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well; that&rsquo;s experience&mdash;of one kind. When a man&rsquo;s out of
+      temper, and a woman wants something of him, do you know how cleverly she
+      can take advantage of her privileges to aggravate him, till there&rsquo;s
+      nothing he won&rsquo;t do to get her to leave him in peace? That&rsquo;s how I came to
+      tell Mrs. Gallilee, what she told you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited a little, and comforted himself with his pipe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mind this,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t profess to feel any interest in the
+      girl; and I never cared two straws about her parents. At the same time, if
+      you can turn to good account what I am going to say next&mdash;do it, and
+      welcome. This scandal began in the bragging of a fellow-student of mine at
+      Rome. He was angry with me, and angry with another man, for laughing at
+      him when he declared himself to be Mrs. Robert Graywell&rsquo;s lover: and he
+      laid us a wager that we should see the woman alone in his room, that
+      night. We were hidden behind a curtain, and we did see her in his room. I
+      paid the money I had lost, and left Rome soon afterwards. The other man
+      refused to pay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On what ground?&rdquo; Mr. Mool eagerly asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the ground that she wore a thick veil, and never showed her face.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An unanswerable objection, Doctor Benjulia!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps it might be. I didn&rsquo;t think so myself. Two hours before, Mrs.
+      Robert Graywell and I had met in the street. She had on a dress of a
+      remarkable colour in those days&mdash;a sort of sea-green. And a bonnet to
+      match, which everybody stared at, because it was not half the size of the
+      big bonnets then in fashion. There was no mistaking the strange dress or
+      the tall figure, when I saw her again in the student&rsquo;s room. So I paid the
+      bet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you remember the name of the man who refused to pay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His name was Egisto Baccani.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you heard anything of him since?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. He got into some political scrape, and took refuge, like the rest of
+      them, in England; and got his living, like the rest of them, by teaching
+      languages. He sent me his prospectus&mdash;that&rsquo;s how I came to know about
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you got the prospectus?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Torn up, long ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool wrote down the name in his pocket-book. &ldquo;There is nothing more
+      you can tell me?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Accept my best thanks, doctor. Good-day!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you find Baccani let me know. Another drop of ale? Are you likely to
+      see Mrs. Gallilee soon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;if I find Baccani.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you ever play with children?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have five of my own to play with,&rdquo; Mr. Mool answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well. Ask for the youngest child when you go to Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s. We
+      call her Zo. Put your finger on her spine&mdash;here, just below the neck.
+      Press on the place&mdash;so. And, when she wriggles, say, With the big
+      doctor&rsquo;s love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Getting back to his own house, Mr. Mool was surprised to find an open
+      carriage at the garden gate. A smartly-dressed woman, on the front seat,
+      surveyed him with an uneasy look. &ldquo;If you please, sir,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;would
+      you kindly tell Miss Carmina that we really mustn&rsquo;t wait any longer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The woman&rsquo;s uneasiness was reflected in Mr. Mool&rsquo;s face. A visit from
+      Carmina, at his private residence, could have no ordinary motive. The fear
+      instantly occurred to him that Mrs. Gallilee might have spoken to her of
+      her mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before he opened the drawing-room door, this alarm passed away. He heard
+      Carmina talking with his wife and daughters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I say one little word to you, Mr. Mool?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took her into his study. She was shy and confused, but certainly
+      neither angry nor distressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My aunt sends me out every day, when it&rsquo;s fine, for a drive,&rdquo; she said.
+      &ldquo;As the carriage passed close by, I thought I might ask you a question.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly, my dear! As many questions as you please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s about the law. My aunt says she has the authority over me now, which
+      my dear father had while he was living. Is that true?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For how long is she my guardian?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Until you are twenty-one years old.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The faint colour faded from Carmina&rsquo;s face. &ldquo;More than three years perhaps
+      to suffer!&rdquo; she said sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To suffer? What do you mean, my dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned paler still, and made no reply. &ldquo;I want to ask one thing more?&rdquo;
+       she resumed, in sinking tones. &ldquo;Would my aunt still be my guardian&mdash;supposing
+      I was married?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool answered this, with his eyes fixed on her in grave scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In that case, your husband is the only person who has any authority over
+      you. These are rather strange questions, Carmina. Won&rsquo;t you take me into
+      your confidence?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In sudden agitation she seized his hand and kissed it. &ldquo;I must go!&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;I have kept the carriage waiting too long already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She ran out, without once looking back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXIX.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s maid looked at her watch, when the carriage left Mr.
+      Mool&rsquo;s house. &ldquo;We shall be nearly an hour late, before we get home,&rdquo; she
+      said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s my fault, Marceline. Tell your mistress the truth, if she questions
+      you. I shall not think the worse of you for obeying your orders.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;d rather lose my place, Miss, than get you into trouble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The woman spoke truly, Carmina&rsquo;s sweet temper had made her position not
+      only endurable, but delightful: she had been treated like a companion and
+      a friend. But for that circumstance&mdash;so keenly had Marceline felt the
+      degradation of being employed as a spy&mdash;she would undoubtedly have
+      quitted Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s service.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the way home, instead of talking pleasantly as usual, Carmina was
+      silent and sad. Had this change in her spirits been caused by the visit to
+      Mr. Mool? It was even so. The lawyer had innocently decided her on taking
+      the desperate course which Miss Minerva had proposed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s assertion of her absolute right of authority, as
+      guardian, had been declared by Mr. Mool to be incorrect, Carmina
+      (hopefully forgetful of her aunt&rsquo;s temper) had thought of a compromise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She would have consented to remain at Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s disposal until Ovid
+      returned, on condition of being allowed, when Teresa arrived in London, to
+      live in retirement with her old nurse. This change of abode would prevent
+      any collision between Mrs. Gallilee and Teresa, and would make Carmina&rsquo;s
+      life as peaceful, and even as happy, as she could wish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But now that the lawyer had confirmed her aunt&rsquo;s statement of the position
+      in which they stood towards one another, instant flight to Ovid&rsquo;s love and
+      protection seemed to be the one choice left&mdash;unless Carmina could
+      resign herself to a life of merciless persecution and perpetual suspense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The arrangements for the flight were already complete.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That momentary view of Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s face, reflected in the glass, had
+      confirmed Miss Minerva&rsquo;s resolution to interfere. Closeted with Carmina on
+      the Sunday morning, she had proposed a scheme of escape, which would even
+      set Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s vigilance and cunning at defiance. No pecuniary
+      obstacle stood in the way. The first quarterly payment of Carmina&rsquo;s
+      allowance of five hundred a year had been already made, by Mool&rsquo;s advice.
+      Enough was left&mdash;even without the assistance which the nurse&rsquo;s
+      resources would render&mdash;to purchase the necessary outfit, and to take
+      the two women to Quebec. On the day after Teresa&rsquo;s arrival (at an hour of
+      the morning while the servants were still in bed) Carmina and her
+      companion could escape from the house on foot&mdash;and not leave a trace
+      behind them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile, Fortune befriended Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s maid. No questions were put
+      to her; no notice even was taken of the late return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five minutes before the carriage drew up at the house, a learned female
+      friend from the country called, by appointment, on Mrs. Gallilee. On the
+      coming Tuesday afternoon, an event of the deepest scientific interest was
+      to take place. A new Professor had undertaken to deliver himself, by means
+      of a lecture, of subversive opinions on &ldquo;Matter.&rdquo; A general discussion was
+      to follow; and in that discussion (upon certain conditions) Mrs. Gallilee
+      herself proposed to take part.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If the Professor attempts to account for the mutual action of separate
+      atoms,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I defy him to do it, without assuming the existence of
+      a continuous material medium in space. And this point of view being
+      accepted&mdash;follow me here! what is the result? In plain words,&rdquo; cried
+      Mrs. Gallilee, rising excitedly to her feet, &ldquo;we dispense with the idea of
+      atoms!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The friend looked infinitely relieved by the prospect of dispensing with
+      atoms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now observe!&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. &ldquo;In connection with this part of
+      the subject, I shall wait to see if the Professor adopts Thomson&rsquo;s theory.
+      You are acquainted with Thomson&rsquo;s theory? No? Let me put it briefly. Mere
+      heterogeneity, together with gravitation, is sufficient to explain all the
+      apparently discordant laws of molecular action. You understand? Very well.
+      If the Professor passes over Thomson, <i>then,</i> I rise in the body of
+      the Hall, and take my stand&mdash;follow me again!&mdash;on these
+      grounds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s grounds were being laid out for the benefit of her
+      friend, the coachman took the carriage back to the stables; the maid went
+      downstairs to tea; and Carmina joined Miss Minerva in the schoolroom&mdash;all
+      three being protected from discovery, by Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s rehearsal of her
+      performance in the Comedy of Atoms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Monday morning brought with it news from Rome&mdash;serious news which
+      confirmed Miss Minerva&rsquo;s misgivings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina received a letter, bearing the Italian postmark, but not addressed
+      to her in Teresa&rsquo;s handwriting. She looked to the signature before she
+      began to read. Her correspondent was the old priest&mdash;Father Patrizio.
+      He wrote in these words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear child,&mdash;Our good Teresa leaves us to-day, on her journey to
+      London. She has impatiently submitted to the legal ceremonies, rendered
+      necessary by her husband having died without making a will. He hardly left
+      anything in the way of money, after payment of his burial expenses, and
+      his few little debts. What is of far greater importance&mdash;he lived,
+      and died, a good Christian. I was with him in his last moments. Offer your
+      prayers, my dear, for the repose of his soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Teresa left me, declaring her purpose of travelling night and day, so as
+      to reach you the sooner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In her headlong haste, she has not even waited to look over her husband&rsquo;s
+      papers; but has taken the case containing them to England&mdash;to be
+      examined at leisure, in your beloved company. Strong as this good creature
+      is, I believe she will be obliged to rest on the road for a night at
+      least. Calculating on this, I assume that my letter will get to you first.
+      I have something to say about your old nurse, which it is well that you
+      should know.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not for a moment suppose that I blame you for having told Teresa of
+      the unfriendly reception, which you appear to have met with from your aunt
+      and guardian. Who should you confide in&mdash;if not in the excellent
+      woman who has filled the place of a mother to you? Besides, from your
+      earliest years, have I not always instilled into you the reverence of
+      truth? You have told the truth in your letters. My child, I commend you,
+      and feel for you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But the impression produced on Teresa is not what you or I could wish. It
+      is one of her merits, that she loves you with the truest devotion; it is
+      one of her defects, that she is fierce and obstinate in resentment. Your
+      aunt has become an object of absolute hatred to her. I have combated
+      successfully, as I hope and believe&mdash;this unchristian state of
+      feeling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is now beyond the reach of my influence. My purpose in writing is to
+      beg you to continue the good work that I have begun. Compose this
+      impetuous nature; restrain this fiery spirit. Your gentle influence,
+      Carmina, has a power of its own over those who love you&mdash;and who
+      loves you like Teresa?&mdash;of which perhaps you are not yourself aware.
+      Use your power discreetly; and, with the blessing of God and his Saints, I
+      have no fear of the result.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Write to me, my child, when Teresa arrives&mdash;and let me hear that you
+      are happier, and better in health. Tell me also, whether there is any
+      speedy prospect of your marriage. If I may presume to judge from the
+      little I know, your dearest earthly interests depend on the removal of
+      obstacles to this salutary change in your life. I send you my good wishes,
+      and my blessing. If a poor old priest like me can be of any service, do
+      not forget.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;FATHER PATRIZIO.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Any lingering hesitation that Carmina might still have felt, was at an end
+      when she read this letter. Good Father Patrizio, like good Mr. Mool, had
+      innocently urged her to set her guardian&rsquo;s authority at defiance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XL.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When the morning lessons were over, Carmina showed the priest&rsquo;s letter to
+      Miss Minerva. The governess read it, and handed it back in silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you nothing to say?&rdquo; Carmina asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing. You know my opinion already. That letter says what I have said&mdash;with
+      greater authority.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It has determined me to follow your advice, Frances.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it has done well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you see,&rdquo; Carmina continued, &ldquo;that Father Patrizio speaks of
+      obstacles in the way of my marriage. Teresa has evidently shown him my
+      letters. Do you think he fears, as I do, that my aunt may find some means
+      of separating us, even when Ovid comes back?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very likely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She spoke in faint weary tones&mdash;listlessly leaning back in her chair.
+      Carmina asked if she had passed another sleepless night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;another bad night, and the usual martyrdom in teaching
+      the children. I don&rsquo;t know which disgusts me most&mdash;Zoe&rsquo;s impudent
+      stupidity, or Maria&rsquo;s unendurable humbug.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had never yet spoken of Maria in this way. Even her voice seemed to be
+      changed. Instead of betraying the usual angry abruptness, her tones coldly
+      indicated impenetrable contempt. In the silence that ensued, she looked
+      up, and saw Carmina&rsquo;s eyes resting on her anxiously and kindly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any other human being but you,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;would find me disagreeable and
+      rude&mdash;and would be quite right, too. I haven&rsquo;t asked after your
+      health. You look paler than usual. Have you, too, had a bad night?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I fell asleep towards the morning. And&mdash;oh, I had such a delightful
+      dream! I could almost wish that I had never awakened from it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who did you dream of?&rdquo; She put the question mechanically&mdash;frowning,
+      as if at some repellent thought suggested to her by what she had just
+      heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dreamed of my mother,&rdquo; Carmina answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva raised herself at once in the chair. Whatever that passing
+      impression might have been, she was free from it now. There was some
+      little life again in her eyes; some little spirit in her voice. &ldquo;Take me
+      out of myself,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;tell me your dream.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is nothing very remarkable, Frances. We all of us sometimes see our
+      dear lost ones in sleep. I saw my mother again, as I used to see her in
+      the nursery at bedtime&mdash;tall and beautiful, with her long dark hair
+      failing over her white dressing-gown to the waist. She stooped over me,
+      and kissed me; and she looked surprised. She said, &lsquo;My little angel, why
+      are you here in a strange house? I have come to take you back to your own
+      cot, by my bedside.&rsquo; I wasn&rsquo;t surprised or frightened; I put my arms round
+      her neck; and we floated away together through the cool starry night; and
+      we were at home again. I saw my cot, with its pretty white curtains and
+      pink ribbons. I heard my mother tell me an English fairy story, out of a
+      book which my father had given to her&mdash;and her kind voice grew
+      fainter and fainter, while I grew more and more sleepy&mdash;and it ended
+      softly, just as it used to end in the happy old days. And I woke, crying.
+      Do you ever dream of your mother now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? God forbid!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Frances, what a dreadful thing to say!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it? It was the thought in me, when you spoke. And with good reason,
+      too. I was the last of a large family&mdash;the ugly one; the ill-tempered
+      one; the encumbrance that made it harder than ever to find money enough to
+      pay the household expenses. My father swore at my mother for being my
+      mother. She reviled him just as bitterly in return; and vented the rest of
+      her ill-temper on my wretched little body, with no sparing hand. Bedtime
+      was her time for beating me. Talk of your mother&mdash;not of mine! You
+      were very young, were you not, when she died?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too young to feel my misfortune&mdash;but old enough to remember the
+      sweetest woman that ever lived. Let me show you my father&rsquo;s portrait of
+      her again. Doesn&rsquo;t that face tell you what an angel she was? There was
+      some charm in her that all children felt. I can just remember some of my
+      playfellows who used to come to our garden. Other good mothers were with
+      us&mdash;but the children all crowded round <i>my</i> mother. They would
+      have her in all their games; they fought for places on her lap when she
+      told them stories; some of them cried, and some of them screamed, when it
+      was time to take them away from her. Oh, why do we live! why do we die! I
+      have bitter thoughts sometimes, Frances, like you. I have read in poetry
+      that death is a fearful thing. To me, death is a cruel thing,&mdash;and it
+      has never seemed so cruel as in these later days, since I have known Ovid.
+      If my mother had but lived till now, what happiness would have been added
+      to my life and to hers! How Ovid would have loved her&mdash;how she would
+      have loved Ovid!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva listened in silence. It was the silence of true interest and
+      sympathy, while Carmina was speaking of her mother. When her lover&rsquo;s name
+      became mingled with the remembrances of her childhood&mdash;the change
+      came. Once more, the tell-tale lines began to harden in the governess&rsquo;s
+      face. She lay back again in her chair. Her fingers irritably platted and
+      unplatted the edge of her black apron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina was too deeply absorbed in her thoughts, too eagerly bent on
+      giving them expression, to notice these warning signs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have all my mother&rsquo;s letters to my father,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;when he was
+      away from her on his sketching excursions, You have still a little time to
+      spare&mdash;I should so like to read some of them to you. I was reading
+      one, last night&mdash;which perhaps accounts for my dream? It is on a
+      subject that interests everybody. In my father&rsquo;s absence, a very dear
+      friend of his met with a misfortune; and my mother had to prepare his wife
+      to hear the bad news&mdash;oh, that reminds me! There is something I want
+      to say to you first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About yourself?&rdquo; Miss Minerva asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About Ovid. I want your advice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva was silent. Carmina went on. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s about writing to Ovid,&rdquo;
+       she explained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Write, of course!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The reply was suddenly and sharply given. &ldquo;Surely, I have not offended
+      you?&rdquo; Carmina said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! Let me hear your mother&rsquo;s letter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;but I want you to hear the circumstances first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have mentioned them already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! no! I mean the circumstances, in my case.&rdquo; She drew her chair closer
+      to Miss Minerva. &ldquo;I want to whisper&mdash;for fear of somebody passing on
+      the stairs. The more I think of it, the more I feel that I ought to
+      prepare Ovid for seeing me, before I make my escape. You said when we
+      talked of it&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind what I said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I do mind! You said I could go to Ovid&rsquo;s bankers at Quebec, and
+      then write when I knew where he was. I have been thinking over it since&mdash;and
+      I see a serious risk. He might return from his inland journey, on the very
+      day that I get there; he might even meet me in the street. In his delicate
+      health&mdash;I daren&rsquo;t think of what the consequences of such a surprise
+      might be! And then there is the dreadful necessity of telling him, that
+      his mother has driven me into taking this desperate step. In my place,
+      wouldn&rsquo;t you feel that you could do it more delicately in writing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dare say!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I might write to-morrow, for instance. To-morrow is one of the American
+      mail days. My letter would get to Canada (remembering the roundabout way
+      by which Teresa and I are to travel, for fear of discovery), days and days
+      before we could arrive. I should shut myself up in an hotel at Quebec; and
+      Teresa could go every day to the bank, to hear if Ovid was likely to send
+      for his letters, or likely to call soon and ask for them. Then he would be
+      prepared. Then, when we meet&mdash;!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The governess left her chair, and pointed to the clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina looked at her&mdash;and rose in alarm. &ldquo;Are you in pain?&rdquo; she
+      asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;neuralgia, I think. I have the remedy in my room. Don&rsquo;t keep
+      me, my dear. Mrs. Gallilee mustn&rsquo;t find me here again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The paroxysm of pain which Carmina had noticed, passed over her face once
+      more. She subdued it, and left the room. The pain mastered her again; a
+      low cry broke from her when she closed the door. Carmina ran out:
+      &ldquo;Frances! what is it?&rdquo; Frances looked over her shoulder, while she slowly
+      ascended the stairs. &ldquo;Never mind!&rdquo; she said gently. &ldquo;I have got my
+      remedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina advanced a step to follow her, and drew back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was that expression of suffering really caused by pain of the body? or was
+      it attributable to anything that she had rashly said? She tried to recall
+      what had passed between Frances and herself. The effort wearied her. Her
+      thoughts turned self-reproachfully to Ovid. If <i>he</i> had been speaking
+      to a friend whose secret sorrow was known to him, would he have mentioned
+      the name of the woman whom they both loved? She looked at his portrait,
+      and reviled herself as a selfish insensible wretch. &ldquo;Will Ovid improve
+      me?&rdquo; she wondered. &ldquo;Shall I be a little worthier of him, when I am his
+      wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Luncheon time came; and Mrs. Gallilee sent word that they were not to wait
+      for her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She&rsquo;s studying,&rdquo; said Mr. Gallilee, with awe-struck looks. &ldquo;She&rsquo;s going
+      to make a speech at the Discussion to-morrow. The man who gives the
+      lecture is the man she&rsquo;s going to pitch into. I don&rsquo;t know him; but how do
+      you feel about it yourself, Carmina?&mdash;I wouldn&rsquo;t stand in his shoes
+      for any sum of money you could offer me. Poor devil! I beg your pardon, my
+      dear; let me give you a wing of the fowl. Boiled fowl&mdash;eh? and tongue&mdash;ha?
+      Do you know the story of the foreigner? He dined out fifteen times with
+      his English friends. And there was boiled fowl and tongue at every dinner.
+      The fifteenth time, the foreigner couldn&rsquo;t stand it any longer. He slapped
+      his forehead, and he said, &lsquo;Ah, merciful Heaven, cock and bacon again!&rsquo; 
+      You won&rsquo;t mention it, will you?&mdash;and perhaps you think as I do?&mdash;I&rsquo;m
+      sick of cock and bacon, myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null&rsquo;s medical orders still prescribed fresh air. The carriage came to
+      the door at the regular hour; and Mr. Gallilee, with equal regularity,
+      withdrew to his club.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina was too uneasy to leave the house, without seeing Miss Minerva
+      first. She went up to the schoolroom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no sound of voices, when she opened the door. Miss Minerva was
+      writing, and silence had been proclaimed. The girls were ready dressed for
+      their walk. Industrious Maria had her book. Idle Zo, perched on a high
+      chair, sat kicking her legs. &ldquo;If you say a word,&rdquo; she whispered, as
+      Carmina passed her, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ll be called an Imp, and stuck up on a chair. I
+      shall go to the boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you better, Frances?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Much better, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her face denied it; the look of suffering was there still. She tore up the
+      letter which she had been writing, and threw the fragments into the
+      waste-paper basket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the second letter you&rsquo;ve torn up,&rdquo; Zo remarked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say a word more&mdash;and you shall have bread and water for tea!&rdquo; Miss
+      Minerva was not free from irritation, although she might be free from
+      pain. Even Zo noticed how angry the governess was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish you could drive with me in the carriage,&rdquo; said Carmina. &ldquo;The air
+      would do you so much good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Impossible! But you may soothe my irritable nerves in another way, if you
+      like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Relieve me of these girls. Take them out with you. Do you mind?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo instantly jumped off her chair; and even Maria looked up from her book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will take them with pleasure. Must we ask my aunt&rsquo;s permission?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We will dispense with your aunt&rsquo;s permission. She is shut up in her study&mdash;and
+      we are all forbidden to disturb her. I will take it on myself.&rdquo; She turned
+      to the girls with another outbreak of irritability. &ldquo;Be off!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria rose with dignity, and made one of her successful exits. &ldquo;I am
+      sorry, dear Miss Minerva, if <i>I</i> have done anything to make you
+      angry.&rdquo; She pointed the emphasis on &ldquo;I,&rdquo; by a side-look at her sister. Zo
+      bounced out of the room, and performed the Italian boy&rsquo;s dance on the
+      landing. &ldquo;For shame!&rdquo; said Maria. Zo burst into singing. <i>&ldquo;Yah
+      yah-yah-bellah-vitah-yah!</i> Jolly! jolly! jolly!&mdash;we are going out
+      for a drive!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina waited, to say a friendly word, before she followed the girls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t think me neglectful, Frances, when I let you go upstairs by
+      yourself!&rdquo; Miss Minerva answered sadly and kindly. &ldquo;The best thing you
+      could do was to leave me by myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina&rsquo;s mind was still not quite at ease. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;but you were in
+      pain,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You curious child! I am not in pain now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you make me comfortable, Frances? Give me a kiss.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two, my dear&mdash;if you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She kissed Carmina on one cheek and on the other. &ldquo;Now leave me to write,&rdquo;
+       she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina left her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The drive ought to have been a pleasant one, with Zo in the carriage. To
+      Marceline, it was a time of the heartiest enjoyment. Maria herself
+      condescended to smile, now and then. There was only one dull person among
+      them. &ldquo;Miss Carmina was but poor company,&rdquo; the maid remarked when they got
+      back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee herself received them in the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will never take the children out again without my leave,&rdquo; she said to
+      Carmina. &ldquo;The person who is really responsible for what you have done,
+      will mislead you no more.&rdquo; With those words she entered the library, and
+      closed the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria and Zo, at the sight of their mother, had taken flight. Carmina
+      stood alone in the hall. Mrs. Gallilee had turned her cold. After awhile,
+      she followed the children as far as her own room. There, her resolution
+      failed her. She called faintly upstairs&mdash;&ldquo;Frances!&rdquo; There was no
+      answering voice. She went into her room. A small paper packet was on the
+      table; sealed, and addressed to herself. She tore it open. A ring with a
+      spinel ruby in it dropped out: she recognised the stone&mdash;it was Miss
+      Minerva&rsquo;s ring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some blotted lines were traced on the paper inside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have tried to pour out my heart to you in writing&mdash;and I have torn
+      up the letters. The fewest words are the best. Look back at my confession&mdash;and
+      you will know why I have left you. You shall hear from me, when I am more
+      worthy of you than I am now. In the meantime, wear my ring. It will tell
+      you how mean I once was. F. M.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina looked at the ring. She remembered that Frances had tried to make
+      her accept it as security, in return for the loan of thirty pounds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She referred to the confession. Two passages in it were underlined: &ldquo;The
+      wickedness in me, on which Mrs. Gallilee calculated, may be in me still.&rdquo;
+       And, again: &ldquo;Even now, when you have found me out, I love him. Don&rsquo;t trust
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Never had Carmina trusted her more faithfully than at that bitter moment!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLI.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      The ordinary aspect of the schoolroom was seen no more.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Installed in a position of temporary authority, the parlour-maid sat
+      silently at her needlework. Maria stood by the window, in the new
+      character of an idle girl&mdash;with her handkerchief in her hand, and her
+      everlasting book dropped unnoticed on the floor. Zo lay flat on her back,
+      on the hearth-rug, hugging the dog in her arms. At intervals, she rolled
+      herself over slowly from side to side, and stared at the ceiling with
+      wondering eyes. Miss Minerva&rsquo;s departure had struck the parlour-maid dumb,
+      and had demoralized the pupils.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria broke the silence at last. &ldquo;I wonder where Carmina is?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In her room, most likely,&rdquo; the parlour-maid suggested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Had I better go and see after her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cautious parlour-maid declined to offer advice. Maria&rsquo;s well-balanced
+      mind was so completely unhinged, that she looked with languid curiosity at
+      her sister. Zo still stared at the ceiling, and still rolled slowly from
+      one side to the other. The dog on her breast, lulled by the regular
+      motion, slept profoundly&mdash;not even troubled by a dream of fleas!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While Maria was still considering what it might be best to do, Carmina
+      entered the room. She looked, as the servant afterwards described it,
+      &ldquo;like a person who had lost her way.&rdquo; Maria exhibited the feeling of the
+      schoolroom, by raising her handkerchief in solemn silence to her eyes.
+      Without taking notice of this demonstration, Carmina approached the
+      parlour-maid, and said, &ldquo;Did you see Miss Minerva before she went away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I took her message, Miss.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What message?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The message, saying she wished to see my mistress for a few minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Miss, I was told to show the governess into the library. She went
+      down with her bonnet on, ready dressed to go out. Before she had been five
+      minutes with my mistress she came out again, and rang the hall-bell, and
+      spoke to Joseph. &lsquo;My boxes are packed and directed,&rsquo; she says; &lsquo;I will
+      send for them in an hour&rsquo;s time. Good day, Joseph.&rsquo; And she stepped into
+      the street, as quietly as if she was going out shopping round the corner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have the boxes been sent for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina lifted her head, and spoke in steadier tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where have they been taken to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To the flower-shop at the back&mdash;to be kept till called for.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No other address?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;None.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The last faint hope of tracing Frances was at an end. Carmina turned
+      wearily to leave the room. Zo called to her from the hearth-rug. Always
+      kind to the child, she retraced her steps. &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo got on her legs before she spoke, like a member of parliament. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
+      been thinking about that governess,&rdquo; she announced. &ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t I once tell
+      you I was going to run away? And wasn&rsquo;t it because of Her? Hush! Here&rsquo;s
+      the part of it I can&rsquo;t make out&mdash;She&rsquo;s run away from Me. I don&rsquo;t bear
+      malice; I&rsquo;m only glad in myself. No more dirty nails. No more bread and
+      water for tea. That&rsquo;s all. Good morning.&rdquo; Zo laid herself down again on
+      the rug; and the dog laid himself down again on Zo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina returned to her room&mdash;to reflect on what she had heard from
+      the parlour-maid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was now plain that Mrs. Gallilee had not been allowed the opportunity
+      of dismissing her governess at a moment&rsquo;s notice: Miss Minerva&rsquo;s sudden
+      departure was unquestionably due to Miss Minerva herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus far, Carmina was able to think clearly&mdash;and no farther. The
+      confused sense of helpless distress which she had felt, after reading the
+      few farewell words that Frances had addressed to her, still oppressed her
+      mind. There were moments when she vaguely understood, and bitterly
+      lamented, the motives which had animated her unhappy friend. Other moments
+      followed, when she impulsively resented the act which had thrown her on
+      her own resources, at the very time when she had most need of the
+      encouragement that could be afforded by the sympathy of a firmer nature
+      than her own. She began to doubt the steadiness of her resolution&mdash;without
+      Frances to take leave of her, on the morning of the escape. For the first
+      time, she was now tortured by distrust of Ovid&rsquo;s reception of her; by
+      dread of his possible disapproval of her boldness; by morbid suspicion
+      even of his taking his mother&rsquo;s part. Bewildered and reckless, she threw
+      herself on the sofa&mdash;her heart embittered against Frances&mdash;indifferent
+      whether she lived or died.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At dinner-time she sent a message, begging to be excused from appearing at
+      the table. Mrs. Gallilee at once presented herself, harder and colder than
+      ever, to inspect the invalid. Perceiving no immediate necessity for
+      summoning Mr. Null, she said, &ldquo;Ring, if you want anything,&rdquo; and left the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee followed, after an interval, with a little surreptitious
+      offering of wine (hidden under his coat); and with a selection of tarts
+      crammed into his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Smuggled goods, my dear,&rdquo; he whispered, &ldquo;picked up when nobody happened
+      to be looking my way. When we are miserable&mdash;has the idea ever
+      occurred to you?&mdash;it&rsquo;s a sign from kind Providence that we are
+      intended to eat and drink. The sherry&rsquo;s old, and the pastry melts in your
+      mouth. Shall I stay with you? You would rather not? Just my feeling!
+      Remarkable similarity in our opinions&mdash;don&rsquo;t you think so yourself?
+      I&rsquo;m sorry for poor Miss Minerva. Suppose you go to bed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina was in no mood to profit by this excellent advice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was still walking restlessly up and down her room, when the time came
+      for shutting up the house. With the sound of closing locks and bolts,
+      there was suddenly mingled a sharp ring at the bell; followed by another
+      unexpected event. Mr. Gallilee paid her a second visit&mdash;in a state of
+      transformation. His fat face was flushed: he positively looked as if he
+      was capable of feeling strong emotion, unconnected with champagne and the
+      club! He presented a telegram to Carmina&mdash;and, when he spoke, there
+      were thrills of agitation in the tones of his piping voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear, something very unpleasant has happened. I met Joseph taking this
+      to my wife. Highly improper, in my opinion,&mdash;what do you say
+      yourself?&mdash;to take it to Mrs. Gallilee, when it&rsquo;s addressed to you.
+      It was no mistake; he was so impudent as to say he had his orders. I have
+      reproved Joseph.&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee looked astonished at himself, when he made
+      this latter statement&mdash;then relapsed into his customary sweetness of
+      temper. &ldquo;No bad news?&rdquo; he asked anxiously, when Carmina opened the
+      telegram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good news! the best of good news!&rdquo; she answered impetuously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee looked as happy as if the welcome telegram had been addressed
+      to himself. On his way out of the room, he underwent another relapse. The
+      footman&rsquo;s audacious breach of trust began to trouble him once more: this
+      time in its relation to Mrs. Gallilee. The serious part of it was, that
+      the man had acted under his mistress&rsquo;s orders. Mr. Gallilee said&mdash;he
+      actually said, without appealing to anybody&mdash;&ldquo;If this happens again,
+      I shall be obliged to speak to my wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The telegram was from Teresa. It had been despatched from Paris that
+      evening; and the message was thus expressed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too tired to get on to England by to-night&rsquo;s mail. Shall leave by the
+      early train to-morrow morning, and be with you by six o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina&rsquo;s mind was exactly in the state to feel unmingled relief, at the
+      prospect of seeing the dear old friend of her happiest days. She laid her
+      head on the pillow that night, without a thought of what might follow the
+      event of Teresa&rsquo;s return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      VOLUME THREE <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The next day&mdash;the important Tuesday of the lecture on Matter; the
+      delightful Tuesday of Teresa&rsquo;s arrival&mdash;brought with it special
+      demands on Carmina&rsquo;s pen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her first letter was addressed to Frances. It was frankly and earnestly
+      written; entreating Miss Minerva to appoint a place at which they might
+      meet, and assuring her, in the most affectionate terms, that she was still
+      loved, trusted, and admired by her faithful friend. Helped by her steadier
+      flow of spirits, Carmina could now see all that was worthiest of sympathy
+      and admiration, all that claimed loving submission and allowance from
+      herself, in the sacrifice to which Miss Minerva had submitted. How bravely
+      the poor governess had controlled the jealous misery that tortured her!
+      How nobly she had pronounced Carmina&rsquo;s friendship for Carmina&rsquo;s sake!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Later in the day, Marceline took the letter to the flower shop, and placed
+      it herself under the cord of one of the boxes still waiting to be claimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The second letter filled many pages, and occupied the remainder of the
+      morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the utmost delicacy, but with perfect truthfulness at the same time,
+      Carmina revealed to her betrothed husband the serious reasons which had
+      forced her to withdraw herself from his mother&rsquo;s care. Bound to speak at
+      last in her own defence, she felt that concealments and compromises would
+      be alike unworthy of Ovid and of herself. What she had already written to
+      Teresa, she now wrote again&mdash;with but one modification. She expressed
+      herself forbearingly towards Ovid&rsquo;s mother. The closing words of the
+      letter were worthy of Carmina&rsquo;s gentle, just, and generous nature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will perhaps say, Why do I only hear now of all that you have
+      suffered? My love, I have longed to tell you of it! I have even taken up
+      my pen to begin. But I thought of you, and put it down again. How selfish,
+      how cruel, to hinder your recovery by causing you sorrow and suspense to
+      bring you back perhaps to England before your health was restored! I don&rsquo;t
+      regret the effort that it has cost me to keep silence. My only sorrow in
+      writing to you is, that I must speak of your mother in terms which may
+      lower her in her son&rsquo;s estimation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joseph brought the luncheon up to Carmina&rsquo;s room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mistress was still at her studies; the master had gone to his club. As
+      for the girls, their only teacher for the present was the teacher of
+      music. When the ordeal of the lecture and the discussion had been passed,
+      Mrs. Gallilee threatened to take Miss Minerva&rsquo;s place herself, until a new
+      governess could be found. For once, Maria and Zo showed a sisterly
+      similarity in their feelings. It was hard to say which of the two looked
+      forward to her learned mother&rsquo;s instruction with the greatest terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina heard the pupils at the piano, while she was eating her luncheon.
+      The profanation of music ceased, when she went into the bedroom to get
+      ready for her daily drive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She took her letter, duly closed and stamped, downstairs with her&mdash;to
+      be sent to the post with the other letters of the day, placed in the
+      hall-basket. In the weakened state of her nerves, the effort that she had
+      made in writing to Ovid had shaken her. Her heart beat uneasily; her knees
+      trembled, as she descended the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arrived in sight of the hall, she discovered a man walking slowly to and
+      fro. He turned towards her as she advanced, and disclosed the detestable
+      face of Mr. Le Frank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The music-master&rsquo;s last reserves of patience had come to an end. Watch for
+      them as he might, no opportunities had presented themselves of renewing
+      his investigation in Carmina&rsquo;s room. In the interval that had passed, his
+      hungry suspicion of her had been left to feed on itself. The motives for
+      that incomprehensible attempt to make a friend of him remained hidden in
+      as thick a darkness as ever. Victim of adverse circumstances, he had
+      determined (with the greatest reluctance) to take the straightforward
+      course. Instead of secretly getting his information from Carmina&rsquo;s
+      journals and letters, he was now reduced to openly applying for
+      enlightenment to Carmina herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Occupying, for the time being, the position of an honourable man, he
+      presented himself at cruel disadvantage. He was not master of his own
+      glorious voice; he was without the self-possession indispensable to the
+      perfect performance of his magnificent bow. &ldquo;I have waited to have a word
+      with you,&rdquo; he began abruptly, &ldquo;before you go out for your drive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Already unnerved, even before she had seen him&mdash;painfully conscious
+      that she had committed a serious error, on the last occasion when they had
+      met, in speaking at all&mdash;Carmina neither answered him nor looked at
+      him. She bent her head confusedly, and advanced a little nearer to the
+      house door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He at once moved so as to place himself in her way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must request you to call to mind what passed between us,&rdquo; he resumed,
+      &ldquo;when we met by accident some little time since.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had speculated on frightening her. His insolence stirred her spirit
+      into asserting itself. &ldquo;Let me by, if you please,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;the carriage
+      is waiting for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The carriage can wait a little longer,&rdquo; he answered coarsely. &ldquo;On the
+      occasion to which I have referred, you were so good as to make advances,
+      to which I cannot consider myself as having any claim. Perhaps you will
+      favour me by stating your motives?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t understand you, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes&mdash;you do!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stepped back, and laid her hand on the bell which rang below stairs,
+      in the pantry. &ldquo;Must I ring?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was plain that she would do it, if he moved a step nearer to her. He
+      drew aside&mdash;with a look which made her tremble. On passing the hall
+      table, she placed her letter in the post-basket. His eye followed it, as
+      it left her hand: he became suddenly penitent and polite. &ldquo;I am sorry if I
+      have alarmed you,&rdquo; he said, and opened the house-door for her&mdash;without
+      showing himself to Marceline and the coachman outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The carriage having been driven away, he softly closed the door again, and
+      returned to the hall-table. He looked into the post-basket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was there any danger of discovery by the servants? The footman was absent,
+      attending his mistress on her way to the lecture. None of the female
+      servants were on the stairs. He took up Carmina&rsquo;s letter, and looked at
+      the address: <i>To Ovid Vere, Esq.</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His eyes twinkled furtively; his excellent memory for injuries reminded
+      him that Ovid Vere had formerly endeavoured (without even caring to
+      conceal it) to prevent Mrs. Gallilee from engaging him as her
+      music-master. By subtle links of its own forging, his vindictive nature
+      now connected his hatred of the person to whom the letter was addressed,
+      with his interest in stealing the letter itself for the possible discovery
+      of Carmina&rsquo;s secrets. The clock told him that there was plenty of time to
+      open the envelope, and (if the contents proved to be of no importance) to
+      close it again, and take it himself to the post. After a last look round,
+      he withdrew undiscovered, with the letter in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On its way back to the house, the carriage was passed by a cab, with a man
+      in it, driven at such a furious rate that there was a narrow escape of
+      collision. The maid screamed; Carmina turned pale; the coachman wondered
+      why the man in the cab was in such a hurry. The man was Mr. Mool&rsquo;s head
+      clerk, charged with news for Doctor Benjulia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The mind of the clerk&rsquo;s master had been troubled by serious doubts, after
+      Carmina left his house on Sunday.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her agitated manner, her strange questions, and her abrupt departure, all
+      suggested to Mr. Mool&rsquo;s mind some rash project in contemplation&mdash;perhaps
+      even the plan of an elopement. To most other men, the obvious course to
+      take would have been to communicate with Mrs. Gallilee. But the lawyer
+      preserved a vivid remembrance of the interview which had taken place at
+      his office. The detestable pleasure which Mrs. Gallilee had betrayed in
+      profaning the memory of Carmina&rsquo;s mother, had so shocked and disgusted
+      him, that he recoiled from the idea of holding any further intercourse
+      with her, no matter how pressing the emergency might be. It was possible,
+      after what had passed, that Carmina might feel the propriety of making
+      some explanation by letter. He decided to wait until the next morning, on
+      the chance of hearing from her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the Monday, no letter arrived.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Proceeding to the office, Mr. Mool found, in his business-correspondence,
+      enough to occupy every moment of his time. He had purposed writing to
+      Carmina, but the idea was now inevitably pressed out of his mind. It was
+      only at the close of the day&rsquo;s work that he had leisure to think of a
+      matter of greater importance&mdash;that is to say, of the necessity of
+      discovering Benjulia&rsquo;s friend of other days, the Italian teacher Baccani.
+      He left instructions with one of his clerks to make inquiries, the next
+      morning, at the shops of foreign booksellers. There, and there only, the
+      question might be answered, whether Baccani was still living, and living
+      in London.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The inquiries proved successful. On Tuesday afternoon, Baccani&rsquo;s address
+      was in Mr. Mool&rsquo;s hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Busy as he still was, the lawyer set aside his own affairs, in deference
+      to the sacred duty of defending the memory of the dead, and to the
+      pressing necessity of silencing Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s cruel and slanderous
+      tongue. Arrived at Baccani&rsquo;s lodgings, he was informed that the
+      language-master had gone to his dinner at a neighbouring restaurant. Mr.
+      Mool waited at the lodgings, and sent a note to Baccani. In ten minutes
+      more he found himself in the presence of an elderly man, of ascetic
+      appearance; whose looks and tones showed him to be apt to take offence on
+      small provocation, and more than half ready to suspect an eminent
+      solicitor of being a spy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Mr. Mool&rsquo;s experience was equal to the call on it. Having fully
+      explained the object that he had in view, he left the apology for his
+      intrusion to be inferred, and concluded by appealing, in his own modest
+      way, to the sympathy of an honourable man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Silently forming his opinion of the lawyer, while he listened, Baccani
+      expressed the conclusion at which he had arrived, in these terms:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My experience of mankind, sir, has been a bitterly bad one. You have
+      improved my opinion of human nature since you entered this room. That is
+      not a little thing to say, at my age and in my circumstances.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He bowed gravely, and turned to his bed. From under it, he pulled out a
+      clumsy tin box. Having opened the rusty lock with some difficulty, he
+      produced a ragged pocket-book, and picked out from it a paper which looked
+      like an old letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There,&rdquo; he said, handing the paper to Mr. Mool, &ldquo;is the statement which
+      vindicates this lady&rsquo;s reputation. Before you open the manuscript I must
+      tell you how I came by it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He appeared to feel such embarrassment in approaching the subject, that
+      Mr. Mool interposed. &ldquo;I am already acquainted,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;with some of the
+      circumstances to which you are about to allude. I happen to know of the
+      wager in which the calumny originated, and of the manner in which that
+      wager was decided. The events which followed are the only events that I
+      need trouble you to describe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Baccani&rsquo;s grateful sense of relief avowed itself without reserve. &ldquo;I feel
+      your kindness,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;almost as keenly as I feel my own disgraceful
+      conduct, in permitting a woman&rsquo;s reputation to be made the subject of a
+      wager. From whom did you obtain your information?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From the person who mentioned your name to me&mdash;Doctor Benjulia.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Baccani lifted his hand with a gesture of angry protest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t speak of him again in my presence!&rdquo; he burst out. &ldquo;That man has
+      insulted me. When I took refuge from political persecution in this
+      country, I sent him my prospectus. From my own humble position as a
+      teacher of languages, I looked up without envy to his celebrity among
+      doctors; I thought I might remind him, not unfavourably, of our early
+      friendship&mdash;I, who had done him a hundred kindnesses in those past
+      days. He has never taken the slightest notice of me; he has not even
+      acknowledged the receipt of my prospectus. Despicable wretch! Let me hear
+      no more of him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray forgive me if I refer to him again&mdash;for the last time,&rdquo; Mr.
+      Mool pleaded. &ldquo;Did your acquaintance with him continue, after the question
+      of the wager had been settled?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir!&rdquo; Baccani answered sternly. &ldquo;When I was at leisure to go to the
+      club at which we were accustomed to meet, he had left Rome. From that time
+      to this&mdash;I rejoice to say it&mdash;I have never set eyes on him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The obstacles which had prevented the refutation of the calumny from
+      reaching Benjulia were now revealed. Mr. Mool had only to hear, next, how
+      that refutation had been obtained. A polite hint sufficed to remind
+      Baccani of the explanation that he had promised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am naturally suspicious,&rdquo; he began abruptly; &ldquo;and I doubted the woman
+      when I found that she kept her veil down. Besides, it was not in my way of
+      thinking to believe that an estimable married lady could have compromised
+      herself with a scoundrel, who had boasted that she was his mistress. I
+      waited in the street, until the woman came out. I followed her, and saw
+      her meet a man. The two went together to a theatre. I took my place near
+      them. She lifted her veil as a matter of course. My suspicion of foul play
+      was instantly confirmed. When the performance was over, I traced her back
+      to Mr. Robert Graywell&rsquo;s house. He and his wife were both absent at a
+      party. I was too indignant to wait till they came back. Under the threat
+      of charging the wretch with stealing her mistress&rsquo;s clothes, I extorted
+      from her the signed confession which you have in your hand. She was under
+      notice to leave her place for insolent behaviour. The personation which
+      had been intended to deceive me, was an act of revenge; planned between
+      herself and the blackguard who had employed her to make his lie look like
+      truth. A more shameless creature I never met with. She said to me, &lsquo;I am
+      as tall as my mistress, and a better figure; and I&rsquo;ve often worn her fine
+      clothes on holiday occasions.&rsquo; In your country Mr. Mool, such women&mdash;so
+      I am told&mdash;are ducked in a pond. There is one thing more to add,
+      before you read the confession. Mrs. Robert Graywell did imprudently send
+      the man some money&mdash;in answer to a begging letter artfully enough
+      written to excite her pity. A second application was refused by her
+      husband. What followed on that, you know already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Having read the confession, Mr. Mool was permitted to take a copy, and to
+      make any use of it which he might think desirable. His one remaining
+      anxiety was to hear what had become of the person who had planned the
+      deception. &ldquo;Surely,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that villain has not escaped punishment?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Baccani answered this in his own bitter way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear sir, how can you ask such a simple question? That sort of man
+      always escapes punishment. In the last extreme of poverty his luck
+      provides him with somebody to cheat. Common respect for Mrs. Robert
+      Graywell closed my lips; and I was the only person acquainted with the
+      circumstances. I wrote to our club declaring the fellow to be a cheat&mdash;and
+      leaving it to be inferred that he cheated at cards. He knew better than to
+      insist on my explaining myself&mdash;he resigned, and disappeared. I dare
+      say he is living still&mdash;living in clover on some unfortunate woman.
+      The beautiful and the good die untimely deaths. <i>He,</i> and his kind,
+      last and live.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool had neither time nor inclination to plead in favour of the more
+      hopeful view, which believes in the agreeable fiction called &ldquo;Poetical
+      justice.&rdquo; He tried to express his sense of obligation at parting. Baccani
+      refused to listen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The obligation is all on my side,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;As I have already told you,
+      your visit has added a bright day to my calendar. In our pilgrimage, my
+      friend, through this world of rogues and fools, we may never meet again.
+      Let us remember gratefully that we <i>have</i> met. Farewell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they parted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Returning to his office, Mr. Mool attached to the copy of the confession a
+      brief statement of the circumstances under which the Italian had become
+      possessed of it. He then added these lines, addressed to Benjulia:&mdash;<i>&ldquo;You</i>
+      set the false report afloat. I leave it to your sense of duty, to decide
+      whether you ought not to go at once to Mrs. Gallilee, and tell her that
+      the slander which you repeated is now proved to be a lie. If you don&rsquo;t
+      agree with me, I must go to Mrs. Gallilee myself. In that case please
+      return, by the bearer, the papers which are enclosed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The clerk instructed to deliver these documents, within the shortest
+      possible space of time, found Mr. Mool waiting at the office, on his
+      return. He answered his master&rsquo;s inquiries by producing Benjulia&rsquo;s reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor&rsquo;s amiable humour was still in the ascendant. His success in
+      torturing his unfortunate cook had been followed by the receipt of a
+      telegram from his friend at Montreal, containing this satisfactory answer
+      to his question:&mdash;&ldquo;Not brain disease.&rdquo; With his mind now set
+      completely at rest, his instincts as a gentleman were at full liberty to
+      control him. &ldquo;I entirely agree with you,&rdquo; he wrote to Mr. Mool. &ldquo;I go back
+      with your clerk; the cab will drop me at Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool turned to the clerk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you wait to hear if Mrs. Gallilee was at home?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee was absent, sir&mdash;attending a lecture.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did Doctor Benjulia do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Went into the house, to wait her return.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLIV.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s page (attending to the house-door, in the footman&rsquo;s
+      absence) had just shown Benjulia into the library, when there was another
+      ring at the bell. The new visitor was Mr. Le Frank. He appeared to be in a
+      hurry. Without any preliminary questions, he said, &ldquo;Take my card to Mrs.
+      Gallilee.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My mistress is out, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The music-master looked impatiently at the hall-clock. The hall-clock
+      answered him by striking the half hour after five.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you expect Mrs. Gallilee back soon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We don&rsquo;t know, sir. The footman had his orders to be in waiting with the
+      carriage, at five.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After a moment of irritable reflection, Mr. Le Frank took a letter from
+      his pocket. &ldquo;Say that I have an appointment, and am not able to wait. Give
+      Mrs. Gallilee that letter the moment she comes in.&rdquo; With those directions
+      he left the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The page looked at the letter. It was sealed; and, over the address, two
+      underlined words were written:&mdash;&ldquo;Private. Immediate.&rdquo; Mindful of
+      visits from tradespeople, anxious to see his mistress, and provided
+      beforehand with letters to be delivered immediately, the boy took a
+      pecuniary view of Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s errand at the house. &ldquo;Another of them,&rdquo;
+       he thought, &ldquo;wanting his money.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he placed the letter on the hall-table, the library door opened, and
+      Benjulia appeared&mdash;weary already of waiting, without occupation, for
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is smoking allowed in the library?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The page looked up at the giant towering over him, with the envious
+      admiration of a short boy. He replied with a discretion beyond his years:
+      &ldquo;Would you please step into the smoking-room, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anybody there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My master, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia at once declined the invitation to the smoking-room. &ldquo;Anybody
+      else at home?&rdquo; he inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Carmina was upstairs&mdash;the page answered. &ldquo;And I think,&rdquo; he
+      added, &ldquo;Mr. Null is with her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s Mr. Null?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The doctor, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia declined to disturb the doctor. He tried a third, and last
+      question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where&rsquo;s Zo?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; cried a shrill voice from the upper regions. &ldquo;Who are You?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To the page&rsquo;s astonishment, the giant gentleman with the resonant bass
+      voice answered this quite gravely. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m Benjulia,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come up!&rdquo; cried Zo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia ascended the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; shouted the voice from above.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you got your big stick?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring it up with you.&rdquo; Benjulia retraced his steps into the hall. The
+      page respectfully handed him his stick. Zo became impatient. &ldquo;Look sharp!&rdquo;
+       she called out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia obediently quickened his pace. Zo left the schoolroom (in spite
+      of the faintly-heard protest of the maid in charge) to receive him on the
+      stairs. They met on the landing, outside Carmina&rsquo;s room. Zo possessed
+      herself of the bamboo cane, and led the way in. &ldquo;Carmina! here&rsquo;s the big
+      stick, I told you about,&rdquo; she announced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whose stick, dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo returned to the landing. &ldquo;Come in, Benjulia,&rdquo; she said&mdash;and seized
+      him by the coat-tails. Mr. Null rose instinctively. Was this his
+      celebrated colleague?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With some reluctance, Carmina appeared at the door; thinking of the day
+      when Ovid had fainted, and when the great man had treated her so harshly.
+      In fear of more rudeness, she unwillingly asked him to come in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still immovable on the landing, he looked at her in silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The serious question occurred to him which had formerly presented itself
+      to Mr. Mool. Had Mrs. Gallilee repeated, in Carmina&rsquo;s presence, the lie
+      which slandered her mother&rsquo;s memory&mdash;the lie which he was then in the
+      house to expose?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Watching Benjulia respectfully, Mr. Null saw, in that grave scrutiny, an
+      opportunity of presenting himself under a favourable light. He waved his
+      hand persuasively towards Carmina. &ldquo;Some nervous prostration, sir, in my
+      interesting patient, as you no doubt perceive,&rdquo; he began. &ldquo;Not such rapid
+      progress towards recovery as I had hoped. I think of recommending the air
+      of the seaside.&rdquo; Benjulia&rsquo;s dreary eyes turned on him slowly, and
+      estimated his mental calibre at its exact value, in a moment. Mr. Null
+      felt that look in the very marrow of his bones. He bowed with servile
+      submission, and took his leave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the meantime, Benjulia had satisfied himself that the embarrassment in
+      Carmina&rsquo;s manner was merely attributable to shyness. She was now no longer
+      an object even of momentary interest to him. He was ready to play with Zo&mdash;but
+      not on condition of amusing himself with the child, in Carmina&rsquo;s presence.
+      &ldquo;I am waiting till Mrs. Gallilee returns,&rdquo; he said to her in his quietly
+      indifferent way. &ldquo;If you will excuse me, I&rsquo;ll go downstairs again; I won&rsquo;t
+      intrude.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her pale face flushed as she listened to him. Innocently supposing that
+      she had made her little offer of hospitality in too cold a manner, she
+      looked at Benjulia with a timid and troubled smile. &ldquo;Pray wait here till
+      my aunt comes back,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Zo will amuse you, I&rsquo;m sure.&rdquo; Zo seconded
+      the invitation by hiding the stick, and laying hold again on her big
+      friend&rsquo;s coattails.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He let the child drag him into the room, without noticing her. The silent
+      questioning of his eyes had been again directed to Carmina, at the moment
+      when she smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His long and terrible experience made its own merciless discoveries, in
+      the nervous movement of her eyelids and her lips. The poor girl, pleasing
+      herself with the idea of having produced the right impression on him at
+      last, had only succeeded in becoming an object of medical inquiry, pursued
+      in secret. When he companionably took a chair by her side, and let Zo
+      climb on his knee, he was privately regretting his cold reception of Mr.
+      Null. Under certain conditions of nervous excitement, Carmina might
+      furnish an interesting case. &ldquo;If I had been commonly civil to that fawning
+      idiot,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;I might have been called into consultation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They were all three seated&mdash;but there was no talk. Zo set the
+      example.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You haven&rsquo;t tickled me yet,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Show Carmina how you do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He gravely operated on the back of Zo&rsquo;s neck; and his patient acknowledged
+      the process with a wriggle and a scream. The performance being so far at
+      an end, Zo called to the dog, and issued her orders once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now make Tinker kick his leg!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia obeyed once again. The young tyrant was not satisfied yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now tickle Carmina!&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He heard this without laughing: his fleshless lips never relaxed into a
+      smile. To Carmina&rsquo;s unutterable embarrassment, he looked at her, when she
+      laughed, with steadier attention than ever. Those coldly-inquiring eyes
+      exercised some inscrutable influence over her. Now they made her angry;
+      and now they frightened her. The silence that had fallen on them again,
+      became an unendurable infliction. She burst into talk; she was loud and
+      familiar&mdash;ashamed of her own boldness, and quite unable to control
+      it. &ldquo;You are very fond of Zo!&rdquo; she said suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a perfectly commonplace remark&mdash;and yet, it seemed to perplex
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I?&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She went on. Against her own will, she persisted in speaking to him. &ldquo;And
+      I&rsquo;m sure Zo is fond of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at Zo. &ldquo;Are you fond of me?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo, staring hard at him, got off his knee; retired to a little distance to
+      think; and stood staring at him again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He quietly repeated the question. Zo answered this time&mdash;as she had
+      formerly answered Teresa in the Gardens. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned again to Carmina, in a slow, puzzled way. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know either,&rdquo;
+       he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hearing the big man own that he was no wiser than herself, Zo returned to
+      him&mdash;without, however, getting on his knee again. She clasped her
+      chubby hands under the inspiration of a new idea. &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s play at
+      something,&rdquo; she said to Benjulia. &ldquo;Do you know any games?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you know any games, when you were only as big as me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have forgotten them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you got children?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you got a wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you got a friend?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you <i>are</i> a miserable chap!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thanks to Zo, Carmina&rsquo;s sense of nervous oppression burst its way into
+      relief. She laughed loudly and wildly&mdash;she was on the verge of
+      hysterics, when Benjulia&rsquo;s eyes, silently questioning her again,
+      controlled her at the critical moment. Her laughter died away. But the
+      exciting influence still possessed her; still forced her into the other
+      alternative of saying something&mdash;she neither knew nor cared what.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn&rsquo;t live such a lonely life as yours,&rdquo; she said to him&mdash;so
+      loudly and so confidently that even Zo noticed it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn&rsquo;t live such a life either,&rdquo; he admitted, &ldquo;but for one thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what is that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you so loud?&rdquo; Zo interposed. &ldquo;Do you think he&rsquo;s deaf?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia made a sign, commanding the child to be silent&mdash;without
+      turning towards her. He answered Carmina as if there had been no
+      interruption.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My medical studies,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;reconcile me to my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose you got tired of your studies?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should never get tired of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose you couldn&rsquo;t study any more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In that case I shouldn&rsquo;t live any more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean that it would kill you to leave off?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laid his great soft fingers on her pulse. She shrank from his touch; he
+      deliberately held her by the arm. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re getting excited,&rdquo; he said.
+      &ldquo;Never mind what I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo, left unnoticed and not liking it, saw a chance of asserting herself.
+      &ldquo;I know why Carmina&rsquo;s excited,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;The old woman&rsquo;s coming at six
+      o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paid no attention to the child; he persisted in keeping watch on
+      Carmina. &ldquo;Who is the woman?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The most lovable woman in the world,&rdquo; she cried; &ldquo;my dear old nurse!&rdquo; She
+      started up from the sofa, and pointed with theatrical exaggeration of
+      gesture to the clock on the mantelpiece. &ldquo;Look! it&rsquo;s only ten minutes to
+      six. In ten minutes, I shall have my arms round Teresa&rsquo;s neck. Don&rsquo;t look
+      at me in that way! It&rsquo;s your fault if I&rsquo;m excited. It&rsquo;s your dreadful eyes
+      that do it. Come here, Zo! I want to give you a kiss.&rdquo; She seized on Zo
+      with a roughness that startled the child, and looked wildly at Benjulia.
+      &ldquo;Ha! you don&rsquo;t understand loving and kissing, do you? What&rsquo;s the use of
+      speaking to <i>you</i> about my old nurse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pointed imperatively to the sofa. &ldquo;Sit down again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She obeyed him&mdash;but he had not quite composed her yet. Her eyes
+      sparkled; she went on talking. &ldquo;Ah, you&rsquo;re a hard man! a miserable man! a
+      man that will end badly! You never loved anybody. You don&rsquo;t know what love
+      is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That icy question cooled her in an instant: her head sank on her bosom:
+      she suddenly became indifferent to persons and things about her. &ldquo;When
+      will Teresa come?&rdquo; she whispered to herself. &ldquo;Oh, when will Teresa come!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Any other man, whether he really felt for her or not, would, as a mere
+      matter of instinct, have said a kind word to her at that moment. Not the
+      vestige of a change appeared in Benjulia&rsquo;s impenetrable composure. She
+      might have been a man&mdash;or a baby&mdash;or the picture of a girl
+      instead of the girl herself, so far as he was concerned. He quietly
+      returned to his question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he resumed&mdash;&ldquo;and what is love?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not a word, not a movement escaped her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to know,&rdquo; he persisted, waiting for what might happen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nothing happened. He was not perplexed by the sudden change. &ldquo;This is the
+      reaction,&rdquo; he thought. &ldquo;We shall see what comes of it.&rdquo; He looked about
+      him. A bottle of water stood on one of the tables. &ldquo;Likely to be useful,&rdquo;
+       he concluded, &ldquo;in case she feels faint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo had been listening; Zo saw her way to getting noticed again. Not quite
+      sure of herself this time, she appealed to Carmina. &ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t he say, just
+      now, he wanted to know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina neither heard nor heeded her. Zo tried Benjulia next. &ldquo;Shall I
+      tell you what we do in the schoolroom, when we want to know?&rdquo; His
+      attention, like Carmina&rsquo;s attention, seemed to be far away from her. Zo
+      impatiently reminded him of her presence&mdash;she laid her hand on his
+      knee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was only the hand of a child&mdash;an idle, quaint, perverse child&mdash;but
+      it touched, ignorantly touched, the one tender place in his nature,
+      unprofaned by the infernal cruelties which made his life acceptable to
+      him; the one tender place, hidden so deep from the man himself, that even
+      his far-reaching intellect groped in vain to find it out. There,
+      nevertheless, was the feeling which drew him to Zo, contending
+      successfully with his medical interest in a case of nervous derangement.
+      That unintelligible sympathy with a child looked dimly out of his eyes,
+      spoke faintly in his voice, when he replied to her. &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;what
+      do you do in the schoolroom?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We look in the dictionary,&rdquo; Zo answered. &ldquo;Carmina&rsquo;s got a dictionary.
+      I&rsquo;ll get it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She climbed on a chair, and found the book, and laid it on Benjulia&rsquo;s lap.
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t so much mind trying to spell a word,&rdquo; she explained. &ldquo;What I hate
+      is being asked what it means. Miss Minerva won&rsquo;t let me off. She says,
+      Look. <i>I</i> won&rsquo;t let <i>you</i> off. I&rsquo;m Miss Minerva and you&rsquo;re Zo.
+      Look!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He humoured her silently and mechanically&mdash;just as he had humoured
+      her in the matter of the stick, and in the matter of the tickling. Having
+      opened the dictionary, he looked again at Carmina. She had not moved; she
+      seemed to be weary enough to fall asleep. The reaction&mdash;nothing but
+      the reaction. It might last for hours, or it might be at an end in another
+      minute. An interesting temperament, whichever way it ended. He opened the
+      dictionary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Love?&rdquo; he muttered grimly to himself. &ldquo;It seems I&rsquo;m an object of
+      compassion, because I know nothing about love. Well, what does the book
+      say about it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He found the word, and ran his finger down the paragraphs of explanation
+      which followed. &ldquo;Seven meanings to Love,&rdquo; he remarked. &ldquo;First: An
+      affection of the mind excited by beauty and worth of any kind, or by the
+      qualities of an object which communicate pleasure. Second: Courtship.
+      Third: Patriotism, as the love of country. Fourth: Benevolence. Fifth: The
+      object beloved. Sixth: A word of endearment. Seventh: Cupid, the god of
+      love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused, and reflected a little. Zo, hearing nothing to amuse her,
+      strayed away to the window, and looked out. He glanced at Carmina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which of those meanings makes the pleasure of her life?&rdquo; he wondered.
+      &ldquo;Which of them might have made the pleasure of mine?&rdquo; He closed the
+      dictionary in contempt. &ldquo;The very man whose business is to explain it,
+      tries seven different ways, and doesn&rsquo;t explain it after all. And yet,
+      there is such a thing.&rdquo; He reached that conclusion unwillingly and
+      angrily. For the first time, a doubt about himself forced its way into his
+      mind. Might he have looked higher than his torture-table and his knife?
+      Had he gained from his life all that his life might have given to him?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Left by herself, Zo began to grow tired of it. She tried to get Carmina
+      for a companion. &ldquo;Come and look out of window,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina gently refused: she was unwilling to be disturbed. Since she had
+      spoken to Benjulia, her thoughts had been dwelling restfully on Ovid. In
+      another day she might be on her way to him. When would Teresa come?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia was too preoccupied to notice her. The weak doubt that had got
+      the better of his strong reason, still held him in thrall. &ldquo;Love!&rdquo; he
+      broke out, in the bitterness of his heart. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t a question of
+      sentiment: it&rsquo;s a question of use. Who is the better for love?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She heard the last words, and answered him. &ldquo;Everybody is the better for
+      it.&rdquo; She looked at him with sorrowful eyes, and laid her hand on his arm.
+      &ldquo;Everybody,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;but you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled scornfully. &ldquo;Everybody is the better for it,&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;And
+      who knows what it is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She drew away her hand, and looked towards the heavenly tranquillity of
+      the evening sky.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who knows what it is?&rdquo; he reiterated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLV.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The clock on the mantelpiece struck six. Zo, turning suddenly from the
+      window, ran to the sofa. &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s the carriage!&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Teresa!&rdquo; Carmina exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo crossed the room, on tiptoe, to the door of the bed-chamber. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
+      mamma,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t tell! I&rsquo;m going to hide.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The answer to this was given mysteriously in a whisper. &ldquo;She said I wasn&rsquo;t
+      to come to you. She&rsquo;s a quick one on her legs&mdash;she might catch me on
+      the stairs.&rdquo; With that explanation, Zo slipped into the bedroom, and held
+      the door ajar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The minutes passed&mdash;and Mrs. Gallilee failed to justify the opinion
+      expressed by her daughter. Not a sound was audible on the stairs. Not a
+      word more was uttered in the room. Benjulia had taken the child&rsquo;s place at
+      the window. He sat there thinking. Carmina had suggested to him some new
+      ideas, relating to the intricate connection between human faith and human
+      happiness. Slowly, slowly, the clock recorded the lapse of minutes.
+      Carmina&rsquo;s nervous anxiety began to forecast disaster to the absent nurse.
+      She took Teresa&rsquo;s telegram from her pocket, and consulted it again. There
+      was no mistake; six o&rsquo;clock was the time named for the traveller&rsquo;s arrival&mdash;and
+      it was close on ten minutes past the hour. In her ignorance of railway
+      arrangements, she took it for granted that trains were punctual. But her
+      reading had told her that trains were subject to accident. &ldquo;I suppose
+      delays occur,&rdquo; she said to Benjulia, &ldquo;without danger to the passengers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before he could answer&mdash;Mrs. Gallilee suddenly entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had opened the door so softly, that she took them both by surprise. To
+      Carmina&rsquo;s excited imagination, she glided into their presence like a
+      ghost. Her look and manner showed serious agitation, desperately
+      suppressed. In certain places, the paint and powder on her face had
+      cracked, and revealed the furrows and wrinkles beneath. Her hard eyes
+      glittered; her laboured breathing was audible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Indifferent to all demonstrations of emotion which did not scientifically
+      concern him, Benjulia quietly rose and advanced towards her. She seemed to
+      be unconscious of his presence. He spoke&mdash;allowing her to ignore him
+      without troubling himself to notice her temper. &ldquo;When you are able to
+      attend to me, I want to speak to you. Shall I wait downstairs?&rdquo; He took
+      his hat and stick&mdash;to leave the room; looked at Carmina as he passed
+      her; and at once went back to his place at the window. Her aunt&rsquo;s silent
+      and sinister entrance had frightened her. Benjulia waited, in the
+      interests of physiology, to see how the new nervous excitement would end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus far, Mrs. Gallilee had kept one of her hands hidden behind her. She
+      advanced close to Carmina, and allowed her hand to be seen. It held an
+      open letter. She shook the letter in her niece&rsquo;s face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the position which Mrs. Gallilee now occupied, Carmina was hidden, for
+      the moment, from Benjulia&rsquo;s view. Biding his time at the window, he looked
+      out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A cab, with luggage on it, had just drawn up at the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was this the old nurse who had been expected to arrive at six o&rsquo;clock?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The footman came out to open the cab-door. He was followed by Mr.
+      Gallilee, eager to help the person inside to alight. The traveller proved
+      to be a grey-headed woman, shabbily dressed. Mr. Gallilee cordially shook
+      hands with her&mdash;patted her on the shoulder&mdash;gave her his arm&mdash;led
+      her into the house. The cab with the luggage on it remained at the door.
+      The nurse had evidently not reached the end of her journey yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina shrank back on the sofa, when the leaves of the letter touched her
+      face. Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s first words were now spoken, in a whisper. The inner
+      fury of her anger, struggling for a vent, began to get the better of her&mdash;she
+      gasped for breath and speech.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know this letter?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina looked at the writing. It was the letter to Ovid, which she had
+      placed in the post-basket that afternoon; the letter which declared that
+      she could no longer endure his mother&rsquo;s cold-blooded cruelty, and that she
+      only waited Teresa&rsquo;s arrival to join him at Quebec.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After one dreadful moment of confusion, her mind realised the outrage
+      implied in the stealing and reading of her letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the earlier time of Carmina&rsquo;s sojourn in the house, Mrs. Gallilee had
+      accused her of deliberate deceit. She had instantly resented the insult by
+      leaving the room. The same spirit in her&mdash;the finely-strung spirit
+      that vibrates unfelt in gentle natures, while they live in peace&mdash;steadied
+      those quivering nerves, roused that failing courage. She met the furious
+      eyes fixed on her, without shrinking; she spoke gravely and firmly. &ldquo;The
+      letter is mine,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;How did you come by it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How dare you ask me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How dare <i>you</i> steal my letter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee tore open the fastening of her dress at the throat, to get
+      breath. &ldquo;You impudent bastard!&rdquo; she burst out, in a frenzy of rage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Waiting patiently at the window, Benjulia heard her. &ldquo;Hold your damned
+      tongue!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;She&rsquo;s your niece.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee turned on him: her fury broke into a screaming laugh. &ldquo;My
+      niece?&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;You lie&mdash;and you know it! She&rsquo;s the child of
+      an adulteress! She&rsquo;s the child of her mother&rsquo;s lover!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door opened as those horrible words passed her lips. The nurse and her
+      husband entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was in no position to see them: she was incapable of hearing them. The
+      demon in her urged her on: she attempted to reiterate the detestable
+      falsehood. Her first word died away in silence. The lean brown fingers of
+      the Italian woman had her by the throat&mdash;held her as the claws of a
+      tigress might have held her. Her eyes rolled in the mute agony of an
+      appeal for help. In vain! in vain! Not a cry, not a sound, had drawn
+      attention to the attack. Her husband&rsquo;s eyes were fixed, horror-struck, on
+      the victim of her rage. Benjulia had crossed the room to the sofa, when
+      Carmina heard the words spoken of her mother. From that moment, he was
+      watching the case. Mr. Gallilee alone looked round&mdash;when the nurse
+      tightened her hold in a last merciless grasp; dashed the insensible woman
+      on the floor; and, turning back, fell on her knees at her darling&rsquo;s feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked up in Carmina&rsquo;s face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A ghastly stare, through half-closed eyes, showed death in life, blankly
+      returning her look. The shock had struck Carmina with a stony calm. She
+      had not started, she had not swooned. Rigid, immovable, there she sat;
+      voiceless and tearless; insensible even to touch; her arms hanging down;
+      her clenched hands resting on either side of her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa grovelled and groaned at her feet. Those ferocious hands that had
+      laid the slanderer prostrate on the floor, feebly beat her bosom and her
+      gray head. &ldquo;Oh, Saints beloved of God! Oh, blessed Virgin, mother of
+      Christ, spare my child, my sweet child!&rdquo; She rose in wild despair&mdash;she
+      seized Benjulia, and madly shook him. &ldquo;Who are you? How dare you touch
+      her? Give her to me, or I&rsquo;ll be the death of you. Oh, my Carmina, is it
+      sleep that holds you? Wake! wake! wake!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen to me,&rdquo; said Benjulia, sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She dropped on the sofa by Carmina&rsquo;s side, and lifted one of the cold
+      clenched hands to her lips. The tears fell slowly over her haggard face.
+      &ldquo;I am very fond of her, sir,&rdquo; she said humbly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m only an old woman. See
+      what a dreadful welcome my child gives to me. It&rsquo;s hard on an old woman&mdash;hard
+      on an old woman!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His self-possession was not disturbed&mdash;even by this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know what I am?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;I am a doctor. Leave her to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;s a doctor. That&rsquo;s good. A doctor&rsquo;s good. Yes, yes. Does the old man
+      know this doctor&mdash;the kind old man?&rdquo; She looked vacantly for Mr.
+      Gallilee. He was bending over his wife, sprinkling water on her deathly
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa got on her feet, and pointed to Mrs. Gallilee. &ldquo;The breath of that
+      She-Devil poisons the air,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I must take my child out of it. To
+      my place, sir, if you please. Only to my place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She attempted to lift Carmina from the sofa&mdash;and drew back,
+      breathlessly watching her. Her rigid face faintly relaxed; her eyelids
+      closed, and quivered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee looked up from his wife. &ldquo;Will one of you help me?&rdquo; he asked.
+      His tone struck Benjulia. It was the hushed tone of sorrow&mdash;no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see to it directly.&rdquo; With that reply, Benjulia turned to Teresa.
+      &ldquo;Where is your place?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Far or near?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The message,&rdquo; she answered confusedly. &ldquo;The message says.&rdquo; She signed to
+      him to look in her hand-bag&mdash;dropped on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He found Carmina&rsquo;s telegram, containing the address of the lodgings. The
+      house was close by. After some consideration, he sent the nurse into the
+      bedroom, with instructions to bring him the blankets off the bed. In the
+      minute that followed, he examined Mrs. Gallilee. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing to be
+      frightened about. Let her maid attend to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee again surprised Benjulia. He turned from his wife, and looked
+      at Carmina. &ldquo;For God&rsquo;s sake, don&rsquo;t leave her here!&rdquo; he broke out. &ldquo;After
+      what she has heard, this house is no place for her. Give her to the old
+      nurse!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia only answered, as he had answered already&mdash;&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see to it.&rdquo;
+       Mr. Gallilee persisted. &ldquo;Is there any risk in moving her?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the least of two risks. No more questions! Look to your wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee obeyed in silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he lifted his head again, and rose to ring the bell for the maid, the
+      room was silent and lonely. A little pale frightened face peeped out
+      through the bedroom door. Zo ventured in. Her father caught her in his
+      arms, and kissed her as he had never kissed her yet. His eyes were wet
+      with tears. Zo noticed that he never said a word about mamma. The child
+      saw the change in her father, as Benjulia had seen it. She shared one
+      human feeling with her big friend&mdash;she, too, was surprised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLVI.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THE first signs of reviving life had begun to appear, when Marceline
+      answered the bell. In a few minutes more, it was possible to raise Mrs.
+      Gallilee and to place her on the sofa. Having so far assisted the servant,
+      Mr. Gallilee took Zo by the hand, and drew back. Daunted by the terrible
+      scene which she had witnessed from her hiding-place, the child stood by
+      her father&rsquo;s side in silence. The two waited together, watching Mrs.
+      Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked wildly round the room. Discovering that she was alone with the
+      members of her family, she became composed: her mind slowly recovered its
+      balance. Her first thought was for herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has that woman disfigured me?&rdquo; she said to the maid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Knowing nothing of what had happened, Marceline was at a loss to
+      understand her. &ldquo;Bring me a glass,&rdquo; she said. The maid found a hand-glass
+      in the bedroom, and presented it to her. She looked at herself&mdash;and
+      drew a long breath of relief. That first anxiety at an end, she spoke to
+      her husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is Carmina?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out of the house&mdash;thank God!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The answer seemed to bewilder her: she appealed to Marceline.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he say, thank God?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, ma&rsquo;am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can <i>you</i> tell me nothing? Who knows where Carmina has gone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Joseph knows, ma&rsquo;am. He heard Dr. Benjulia give the address to the
+      cabman.&rdquo; With that answer, she turned anxiously to her master. &ldquo;Is Miss
+      Carmina seriously ill, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her mistress spoke again, before Mr. Gallilee could reply. &ldquo;Marceline!
+      send Joseph up here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Mr. Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife eyed him with astonishment. &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He said quietly, &ldquo;I forbid it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee addressed herself to the maid. &ldquo;Go to my room, and bring me
+      another bonnet and a veil. Stop!&rdquo; She tried to rise, and sank back. &ldquo;I
+      must have something to strengthen me. Get the sal volatile.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marceline left the room. Mr. Gallilee followed her as far as the door&mdash;still
+      leading his little daughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go back, my dear, to your sister in the schoolroom,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I am
+      distressed, Zo; be a good girl, and you will console me. Say the same to
+      Maria. It will be dull for you, I am afraid. Be patient, my child, and try
+      to bear it for a while.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I whisper something?&rdquo; said Zo. &ldquo;Will Carmina die?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God forbid!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will they bring her back here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In her eagerness, the child spoke above a whisper. Mrs. Gallilee heard the
+      question, and answered it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They will bring Carmina back,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;the moment I can get out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo looked at her father. &ldquo;Do <i>you</i> say that?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head gravely, and told her again to go to the schoolroom. On
+      the first landing she stopped, and looked back. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be good, papa,&rdquo; she
+      said&mdash;and went on up the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having reached the schoolroom, she became the object of many questions&mdash;not
+      one of which she answered. Followed by the dog, she sat down in a corner.
+      &ldquo;What are you thinking about?&rdquo; her sister inquired. This time she was
+      willing to reply. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m thinking about Carmina.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee closed the door when Zo left him. He took a chair, without
+      speaking to his wife or looking at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you here for?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must wait,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To see what you do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marceline returned, and administered a dose of sal volatile. Strengthened
+      by the stimulant, Mrs. Gallilee was able to rise. &ldquo;My head is giddy,&rdquo; she
+      said, as she took the maid&rsquo;s arm; &ldquo;but I think I can get downstairs with
+      your help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee silently followed them out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the head of the stairs the giddiness increased. Firm as her resolution
+      might be, it gave way before the bodily injury which Mrs. Gallilee had
+      received. Her husband&rsquo;s help was again needed to take her to her bedroom.
+      She stopped them at the ante-chamber; still obstinately bent on following
+      her own designs. &ldquo;I shall be better directly,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;put me on the
+      sofa.&rdquo; Marceline relieved her of her bonnet and veil, and asked
+      respectfully if there was any other service required. She looked defiantly
+      at her husband, and reiterated the order&mdash;&ldquo;Send for Joseph.&rdquo;
+       Intelligent resolution is sometimes shaken; the inert obstinacy of a weak
+      creature, man or animal, is immovable. Mr. Gallilee dismissed the maid
+      with these words: &ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t wait, my good girl&mdash;I&rsquo;ll speak to
+      Joseph myself, downstairs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife heard him with amazement and contempt. &ldquo;Are you in your right
+      senses?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused on his way out. &ldquo;You were always hard and headstrong,&rdquo; he said
+      sadly; &ldquo;I knew that. A cleverer man than I am might&mdash;I suppose it&rsquo;s
+      possible&mdash;a clear-headed man might have found out how wicked you
+      are.&rdquo; She lay, thinking; indifferent to anything he could say to her. &ldquo;Are
+      you not ashamed?&rdquo; he asked wonderingly. &ldquo;And not even sorry?&rdquo; She paid no
+      heed to him. He left her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Descending to the hall, he was met by Joseph. &ldquo;Doctor Benjulia has come
+      back, sir. He wishes to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the library.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait, Joseph; I have something to say to you. If your mistress asks where
+      they have taken Miss Carmina, you mustn&rsquo;t&mdash;this is my order, Joseph&mdash;you
+      mustn&rsquo;t tell her. If you have mentioned it to any of the other servants&mdash;it&rsquo;s
+      quite likely they may have asked you, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; he said, falling into his
+      old habit for a moment. &ldquo;If you have mentioned it to the others,&rdquo; he
+      resumed, <i>&ldquo;they</i> mustn&rsquo;t tell her. That&rsquo;s all, my good man; that&rsquo;s
+      all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To his own surprise, Joseph found himself regarding his master with a
+      feeling of respect. Mr. Gallilee entered the library.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is she?&rdquo; he asked, eager for news of Carmina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The worse for being moved,&rdquo; Benjulia replied. &ldquo;What about your wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Answering that question, Mr. Gallilee mentioned the precautions that he
+      had taken to keep the secret of Teresa&rsquo;s address.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You need be under no anxiety about that,&rdquo; said Benjulia. &ldquo;I have left
+      orders that Mrs. Gallilee is not to be admitted. There is a serious
+      necessity for keeping her out. In these cases of partial catalepsy, there
+      is no saying when the change may come. When it does come, I won&rsquo;t answer
+      for her niece&rsquo;s reason, if those two see each other again. Send for you
+      own medical man. The girl is his patient, and he is the person on whom the
+      responsibility rests. Let the servant take my card to him directly. We can
+      meet in consultation at the house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He wrote a line on one of his visiting cards. It was at once sent to Mr.
+      Null.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s another matter to be settled before I go,&rdquo; Benjulia proceeded.
+      &ldquo;Here are some papers, which I have received from your lawyer, Mr. Moot.
+      They relate to a slander, which your wife unfortunately repeated&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee got up from his chair. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t take my mind back to that&mdash;pray
+      don&rsquo;t!&rdquo; he pleaded earnestly. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t bear it, Doctor Benjulia&mdash;I
+      can&rsquo;t bear it! Please to excuse my rudeness: it isn&rsquo;t intentional&mdash;I
+      don&rsquo;t know myself what&rsquo;s the matter with me. I&rsquo;ve always led a quiet life,
+      sir; I&rsquo;m not fit for such things as these. Don&rsquo;t suppose I speak
+      selfishly. I&rsquo;ll do what I can, if you will kindly spare me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He might as well have appealed to the sympathy of the table at which they
+      were sitting. Benjulia was absolutely incapable of understanding the state
+      of mind which those words revealed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you take these papers to your wife?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;I called here this
+      evening&mdash;being the person to blame&mdash;to set the matter right. As
+      it is, I leave her to make the discovery for herself. I desire to hold no
+      more communication with your wife. Have you anything to say to me before I
+      go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only one thing. Is there any harm in my calling at the house, to ask how
+      poor Carmina goes on?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ask as often as you like&mdash;provided Mrs. Gallilee doesn&rsquo;t accompany
+      you. If she&rsquo;s obstinate, it may not be amiss to give your wife a word of
+      warning. In my opinion, the old nurse is not likely to let her off, next
+      time, with her life. I&rsquo;ve had a little talk with that curious foreign
+      savage. I said, &lsquo;You have committed, what we consider in England, a
+      murderous assault. If Mrs. Gallilee doesn&rsquo;t mind the public exposure, you
+      may find yourself in a prison.&rsquo; She snapped her fingers in my face.
+      &lsquo;Suppose I find myself with the hangman&rsquo;s rope round my neck,&rsquo; she said,
+      &lsquo;what do I care, so long as Carmina is safe from her aunt?&rsquo; After that
+      pretty answer, she sat down by her girl&rsquo;s bedside, and burst out crying.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee listened absently: his mind still dwelt on Carmina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I meant well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;when I asked you to take her out of this house.
+      It&rsquo;s no wonder if <i>I</i> was wrong. What I am too stupid to understand
+      is&mdash;why <i>you</i> allowed her to be moved.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia listened with a grim smile; Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s presumption amused
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder whether there was any room left for memory, when nature
+      furnished your narrow little head,&rdquo; he answered pleasantly. &ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t I say
+      that moving her was the least of two risks? And haven&rsquo;t I just warned you
+      of what might have happened, if we had left your wife and her niece
+      together in the same house? When I do a thing at my time of life, Mr.
+      Gallilee&mdash;don&rsquo;t think me conceited&mdash;I know why I do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While he was speaking of himself in these terms, he might have said
+      something more. He might have added, that his dread of the loss of
+      Carmina&rsquo;s reason really meant his dread of a commonplace termination to an
+      exceptionally interesting case. He might also have acknowledged, that he
+      was not yielding obedience to the rules of professional etiquette, in
+      confiding the patient to her regular medical attendant, but following the
+      selfish suggestions of his own critical judgment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His experience, brief as it had been, had satisfied him that stupid Mr.
+      Null&rsquo;s course of action could be trusted to let the instructive progress
+      of the malady proceed. Mr. Null would treat the symptoms in perfect good
+      faith&mdash;without a suspicion of the nervous hysteria which, in such a
+      constitution as Carmina&rsquo;s, threatened to establish itself, in course of
+      time, as the hidden cause. These motives&mdash;not only excused, but even
+      ennobled, by their scientific connection with the interests of Medical
+      Research&mdash;he might have avowed, under more favourable circumstances.
+      While his grand discovery was still barely within reach, Doctor Benjulia
+      stood committed to a system of diplomatic reserve, which even included
+      simple Mr. Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took his hat and stick, and walked out into the hall. &ldquo;Can I be of
+      further use?&rdquo; he asked carelessly. &ldquo;You will hear about the patient from
+      Mr. Null.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You won&rsquo;t desert Carmina?&rdquo; said Mr. Gallilee. &ldquo;You will see her yourself,
+      from time to time&mdash;won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be afraid; I&rsquo;ll look after her.&rdquo; He spoke sincerely in saying this.
+      Carmina&rsquo;s case had already suggested new ideas. Even the civilised savage
+      of modern physiology (where his own interests are concerned) is not
+      absolutely insensible to a feeling of gratitude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee opened the door for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the-bye,&rdquo; he added, as he stepped out, &ldquo;what&rsquo;s become of Zo?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She&rsquo;s upstairs, in the schoolroom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made one of his dreary jokes. &ldquo;Tell her, when she wants to be tickled
+      again, to let me know. Good-evening!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee returned to the upper part of the house, with the papers left
+      by Benjulia in his hand. Arriving at the dressing-room door, he hesitated.
+      The papers were enclosed in a sealed envelope, addressed to his wife.
+      Secured in this way from inquisitive eyes, there was no necessity for
+      personally presenting them. He went on to the schoolroom, and beckoned to
+      the parlour-maid to come out, and speak to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having instructed her to deliver the papers&mdash;telling her mistress
+      that they had been left at the house by Doctor Benjulia&mdash;he dismissed
+      the woman from duty. &ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t return,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll look after the
+      children myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria was busy with her book; and even idle Zo was employed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was writing at her own inky desk; and she looked up in confusion, when
+      her father appeared. Unsuspicious Mr. Gallilee took if for granted that
+      his favourite daughter was employed on a writing lesson&mdash;following
+      Maria&rsquo;s industrious example for once. &ldquo;Good children!&rdquo; he said, looking
+      affectionately from one to the other. &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t disturb you; go on.&rdquo; He
+      took a chair, satisfied&mdash;comforted, even&mdash;to be in the same room
+      with the girls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If he had placed himself nearer to the desk, he might have seen that Zo
+      had been thinking of Carmina to some purpose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What could she do to make her friend and playfellow well and happy again?
+      There was the question which Zo asked herself, after having seen Carmina
+      carried insensible out of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Possessed of that wonderful capacity for minute observation of the elder
+      persons about them, which is one among the many baffling mysteries
+      presented by the minds of children, Zo had long since discovered that the
+      member of the household, preferred to all others by Carmina, was the good
+      brother who had gone away and left them. In his absence, she was always
+      talking of him&mdash;and Zo had seen her kiss his photograph before she
+      put it back in the case.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dwelling on these recollections, the child&rsquo;s slowly-working mental process
+      arrived more easily than usual at the right conclusion. The way to make
+      Carmina well and happy again, was to bring Ovid back. One of the two
+      envelopes which he had directed for her still remained&mdash;waiting for
+      the letter which might say to him, &ldquo;Come home!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo determined to write that letter&mdash;and to do it at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She might have confided this design to her father (the one person besides
+      Carmina who neither scolded her nor laughed at her) if Mr. Gallilee had
+      distinguished himself by his masterful position in the house. But she had
+      seen him, as everybody else had seen him, &ldquo;afraid of mamma.&rdquo; The doubt
+      whether he might not &ldquo;tell mamma,&rdquo; decided her on keeping her secret. As
+      the event proved, the one person who informed Ovid of the terrible
+      necessity that existed for his return, was the little sister whom it had
+      been his last kind effort to console when he left England.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Mr. Gallilee entered the room, Zo had just reached the end of her
+      letter. Her system of composition excluded capitals and stops; and reduced
+      all the words in the English language, by a simple process of abridgment,
+      to words of one syllable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>&ldquo;dear ov you come back car is ill she wants you be quick be quick don&rsquo;t
+      say I writ this miss min is gone I hate books I like you zo.&rdquo;</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the pen still in her hand, the wary writer looked round at her
+      father. She had her directed envelope (sadly crumpled) in her pocket; but
+      she was afraid to take it out. &ldquo;Maria,&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;would know what to
+      do in my place. Horrid Maria!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fortune, using the affairs of the household as an instrument, befriended
+      Zo. In a minute more her opportunity arrived. The parlour-maid
+      unexpectedly returned. She addressed Mr. Gallilee with the air of mystery
+      in which English servants, in possession of a message, especially delight.
+      &ldquo;If you please, sir, Joseph wishes to speak to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Outside, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell him to come in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thanks to the etiquette of the servants&rsquo; hall&mdash;which did not permit
+      Joseph to present himself, voluntarily, in the regions above the
+      drawing-room, without being first represented by an ambassadress&mdash;attention
+      was now diverted from the children. Zo folded her letter, enclosed it in
+      the envelope, and hid it in her pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Joseph appeared. &ldquo;I beg your pardon, sir, I don&rsquo;t quite know whether I
+      ought to disturb my mistress. Mr. Le Frank has called, and asked if he can
+      see her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee consulted the parlour-maid. &ldquo;Was your mistress asleep when I
+      sent you to her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir. She told me to bring her a cup of tea.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On those rare former occasions, when Mrs. Gallilee had been ill, her
+      attentive husband never left it to the servants to consult her wishes.
+      That time had gone by for ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell your mistress, Joseph, that Mr. Le Frank is here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLVII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The slander on which Mrs. Gallilee had reckoned, as a means of separating
+      Ovid and Carmina, was now a slander refuted by unanswerable proof. And the
+      man whose exertions had achieved this result, was her own lawyer&mdash;the
+      agent whom she had designed to employ, in asserting that claim of the
+      guardian over the ward which Teresa had defied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As a necessary consequence, the relations between Mr. Mool and herself
+      were already at an end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There she lay helpless&mdash;her authority set at naught; her person
+      outraged by a brutal attack&mdash;there she lay, urged to action by every
+      reason that a resolute woman could have for asserting her power, and
+      avenging her wrong&mdash;without a creature to take her part, without an
+      accomplice to serve her purpose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She got on her feet, with the resolution of despair. Her heart sank&mdash;the
+      room whirled round her&mdash;she dropped back on the sofa. In a recumbent
+      position, the giddiness subsided. She could ring the hand-bell on the
+      table at her side. &ldquo;Send instantly for Mr. Null,&rdquo; she said to the maid.
+      &ldquo;If he is out, let the messenger follow him, wherever he may be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The messenger came back with a note. Mr. Null would call on Mrs. Gallilee
+      as soon as possible. He was then engaged in attendance on Miss Carmina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that discovery, Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s last reserves of independent resolution
+      gave way. The services of her own medical attendant were only at her
+      disposal, when Carmina had done with him! At the top of his letter the
+      address, which she had thus far tried vainly to discover, stared her in
+      the face: the house was within five minutes&rsquo; walk&mdash;and she was not
+      even able to cross the room! For the first time in her life, Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s imperious spirit acknowledged defeat. For the first time in her
+      life, she asked herself the despicable question: Who can I find to help
+      me?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Someone knocked at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is it?&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Joseph&rsquo;s voice answered her. &ldquo;Mr. Le Frank has called, ma&rsquo;am&mdash;and
+      wishes to know if you can see him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She never stopped to think. She never even sent for the maid to see to her
+      personal appearance. The horror of her own helplessness drove her on. Here
+      was the man, whose timely betrayal of Carmina had stopped her on her way
+      to Ovid, in the nick of time! Here was the self-devoted instrument,
+      waiting to be employed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see Mr. Le Frank,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Show him up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The music-master looked round the obscurely lit room, and bowed to the
+      recumbent figure on the sofa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I fear I disturb you, madam, at an inconvenient time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am suffering from illness, Mr. Le Frank; but I am able to receive you&mdash;as
+      you see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped there. Now, when she saw him, and heard him, some perverse
+      hesitation in her began to doubt him. Now, when it was too late, she
+      weakly tried to put herself on her guard. What a decay of energy (she felt
+      it herself) in the ready and resolute woman, equal to any emergency at
+      other times! &ldquo;To what am I to attribute the favour of your visit?&rdquo; she
+      resumed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even her voice failed her: it faltered in spite of her efforts to steady
+      it. Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s vanity drew its own encouraging conclusion from this
+      one circumstance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am anxious to know how I stand in your estimation,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;Early
+      this evening, I left a few lines here, enclosing a letter&mdash;with my
+      compliments. Have you received the letter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you read it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee hesitated. Mr. Le Frank smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t trouble you, madam, for any more direct reply,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I will
+      speak plainly. Be so good as to tell me plainly, on your side, which I am&mdash;a
+      man who has disgraced himself by stealing a letter? or a man who has
+      distinguished himself by doing you a service?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An unpleasant alternative, neatly defined! To disavow Mr. Le Frank or to
+      use Mr. Le Frank&mdash;there was the case for Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s
+      consideration. She was incapable of pronouncing judgment; the mere effort
+      of decision, after what she had suffered, fatigued and irritated her. &ldquo;I
+      can&rsquo;t deny,&rdquo; she said, with weary resignation, &ldquo;that you have done me a
+      service.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose, and made a generous return for the confidence that had been
+      placed in him&mdash;he repeated his magnificent bow, and sat down again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our position towards each other seems too plain to be mistaken,&rdquo; he
+      proceeded. &ldquo;Your niece&rsquo;s letter&mdash;perfectly useless for the purpose
+      with which I opened it&mdash;offers me a means of being even with Miss
+      Carmina, and a chance of being useful to You. Shall I begin by keeping an
+      eye on the young lady?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that said, Mr. Le Frank, out of devotion to me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My devotion to you might wear out,&rdquo; he answered audaciously. &ldquo;You may
+      trust my feeling towards your niece to last&mdash;I never forget an
+      injury. Is it indiscreet to inquire how you mean to keep Miss Carmina from
+      joining her lover in Quebec? Does a guardian&rsquo;s authority extend to locking
+      her up in her room?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee felt the underlying familiarity in these questions&mdash;elaborately
+      concealed as it was under an assumption of respect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My niece is no longer in my house,&rdquo; she answered coldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; cried Mr. Le Frank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She corrected the expression. &ldquo;Removed,&rdquo; she said, and dropped the subject
+      there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank took the subject up again. &ldquo;Removed, I presume, under the
+      care of her nurse?&rdquo; he rejoined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The nurse? What did he know about the nurse? &ldquo;May I ask&mdash;?&rdquo; Mrs.
+      Gallilee began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled indulgently, and stopped her there. &ldquo;You are not quite yourself
+      to-night,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Permit me to remind you that your niece&rsquo;s letter to
+      Mr. Ovid Vere is explicit, and that I took the liberty of reading it
+      before I left it at your house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee listened in silence, conscious that she had committed
+      another error. She had carefully excluded from her confidence a man who
+      was already in possession of her secrets! Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s courteous
+      sympathy forbade him to take advantage of the position of superiority
+      which he now held.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will do myself the honour of calling again,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;when you are
+      better able to place the right estimate on my humble offers of service. I
+      wouldn&rsquo;t fatigue you, Mrs. Gallilee, for the world! At the same time,
+      permit me to put one last question which ought not to be delayed. When
+      Miss Carmina left you, did she take away her writing-desk and her keys?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Allow me to suggest that she may send for them at any moment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before it was possible to ask for an explanation, Joseph presented himself
+      again. Mr. Null was waiting downstairs. Mrs. Gallilee arranged that he
+      should be admitted when she rang her bell. Mr. Le Frank approached the
+      sofa, when they were alone, and returned to his suggestion in a whisper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely, you see the importance of using your niece&rsquo;s keys?&rdquo; he resumed.
+      &ldquo;We don&rsquo;t know what correspondence may have been going on, in which the
+      nurse and the governess have been concerned. After we have already
+      intercepted a letter, hesitation is absurd! You are not equal to the
+      effort yourself. I know the room. Don&rsquo;t be afraid of discovery; I have a
+      naturally soft footfall&mdash;and my excuse is ready, if somebody else has
+      a soft footfall too. Leave it to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He lit a candle as he spoke. But for that allusion to the nurse, Mrs.
+      Gallilee might have ordered him to blow it out again. Eager for any
+      discovery which might, by the barest possibility, place Teresa at her
+      mercy, she silently submitted to Mr. Le Frank. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll call to-morrow,&rdquo; he
+      said&mdash;and slipped out of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Mr. Null was announced, Mrs. Gallilee pushed up the shade over the
+      globe of the lamp. Her medical attendant&rsquo;s face might be worth observing,
+      under a clear light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His timid look, his confused manner, when he made the conventional
+      apologies, told her at once that Teresa had spoken, and that he knew what
+      had happened. Even he had never before been so soothing and so attentive.
+      But he forgot, or he was afraid, to consult appearances by asking what was
+      the matter, before he felt the pulse, and took the temperature, and wrote
+      his prescription. Not a word was uttered by Mrs. Gallilee, until the
+      medical formalities came to an end. &ldquo;Is there anything more that I can
+      do?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can tell me,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;when I shall be well again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null was polite; Mr. Null was sympathetic. Mrs. Gallilee might be
+      herself again in a day or two&mdash;or Mrs. Gallilee might be unhappily
+      confined to her room for some little time. He had hope in his
+      prescription, and hope in perfect quiet and repose&mdash;he would suggest
+      the propriety of going to bed at once, and would not fail to call early
+      the next morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down again,&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null turned pale. He foresaw what was coming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have been in attendance on Miss Carmina. I wish to know what her
+      illness is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null began to prevaricate at the outset. &ldquo;The case causes us serious
+      anxiety. The complications are formidable. Doctor Benjulia himself&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In plain words, Mr. Null, can she be moved?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This produced a definite answer. &ldquo;Quite impossible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She only ventured to put her next question after waiting a little to
+      control herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that foreign woman, the nurse&mdash;the only nurse&mdash;in
+      attendance?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t speak of her, Mrs. Gallilee! A dreadful woman; coarse, furious, a
+      perfect savage. When I suggested a second nurse&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand. You asked just now if you could do anything for me. You can
+      do me a great service&mdash;you can recommend me a trustworthy lawyer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null was surprised. As the old medical attendant of the family, he was
+      not unacquainted with the legal adviser. He mentioned Mr. Mool&rsquo;s name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Mool has forfeited my confidence,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee announced. &ldquo;Can you,
+      or can you not, recommend a lawyer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, certainly! My own lawyer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will find writing materials on the table behind me. I won&rsquo;t keep you
+      more than five minutes. I want you to write from my dictation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear lady, in your present condition&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do as I tell you! My head is quiet while I lie down. Even a woman in my
+      condition can say what she means to do. I shall not close my eyes tonight,
+      unless I can feel that I have put that wretch in her right place. Who are
+      your lawyers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null mentioned the names, and took up his pen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Introduce me in the customary form,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee proceeded; &ldquo;and then
+      refer the lawyers to my brother&rsquo;s Will. Is it done?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In due time it was done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell them next, how my niece has been taken away from me, and where she
+      has been taken to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To the best of his ability, Mr. Null complied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee, &ldquo;write what I mean to do!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The prospect of being revenged on Teresa revived her. For the moment, at
+      least, she almost looked like herself again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null turned over to a new leaf, with a hand that trembled a little.
+      The dictating voice pronounced these words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I forbid the woman Teresa to act in the capacity of nurse to Miss
+      Carmina, and even to enter the room in which that young lady is now lying
+      ill. I further warn this person, that my niece will be restored to my
+      care, the moment her medical attendants allow her to be removed. And I
+      desire my legal advisers to assert my authority, as guardian, to-morrow
+      morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null finished his task in silent dismay. He took out his handkerchief
+      and wiped his forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there any very terrible effort required in saying those few words&mdash;even
+      to a shattered creature like me?&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee asked bitterly. &ldquo;Let me
+      hear that the lawyers have got their instructions, when you come
+      to-morrow; and give me the name and address of a nurse whom you can
+      thoroughly recommend. Good-night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At last, Mr. Null got away. As he softly closed the dressing-room door,
+      the serious question still dwelt on his mind: What would Teresa do?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLVIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Even in the welcome retirement of the school-room, Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s mind was
+      not at ease. He was troubled by a question entirely new to him&mdash;the
+      question of himself, in the character of husband and father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Accustomed through long years of conjugal association to look up to his
+      wife as a superior creature, he was now conscious that her place in his
+      estimation had been lost, beyond recovery. If he considered next what
+      ought to be done with Maria and Zo, he only renewed his perplexity and
+      distress. To leave them (as he had hitherto left them) absolutely
+      submitted to their mother&rsquo;s authority, was to resign his children to the
+      influence of a woman, who had ceased to be the object of his confidence
+      and respect. He pondered over it in the schoolroom; he pondered over it
+      when he went to bed. On the next morning, he arrived at a conclusion in
+      the nature of a compromise. He decided on applying to his good friend, Mr.
+      Mool, for a word of advice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His first proceeding was to call at Teresa&rsquo;s lodgings, in the hope of
+      hearing better news of Carmina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The melancholy report of her was expressed in two words: No change. He was
+      so distressed that he asked to see the landlady; and tried, in his own
+      helpless kindhearted way, to get a little hopeful information by asking
+      questions&mdash;useless questions, repeated over and over again in futile
+      changes of words. The landlady was patient: she respected the undisguised
+      grief of the gentle modest old man; but she held to the hard truth. The
+      one possible answer was the answer which her servant had already given.
+      When she followed him out, to open the door, Mr. Gallilee requested
+      permission to wait a moment in the hall. &ldquo;If you will allow me, ma&rsquo;am,
+      I&rsquo;ll wipe my eyes before I go into the street.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arriving at the office without an appointment, he found the lawyer
+      engaged. A clerk presented to him a slip of paper, with a line written by
+      Mr. Mool: &ldquo;Is it anything of importance?&rdquo; Simple Mr. Gallilee wrote back:
+      &ldquo;Oh, dear, no; it&rsquo;s only me! I&rsquo;ll call again.&rdquo; Besides his critical
+      judgment in the matter of champagne, this excellent man possessed another
+      accomplishment&mdash;a beautiful handwriting. Mr. Mool, discovering a
+      crooked line and some ill-formed letters in the reply, drew his own
+      conclusions. He sent word to his old friend to wait.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In ten minutes more they were together, and the lawyer was informed of the
+      events that had followed the visit of Benjulia to Fairfield Gardens, on
+      the previous day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a while, the two men sat silently meditating&mdash;daunted by the
+      prospect before them. When the time came for speaking, they exercised an
+      influence over each other, of which both were alike unconscious. Out of
+      their common horror of Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s conduct, and their common interest
+      in Carmina, they innocently achieved between them the creation of one
+      resolute man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Gallilee, this is a very serious thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Mool, I feel it so&mdash;or I shouldn&rsquo;t have disturbed you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk of disturbing me! I see so many complications ahead of us, I
+      hardly know where to begin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just my case! It&rsquo;s a comfort to me that you feel it as I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool rose and tried walking up and down his room, as a means of
+      stimulating his ingenuity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s this poor young lady,&rdquo; he resumed. &ldquo;If she gets better&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t put it in that way!&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee interposed. &ldquo;It sounds as if you
+      doubted her ever getting well&mdash;you see it yourself in that light,
+      don&rsquo;t you? Be a little more positive, Mool, in mercy to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By all means,&rdquo; Mr. Mool agreed. &ldquo;Let us say, <i>when</i> she gets better.
+      But the difficulty meets us, all the same. If Mrs. Gallilee claims her
+      right, what are we to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee rose in his turn, and took a walk up and down the room. That
+      well-meant experiment only left him feebler than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What possessed her brother to make her Carmina&rsquo;s guardian?&rdquo; he asked&mdash;with
+      the nearest approach to irritability of which he was capable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The lawyer was busy with his own thoughts. He only enlightened Mr.
+      Gallilee after the question had been repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had the sincerest regard for Mr. Robert Graywell,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;A better
+      husband and father&mdash;and don&rsquo;t let me forget it, a more charming
+      artist&mdash;never lived. But,&rdquo; said Mr. Mool, with the air of one
+      strong-minded man appealing to another: &ldquo;weak, sadly weak. If you will
+      allow me to say so, your wife&rsquo;s self-asserting way&mdash;well, it was so
+      unlike her brother&rsquo;s way, that it had its effect on him! If Lady Northlake
+      had been a little less quiet and retiring, the matter might have ended in
+      a very different manner. As it was (I don&rsquo;t wish to put the case
+      offensively) Mrs. Gallilee imposed on him&mdash;and there she is, in
+      authority, under the Will. Let that be. We must protect this poor girl. We
+      must act!&rdquo; cried Mr. Mool with a burst of energy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We must act!&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee repeated&mdash;and feebly clenched his fist,
+      and softly struck the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I have an idea,&rdquo; the lawyer proceeded; &ldquo;suggested by something
+      said to me by Miss Carmina herself. May I ask if you are in her
+      confidence?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s face brightened at this. &ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;I
+      always kiss her when we say good-night, and kiss her again when we say
+      good-morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This proof of his friend&rsquo;s claims as Carmina&rsquo;s chosen adviser, seemed
+      rather to surprise Mr. Mool. &ldquo;Did she ever hint at an idea of hastening
+      her marriage?&rdquo; he inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Plainly as the question was put, it thoroughly puzzled Mr. Gallilee. His
+      honest face answered for him&mdash;he was <i>not</i> in Carmina&rsquo;s
+      confidence. Mr. Mool returned to his idea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The one thing we can do,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;is to hasten Mr. Ovid&rsquo;s return. There
+      is the only course to take&mdash;as I see it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s do it at once!&rdquo; cried Mr. Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But tell me,&rdquo; Mr. Mool insisted, greedy for encouragement&mdash;&ldquo;does my
+      suggestion relieve your mind?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the first happy moment I&rsquo;ve had to-day!&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s weak voice
+      piped high: he was getting firmer and firmer with every word he uttered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of them produced a telegraph-form; the other seized a pen. &ldquo;Shall we
+      send the message in your name?&rdquo; Mr. Mool asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If Mr. Gallilee had possessed a hundred names he would have sent them (and
+      paid for them) all. &ldquo;John Gallilee, 14 Fairfield Gardens, London, To&mdash;&rdquo;
+       There the pen stopped. Ovid was still in the wilds of Canada. The one way
+      of communicating with him was through the medium of the bankers at Quebec,
+      To the bankers, accordingly, the message was sent. &ldquo;Please telegraph Mr.
+      Ovid Vere&rsquo;s address, the moment you know it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the telegram had been sent to the office, an interval of inaction
+      followed. Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s fortitude suffered a relapse. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a long time
+      to wait,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His friend agreed with him. Morally speaking, Mr. Mool&rsquo;s strength lay in
+      points of law. No point of law appeared to be involved in the present
+      conference: he shared Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s depression of spirits. &ldquo;We are quite
+      helpless,&rdquo; he remarked, &ldquo;till Mr. Ovid comes back. In the interval, I see
+      no choice for Miss Carmina but to submit to her guardian; unless&mdash;&rdquo;
+       He looked hard at Mr. Gallilee, before he finished his sentence. &ldquo;Unless,&rdquo;
+       he resumed, &ldquo;you can get over your present feeling about your wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get over it?&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems quite impossible now, I dare say,&rdquo; the worthy lawyer admitted.
+      &ldquo;A very painful impression has been produced on you. Naturally! naturally!
+      But the force of habit&mdash;a married life of many years&mdash;your own
+      kind feeling&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; asked Mr. Gallilee, bewildered, impatient, almost
+      angry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A little persuasion on your part, my good friend&mdash;at the interesting
+      moment of reconciliation&mdash;might be followed by excellent results.
+      Mrs. Gallilee might not object to waive her claims, until time has
+      softened existing asperities. Surely, a compromise is possible, if you
+      could only prevail on yourself to forgive your wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forgive her? I should be only too glad to forgive her!&rdquo; cried Mr.
+      Gallilee, bursting into violent agitation. &ldquo;How am I to do it? Good God!
+      Mool, how am I to do it? <i>You</i> didn&rsquo;t hear those infamous words. <i>You</i>
+      didn&rsquo;t see that dreadful death-struck look of the poor girl. I declare to
+      you I turn cold when I think of my wife! I can&rsquo;t go to her when I ought to
+      go&mdash;I send the servants into her room. My children, too&mdash;my dear
+      good children&mdash;it&rsquo;s enough to break one&rsquo;s heart&mdash;think of their
+      being brought up by a mother who could say what she said, and do&mdash;What
+      will they see, I ask you what will they see, if she gets Carmina back in
+      the house, and treats that sweet young creature as she <i>will</i> treat
+      her? There were times last night, when I thought of going away for ever&mdash;Lord
+      knows where&mdash;and taking the girls with me. What am I talking about? I
+      had something to say, and I don&rsquo;t know what it is; I don&rsquo;t know my own
+      self! There, there; I&rsquo;ll keep quiet. It&rsquo;s my poor stupid head, I suppose&mdash;hot,
+      Mool, burning hot. Let&rsquo;s be reasonable. Yes, yes, yes; let&rsquo;s be
+      reasonable. You&rsquo;re a lawyer. I said to myself, when I came here, &lsquo;I want
+      Mool&rsquo;s advice.&rsquo; Be a dear good fellow&mdash;set my mind at ease. Oh, my
+      friend, my old friend, what can I do for my children?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Amazed and distressed&mdash;utterly at a loss how to interfere to any good
+      purpose&mdash;Mr. Mool recovered his presence of mind, the moment Mr.
+      Gallilee appealed to him in his legal capacity. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t distress yourself
+      about your children,&rdquo; he said kindly. &ldquo;Thank God, we stand on firm ground,
+      there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean it, Mool?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean it. Where your daughters are concerned, the authority is yours. Be
+      firm, Gallilee! be firm!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will! You set me the example&mdash;don&rsquo;t you? <i>You&rsquo;re</i> firm&mdash;eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Firm as a rock. I agree with you. For the present at least, the children
+      must be removed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At once, Mool!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At once!&rdquo; the lawyer repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had wrought each other up to the right pitch of resolution, by this
+      time. They were almost loud enough for the clerks to hear them in the
+      office.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No matter what my wife may say!&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee stipulated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No matter what she may say,&rdquo; Mr. Mool rejoined, &ldquo;the father is master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And <i>you</i> know the law.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I know the law. You have only to assert yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And <i>you</i> have only to back me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For your children&rsquo;s sake, Gallilee!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Under my lawyer&rsquo;s advice, Mool!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The one resolute Man was produced at last&mdash;without a flaw in him
+      anywhere. They were both exhausted by the effort. Mr. Mool suggested a
+      glass of wine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee ventured on a hint. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t happen to have a drop of
+      champagne handy?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The lawyer rang for his housekeeper. In five minutes, they were pledging
+      each other in foaming tumblers. In five minutes more, they plunged back
+      into business. The question of the best place to which the children could
+      be removed, was easily settled. Mr. Mool offered his own house;
+      acknowledging modestly that it had perhaps one drawback&mdash;it was
+      within easy reach of Mrs. Gallilee. The statement of this objection
+      stimulated his friend&rsquo;s memory. Lady Northlake was in Scotland. Lady
+      Northlake had invited Maria and Zo, over and over again, to pass the
+      autumn with their cousins; but Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s jealousy had always
+      contrived to find some plausible reason for refusal. &ldquo;Write at once,&rdquo; Mr.
+      Mool advised. &ldquo;You may do it in two lines. Your wife is ill; Miss Carmina
+      is ill; you are not able to leave London&mdash;and the children are pining
+      for fresh air.&rdquo; In this sense, Mr. Gallilee wrote. He insisted on having
+      the letter sent to the post immediately. &ldquo;I know it&rsquo;s long before
+      post-time,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;But I want to compose my mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lawyer paused, with his glass of wine at his lips. &ldquo;I say! You&rsquo;re not
+      hesitating already?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No more than you are,&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will really send the girls away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The girls shall go, on the day when Lady Northlake invites them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make a note of that,&rdquo; said Mr. Mool.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He made the note; and they rose to say good-bye. Faithful Mr. Gallilee
+      still thought of Carmina. &ldquo;Do consider it again!&rdquo; he said at parting. &ldquo;Are
+      you sure the law won&rsquo;t help her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I might look at her father&rsquo;s Will,&rdquo; Mr. Mool replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee saw the hopeful side of this suggestion, in the brightest
+      colours. &ldquo;Why didn&rsquo;t you think of it before?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool gently remonstrated. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t forget how many things I have on my
+      mind,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It only occurs to me now that the Will may give us a
+      remedy&mdash;if there is any <i>open</i> opposition to the ward&rsquo;s marriage
+      engagement, on the guardian&rsquo;s part.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There he stopped; knowing Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s methods of opposition too well
+      to reckon hopefully on such a result as this. But he was a merciful man&mdash;and
+      he kept his misgivings to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the way home, Mr. Gallilee encountered his wife&rsquo;s maid. Marceline was
+      dropping a letter into the pillar-post-box at the corner of the Square;
+      she changed colour, on seeing her master. &ldquo;Corresponding with her
+      sweetheart,&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee concluded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Entering the house with an unfinished cigar in his mouth, he made straight
+      for the smoking-room&mdash;and passed his youngest daughter, below him,
+      waiting out of sight on the kitchen stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you done it?&rdquo; Zo whispered, when Marceline returned by the servants&rsquo; 
+      entrance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s safe in the post, dear. Now tell me what you saw yesterday, when you
+      were hidden in Miss Carmina&rsquo;s bedroom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The tone in which she spoke implied a confidential agreement. With
+      honourable promptitude Zo, perched on her friend&rsquo;s knee, exerted her
+      memory, and rewarded Marceline for posting her letter to Ovid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLIX.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It was past the middle of the day, before Mr. Le Frank paid his promised
+      visit to Mrs. Gallilee. He entered the room with gloomy looks; and made
+      his polite inquiries, as became a depressed musician, in the minor key.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry, madam, to find you still on the sofa. Is there no improvement
+      in your health?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;None whatever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does your medical attendant give you any hope?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He does what they all do&mdash;he preaches patience. No more of myself!
+      You appear to be in depressed spirits.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank admitted with a sigh that appearances had not misrepresented
+      him. &ldquo;I have been bitterly disappointed,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;My feelings as an
+      artist are wounded to the quick. But why do I trouble you with my poor
+      little personal affairs? I humbly beg your pardon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His eyes accompanied this modest apology with a look of uneasy
+      anticipation: he evidently expected to be asked to explain himself. Events
+      had followed her instructions to Mr. Null, which left Mrs. Gallilee in
+      need of employing her music-master&rsquo;s services. She felt the necessity of
+      exerting herself; and did it&mdash;with an effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have no reason, I hope, to complain of your pupils?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At this time of year, madam, I have no pupils. They are all out of town.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was too deeply preoccupied by her own affairs to trouble herself any
+      further. The direct way was the easy way. She said wearily, &ldquo;Well, what is
+      it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He answered in plain terms, this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A bitter humiliation, Mrs. Gallilee! I have been made to regret that I
+      asked you to honour me by accepting the dedication of my Song. The
+      music-sellers, on whom the sale depends, have not taken a tenth part of
+      the number of copies for which we expected them to subscribe. Has some
+      extraordinary change come over the public taste? My composition has been
+      carefully based on fashionable principles&mdash;that is to say, on the
+      principles of the modern German school. As little tune as possible; and
+      that little strictly confined to the accompaniment. And what is the
+      result? Loss confronts me, instead of profit&mdash;my agreement makes me
+      liable for half the expenses of publication. And, what is far more serious
+      in my estimation, your honoured name is associated with a failure! Don&rsquo;t
+      notice me&mdash;the artist nature&mdash;I shall be better in a minute.&rdquo; He
+      took out a profusely-scented handkerchief, and buried his face in it with
+      a groan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s hard common sense understood the heart-broken composer to
+      perfection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stupid of me not to have offered him money yesterday,&rdquo; she thought: &ldquo;this
+      waste of time need never have happened.&rdquo; She set her mistake right with
+      admirable brevity and directness. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t distress yourself, Mr. Le Frank.
+      Now my name is on it, the Song is mine. If your publisher&rsquo;s account is not
+      satisfactory&mdash;be so good as to send it to <i>me.&rdquo;</i> Mr. Le Frank
+      dropped his dry handkerchief, and sprang theatrically to his feet. His
+      indulgent patroness refused to hear him: to this admirable woman, the
+      dignity of Art was a sacred thing. &ldquo;Not a word more on that subject,&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;Tell me how you prospered last night. Your investigations cannot
+      have been interrupted, or I should have heard of it. Come to the result!
+      Have you found anything of importance in my niece&rsquo;s room?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank had again been baffled, so far as the confirmation of his own
+      suspicions was concerned. But the time was not favourable to a confession
+      of personal disappointment. He understood the situation; and made himself
+      the hero of it, in three words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Judge for yourself,&rdquo; he said&mdash;and held out the letter of warning
+      from Father Patrizio.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In silence, Mrs. Gallilee read the words which declared her to be the
+      object of Teresa&rsquo;s inveterate resentment, and which charged Carmina with
+      the serious duty of keeping the peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does it alarm you?&rdquo; Mr. Le Frank asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hardly know what I feel,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Give me time to think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank went back to his chair. He had reason to congratulate himself
+      already: he had shifted to other shoulders the pecuniary responsibility
+      involved in the failure of his Song. Observing Mrs. Gallilee, he began to
+      see possibilities of a brighter prospect still. Thus far she had kept him
+      at a certain distance. Was the change of mind coming, which would admit
+      him to the position (with all its solid advantages) of a confidential
+      friend?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She suddenly took up Father Patrizio&rsquo;s letter, and showed it to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What impression does it produce on you,&rdquo; she asked, &ldquo;knowing no more than
+      you know now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The priest&rsquo;s cautious language, madam, speaks for itself. You have an
+      enemy who will stick at nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She still hesitated to trust him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see me here,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;confined to my room; likely, perhaps, to
+      be in this helpless condition for some time to come. How would you protect
+      yourself against that woman, in my place?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For what purpose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you will allow me to use the language of the card-table, I should wait
+      till the woman shows her hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She <i>has</i> shown it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I ask when?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank said no more. If he was really wanted, Mrs. Gallilee had only
+      to speak. After a last moment of hesitation, the pitiless necessities of
+      her position decided her once more. &ldquo;You see me too ill to move,&rdquo; she
+      said; &ldquo;the first thing to do, is to tell you why.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She related the plain facts; without a word of comment, without a sign of
+      emotion. But her husband&rsquo;s horror of her had left an impression, which
+      neither pride nor contempt had been strong enough to resist. She allowed
+      the music-master to infer, that contending claims to authority over
+      Carmina had led to a quarrel which provoked the assault. The secret of the
+      words that she had spoken, was the one secret that she kept from Mr. Le
+      Frank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;While I was insensible,&rdquo; she proceeded, &ldquo;my niece was taken away from me.
+      She has been suffering from nervous illness; she was naturally terrified&mdash;and
+      she is now at the nurse&rsquo;s lodgings, too ill to be moved. There you have
+      the state of affairs, up to last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some people might think,&rdquo; Mr. Le Frank remarked, &ldquo;that the easiest way
+      out of it, so far, would be to summon the nurse for the assault.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The easiest way compels me to face a public exposure,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee
+      answered. &ldquo;In my position that is impossible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank accepted this view of the case as a matter of course. &ldquo;Under
+      the circumstances,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s not easy to advise you. How can you
+      make the woman submit to your authority, while you are lying here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My lawyers have made her submit this morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the extremity of his surprise, Mr. Le Frank forgot himself. &ldquo;The devil
+      they have!&rdquo; he exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They have forbidden her, in my name,&rdquo; Mrs. Gallilee continued, &ldquo;to act as
+      nurse to my niece. They have informed her that Miss Carmina will be
+      restored to my care, the moment she can be moved. And they have sent me
+      her unconditional submission in writing, signed by herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She took it from the desk at her side, and read it to him, in these words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I humbly ask pardon of Mrs. Gallilee for the violent and unlawful acts of
+      which I have been guilty. I acknowledge, and submit to, her authority as
+      guardian of Miss Carmina Graywell. And I appeal to her mercy (which I own
+      I have not deserved) to spare me the misery of separation from Miss
+      Carmina, on any conditions which it may be her good will and pleasure to
+      impose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; Mrs. Galilee concluded, &ldquo;what do you say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Speaking sincerely for once, Mr. Le Frank made a startling reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Submit on your side,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Do what she asks of you. And when you are
+      well enough to go to her lodgings, decline with thanks if she offers you
+      anything to eat or drink.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee raised herself on the sofa. &ldquo;Are you insulting me, sir,&rdquo; she
+      asked, &ldquo;by making this serious emergency the subject of a joke?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never was more in earnest, madam, in my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think&mdash;you really think&mdash;that she is capable of trying to
+      poison me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Most assuredly I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee sank back on the pillow. Mr. Le Frank stated his reasons;
+      checking them off, one by one, on his fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is she?&rdquo; he began. &ldquo;She is an Italian woman of the lower orders. The
+      virtues of the people among whom she had been born and bred, are not
+      generally considered to include respect for the sanctity of human life.
+      What do we know already that she has done? She has alarmed the priest, who
+      keeps her conscience, and knows her well; and she has attacked you with
+      such murderous ferocity that it is a wonder you have escaped with your
+      life. What sort of message have you sent to her, after this experience of
+      her temper? You have told the tigress that you have the power to separate
+      her from her cub, and that you mean to use it. On those plain facts, as
+      they stare us in the face, which is the soundest conclusion? To believe
+      that she really submits&mdash;or to believe that she is only gaining time,
+      and is capable (if she sees no other alternative) of trying to poison
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you advise me to do?&rdquo; In those words Mrs. Gallilee&mdash;never
+      before reduced to ask advice of anybody&mdash;owned that sound reasoning
+      was not thrown away on her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank answered the demand made on him without hesitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The nurse has not signed that act of submission,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;without
+      having her own private reasons for appearing to give way. Rely on it, she
+      is prepared for you&mdash;and there is at least a chance that some proof
+      of it may be found. Have all her movements privately watched&mdash;and
+      search the room she lives in, as I searched Miss Carmina&rsquo;s room last
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said Mrs. Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; Mr. Le Frank repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She angrily gave way. &ldquo;Say at once that you are the man to do it for me!&rdquo;
+       she answered. &ldquo;And say next&mdash;if you can&mdash;how it is to be done.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s manner softened to an air of gentle gallantry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray compose yourself!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I am so glad to be of service to you,
+      and it is so easily done!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Easily?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear madam, quite easily. Isn&rsquo;t the house a lodging-house; and, at this
+      time of year, have I anything to do?&rdquo; He rose, and took his hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely, you see me in my new character now? A single gentleman wants a
+      bedroom. His habits are quiet, and he gives excellent references. The
+      address, Mrs. Gallilee&mdash;may I trouble you for the address?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0050" id="link2HCH0050">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER L.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Towards seven o&rsquo;clock on the evening of Thursday, Carmina recognised
+      Teresa for the first time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her half-closed eyes opened, as if from a long sleep: they rested on the
+      old nurse without any appearance of surprise. &ldquo;I am so glad to see you, my
+      dear,&rdquo; she said faintly. &ldquo;Are you very tired after you journey?&rdquo; None of
+      the inquiries which might have been anticipated followed those first
+      words. Not the slightest allusion to Mrs. Gallilee escaped her; she
+      expressed no anxiety about Miss Minerva; no sign of uneasiness at finding
+      herself in a. strange room, disturbed her quiet face. Contentedly
+      reposing, she looked at Teresa from time to time and said, &ldquo;You will stay
+      with me, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; Now and then, she confessed that her head felt dull
+      and heavy, and asked Teresa to take her hand. &ldquo;I feel as if I was sinking
+      away from you,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;keep hold of my hand and I shan&rsquo;t be afraid to
+      go to sleep.&rdquo; The words were hardly spoken, before she sank into slumber.
+      Occasionally, Teresa felt her hand tremble and kissed it. She seemed to be
+      conscious of the kiss, without waking&mdash;she smiled in her sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But, when the first hours of the morning came, this state of passive
+      repose was disturbed. A violent attack of sickness came on. It was
+      repeated again and again. Teresa sent for Mr. Null. He did what he could
+      to relieve the new symptom; and he despatched a messenger to his
+      illustrious colleague.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia lost no time in answering personally the appeal that had been
+      made to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null said, &ldquo;Serious derangement of the stomach, sir.&rdquo; Benjulia agreed
+      with him. Mr. Null showed his prescription. Benjulia sanctioned the
+      prescription. Mr. Null said, &ldquo;Is there anything you wish to suggest, sir?&rdquo;
+       Benjulia had nothing to suggest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited, nevertheless, until Carmina was able to speak to him. Teresa
+      and Mr. Null wondered what he would say to her. He only said, &ldquo;Do you
+      remember when you last saw me?&rdquo; After a little consideration, she
+      answered, &ldquo;Yes, Zo was with us; Zo brought in your big stick; and we
+      talked&mdash;&rdquo; She tried to rouse her memory. &ldquo;What did we talk about?&rdquo;
+       she asked. A momentary agitation brought a flush to her face. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t
+      remember it,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t remember when you went away: does it
+      matter?&rdquo; Benjulia replied, &ldquo;Not the least in the world. Go to sleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But he still remained in the room&mdash;watching her as she grew drowsy.
+      &ldquo;Great weakness,&rdquo; Mr. Null whispered. And Benjulia answered, &ldquo;Yes; I&rsquo;ll
+      call again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On his way out, he took Teresa aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No more questions,&rdquo; he said&mdash;&ldquo;and don&rsquo;t help her memory if she asks
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will she remember, when she gets better?&rdquo; Teresa inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Impossible to say, yet. Wait and see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He left her in a hurry; his experiments were waiting for him. On the way
+      home, his mind dwelt on Carmina&rsquo;s case. Some hidden process was at work
+      there: give it time&mdash;and it would show itself. &ldquo;I hope that ass won&rsquo;t
+      want me,&rdquo; he said, thinking of his medical colleague, &ldquo;for at least a week
+      to come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The week passed&mdash;and the physiologist was not disturbed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During that interval, Mr. Null succeeded in partially overcoming the
+      attacks of sickness: they were less violent, and they were succeeded by
+      longer intervals of repose. In other respects, there seemed (as Teresa
+      persisted in thinking) to be some little promise of improvement. A certain
+      mental advance was unquestionably noticeable in Carmina. It first showed
+      itself in an interesting way: she began to speak of Ovid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her great anxiety was, that he should know nothing of her illness. She
+      forbade Teresa to write to him; she sent messages to Mr. and Mrs.
+      Gallilee, and even to Mr. Mool, entreating them to preserve silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The nurse engaged to deliver the messages&mdash;and failed to keep her
+      word. This breach of promise (as events had ordered it) proved to be
+      harmless. Mrs. Gallilee had good reasons for not writing. Her husband and
+      Mr. Mool had decided on sending their telegram to the bankers. As for
+      Teresa herself, she had no desire to communicate with Ovid. His absence
+      remained inexcusable, from her point of view. Well or ill, with or without
+      reason, it was the nurse&rsquo;s opinion that he ought to have remained at home,
+      in Carmina&rsquo;s interests. No other persons were in the least likely to write
+      to Ovid&mdash;nobody thought of Zo as a correspondent&mdash;Carmina was
+      pacified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once or twice, at this later time, the languid efforts of her memory took
+      a wider range.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She wondered why Mrs. Gallilee never came near her; owning that her aunt&rsquo;s
+      absence was a relief to her, but not feeling interest enough in the
+      subject to ask for information. She also mentioned Miss Minerva. &ldquo;Do you
+      know where she has gone? Don&rsquo;t you think she ought to write to me?&rdquo; Teresa
+      offered to make inquiries. She turned her head wearily on the pillow, and
+      said, &ldquo;Never mind!&rdquo; On another occasion, she asked for Zo, and said it
+      would be pleasant if Mr. Gallilee would call and bring her with him. But
+      she soon dropped the subject, not to return to it again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The only remembrance which seemed to dwell on her mind for more than a few
+      minutes, was her remembrance of the last letter which she had written to
+      Ovid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She pleased herself with imagining his surprise, when he received it; she
+      grew impatient under her continued illness, because it delayed her in
+      escaping to Canada; she talked to Teresa of the clever manner in which the
+      flight had been planned&mdash;with this strange failure of memory, that
+      she attributed the various arrangements for setting discovery at defiance,
+      not to Miss Minerva, but to the nurse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here, for the first time, her mind was approaching dangerous ground. The
+      stealing of the letter, and the events that had followed it, stood next in
+      the order of remembrance&mdash;if she was capable of a continued effort.
+      Her weakness saved her. Beyond the writing of the letter, her
+      recollections were unable to advance. Not the faintest allusion to any
+      later circumstances escaped her. The poor stricken brain still sought its
+      rest in frequent intervals of sleep. Sometimes, she drifted back into
+      partial unconsciousness; sometimes, the attacks of sickness returned. Mr.
+      Null set an excellent example of patience and resignation. He believed as
+      devoutly as ever in his prescriptions; he placed the greatest reliance on
+      time and care. The derangement of the stomach (as he called it) presented
+      something positive and tangible to treat: he had got over the doubts and
+      anxieties that troubled him, when Carmina was first removed to the
+      lodgings. Looking confidently at the surface&mdash;without an idea of what
+      was going on below it&mdash;he could tell Teresa, with a safe conscience,
+      that he understood the case. He was always ready to comfort her, when her
+      excitable Italian nature passed from the extreme of hope to the extreme of
+      despair. &ldquo;My good woman, we see our way now: it&rsquo;s a great point gained, I
+      assure you, to see our way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean by seeing your way?&rdquo; said the downright nurse. &ldquo;Tell me
+      when Carmina will be well again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null&rsquo;s medical knowledge was not yet equal to this demand on it. &ldquo;The
+      progress is slow,&rdquo; he admitted, &ldquo;still Miss Carmina is getting on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is her aunt getting on?&rdquo; Teresa asked abruptly. &ldquo;When is Mistress
+      Gallilee likely to come here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In a few days&mdash;&rdquo; Mr. Null was about to add &ldquo;I hope;&rdquo; but he thought
+      of what might happen when the two women met. As it was, Teresa&rsquo;s face
+      showed signs of serious disturbance: her mind was plainly not prepared for
+      this speedy prospect of a visit from Mrs. Gallilee. She took a letter out
+      of her pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I find a good deal of sly prudence in you,&rdquo; she said to Mr. Null. &ldquo;You
+      must have seen something, in your time, of the ways of deceitful
+      Englishwomen. What does that palaver mean in plain words?&rdquo; She handed the
+      letter to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With some reluctance he read it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Gallilee declines to contract any engagement with the person
+      formerly employed as nurse, in the household of the late Mr. Robert
+      Graywell. Mrs. Gallilee so far recognises the apology and submission
+      offered to her, as to abstain from taking immediate proceedings. In
+      arriving at this decision, she is also influenced by the necessity of
+      sparing her niece any agitation which might interfere with the medical
+      treatment. When the circumstances appear to require it, she will not
+      hesitate to exert her authority.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The handwriting told Mr. Null that this manifesto had not been written by
+      Mrs. Gallilee herself. The person who had succeeded him, in the capacity
+      of that lady&rsquo;s amanuensis, had been evidently capable of giving sound
+      advice. Little did he suspect that this mysterious secretary was identical
+      with an enterprising pianist, who had once prevailed on him to take a seat
+      at a concert; price five shillings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said Teresa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The nurse stamped impatiently on the floor. &ldquo;Tell me this! When she does
+      come here, will she part me from Carmina? Is that what she means?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Possibly,&rdquo; said prudent Mr. Null.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa pointed to the door. &ldquo;Good-morning! I want nothing more of you. Oh,
+      man, man, leave me by myself!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The moment she was alone, she fell on her knees. Fiercely whispering, she
+      repeated over and over again the words of the Lord&rsquo;s Prayer: &ldquo;&lsquo;Lead us not
+      into temptation, but deliver us from evil.&rsquo; Christ, hear me! Mother of
+      Christ, hear me! Oh, Carmina! Carmina!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She rose and opened the door which communicated with the bedroom.
+      Trembling pitiably, she looked for a while at Carmina, peacefully asleep&mdash;then
+      turned away to a corner of the room, in which stood an old packing-case,
+      fitted with a lock. She took it up; and, returning with it to the
+      sitting-room, softly closed the bedroom door again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After some hesitation, she decided to open the case. In the terror and
+      confusion that possessed her, she tried the wrong key. Setting this
+      mistake right, she disclosed&mdash;strangely mingled with the lighter
+      articles of her own dress&mdash;a heap of papers; some of them letters and
+      bills; some of them faded instructions in writing for the preparation of
+      artists&rsquo; colours.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She recoiled from the objects which her own act had disclosed. Why had she
+      not taken Father Patrizio&rsquo;s advice? If she had only waited another day; if
+      she had only sorted her husband&rsquo;s papers, before she threw the things that
+      her trunk was too full to hold into that half-empty case, what torment
+      might have been spared to her! Her eyes turned mournfully to the bedroom
+      door. &ldquo;Oh, my darling, I was in such a hurry to get to You!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At last, she controlled herself, and put her hand into the case. Searching
+      it in one corner, she produced a little tin canister. A dirty label was
+      pasted on the canister, bearing this quaint inscription in the Italian
+      language:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If there is any of the powder we employ in making some of our prettiest
+      colours, left in here, I request my good wife, or any other trustworthy
+      person in her place, to put a seal on it, and take it directly to the
+      manufactory, with the late foreman&rsquo;s best respects. It looks like nice
+      sugar. Beware of looks&mdash;or you may taste poison.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the point of opening the canister she hesitated. Under some strange
+      impulse, she did what a child might have done: she shook it, and listened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rustle of the rising and falling powder&mdash;renewing her terror&mdash;seemed
+      to exercise some irresistible fascination over her. &ldquo;The devil&rsquo;s dance,&rdquo;
+       she said to herself, with a ghastly smile. &ldquo;Softly up&mdash;and softly
+      down&mdash;and tempting me to take off the cover all the time! Why don&rsquo;t I
+      get rid of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That question set her thinking of Carmina&rsquo;s guardian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If Mr. Null was right, in a day or two Mrs. Gallilee might come to the
+      house. After the lawyers had threatened Teresa with the prospect of
+      separation from Carmina, she had opened the packing-case, for the first
+      time since she had left Rome&mdash;intending to sort her husband&rsquo;s papers
+      as a means of relief from her own thoughts. In this way, she had
+      discovered the canister. The sight of the deadly powder had tempted her.
+      There were the horrid means of setting Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s authority at
+      defiance! Some women in her place, would use them. Though she was not
+      looking into the canister now, she felt that thought stealing back into
+      her mind. There was but one hope for her: she resolved to get rid of the
+      poison.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that period of the year, there was no fire in the grate. Within the
+      limits of the room, the means of certain destruction were slow to present
+      themselves. Her own morbid horror of the canister made her suspicious of
+      the curiosity of other people, who might see it in her hand if she showed
+      herself on the stairs. But she was determined, if she lit a fire for the
+      purpose, to find the way to her end. The firmness of her resolution
+      expressed itself by locking the case again, without restoring the canister
+      to its hiding-place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Providing herself next with a knife, she sat down in a corner&mdash;between
+      the bedroom door on one side, and a cupboard in an angle of the wall on
+      the other&mdash;and began the work of destruction by scraping off the
+      paper label. The fragments might be burnt, and the powder (if she made a
+      vow to the Virgin to do it) might be thrown into the fire next&mdash;and
+      then the empty canister would be harmless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had made but little progress in the work of scraping, when it occurred
+      to her that the lighting of a fire, on that warm autumn day, might look
+      suspicious if the landlady or Mr. Null happened to come in. It would be
+      safer to wait till night-time, when everybody would be in bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arriving at this conclusion, she mechanically suspended the use of her
+      knife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the moment of silence that followed, she heard someone enter the
+      bedroom by the door which opened on the stairs. Immediately afterwards,
+      the person turned the handle of the second door at her side. She had
+      barely time enough to open the cupboard, and hide the canister in it&mdash;when
+      the landlady came in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa looked at her wildly. The landlady looked at the cupboard: she was
+      proud of her cupboard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Plenty of room there,&rdquo; she said boastfully: &ldquo;not another house in the
+      neighbourhood could offer you such accommodation as that! Yes&mdash;the
+      lock is out of order; I don&rsquo;t deny it. The last lodger&rsquo;s doings! She
+      spoilt my tablecloth, and put the inkstand over it to hide the place.
+      Beast! there&rsquo;s her character in one word. You didn&rsquo;t hear me knock at the
+      bedroom door? I am so glad to see her sleeping nicely, poor dear! Her
+      chicken broth is ready when she wakes. I&rsquo;m late to-day in making my
+      inquiries after our young lady. You see we have been hard at work
+      upstairs, getting the bedroom ready for a new lodger. Such a contrast to
+      the person who has just left. A perfect gentleman, this time&mdash;and so
+      kind in waiting a week till I was able to accommodate him. My ground floor
+      rooms were vacant, as you know&mdash;but he said the terms were too high
+      for him. Oh, I didn&rsquo;t forget to mention that we had an invalid in the
+      house! Quiet habits (I said) are indeed an essential qualification of any
+      new inmate, at such a time as this. He understood. &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve been an invalid
+      myself&rsquo; (he said); &lsquo;and the very reason I am leaving my present lodgings
+      is that they are not quiet enough.&rsquo; Isn&rsquo;t that just the sort of man we
+      want? And, let me tell you, a handsome man too. With a drawback, I must
+      own, in the shape of a bald head. But such a beard, and such a thrilling
+      voice! Hush! Did I hear her calling?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At last, the landlady permitted other sounds to be audible, besides the
+      sound of her own voice. It became possible to discover that Carmina was
+      now awake. Teresa hurried into the bedroom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Left by herself in the sitting-room, the landlady&mdash;&ldquo;purely out of
+      curiosity,&rdquo; as she afterwards said, in conversation with her new lodger&mdash;opened
+      the cupboard, and looked in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The canister stood straight before her, on an upper shelf. Did Miss
+      Carmina&rsquo;s nurse take snuff? She examined the canister: there was a white
+      powder inside. The mutilated label spoke in an unknown tongue. She wetted
+      her finger and tasted the powder. The result was so disagreeable that she
+      was obliged to use her handkerchief. She put the canister back, and closed
+      the cupboard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Medicine, undoubtedly,&rdquo; the landlady said to herself. &ldquo;Why should she
+      hurry to put it away, when I came in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0051" id="link2HCH0051">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LI.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In eight days from the date of his second interview with Mrs. Gallilee,
+      Mr. Le Frank took possession of his new bedroom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had arranged to report his proceedings in writing. In Teresa&rsquo;s state of
+      mind, she would certainly distrust a fellow-lodger, discovered in personal
+      communication with Mrs. Gallilee. Mr. Le Frank employed the first day
+      after his arrival in collecting the materials for a report. In the
+      evening, he wrote to Mrs. Gallilee&mdash;under cover to a friend, who was
+      instructed to forward the letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Private and confidential. Dear Madam,&mdash;I have not wasted my time and
+      my opportunities, as you will presently see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My bedroom is immediately above the floor of the house which is occupied
+      by Miss Carmina and her nurse. Having some little matters of my own to
+      settle, I was late in taking possession of my room. Before the lights on
+      the staircase were put out, I took the liberty of looking down at the next
+      landing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you remember, when you were a child learning to write, that one of the
+      lines in your copy-books was, &lsquo;Virtue is its own reward&rsquo;? This ridiculous
+      assertion was actually verified in my case! Before I had been five minutes
+      at my post, I saw the nurse open her door. She looked up the staircase
+      (without discovering me, it is needless to say), and she looked down the
+      staircase&mdash;and, seeing nobody about, returned to her rooms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Waiting till I heard her lock the door, I stole downstairs, and listened
+      outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One of my two fellow-lodgers (you know that I don&rsquo;t believe in Miss
+      Carmina&rsquo;s illness) was lighting a fire&mdash;on such a warm autumn night,
+      that the staircase window was left open! I am absolutely sure of what I
+      say: I heard the crackle of burning wood&mdash;I smelt coal smoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The motive of this secret proceeding it seems impossible to guess at. If
+      they were burning documents of a dangerous and compromising kind, a candle
+      would have answered their purpose. If they wanted hot water, surely a tin
+      kettle and a spirit lamp must have been at hand in an invalid&rsquo;s bedroom?
+      Perhaps, your superior penetration may be able to read the riddle which
+      baffles my ingenuity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So much for the first night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This afternoon, I had some talk with the landlady. My professional
+      avocations having trained me in the art of making myself agreeable to the
+      sex, I may say without vanity that I produced a favourable impression. In
+      other words, I contrived to set my fair friend talking freely about the
+      old nurse and the interesting invalid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out of the flow of words poured on me, one fact of very serious
+      importance has risen to the surface. There is a suspicious canister in the
+      nurse&rsquo;s possession. The landlady calls the powder inside, medicine. I say,
+      poison.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I rushing at a fanciful conclusion? Please wait a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;During the week of delay which elapsed, before the lodger in possession
+      vacated my room, you kindly admitted me to an interview. I ventured to put
+      some questions, relating to Teresa&rsquo;s life in Italy and to the persons with
+      whom she associated. Do you remember telling me, when I asked what you
+      knew of her husband, that he was foreman in a manufactory of artists&rsquo; 
+      colours? and that you had your information from Miss Carmina herself,
+      after she had shown you the telegram announcing his death?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A lady, possessed of your scientific knowledge, does not require to be
+      told that poisons are employed in making artists&rsquo; colours. Remember what
+      the priest&rsquo;s letter says of Teresa&rsquo;s feeling towards you, and then say&mdash;Is
+      it so very unlikely that she has brought with her to England one of the
+      poisons used by her husband in his trade? and is it quite unreasonable to
+      suppose (when she looks at her canister) that she may be thinking of you?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I may be right or I may be wrong. Thanks to the dilapidated condition of
+      a lock, I can decide the question, at the first opportunity offered to me
+      by the nurse&rsquo;s absence from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My next report shall tell you that I have contrived to provide myself
+      with a sample of the powder&mdash;leaving the canister undisturbed. The
+      sample shall be tested by a chemist. If he pronounces it to be poison, I
+      have a bold course of action to propose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As soon as you are well enough to go to the house, give the nurse her
+      chance of poisoning you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear madam, don&rsquo;t be alarmed! I will accompany you; and I will answer for
+      the result. We will pay our visit at tea-time. Let her offer you a cup&mdash;and
+      let me (under pretence of handing it) get possession of the poisoned
+      drink. Before she can cry Stop!&mdash;I shall be on my way to the chemist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The penalty for attempted murder is penal servitude. If you still object
+      to a public exposure, we have the chemist&rsquo;s report, together with your own
+      evidence, ready for your son on his return. How will he feel about his
+      marriage-engagement, when he finds that Miss Carmina&rsquo;s dearest friend and
+      companion has tried&mdash;<i>perhaps, with her young lady&rsquo;s knowledge</i>&mdash;to
+      poison his mother?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Before concluding, I may mention that I had a narrow escape, only two
+      hours since, of being seen by Teresa on the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was of course prepared for this sort of meeting, when I engaged my
+      room; and I have therefore not been foolish enough to enter the house
+      under an assumed name. On the contrary, I propose (in your interests) to
+      establish a neighbourly acquaintance&mdash;with time to help me. But the
+      matter of the poison admits of no delay. My chance of getting at it
+      unobserved may be seriously compromised, if the nurse remembers that she
+      first met with me in your house, and distrusts me accordingly. Your
+      devoted servant, L. F.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Having completed his letter, he rang for the maid, and gave it to her to
+      post.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On her way downstairs, she was stopped on the next landing by Mr. Null. He
+      too had a letter ready: addressed to Doctor Benjulia. The fierce old nurse
+      followed him out, and said, &ldquo;Post it instantly!&rdquo; The civil maid asked if
+      Miss Carmina was better. &ldquo;Worse!&rdquo;&mdash;was all the rude foreigner said.
+      She looked at poor Mr. Null, as if it was his fault.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Left in the retirement of his room, Mr. Le Frank sat at the writing-table,
+      frowning and biting his nails.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Were these evidences of a troubled mind connected with the infamous
+      proposal which he had addressed to Mrs. Gallilee? Nothing of the sort!
+      Having sent away his letter, he was now at leisure to let his personal
+      anxieties absorb him without restraint. He was thinking of Carmina. The
+      oftener his efforts were baffled, the more resolute he became to discover
+      the secret of her behaviour to him. For the hundredth time he said to
+      himself, &ldquo;Her devilish malice reviles me behind my back, and asks me
+      before my face to shake hands and be friends.&rdquo; The more outrageously
+      unreasonable his suspicions became, under the exasperating influence of
+      suspense, the more inveterately his vindictive nature held to its
+      delusion. After meeting her in the hall at Fairfield Gardens, he really
+      believed Carmina&rsquo;s illness to have been assumed as a means of keeping out
+      of his way. If a friend had said to him, &ldquo;But what reason have you to
+      think so?&rdquo;&mdash;he would have smiled compassionately, and have given that
+      friend up for a shallow-minded man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stole out again, and listened, undetected, at their door. Carmina was
+      speaking; but the words, in those faint tones, were inaudible. Teresa&rsquo;s
+      stronger voice easily reached his ears. &ldquo;My darling, talking is not good
+      for you. I&rsquo;ll light the night-lamp&mdash;try to sleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hearing this, he went back to his bedroom to wait a little. Teresa&rsquo;s
+      vigilance might relax if Carmina fell asleep. She might go downstairs for
+      a gossip with the landlady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After smoking a cigar, he tried again. The lights on the staircase were
+      now put out: it was eleven o&rsquo;clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was not asleep: the nurse was reading to her from some devotional
+      book. He gave it up, for that night. His head ached; the ferment of his
+      own abominable thoughts had fevered him. A cowardly dread of the slightest
+      signs of illness was one of his special weaknesses. The whole day,
+      to-morrow, was before him. He felt his own pulse; and determined, in
+      justice to himself, to go to bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten minutes later, the landlady, on her way to bed, ascended the stairs.
+      She too heard the voice, still reading aloud&mdash;and tapped softly at
+      the door. Teresa opened it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is the poor thing not asleep yet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has she been disturbed in some way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somebody has been walking about, overhead,&rdquo; Teresa answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the new lodger!&rdquo; exclaimed the landlady. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll speak to Mr. Le
+      Frank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the point of closing the door, and saying good-night, Teresa stopped,
+      and considered for a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he your new lodger?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Do you know him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I saw him when I was last in England.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing more,&rdquo; Teresa answered. &ldquo;Good-night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0052" id="link2HCH0052">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Watching through the night by Carmina&rsquo;s bedside, Teresa found herself
+      thinking of Mr. Le Frank. It was one way of getting through the weary
+      time, to guess at the motive which had led him to become a lodger in the
+      house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Common probabilities pointed to the inference that he might have reasons
+      for changing his residence, which only concerned himself. But common
+      probabilities&mdash;from Teresa&rsquo;s point of view&mdash;did not apply to Mr.
+      Le Frank. On meeting him, at the time of her last visit to England, his
+      personal appearance had produced such a disagreeable impression on her,
+      that she had even told Carmina &ldquo;the music-master looked like a rogue.&rdquo;
+       With her former prejudice against him now revived, and with her serious
+      present reasons for distrusting Mrs. Gallilee, she rejected the idea of
+      his accidental presence under her landlady&rsquo;s roof. To her mind, the
+      business of the new lodger in the house was, in all likelihood, the
+      business of a spy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While Mr. Le Frank was warily laying his plans for the next day, he had
+      himself become an object of suspicion to the very woman whose secrets he
+      was plotting to surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was the longest and saddest night which the faithful old nurse had
+      passed at her darling&rsquo;s bedside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the first time, Carmina was fretful, and hard to please: patient
+      persuasion was needed to induce her to take her medicine. Even when she
+      was thirsty, she had an irritable objection to being disturbed, if the
+      lemonade was offered to her which she had relished at other times. Once or
+      twice, when she drowsily stirred in her bed, she showed symptoms of
+      delusion. The poor girl supposed it was the eve or her wedding-day, and
+      eagerly asked what Teresa had done with her new dress. A little later,
+      when she had perhaps been dreaming, she fancied that her mother was still
+      alive, and repeated the long-forgotten talk of her childhood. &ldquo;What have I
+      said to distress you?&rdquo; she asked wonderingly, when she found Teresa
+      crying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Soon after sunrise, there came a long interval of repose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the later time when Benjulia arrived, she was quiet and uncomplaining.
+      The change for the worse which had induced Teresa to insist on sending for
+      him, was perversely absent. Mr. Null expected to be roughly rebuked for
+      having disturbed the great man by a false alarm. He attempted to explain:
+      and Teresa attempted to explain. Benjulia paid not the slightest attention
+      to either of them. He made no angry remarks&mdash;and he showed, in his
+      own impenetrable way, as gratifying an interest in the case as ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Draw up the blind,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I want to have a good look at her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null waited respectfully, and imposed strict silence on Teresa, while
+      the investigation was going on. It lasted so long that he ventured to say,
+      &ldquo;Do you see anything particular, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia saw his doubts cleared up: time (as he had anticipated) had
+      brought development with it, and had enabled him to arrive at a
+      conclusion. The shock that had struck Carmina had produced complicated
+      hysterical disturbance, which was now beginning to simulate paralysis.
+      Benjulia&rsquo;s profound and practised observation detected a trifling
+      inequality in the size of the pupils of the eyes, and a slightly unequal
+      action on either side of the face&mdash;delicately presented in the
+      eyelids, the nostrils, and the lips. Here was no common affection of the
+      brain, which even Mr. Null could understand! Here, at last, was Benjulia&rsquo;s
+      reward for sacrificing the precious hours which might otherwise have been
+      employed in the laboratory! From that day, Carmina was destined to receive
+      unknown honour: she was to take her place, along with the other animals,
+      in his note-book of experiments.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned quietly to Mr. Null, and finished the consultation in two words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you nothing to suggest, sir?&rdquo; Mr. Null inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on with the treatment&mdash;and draw down the blind, if she complains
+      of the light. Good-day!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you sure he&rsquo;s a great doctor?&rdquo; said Teresa, when the door had closed
+      on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The greatest we have!&rdquo; cried Mr. Null with enthusiasm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he a good man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you ask?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to know if we can trust him to tell us the truth?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a doubt of it!&rdquo; (Who could doubt it, indeed, after he had approved of
+      Mr. Null&rsquo;s medical treatment?)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s one thing you have forgotten,&rdquo; Teresa persisted. &ldquo;You haven&rsquo;t
+      asked him when Carmina can be moved.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My good woman, if I had put such a question, he would have set me down as
+      a fool! Nobody can say when she will be well enough to be moved.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took his hat. The nurse followed him out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you going to Mrs. Gallilee, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is she better?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is almost well again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0053" id="link2HCH0053">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Left alone, Teresa went into the sitting-room: she was afraid to show
+      herself at the bedside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null had destroyed the one hope which had supported her thus far&mdash;the
+      hope of escaping from England with Carmina, before Mrs. Gallilee could
+      interfere. Looking steadfastly at that inspiriting prospect, she had
+      forced herself to sign the humble apology and submission which the lawyers
+      had dictated. What was the prospect now? Heavily had the merciless hand of
+      calamity fallen on that brave old soul&mdash;and, at last, it had beaten
+      her down! While she stood at the window, mechanically looking out, the
+      dreary view of the back street trembled and disappeared. Teresa was
+      crying. Happily for herself, she was unable to control her own weakness;
+      the tears lightened her heavy heart. She waited a little, in the fear that
+      her eyes might betray her, before she returned to Carmina. In that
+      interval, she heard the sound of a closing door, on the floor above.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The music-master!&rdquo; she said to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an instant, she was at the sitting-room door, looking through the
+      keyhole. It was the one safe way of watching him&mdash;and that was enough
+      for Teresa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His figure appeared suddenly within her narrow range of view&mdash;on the
+      mat outside the door. If her distrust of him was without foundation, he
+      would go on downstairs. No! He stopped on the mat to listen&mdash;he
+      stooped&mdash;his eye would have been at the keyhole in another moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She seized a chair, and moved it. The sound instantly drove him away. He
+      went on, down the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa considered with herself what safest means of protection&mdash;and,
+      if possible, of punishment as well&mdash;lay within her reach. How, and
+      where, could the trap be set that might catch him?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was still puzzled by that question, when the landlady made her
+      appearance&mdash;politely anxious to hear what the doctors thought of
+      their patient. Satisfied so far, the wearisome woman had her apologies to
+      make next, for not having yet cautioned Mr. Le Frank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thinking over it, since last night,&rdquo; she said confidentially, &ldquo;I cannot
+      imagine how you heard him walking overhead. He has such a soft step that
+      he positively takes me by surprise when he comes into my room. He has gone
+      out for an hour; and I have done him a little favour which I am not in the
+      habit of conferring on ordinary lodgers&mdash;I have lent him my umbrella,
+      as it threatens rain. In his absence, I will ask you to listen while I
+      walk about in his room. One can&rsquo;t be too particular, when rest is of such
+      importance to your young lady&mdash;and it has struck me as just possible,
+      that the floor of his room may be in fault. My dear, the boards may creak!
+      I&rsquo;m a sad fidget, I know; but, if the carpenter can set things right&mdash;without
+      any horrid hammering, of course!&mdash;the sooner he is sent for, the more
+      relieved I shall feel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Through this harangue, the nurse had waited, with a patience far from
+      characteristic of her, for an opportunity of saying a timely word. By some
+      tortuous mental process, that she was quite unable to trace, the
+      landlady&rsquo;s allusion to Mr. Le Frank had suggested the very idea of which,
+      in her undisturbed solitude, she had been vainly in search. Never before,
+      had the mistress of the house appeared to Teresa in such a favourable
+      light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t trouble yourself, ma&rsquo;am,&rdquo; she said, as soon as she could make
+      herself heard; &ldquo;it <i>was</i> the creaking of the boards that told me
+      somebody was moving overhead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I&rsquo;m not a fidget after all? Oh, how you relieve me! Whatever the
+      servants may have to do, one of them shall be sent instantly to the
+      carpenter. So glad to be of any service to that sweet young creature!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa consulted her watch before she returned to the bedroom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The improvement in Carmina still continued: she was able to take some of
+      the light nourishment that was waiting for her. As Benjulia had
+      anticipated, she asked to have the blind lowered a little. Teresa drew it
+      completely over the window: she had her own reasons for tempting Carmina
+      to repose. In half an hour more, the weary girl was sleeping, and the
+      nurse was at liberty to set her trap for Mr. Le Frank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her first proceeding was to dip the end of a quill pen into her bottle of
+      salad oil, and to lubricate the lock and key of the door that gave access
+      to the bedroom from the stairs. Having satisfied herself that the key
+      could now be used without making the slightest sound, she turned to the
+      door of communication with the sitting-room next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This door was covered with green baize. It had handles but no lock; and it
+      swung inwards, so as to allow the door of the cupboard (situated in the
+      angle of the sitting-room wall) to open towards the bedroom freely. Teresa
+      oiled the hinges, and the brass bolt and staple which protected the baize
+      door on the side of the bedroom. That done, she looked again at her watch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s absence was expected to last for an hour. In five minutes
+      more, the hour would expire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After bolting the door of communication, she paused in the bedroom, and
+      wafted a kiss to Carmina, still at rest. She left the room by the door
+      which opened on the stairs, and locked it, taking away the key with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having gone down the first flight of stairs, she stopped and went back.
+      The one unsecured door, was the door which led into the sitting-room from
+      the staircase. She opened it and left it invitingly ajar. &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; she said
+      to herself, &ldquo;the trap will catch him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The hall clock struck the hour when she entered the landlady&rsquo;s room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The woman of many words was at once charmed and annoyed. Charmed to hear
+      that the dear invalid was resting, and to receive a visit from the nurse:
+      annoyed by the absence of the carpenter, at work somewhere else for the
+      whole of the day. &ldquo;If my dear husband had been alive, we should have been
+      independent of carpenters; he could turn his hand to anything. Now do sit
+      down&mdash;I want you to taste some cherry brandy of my own making.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As Teresa took a chair, Mr. Le Frank returned. The two secret adversaries
+      met, face to face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely I remember this lady?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa encountered him, on his own ground. She made her best curtsey, and
+      reminded him of the circumstances under which they had formerly met. The
+      hospitable landlady produced her cherry brandy. &ldquo;We are going to have a
+      nice little chat; do sit down, sir, and join us.&rdquo; Mr. Le Frank made his
+      apologies. The umbrella which had been so kindly lent to him, had not
+      protected his shoes; his feet were wet; and he was so sadly liable to take
+      cold that he must beg permission to put on his dry things immediately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having bowed himself out, he stopped in the passage, and, standing on
+      tiptoe, peeped through a window in the wall, by which light was conveyed
+      to the landlady&rsquo;s little room. The two women were comfortably seated
+      together, with the cherry brandy and a plate of biscuits on a table
+      between them. &ldquo;In for a good long gossip,&rdquo; thought Mr. Le Frank. &ldquo;Now is
+      my time!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not five minutes more had passed, before Teresa made an excuse for running
+      upstairs again. She had forgotten to leave the bell rope, in case Carmina
+      woke, within the reach of her hand. The excellent heart of the hostess
+      made allowance for natural anxiety. &ldquo;Do it, you good soul,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;and
+      come back directly!&rdquo; Left by herself, she filled her glass again, and
+      smiled. Sweetness of temper (encouraged by cherry brandy) can even smile
+      at a glass&mdash;unless it happens to be empty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Approaching her own rooms, Teresa waited, and listened, before she showed
+      herself. No sound reached her through the half open sitting-room door. She
+      noiselessly entered the bedroom, and then locked the door again. Once more
+      she listened; and once more there was nothing to be heard. Had he seen her
+      on the stairs?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the doubt crossed her mind, she heard the boards creak on the floor
+      above. Mr. Le Frank was in his room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Did this mean that her well-laid plan had failed? Or did it mean that he
+      was really changing his shoes and stockings? The last inference was the
+      right one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had made no mere excuse downstairs. The serious interests that he had
+      at stake, were not important enough to make him forget his precious
+      health. His chest was delicate; a cold might settle on his lungs. The
+      temptation of the half-open door had its due effect on this prudent man;
+      but it failed to make him forget that his feet were wet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boards creaked again; the door of his room was softly closed&mdash;then
+      there was silence. Teresa only knew when he had entered the sitting-room
+      by hearing him try the bolted baize door. After that, he must have stepped
+      out again. He next tried the door of the bedchamber, from the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a quiet interval once more. Teresa noiselessly drew back the
+      bolt; and, opening the baize door by a mere hair&rsquo;s-breadth, admitted sound
+      from the sitting-room. She now heard him turning the key in a chiffonier,
+      which only contained tradesmen&rsquo;s circulars, receipted bills, and a few
+      books.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      (Even with the canister in the cupboard, waiting to be opened, his
+      uppermost idea was to discover Carmina&rsquo;s vindictive motive in Carmina&rsquo;s
+      papers!)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The contents of the chiffonier disappointed him&mdash;judging by the tone
+      in which he muttered to himself. The next sound startled Teresa; it was a
+      tap against the lintel of the door behind which she was standing. He had
+      thrown open the cupboard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rasping of the cover, as he took it off, told her that he was
+      examining the canister. She had put it back on the shelf, a harmless thing
+      now&mdash;the poison and the label having been both destroyed by fire.
+      Nevertheless, his choosing the canister, from dozens of other things
+      scattered invitingly about it, inspired her with a feeling of distrustful
+      surprise. She was no longer content to find out what he was doing by means
+      of her ears. Determined to see him, and to catch him in the fact, she
+      pulled open the baize door&mdash;at the moment when he must have
+      discovered that the canister was empty. A faint thump told her he had
+      thrown it on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The view of the sitting-room was still hidden from her. She had forgotten
+      the cupboard door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now that it was wide open, it covered the entrance to the bedroom, and
+      completely screened them one from the other. For the moment she was
+      startled, and hesitated whether to show herself or not. His voice stopped
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there another canister?&rdquo; he said to himself. &ldquo;The dirty old savage may
+      have hidden it&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa heard no more. &ldquo;The dirty old savage&rdquo; was an insult not to be
+      endured! She forgot her intention of stealing on him unobserved; she
+      forgot her resolution to do nothing that could awaken Carmina. Her fierce
+      temper urged her into furious action. With both hands outspread, she flew
+      at the cupboard door, and banged it to in an instant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A shriek of agony rang through the house. The swiftly closing door had
+      caught, and crushed, the fingers of Le Frank&rsquo;s right hand, at the moment
+      when he was putting it into the cupboard again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Without stopping to help him, without even looking at him, she ran back to
+      Carmina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The swinging baize door fell to, and closed of itself. No second cry was
+      heard. Nothing happened to falsify her desperate assertion that the shriek
+      was the delusion of a vivid dream. She took Carmina in her arms, and
+      patted and fondled her like a child. &ldquo;See, my darling, I&rsquo;m with you as
+      usual; and I have heard nothing. Don&rsquo;t, oh, don&rsquo;t tremble in that way!
+      There&mdash;I&rsquo;ll wrap you up in my shawl, and read to you. No! let&rsquo;s talk
+      of Ovid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her efforts to compose Carmina were interrupted by a muffled sound of
+      men&rsquo;s footsteps and women&rsquo;s voices in the next room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She hurriedly opened the door, and entreated them to whisper and be quiet.
+      In the instant before she closed it again, she saw and heard. Le Frank lay
+      in a swoon on the floor. The landlady was kneeling by him, looking at his
+      injured hand; and the lodgers were saying, &ldquo;Send him to the hospital.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0054" id="link2HCH0054">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LIV.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On Monday morning, the strain on Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s powers of patient
+      endurance came to an end. With the help of Mr. Null&rsquo;s arm, she was able to
+      get downstairs to the library. On Tuesday, there would be no objection to
+      her going out for a drive. Mr. Null left her, restored to her equable flow
+      of spirits. He had asked if she wished to have somebody to keep her
+      company&mdash;and she had answered briskly, &ldquo;Not on any account! I prefer
+      being alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the morning of Saturday, she had received Mr. Le Frank&rsquo;s letter; but
+      she had not then recovered sufficiently to be able to read it through. She
+      could now take it up again, and get to the end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Other women might have been alarmed by the atrocious wickedness of the
+      conspiracy which the music-master had planned. Mrs. Gallilee was only
+      offended. That he should think her capable&mdash;in her social position&mdash;of
+      favouring such a plot as he had suggested, was an insult which she was
+      determined neither to forgive nor forget. Fortunately, she had not
+      committed herself in writing; he could produce no proof of the relations
+      that had existed between them. The first and best use to make of her
+      recovery would be to dismiss him&mdash;after paying his expenses,
+      privately and prudently, in money instead of by cheque.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the meantime, the man&rsquo;s insolence had left its revolting impression on
+      her mind. The one way to remove it was to find some agreeable occupation
+      for her thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Look at your library table, learned lady, and take the appropriate means
+      of relief that it offers. See the lively modern parasites that infest
+      Science, eager to invite your attention to their little crawling selves.
+      Follow scientific inquiry, rushing into print to proclaim its own
+      importance, and to declare any human being, who ventures to doubt or
+      differ, a fanatic or a fool. Respect the leaders of public opinion,
+      writing notices of professors, who have made discoveries not yet tried by
+      time, not yet universally accepted even by their brethren, in terms which
+      would be exaggerated if they were applied to Newton or to Bacon. Submit to
+      lectures and addresses by dozens which, if they prove nothing else, prove
+      that what was scientific knowledge some years since; is scientific
+      ignorance now&mdash;and that what is scientific knowledge now, may be
+      scientific ignorance in some years more. Absorb your mind in controversies
+      and discussions, in which Mr. Always Right and Mr. Never Wrong exhibit the
+      natural tendency of man to believe in himself, in the most rampant stage
+      of development that the world has yet seen. And when you have done all
+      this, doubt not that you have made a good use of your time. You have
+      discovered what the gentle wisdom of FARADAY saw and deplored, when he
+      warned the science of his day in words which should live for ever: &ldquo;The
+      first and last step in the education of the judgment is&mdash;Humility.&rdquo;
+       Having agreeably occupied her mind with subjects that were worthy of it,
+      Mrs. Gallilee rose to seek a little physical relief by walking up and down
+      the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Passing and repassing the bookcases, she noticed a remote corner devoted
+      to miscellaneous literature. A volume in faded binding of sky-blue, had
+      been placed upside down. She looked at the book before she put it in its
+      right position. The title was &ldquo;Gallery of British Beauty.&rdquo; Among the
+      illustrations&mdash;long since forgotten&mdash;appeared her own portrait,
+      when she was a girl of Carmina&rsquo;s age.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A faintly contemptuous smile parted her hard lips, provoked by the
+      recollections of her youth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What a fool she had been, at that early period of her life! In those days,
+      she had trembled with pleasure at the singing of a famous Italian tenor;
+      she had flown into a passion when a new dress proved to be a misfit, on
+      the evening of a ball; she had given money to beggars in the street; she
+      had fallen in love with a poor young man, and had terrified her
+      weak-minded hysterical mother, by threatening to commit suicide when the
+      beloved object was forbidden the house. Comparing the girl of seventeen
+      with the matured and cultivated woman of later years, what a matchless
+      example Mrs. Gallilee presented of the healthy influence of education,
+      directed to scientific pursuits! &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; she thought, as she put the book
+      back in its place, &ldquo;my girls will have reason to thank me when they grow
+      up; they have had a mother who has done her duty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She took a few more turns up and down the room. The sky had cleared again;
+      a golden gleam of sunlight drew her to the window. The next moment she
+      regretted even this concession to human weakness. A disagreeable
+      association presented itself, and arrested the pleasant flow of her
+      thoughts. Mr. Gallilee appeared on the door-step; leaving the house on
+      foot, and carrying a large brown-paper parcel under his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With servants at his disposal, why was he carrying the parcel himself? The
+      time had been, when Mrs. Gallilee would have tapped at the window, and
+      would have insisted on his instantly returning and answering the question.
+      But his conduct, since the catastrophe in Carmina&rsquo;s room, had produced a
+      complete estrangement between the married pair. All his inquiries after
+      his wife&rsquo;s health had been made by deputy. When he was not in the
+      schoolroom with the children, he was at his club. Until he came to his
+      senses, and made humble apology, no earthly consideration would induce
+      Mrs. Gallilee to take the slightest notice of him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She returned to her reading.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The footman came in, with two letters&mdash;one arriving by post; the
+      other having been dropped into the box by private messenger.
+      Communications of this latter sort proceeded, not unfrequently, from
+      creditors. Mrs. Gallilee opened the stamped letter first.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It contained nothing more important than a few lines from a daily
+      governess, whom she had engaged until a successor to Miss Minerva could be
+      found. In obedience to Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s instructions, the governess would
+      begin her attendance at ten o&rsquo;clock on the next morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The second letter was of a very different kind. It related the disaster
+      which had befallen Mr. Le Frank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null was the writer. As Miss Carmina&rsquo;s medical attendant, it was his
+      duty to inform her guardian that her health had been unfavourably affected
+      by an alarm in the house. Having described the nature of the alarm, he
+      proceeded in these words: &ldquo;You will, I fear, lose the services of your
+      present music-master. Inquiries made this morning at the hospital, and
+      reported to me, appear to suggest serious results. The wounded man&rsquo;s
+      constitution is in an unhealthy state; the surgeons are not sure of being
+      able to save two of the fingers. I will do myself the honour of calling
+      to-morrow before you go out for your drive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The impression produced by this intelligence on the lady to whom it was
+      addressed, can only be reported in her own words. She&mdash;who knew, on
+      the best scientific authority, that the world had created itself&mdash;completely
+      lost her head, and actually said, &ldquo;Thank God!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For weeks to come&mdash;perhaps for months if the surgeons&rsquo; forebodings
+      were fulfilled&mdash;Mrs. Gallilee had got rid of Mr. Le Frank. In that
+      moment of infinite relief, if her husband had presented himself, it is
+      even possible that he might have been forgiven.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it was, Mr. Gallilee returned late in the afternoon; entered his own
+      domain of the smoking-room; and left the house again five minutes
+      afterwards. Joseph officiously opened the door for him; and Joseph was
+      surprised, precisely as his mistress had been surprised. Mr. Gallilee had
+      a large brown paper parcel under his arm&mdash;the second which he had
+      taken out of the house with his own hands! Moreover, he looked excessively
+      confused when the footman discovered him. That night, he was late in
+      returning from the club. Joseph (now on the watch) observed that he was
+      not steady on his legs&mdash;and drew his own conclusions accordingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Punctual to her time, on the next morning, the new governess arrived. Mrs.
+      Gallilee received her, and sent for the children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The maid in charge of them appeared alone. She had no doubt that the young
+      ladies would be back directly. The master had taken them out for a little
+      walk, before they began their lessons. He had been informed that the lady
+      who had been appointed to teach them would arrive at ten o&rsquo;clock. And what
+      had he said? He had said, &ldquo;Very good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The half-hour struck&mdash;eleven o&rsquo;clock struck&mdash;and neither the
+      father nor the children returned. Ten minutes later, someone rang the door
+      bell. The door being duly opened, nobody appeared on the house-step.
+      Joseph looked into the letter-box, and found a note addressed to his
+      mistress, in his master&rsquo;s handwriting. He immediately delivered it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hitherto, Mrs. Gallilee had only been anxious. Joseph, waiting for events
+      outside the door, heard the bell rung furiously; and found his mistress
+      (as he forcibly described it) &ldquo;like a woman gone distracted.&rdquo; Not without
+      reason&mdash;to do her justice. Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s method of relieving his
+      wife&rsquo;s anxiety was remarkable by its brevity. In one sentence, he assured
+      her that there was no need to feel alarmed. In another, he mentioned that
+      he had taken the girls away with him for a change of air. And then he
+      signed his initials&mdash;J. G.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every servant in the house was summoned to the library, when Mrs. Gallilee
+      had in some degree recovered herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One after another they were strictly examined; and one after another they
+      had no evidence to give&mdash;excepting the maid who had been present when
+      the master took the young ladies away. The little she had to tell, pointed
+      to the inference that he had not admitted the girls to his confidence
+      before they left the house. Maria had submitted, without appearing to be
+      particularly pleased at the prospect of so early a walk. Zo (never ready
+      to exert either her intelligence or her legs) had openly declared that she
+      would rather stay at home. To this the master had answered, &ldquo;Get your
+      things on directly!&rdquo;&mdash;and had said it so sharply that Miss Zoe stared
+      at him in astonishment. Had they taken anything with them&mdash;a
+      travelling bag for instance? They had taken nothing, except Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s
+      umbrella. Who had seen Mr. Gallilee last, on the previous night? Joseph
+      had seen him last. The lower classes in England have one, and but one,
+      true feeling of sympathy with the higher classes. The man above them
+      appeals to their hearts, and merits their true service, when he is
+      unsteady on his legs. Joseph nobly confined his evidence to what he had
+      observed some hours previously: he mentioned the parcel. Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s
+      keen perception, quickened by her own experience at the window, arrived at
+      the truth. Those two bulky packages must have contained clothes&mdash;left,
+      in anticipation of the journey, under the care of an accomplice. It was
+      impossible that Mr. Gallilee could have got at the girls&rsquo; dresses and
+      linen, and have made the necessary selections from them, without a woman&rsquo;s
+      assistance. The female servants were examined again. Each one of them
+      positively asserted her innocence. Mrs. Gallilee threatened to send for
+      the police. The indignant women all cried in chorus, &ldquo;Search our boxes!&rdquo;
+       Mrs. Gallilee took a wiser course. She sent to the lawyers who had been
+      recommended to her by Mr. Null. The messenger had just been despatched,
+      when Mr. Null himself, in performance of yesterday&rsquo;s engagement, called at
+      the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He, too, was agitated. It was impossible that he could have heard what had
+      happened. Was he the bearer of bad news? Mrs. Gallilee thought of Carmina
+      first, and then of Mr. Le Frank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Prepare for a surprise,&rdquo; Mr. Null began, &ldquo;a joyful surprise, Mrs.
+      Gallilee! I have received a telegram from your son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He handed it to her as he spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;September 6th. Arrived at Quebec, and received information of Carmina&rsquo;s
+      illness. Shall catch the Boston steamer, and sail to-morrow for Liverpool.
+      Break the news gently to C. For God&rsquo;s sake send telegram to meet me at
+      Queenstown.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was then the 7th of September. If all went well, Ovid might be in
+      London in ten days more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0055" id="link2HCH0055">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LV.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee read the telegram&mdash;paused&mdash;and read it again. She
+      let it drop on her lap; but her eyes still rested mechanically on the slip
+      of paper. When she spoke, her voice startled Mr. Null. Usually loud and
+      hard, her tones were strangely subdued. If his back had been turned
+      towards her, he would hardly have known who was speaking to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must ask you to make allowances for me,&rdquo; she began, abruptly; &ldquo;I hardly
+      know what to say. This surprise comes at a time when I am badly prepared
+      for it. I am getting well; but, you see, I am not quite so strong as I was
+      before that woman attacked me. My husband has gone away&mdash;I don&rsquo;t know
+      where&mdash;and has taken my children with him. Read his note: but don&rsquo;t
+      say anything. You must let me be quiet, or I can&rsquo;t think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She handed the letter to Mr. Null. He looked at her&mdash;read the few
+      words submitted to him&mdash;and looked at her again. For once, his stock
+      of conventional phrases failed him. Who could have anticipated such
+      conduct on the part of her husband? Who could have supposed that she
+      herself would have been affected in this way, by the return of her son?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee drew a long heavy breath. &ldquo;I have got it now,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;My
+      son is coming home in a hurry because of Carmina&rsquo;s illness. Has Carmina
+      written to him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null was in his element again: this question appealed to his knowledge
+      of his patient. &ldquo;Impossible, Mrs. Gallilee&mdash;in her present state of
+      health.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In her present state of health? I forgot that. There was something else.
+      Oh, yes! Has Carmina seen the telegram?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null explained. He had just come from Carmina. In his medical
+      capacity, he had thought it judicious to try the moral effect on his
+      patient of a first allusion to the good news. He had only ventured to say
+      that Mr. Ovid&rsquo;s agents in Canada had heard from him on his travels, and
+      had reason to believe that he would shortly return to Quebec. Upon the
+      whole, the impression produced on the young lady&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was useless to go on. Mrs. Gallilee was pursuing her own thoughts,
+      without even the pretence of listening to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to know who wrote to my son,&rdquo; she persisted. &ldquo;Was it the nurse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null considered this to be in the last degree unlikely. The nurse&rsquo;s
+      language showed a hostile feeling towards Mr. Ovid, in consequence of his
+      absence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee looked once more at the telegram. &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; she asked, &ldquo;does
+      Ovid telegraph to You?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null answered with his customary sense of what was due to himself. &ldquo;As
+      the medical attendant of the family, your son naturally supposed, madam,
+      that Miss Carmina was under my care.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The implied reproof produced no effect. &ldquo;I wonder whether my son was
+      afraid to trust us?&rdquo; was all Mrs. Gallilee said. It was the chance guess
+      of a wandering mind&mdash;but it had hit the truth. Kept in ignorance of
+      Carmina&rsquo;s illness by the elder members of the family, at what other
+      conclusion could Ovid arrive, with Zo&rsquo;s letter before him? After a
+      momentary pause, Mrs. Gallilee went on. &ldquo;I suppose I may keep the
+      telegram?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Prudent Mr. Null offered a copy&mdash;and made the copy, then and there.
+      The original (he explained) was his authority for acting on Mr. Ovid&rsquo;s
+      behalf, and he must therefore beg leave to keep it. Mrs. Gallilee
+      permitted him to exchange the two papers. &ldquo;Is there anything more?&rdquo; she
+      asked. &ldquo;Your time is valuable of course. Don&rsquo;t let me detain you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I feel your pulse before I go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She held out her arm to him in silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The carriage came to the door while he was counting the beat of the pulse.
+      She glanced at the window, and said, &ldquo;Send it away.&rdquo; Mr. Null
+      remonstrated. &ldquo;My dear lady, the air will do you good.&rdquo; She answered
+      obstinately and quietly, &ldquo;No&rdquo;&mdash;and once more became absorbed in
+      thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It had been her intention to combine her first day of carriage exercise
+      with a visit to Teresa&rsquo;s lodgings, and a personal exertion of her
+      authority. The news of Ovid&rsquo;s impending return made it a matter of serious
+      importance to consider this resolution under a new light. She had now, not
+      only to reckon with Teresa, but with her son. With this burden on her
+      enfeebled mind&mdash;heavily laden by the sense of injury which her
+      husband&rsquo;s flight had aroused&mdash;she had not even reserves enough of
+      energy to spare for the trifling effort of dressing to go out. She broke
+      into irritability, for the first time. &ldquo;I am trying to find out who has
+      written to my son. How can I do it when you are worrying me about the
+      carriage? Have you ever held a full glass in your hand, and been afraid of
+      letting it overflow? That&rsquo;s what I&rsquo;m afraid of&mdash;in my mind&mdash;I
+      don&rsquo;t mean that my mind is a glass&mdash;I mean&mdash;&rdquo; Her forehead
+      turned red. <i>&ldquo;Will</i> you leave me?&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He left her instantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The change in her manner, the difficulty she found in expressing her
+      thoughts, had even startled stupid Mr. Null. She had herself alluded to
+      results of the murderous attack made on her by Teresa, which had not
+      perhaps hitherto sufficiently impressed him. In the shock inflicted on the
+      patient&rsquo;s body, had there been involved some subtly-working influence that
+      had disturbed the steady balance of her mind? Pondering uneasily on that
+      question, he spoke to Joseph in the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know about your master and the children?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish you had told me of it, when you let me in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I done any harm, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know yet. If you want me, I shall be at home to dinner at seven.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The next visitor was one of the partners in the legal firm, to which Mrs.
+      Gallilee had applied for advice. After what Mr. Null had said, Joseph
+      hesitated to conduct this gentleman into the presence of his mistress. He
+      left the lawyer in the waiting-room, and took his card.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s attitude had not changed. She sat looking down at the
+      copied telegram and the letter from her husband, lying together on her
+      lap. Joseph was obliged to speak twice, before he could rouse her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To-morrow,&rdquo; was all she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What time shall I say, ma&rsquo;am?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She put her hand to her head&mdash;and broke into anger against Joseph.
+      &ldquo;Settle it yourself, you wretch!&rdquo; Her head drooped again over the papers.
+      Joseph returned to the lawyer. &ldquo;My mistress is not very well, sir. She
+      will be obliged if you will call to-morrow, at your own time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      About an hour later, she rang her bell&mdash;rang it unintermittingly,
+      until Joseph appeared. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m famished,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Something to eat! I
+      never was so hungry in my life. At once&mdash;I can&rsquo;t wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cook sent up a cold fowl, and a ham. Her eyes devoured the food, while
+      the footman was carving it for her. Her bad temper seemed to have
+      completely disappeared. She said, &ldquo;What a delicious dinner! Just the very
+      things I like.&rdquo; She lifted the first morsel to her mouth&mdash;and laid
+      the fork down again with a weary sigh. &ldquo;No: I can&rsquo;t eat; what has come to
+      me?&rdquo; With those words, she pushed her chair away from the table, and
+      looked slowly all round her. &ldquo;I want the telegram and the letter.&rdquo; Joseph
+      found them. &ldquo;Can you help me?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I am trying to find out who
+      wrote my son. Say yes, or no, at once; I hate waiting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joseph left her in her old posture, with her head down and the papers on
+      her lap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The appearance of the uneaten dinner in the kitchen produced a discussion,
+      followed by a quarrel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Joseph was of the opinion that the mistress had got more upon her mind
+      than her mind could well bear. It was useless to send for Mr. Null; he had
+      already mentioned that he would not be home until seven o&rsquo;clock.. There
+      was no superior person in the house to consult. It was not for the
+      servants to take responsibility on themselves. &ldquo;Fetch the nearest doctor,
+      and let <i>him</i> be answerable, if anything serious happens.&rdquo; Such was
+      Joseph&rsquo;s advice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The women (angrily remembering that Mrs. Gallilee had spoken of sending
+      for the police) ridiculed the footman&rsquo;s cautious proposal&mdash;with one
+      exception. When the others ironically asked him if he was not accustomed
+      to the mistress&rsquo;s temper yet, Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s own maid (Marceline) said,
+      &ldquo;What do we know about it? Joseph is the only one of us who has seen her,
+      since the morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This perfectly sensible remark had the effect of a breath of wind on a
+      smouldering fire. The female servants, all equally suspected of having
+      assisted Mr. Gallilee in making up his parcels, were all equally assured
+      that there was a traitress among them&mdash;and that Marceline was the
+      woman. Hitherto suppressed, this feeling now openly found its way to
+      expression. Marceline lost her temper; and betrayed herself as her
+      master&rsquo;s guilty confederate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m a mean mongrel&mdash;am I?&rdquo; cried the angry maid, repeating the
+      cook&rsquo;s allusion to her birthplace in the Channel Islands. &ldquo;The mistress
+      shall know, this minute, that I&rsquo;m the woman who did it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why didn&rsquo;t you say so before?&rdquo; the cook retorted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I promised my master not to tell on him, till he got to his
+      journey&rsquo;s end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who&rsquo;ll lay a wager?&rdquo; asked the cook. &ldquo;I bet half-a-crown she changes her
+      mind, before she gets to the top of the stairs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps she thinks the mistress will forgive her,&rdquo; the parlour-maid
+      suggested ironically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or perhaps,&rdquo; the housemaid added, &ldquo;she means to give the mistress notice
+      to leave.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s exactly what I&rsquo;m going to do!&rdquo; said Marceline.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The women all declined to believe her. She appealed to Joseph. &ldquo;What did I
+      tell you, when the mistress first sent me out in the carriage with poor
+      Miss Carmina? Didn&rsquo;t I say that I was no spy, and that I wouldn&rsquo;t submit
+      to be made one? I would have left the house&mdash;I would!&mdash;but for
+      Miss Carmina&rsquo;s kindness. Any other young lady would have made me feel my
+      mean position. <i>She</i> treated me like a friend&mdash;and I don&rsquo;t
+      forget it. I&rsquo;ll go straight from this place, and help to nurse her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that declaration, Marceline left the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arrived at the library door, she paused. Not as the cook had suggested, to
+      &ldquo;change her mind;&rdquo; but to consider beforehand how much she should confess
+      to her mistress, and how much she should hold in reserve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo&rsquo;s narrative of what had happened, on the evening of Teresa&rsquo;s arrival,
+      had produced its inevitable effect on the maid&rsquo;s mind. Strengthening, by
+      the sympathy which it excited, her grateful attachment to Carmina, it had
+      necessarily intensified her dislike of Mrs. Gallilee&mdash;and Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s innocent husband had profited by that circumstance!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unexpectedly tried by time, Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s resolution to assert his
+      paternal authority, in spite of his wife, had failed him. The same
+      timidity which invents a lie in a hurry, can construct a stratagem at
+      leisure. Marceline had discovered her master putting a plan of escape,
+      devised by himself, to its first practical trial before the open wardrobe
+      of his daughters&mdash;and had asked slyly if she could be of any use.
+      Never remarkable for presence of mind in emergencies, Mr. Gallilee had
+      helplessly admitted to his confidence the last person in the house, whom
+      anyone else (in his position) would have trusted. &ldquo;My good soul, I want to
+      take the girls away quietly for change of air&mdash;you have got little
+      secrets of your own, like me, haven&rsquo;t you?&mdash;and the fact is, I don&rsquo;t
+      quite know how many petticoats&mdash;.&rdquo; There, he checked himself;
+      conscious, when it was too late, that he was asking his wife&rsquo;s maid to
+      help him in deceiving his wife. The ready Marceline helped him through the
+      difficulty. &ldquo;I understand, sir: my mistress&rsquo;s mind is much occupied&mdash;and
+      you don&rsquo;t want to trouble her about this little journey.&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee, at
+      a loss for any other answer, pulled out his purse. Marceline modestly drew
+      back at the sight of it. &ldquo;My mistress pays me, sir; I serve <i>you</i> for
+      nothing.&rdquo; In those words, she would have informed any other man of the
+      place which Mrs. Gallilee held in her estimation. Her master simply
+      considered her to be the most disinterested woman he had ever met with. If
+      she lost her situation through helping him, he engaged to pay her wages
+      until she found another place. The maid set his mind at rest on that
+      subject. &ldquo;A woman who understands hairdressing as I do, sir, can refer to
+      other ladies besides Mrs. Gallilee, and can get a place whenever she wants
+      one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Having decided on what she should confess, and on what she should conceal,
+      Marceline knocked at the library door. Receiving no answer, she went in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee was leaning back in her chair: her hands hung down on either
+      side of her; her eyes looked up drowsily at the ceiling. Prepared to see a
+      person with an overburdened mind, the maid (without sympathy, to quicken
+      her perceptions) saw nothing but a person on the point of taking a nap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can I speak a word, ma&rsquo;am?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. &ldquo;Is that my maid?&rdquo; she
+      asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Treated&mdash;to all appearance&mdash;with marked contempt, Marceline no
+      longer cared to assume the forms of respect either in language or manner.
+      &ldquo;I wish to give you notice to leave,&rdquo; she said abruptly; &ldquo;I find I can&rsquo;t
+      get on with my fellow-servants.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee slowly raised her head, and looked at her maid&mdash;and
+      said nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And while I&rsquo;m about it,&rdquo; the angry woman proceeded, &ldquo;I may as well own
+      the truth. You suspect one of us of helping my master to take away the
+      young ladies&rsquo; things&mdash;I mean some few of their things. Well! you
+      needn&rsquo;t blame innocent people. I&rsquo;m the person.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee laid her head back again on the chair&mdash;and burst out
+      laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For one moment, Marceline looked at her mistress in blank surprise. Then,
+      the terrible truth burst on her. She ran into the hall, and called for
+      Joseph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He hurried up the stairs. The instant he presented himself at the open
+      door, Mrs. Gallilee rose to her feet. &ldquo;My medical attendant,&rdquo; she said,
+      with an assumption of dignity; &ldquo;I must explain myself.&rdquo; She held up one
+      hand, outstretched; and counted her fingers with the other. &ldquo;First my
+      husband. Then my son. Now my maid. One, two, three. Mr. Null, do you know
+      the proverb? &lsquo;It&rsquo;s the last hair that breaks the camel&rsquo;s back.&rsquo;&rdquo; She
+      suddenly dropped on her knees. &ldquo;Will somebody pray for me?&rdquo; she cried
+      piteously. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know how to pray for myself. Where is God?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bareheaded as he was, Joseph ran out. The nearest doctor lived on the
+      opposite side of the Square. He happened to be at home. When he reached
+      the house, the women servants were holding their mistress down by main
+      force.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0056" id="link2HCH0056">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LVI.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the next day, Mr. Mool&mdash;returning from a legal consultation to an
+      appointment at his office&mdash;found a gentleman, whom he knew by sight,
+      walking up and down before his door; apparently bent on intercepting him.
+      &ldquo;Mr. Null, I believe?&rdquo; he said, with his customary politeness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null answered to his name, and asked for a moment of Mr. Mool&rsquo;s time.
+      Mr. Mool looked grave, and said he was late for an appointment already.
+      Mr. Null admitted that the clerks in the office had told him so, and said
+      at last, what he ought to have said at first: &ldquo;I am Mrs. Gallilee&rsquo;s
+      medical attendant&mdash;there is serious necessity for communicating with
+      her husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool instantly led the way into the office.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The chief clerk approached his employer, with some severity of manner.
+      &ldquo;The parties have been waiting, sir, for more than a quarter of an hour.&rdquo;
+       Mr. Mool&rsquo;s attention wandered: he was thinking of Mrs. Gallilee. &ldquo;Is she
+      dying?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;She is out of her mind,&rdquo; Mr. Null answered. Those words
+      petrified the lawyer: he looked helplessly at the clerk&mdash;who, in his
+      turn, looked indignantly at the office clock. Mr. Mool recovered himself.
+      &ldquo;Say I am detained by a most distressing circumstance; I will call on the
+      parties later in the day, at their own hour.&rdquo; Giving those directions to
+      the clerk, he hurried Mr. Null upstairs into a private room. &ldquo;Tell me
+      about it; pray tell me about it. Stop! Perhaps, there is not time enough.
+      What can I do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null put the question, which he ought to have asked when they met at
+      the house door. &ldquo;Can you tell me Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s address?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly! Care of the Earl of Northlake&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you please write it in my pocket-book? I am so upset by this
+      dreadful affair that I can&rsquo;t trust my memory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Such a confession of helplessness as this, was all that was wanted to
+      rouse Mr. Mool. He rejected the pocket-book, and wrote the address on a
+      telegram. &ldquo;Return directly: your wife is seriously ill.&rdquo; In five minutes
+      more, the message was on its way to Scotland; and Mr. Null was at liberty
+      to tell his melancholy story&mdash;if he could.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With assistance from Mr. Mool, he got through it. &ldquo;This morning,&rdquo; he
+      proceeded, &ldquo;I have had the two best opinions in London. Assuming that
+      there is no hereditary taint, the doctors think favourably of Mrs.
+      Gallilee&rsquo;s chances of recovery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it violent madness?&rdquo; Mr. Mool asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null admitted that two nurses were required. &ldquo;The doctors don&rsquo;t look
+      on her violence as a discouraging symptom,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;They are inclined to
+      attribute it to the strength of her constitution. I felt it my duty to
+      place my own knowledge of the case before them. Without mentioning painful
+      family circumstances&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I happen to be acquainted with the circumstances,&rdquo; Mr. Mool interposed.
+      &ldquo;Are they in any way connected with this dreadful state of things?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He put that question eagerly, as if he had some strong personal interest
+      in hearing the reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null blundered on steadily with his story. &ldquo;I thought it right (with
+      all due reserve) to mention that Mrs. Gallilee had been subjected to&mdash;I
+      won&rsquo;t trouble you with medical language&mdash;let us say, to a severe
+      shock; involving mental disturbance as well as bodily injury, before her
+      reason gave way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And they considered that to be the cause&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null asserted his dignity. &ldquo;The doctors agreed with Me, that it had
+      shaken her power of self-control.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You relieve me, Mr. Null&mdash;you infinitely relieve me! If our way of
+      removing the children had done the mischief, I should never have forgiven
+      myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He blushed, and said no more. Had Mr. Null noticed the slip of the tongue
+      into which his agitation had betrayed him? Mr. Null did certainly look as
+      if he was going to put a question. The lawyer desperately forestalled him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I ask how you came to apply to me for Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s address? Did you
+      think of it yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null had never had an idea of his own, from the day of his birth,
+      downward. &ldquo;A very intelligent man,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;reminded me that you
+      were an old friend of Mr. Gallilee. In short, it was Joseph&mdash;the
+      footman at Fairfield Gardens.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joseph&rsquo;s good opinion was of no importance to Mr. Mool&rsquo;s professional
+      interests. He could gratify Mr. Null&rsquo;s curiosity without fear of lowering
+      himself in the estimation of a client.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had better, perhaps, explain that chance allusion of mine to the
+      children,&rdquo; he began. &ldquo;My good friend, Mr. Gallilee, had his own reasons
+      for removing his daughters from home for a time&mdash;reasons, I am bound
+      to add, in which I concur. The children were to be placed under the care
+      of their aunt, Lady Northlake. Unfortunately, her ladyship was away with
+      my lord, cruising in their yacht. They were not able to receive Maria and
+      Zoe at once. In the interval that elapsed&mdash;excuse my entering into
+      particulars&mdash;our excellent friend had his own domestic reasons for
+      arranging the&mdash;the sort of clandestine departure which did in fact
+      take place. It was perhaps unwise on my part to consent&mdash;in short, I
+      permitted some of the necessary clothing to be privately deposited here,
+      and called for on the way to the station. Very unprofessional, I am aware.
+      I did it for the best; and allowed my friendly feeling to mislead me. Can
+      I be of any use? How is poor Miss Carmina? No better? Oh, dear! dear! Mr.
+      Ovid will hear dreadful news, when he comes home. Can&rsquo;t we prepare him for
+      it, in any way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null announced that a telegram would meet Ovid at Queenstown&mdash;with
+      the air of a man who had removed every obstacle that could be suggested to
+      him. The kind-hearted lawyer shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there no friend who can meet him there?&rdquo; Mr. Mool suggested. &ldquo;I have
+      clients depending on me&mdash;cases, in which property is concerned, and
+      reputation is at stake&mdash;or I would gladly go myself. You, with your
+      patients, are as little at liberty as I am. Can&rsquo;t you think of some other
+      friend?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null could think of nobody, and had nothing to propose. Of the three
+      weak men, now brought into association by the influence of domestic
+      calamity, he was the feeblest, beyond all doubt. Mr. Mool had knowledge of
+      law, and could on occasion be incited to energy. Mr. Gallilee had warm
+      affections, which, being stimulated, could at least assert themselves. Mr.
+      Null, professionally and personally, was incapable of stepping beyond his
+      own narrow limits, under any provocation whatever. He submitted to the
+      force of events as a cabbage-leaf submits to the teeth of a rabbit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After leaving the office, Carmina&rsquo;s medical attendant had his patient to
+      see. Since the unfortunate alarm in the house, he had begun to feel
+      doubtful and anxious about her again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the sitting-room, he found Teresa and the landlady in consultation. In
+      her own abrupt way, the nurse made him acquainted with the nature of the
+      conference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have two worries to bother us,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;and the music-master is the
+      worst of the two. There&rsquo;s a notion at the hospital (set agoing, I don&rsquo;t
+      doubt, by the man himself), that I crushed his fingers on purpose. That&rsquo;s
+      a lie! With the open cupboard door between us, how could I see him, or he
+      see me? When I gave it a push-to, I no more knew where his hand was, than
+      you do. If I meant anything, I meant to slap his face for prying about in
+      my room. We&rsquo;ve made out a writing between us, to show to the doctors. You
+      shall have a copy, in case you&rsquo;re asked about it. Now for the other
+      matter. You keep on telling me I shall fall ill myself, if I don&rsquo;t get a
+      person to help me with Carmina. Make your mind easy&mdash;the person has
+      come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa pointed to the bedroom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Recommended by me?&rdquo; Mr. Null inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Recommended by herself. And we don&rsquo;t like her. That&rsquo;s the other worry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null&rsquo;s dignity declined to attach any importance to the &ldquo;other worry.&rdquo;
+       &ldquo;No nurse has any business here, without my sanction! I&rsquo;ll send her away
+      directly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pushed open the baize door. A lady was sitting by Carmina&rsquo;s bedside.
+      Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking <i>that</i> face. Mr. Null
+      recognised&mdash;Miss Minerva.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She rose, and bowed to him. He returned the bow stiffly. Nature&rsquo;s
+      protecting care of fools supplies them with an instinct which distrusts
+      ability. Mr. Null never liked Miss Minerva. At the same time, he was a
+      little afraid of her. This was not the sort of nurse who could be ordered
+      to retire at a moment&rsquo;s notice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been waiting anxiously to see you,&rdquo; she said&mdash;and led the way
+      to the farther end of the room. &ldquo;Carmina terrifies me,&rdquo; she added in a
+      whisper. &ldquo;I have been here for an hour. When I entered the room her face,
+      poor dear, seemed to come to life again; she was able to express her joy
+      at seeing me. Even the jealous old nurse noticed the change for the
+      better. Why didn&rsquo;t it last? Look at her&mdash;oh, look at her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The melancholy relapse that had followed the short interval of excitement
+      was visible to anyone now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the &ldquo;simulated paralysis,&rdquo; showing itself plainly in every part
+      of the face. She lay still as death, looking vacantly at the foot of the
+      bed. Mr. Null was inclined to resent the interference of a meddling woman,
+      in the discharge of his duty. He felt Carmina&rsquo;s pulse, in sulky silence.
+      Her eyes never moved; her hand showed no consciousness of his touch.
+      Teresa opened the door, and looked in&mdash;impatiently eager to see the
+      intruding nurse sent away. Miss Minerva invited her to return to her place
+      at the bedside. &ldquo;I only ask to occupy it,&rdquo; she said considerately, &ldquo;when
+      you want rest.&rdquo; Teresa was ready with an ungracious reply, but found no
+      opportunity of putting it into words. Miss Minerva turned quickly to Mr.
+      Null. &ldquo;I must ask you to let me say a few words more,&rdquo; she continued; &ldquo;I
+      will wait for you in the next room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her resolute eyes rested on him with a look which said plainly, &ldquo;I mean to
+      be heard.&rdquo; He followed her into the sitting-room, and waited in sullen
+      submission to hear what she had to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must not trouble you by entering into my own affairs,&rdquo; she began. &ldquo;I
+      will only say that I have obtained an engagement much sooner than I had
+      anticipated, and that the convenience of my employers made it necessary
+      for me to meet them in Paris. I owed Carmina a letter; but I had reasons
+      for not writing until I knew whether she had, or had not, left London.
+      With that object, I called this morning at her aunt&rsquo;s house. You now see
+      me here&mdash;after what I have heard from the servants. I make no
+      comment, and I ask for no explanations. One thing only, I must know.
+      Teresa refers me to you. Is Carmina attended by any other medical man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null answered stiffly, &ldquo;I am in consultation with Doctor Benjulia; and
+      I expect him to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The reply startled her. &ldquo;Dr. Benjulia?&rdquo; she repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The greatest man we have!&rdquo; Mr. Null asserted in his most positive manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She silently determined to wait until Doctor Benjulia arrived.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the last news of Mr. Ovid?&rdquo; she said to him, after an interval of
+      consideration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He told her the news, in the fewest words possible. Even he observed that
+      it seemed to excite her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Mr. Null! who is to prepare him for what he will see in that room?
+      Who is to tell him what he must hear of his mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a certain familiarity in the language of this appeal, which Mr.
+      Null felt it necessary to discourage. &ldquo;The matter is left in my hands,&rdquo; he
+      announced. &ldquo;I shall telegraph to him at Queenstown. When he comes home, he
+      will find my prescriptions on the table. Being a medical man himself, my
+      treatment of the case will tell Mr. Ovid Vere everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The obstinate insensibility of his tone stopped her on the point of saying
+      what Mr. Mool had said already. She, too, felt for Ovid, when she thought
+      of the cruel brevity of a telegram. &ldquo;At what date will the vessel reach
+      Queenstown?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By way of making sure,&rdquo; said Mr. Null, &ldquo;I shall telegraph in a week&rsquo;s
+      time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She troubled him with no more inquiries. He had purposely remained
+      standing, in the expectation that she would take the hint, and go; and he
+      now walked to the window, and looked out. She remained in her chair,
+      thinking. In a few minutes more, there was a heavy step on the stairs.
+      Benjulia had arrived.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked hard at Miss Minerva, in unconcealed surprise at finding her in
+      the house. She rose, and made an effort to propitiate him by shaking
+      hands. &ldquo;I am very anxious,&rdquo; she said gently, &ldquo;to hear your opinion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your hand tells me that,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a cold hand, on a warm day.
+      You&rsquo;re an excitable woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at Mr. Null, and led the way into the bedroom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Left by herself, Miss Minerva discovered writing materials (placed ready
+      for Mr. Null&rsquo;s next prescription) on a side table. She made use of them at
+      once to write to her employer. &ldquo;A dear friend of mine is seriously ill,
+      and in urgent need of all that my devotion can do for her. If you are
+      willing to release me from my duties for a short time, your sympathy and
+      indulgence will not be thrown away on an ungrateful woman. If you cannot
+      do me this favour, I ask your pardon for putting you to inconvenience, and
+      leave some other person, whose mind is at ease, to occupy the place which
+      I am for the present unfit to fill.&rdquo; Having completed her letter in those
+      terms, she waited Benjulia&rsquo;s return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was sadness in her face, but no agitation, as she looked patiently
+      towards the bedroom door. At last&mdash;in her inmost heart, she knew it&mdash;the
+      victory over herself was a victory won. Carmina could trust her now; and
+      Ovid himself should see it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Null returned to the sitting-room alone. Doctor Benjulia had no time
+      to spare: he had left the bedroom by the other door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I may say (as you seem anxious) that my colleague approves of a proposal,
+      on my part, to slightly modify the last prescription. We recognise the new
+      symptoms, without feeling alarm.&rdquo; Having issued this bulletin, Mr. Null
+      sat down to make his feeble treatment of his patient feebler still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he looked up again, the room was empty. Had she left the house? No:
+      her travelling hat and her gloves were on the other table. Had she boldly
+      confronted Teresa on her own ground?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took his modified prescription into the bedroom. There she was, and
+      there sat the implacable nurse, already persuaded into listening to her!
+      What conceivable subject could there be, which offered two such women
+      neutral ground to meet on? Mr. Null left the house without the faintest
+      suspicion that Carmina might be the subject.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I try to rouse her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa answered by silently resigning her place at the bedside. Miss
+      Minerva touched Carmina&rsquo;s hand, and spoke. &ldquo;Have you heard the good news,
+      dear? Ovid is coming back in little more than a week.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina looked&mdash;reluctantly looked&mdash;at her friend, and said,
+      with an effort, &ldquo;I am glad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will be better,&rdquo; Miss Minerva continued, &ldquo;the moment you see him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her face became faintly animated. &ldquo;I shall be able to say good-bye,&rdquo; she
+      answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not good-bye, darling. He is returning to you after a long journey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going, Frances, on a longer journey still.&rdquo; She closed her eyes, too
+      weary or too indifferent to say more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Minerva drew back, struggling against the tears that fell fast over
+      her face. The jealous old nurse quietly moved nearer to her, and kissed
+      her hand. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been a brute and a fool,&rdquo; said Teresa; &ldquo;you&rsquo;re almost as
+      fond of her as I am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A week later, Miss Minerva left London, to wait for Ovid at Queenstown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0057" id="link2HCH0057">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LVII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool was in attendance at Fairfield Gardens, when his old friend
+      arrived from Scotland, to tell him what the cautiously expressed message
+      in the telegram really meant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But one idea seemed to be impressed on Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s mind&mdash;the idea
+      of reconciliation. He insisted on seeing his wife. It was in vain to tell
+      him that she was utterly incapable of reciprocating or even of
+      understanding his wishes. Absolute resistance was the one alternative left&mdash;and
+      it was followed by distressing results. The kind-hearted old man burst
+      into a fit of crying, which even shook the resolution of the doctors. One
+      of them went upstairs to warn the nurses. The other said, &ldquo;Let him see
+      her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The instant he showed himself in the room, Mrs. Gallilee recognised him
+      with a shriek of fury. The nurses held her back&mdash;while Mr. Mool
+      dragged him out again, and shut the door. The object of the doctors had
+      been gained. His own eyes had convinced him of the terrible necessity of
+      placing his wife under restraint. She was removed to a private asylum.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria and Zo had been left in Scotland&mdash;as perfectly happy as girls
+      could be, in the society of their cousins, and under the affectionate care
+      of their aunt. Mr. Gallilee remained in London; but he was not left alone
+      in the deserted house. The good lawyer had a spare room at his disposal;
+      and Mrs. Mool and her daughters received him with true sympathy. Coming
+      events helped to steady his mind. He was comforted in the anticipation of
+      Ovid&rsquo;s return, and interested in hearing of the generous motive which had
+      led Miss Minerva to meet his stepson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never agreed with the others when they used to abuse our governess,&rdquo; he
+      said. &ldquo;She might have been quick-tempered, and she might have been ugly&mdash;I
+      suppose I saw her in some other light myself.&rdquo; He had truly seen her under
+      another light. In his simple affectionate nature, there had been
+      instinctive recognition of that great heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was allowed to see Carmina, in the hope that pleasant associations
+      connected with him might have a favourable influence. She smiled faintly,
+      and gave him her hand when she saw him at the bedside&mdash;but that was
+      all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too deeply distressed to ask to see her again, he made his inquiries for
+      the future at the door. Day after day, the answer was always the same.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before she left London, Miss Minerva had taken it on herself to engage the
+      vacant rooms, on the ground floor of the lodging-house, for Ovid. She knew
+      his heart, as she knew her own heart. Once under the same roof with
+      Carmina, he would leave it no more&mdash;until life gave her back to him,
+      or death took her away. Hearing of what had been done, Mr. Gallilee
+      removed to Ovid&rsquo;s rooms the writing-desk and the books, the favourite
+      music and the faded flowers, left by Carmina at Fairfield Gardens.
+      &ldquo;Anything that belongs to her,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;will surely be welcome to the
+      poor fellow when he comes back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On one afternoon&mdash;never afterwards to be forgotten&mdash;he had only
+      begun to make his daily inquiry, when the door on the ground floor was
+      opened, and Miss Minerva beckoned to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her face daunted Mr. Gallilee: he asked in a whisper, if Ovid had
+      returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She pointed upwards, and answered, &ldquo;He is with her now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did he bear it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We don&rsquo;t know; we were afraid to follow him into the room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned towards the window as she spoke. Teresa was sitting there&mdash;vacantly
+      looking out. Mr. Gallilee spoke to her kindly: she made no answer; she
+      never even moved. &ldquo;Worn out!&rdquo; Miss Minerva whispered to him. &ldquo;When she
+      thinks of Carmina now, she thinks without hope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shuddered. The expression of his own fear was in those words&mdash;and
+      he shrank from it. Miss Minerva took his hand, and led him to a chair.
+      &ldquo;Ovid will know best,&rdquo; she reminded him; &ldquo;let us wait for what Ovid will
+      say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you meet him on board the vessel?&rdquo; Mr. Gallilee asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did he look?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So well and so strong that you would hardly have known him again&mdash;till
+      he asked about Carmina. Then he turned pale. I knew that I must tell him
+      the truth&mdash;but I was afraid to take it entirely on myself. Something
+      Mr. Null said to me, before I left London, suggested that I might help
+      Ovid to understand me if I took the prescriptions to Queenstown. I had not
+      noticed that they were signed by Doctor Benjulia, as well as by Mr. Null.
+      Don&rsquo;t ask me what effect the discovery had on him! I bore it at the time&mdash;I
+      can&rsquo;t speak of it now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You good creature! you dear good creature! Forgive me if I have
+      distressed you; I didn&rsquo;t meant it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have not distressed me. Is there anything else I can tell you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee hesitated. &ldquo;There is one thing more,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t
+      about Carmina this time&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He hesitated again. Miss Minerva understood. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she answered; &ldquo;I spoke
+      to Ovid of his mother. In mercy to himself and to me, he would hear no
+      details. &lsquo;I know enough,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;if I know that she is the person to
+      blame. I was prepared to hear it. My mother&rsquo;s silence could only be
+      accounted for in one way, when I had read Zo&rsquo;s letter.&rsquo;&mdash;Don&rsquo;t you
+      know, Mr. Gallilee, that the child wrote to Ovid?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The surprise and delight of Zo&rsquo;s fond old father, when he heard the story
+      of the letter, forced a smile from Miss Minerva, even at that time of
+      doubt and sorrow. He declared that he would have returned to his daughter
+      by the mail train of that night, but for two considerations. He must see
+      his stepson before he went back to Scotland; and he must search all the
+      toy-shops in London for the most magnificent present that could be offered
+      to a young person of ten years old. &ldquo;Tell Ovid, with my love, I&rsquo;ll call
+      again to-morrow,&rdquo; he said, looking at his watch. &ldquo;I have just time to
+      write to Zo by to-day&rsquo;s post.&rdquo; He went to his club, for the first time
+      since he had returned to London. Miss Minerva thought of bygone days, and
+      wondered if he would enjoy his champagne.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A little later Mr. Null called&mdash;anxious to know if Ovid had arrived.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Other women, in the position of Miss Minerva and Teresa, might have
+      hesitated to keep the patient&rsquo;s room closed to the doctor. These two were
+      resolved. They refused to disturb Ovid, even by sending up a message. Mr.
+      Null took offence. &ldquo;Understand, both of you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;when I call
+      to-morrow morning, I shall insist on going upstairs&mdash;and if I find
+      this incivility repeated, I shall throw up the case.&rdquo; He left the room,
+      triumphing in his fool&rsquo;s paradise of aggressive self-conceit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They waited for some time longer&mdash;and still no message reached them
+      from upstairs. &ldquo;We may be wrong in staying here,&rdquo; Miss Minerva suggested;
+      &ldquo;he may want to be alone when he leaves her&mdash;let us go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She rose to return to the house of her new employers. They respected her,
+      and felt for her: while Carmina&rsquo;s illness continued, she had the entire
+      disposal of her time. The nurse accompanied her to the door; resigned to
+      take refuge in the landlady&rsquo;s room. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid to be by myself,&rdquo; Teresa
+      said. &ldquo;Even that woman&rsquo;s chatter is better for me than my own thoughts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before parting for the night they waited in the hall, looking towards the
+      stairs, and listening anxiously. Not a sound disturbed the melancholy
+      silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0058" id="link2HCH0058">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LVIII.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      Among many vain hopes, one hope had been realised: they had met again.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      In the darkened room, her weary eyes could hardly have seen the betrayal
+      of what he suffered&mdash;even if she had looked up in his face. She was
+      content to rest her head on his breast, and to feel his arm round her. &ldquo;I
+      am glad, dear,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;to have lived long enough for this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Those were her first words&mdash;after the first kiss. She had trembled
+      and sighed, when he ran to her and bent over her: it was the one
+      expression left of all her joy and all her love. But it passed away as
+      other lesser agitations had passed away. One last reserve of energy obeyed
+      the gentle persuasion of love. Silent towards all other friends, she was
+      able to speak to Ovid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You used to breathe so lightly,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;How is it that I hear you
+      now. Oh, Ovid, don&rsquo;t cry! I couldn&rsquo;t bear that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He answered her quietly. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be afraid, darling; I won&rsquo;t distress you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you will let me say, what I want to say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This satisfied her. &ldquo;I may rest a little now,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He too was silent; held down by the heavy hand of despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The time had been, in the days of his failing health, when the solemn
+      shadows of evening falling over the fields&mdash;the soaring song of the
+      lark in the bright heights of the midday sky&mdash;the dear lost
+      remembrances that the divine touch of music finds again&mdash;brought
+      tears into his eyes. They were dry eyes now! Those once tremulous nerves
+      had gathered steady strength, on the broad prairies and in the roving
+      life. Could trembling sorrow, seeking its way to the sources of tears,
+      overbear the robust vitality that rioted in his blood, whether she lived
+      or whether she died? In those deep breathings that had alarmed her, she
+      had indeed heard the struggle of grief, vainly urging its way to
+      expression against the masterful health and strength that set moral
+      weakness at defiance. Nature had remade this man&mdash;and Nature never
+      pities.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was an effort to her to collect her thoughts&mdash;but she did collect
+      them. She was able to tell him what was in her mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think, Ovid, your mother will care much what becomes of me, when I
+      die?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He started at those dreadful words&mdash;so softly, so patiently spoken.
+      &ldquo;You will live,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;My Carmina, what am I here for but to bring you
+      back to life?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She made no attempt to dispute with him. Quietly, persistently, she
+      returned to the thought that was in her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say that I forgive your mother, Ovid&mdash;and that I only ask one thing
+      in return. I ask her to leave me to you, when the end has come. My dear,
+      there is a feeling in me that I can&rsquo;t get over. Don&rsquo;t let me be buried in
+      a great place all crowded with the dead! I once saw a picture&mdash;it was
+      at home in Italy, I think&mdash;an English picture of a quiet little
+      churchyard in the country. The shadows of the trees rested on the lonely
+      graves. And some great poet had written&mdash;oh, such beautiful words
+      about it. <i>The red-breast loves to build and warble there, And little
+      footsteps lightly print the ground.</i> Promise, Ovid, you will take me to
+      some place, far from crowds and noise&mdash;where children may gather the
+      flowers on my grave.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He promised&mdash;and she thanked him, and rested again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was something else,&rdquo; she said, when the interval had passed. &ldquo;My
+      head is so sleepy. I wonder whether I can think of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After a while, she did think of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to make you a little farewell present. Will you undo my gold
+      chain? Don&rsquo;t cry, Ovid! oh, don&rsquo;t cry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He obeyed her. The gold chain held the two lockets&mdash;the treasured
+      portraits of her father and her mother. &ldquo;Wear them for my sake,&rdquo; she
+      murmured. &ldquo;Lift me up; I want to put them round your neck myself.&rdquo; She
+      tried, vainly tried, to clasp the chain. Her head fell back on his breast.
+      &ldquo;Too sleepy,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;always too sleepy now! Say you love me, Ovid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He said it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kiss me, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He kissed her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now lay me down on the pillow. I&rsquo;m not eighteen yet&mdash;and I feel as
+      old as eighty! Rest; all I want is rest.&rdquo; Looking at him fondly, her eyes
+      closed little by little&mdash;then softly opened again. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t wait in
+      this dull room, darling; I will send for you, if I wake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the only wish of hers that he disobeyed. From time to time, his
+      fingers touched her pulse, and felt its feeble beat. From time to time, he
+      stooped and let the faint coming and going of her breath flutter on his
+      cheek. The twilight fell, and darkness began to gather over the room.
+      Still, he kept his place by her, like a man entranced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0059" id="link2HCH0059">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LIX.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The first trivial sound that broke the spell, was the sound of a match
+      struck in the next room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose, and groped his way to the door. Teresa had ventured upstairs, and
+      had kindled a light. Some momentary doubt of him kept the nurse silent
+      when he looked at her. He stammered, and stared about him confusedly, when
+      he spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where&mdash;where&mdash;?&rdquo; He seemed to have lost his hold on his
+      thoughts&mdash;he gave it up, and tried again. &ldquo;I want to be alone,&rdquo; he
+      said; recovering, for the moment, some power of expressing himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa&rsquo;s first fear of him vanished. She took him by the hand like a
+      child, and led him downstairs to his rooms. He stood silently watching
+      her, while she lit the candles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When Carmina sleeps now,&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;does it last long?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Often for hours together,&rdquo; the nurse answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He said no more; he seemed to have forgotten that there was another person
+      in the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She found courage in her pity for him. &ldquo;Try to pray,&rdquo; she said, and left
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He fell on his knees; but still the words failed him. He tried to quiet
+      his mind by holy thoughts. No! The dumb agony in him was powerless to find
+      relief. Only the shadows of thoughts crossed his mind; his eyes ached with
+      a burning heat. He began to be afraid of himself. The active habits of the
+      life that he had left, drove him out, with the instincts of an animal,
+      into space and air. Neither knowing nor caring in what direction he turned
+      his steps, he walked on at the top of his speed. On and on, till the
+      crowded houses began to grow more rare&mdash;till there were gaps of open
+      ground, on either side of him&mdash;till the moon rose behind a plantation
+      of trees, and bathed in its melancholy light a lonely high road. He
+      followed the road till he was tired of it, and turned aside into a winding
+      lane. The lights and shadows, alternating with each other, soothed and
+      pleased him. He had got the relief in exercise that had been denied him
+      while he was in repose. He could think again; he could feel the resolution
+      stirring in him to save that dear one, or to die with her. Now at last, he
+      was man enough to face the terrible necessity that confronted him, and
+      fight the battle of Art and Love against Death. He stopped, and looked
+      round; eager to return, and be ready for her waking. In that solitary
+      place, there was no hope of finding a person to direct him. He turned, to
+      go back to the high road.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that same moment, he became conscious of the odour of tobacco wafted
+      towards him on the calm night air. Some one was smoking in the lane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He retraced his steps, until he reached a gate&mdash;with a barren field
+      behind it. There was the man, whose tobacco smoke he had smelt, leaning on
+      the gate, with his pipe in his mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moonlight fell full on Ovid&rsquo;s face, as he approached to ask his way.
+      The man suddenly stood up&mdash;stared at him&mdash;and said, &ldquo;Hullo! is
+      it you or your ghost?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His face was in shadow, but his voice answered for him. The man was
+      Benjulia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you come to see me?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you shake hands?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s wrong?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid waited to answer until he had steadied his temper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have seen Carmina,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia went on with his smoking. &ldquo;An interesting case, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; he
+      remarked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were called into consultation by Mr. Null,&rdquo; Ovid continued; &ldquo;and you
+      approved of his ignorant treatment&mdash;you, who knew better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think I did!&rdquo; Benjulia rejoined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You deliberately encouraged an incompetent man; you let that poor girl go
+      on from bad to worse&mdash;for some vile end of your own.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia good-naturedly corrected him. &ldquo;No, no. For an excellent end&mdash;for
+      knowledge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I fail to remedy the mischief, which is your doing, and yours alone&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia took his pipe out of his mouth. &ldquo;How do you mean to cure her?&rdquo; he
+      eagerly interposed. &ldquo;Have you got a new idea?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I fail,&rdquo; Ovid repeated, &ldquo;her death lies at your door. You merciless
+      villain&mdash;as certainly as that moon is now shining over us, your life
+      shall answer for hers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Astonishment&mdash;immeasurable astonishment&mdash;sealed Benjulia&rsquo;s lips.
+      He looked down the lane when Ovid left him, completely stupefied. The one
+      imaginable way of accounting for such language as he had heard&mdash;spoken
+      by a competent member of his own profession!&mdash;presented the old
+      familiar alternative. &ldquo;Drunk or mad?&rdquo; he wondered while he lit his pipe
+      again. Walking back to the house, his old distrust of Ovid troubled him
+      once more. He decided to call at Teresa&rsquo;s lodgings in a day or two, and
+      ascertain from the landlady (and the chemist) how Carmina was being cured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Returning to the high road, Ovid was passed by a tradesman, driving his
+      cart towards London. The man civilly offered to take him as far as the
+      nearest outlying cabstand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Neither the landlady nor Teresa had gone to their beds when he returned.
+      Their account of Carmina, during his absence, contained nothing to alarm
+      him. He bade them goodnight&mdash;eager to be left alone in his room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the house and out of the house, there was now the perfect silence that
+      helps a man to think. His mind was clear; his memory answered, when he
+      called on it to review that part of his own medical practice which might
+      help him, by experience, in his present need. But he shrank&mdash;with
+      Carmina&rsquo;s life in his hands&mdash;from trusting wholly to himself. A
+      higher authority than his was waiting to be consulted. He took from his
+      portmanteau the manuscript presented to him by the poor wretch, whose last
+      hours he had soothed in the garret at Montreal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The work opened with a declaration which gave it a special value, in
+      Ovid&rsquo;s estimation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If this imperfect record of experience is ever read by other eyes than
+      mine, I wish to make one plain statement at the outset. The information
+      which is presented in these pages is wholly derived from the results of
+      bedside practice; pursued under miserable obstacles and interruptions, and
+      spread over a period of many years. Whatever faults and failings I may
+      have been guilty of as a man, I am innocent, in my professional capacity,
+      of ever having perpetrated the useless and detestable cruelties which go
+      by the name of Vivisection. Without entering into any of the disputes on
+      either side, which this practice has provoked, I declare my conviction
+      that no asserted usefulness in the end, can justify deliberate cruelty in
+      the means. The man who seriously maintains that any pursuit in which he
+      can engage is independent of moral restraint, is a man in a state of
+      revolt against God. I refuse to hear him in his own defense, on that
+      ground.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid turned next to the section of the work which was entitled &ldquo;Brain
+      Disease.&rdquo; The writer introduced his observations in these prefatory words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A celebrated physiologist, plainly avowing the ignorance of doctors in
+      the matter of the brain and its diseases, and alluding to appearances
+      presented by post-mortem examination, concludes his confession thus: &lsquo;We
+      cannot even be sure whether many of the changes discovered are the cause
+      or the result of the disease, or whether the two are the conjoint results
+      of a common cause.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So this man writes, after experience in Vivisection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let my different experience be heard next. Not knowing into what hands
+      this manuscript may fall, or what unexpected opportunities of usefulness
+      it may encounter after my death, I purposely abstain from using technical
+      language in the statement which I have now to make.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In medical investigations, as in all other forms of human inquiry, the
+      result in view is not infrequently obtained by indirect and unexpected
+      means. What I have to say here on the subject of brain disease, was first
+      suggested by experience of two cases, which seemed in the last degree
+      unlikely to help me. They were both cases of young women; each one having
+      been hysterically affected by a serious moral shock; terminating, after a
+      longer or shorter interval, in simulated paralysis. One of these cases I
+      treated successfully. While I was still in attendance on the other,
+      (pursuing the same course of treatment which events had already proved to
+      be right), a fatal accident terminated my patient&rsquo;s life, and rendered a
+      post-mortem examination necessary. From those starting points, I arrived&mdash;by
+      devious ways which I am now to relate&mdash;at deductions and discoveries
+      that threw a new light on the nature and treatment of brain disease.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hour by hour, Ovid studied the pages that followed, until his mind and the
+      mind of the writer were one. He then returned to certain preliminary
+      allusions to the medical treatment of the two girls&mdash;inexpressibly
+      precious to him, in Carmina&rsquo;s present interests. The dawn of day found him
+      prepared at all points, and only waiting until the lapse of the next few
+      hours placed the means of action in his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But there was one anxiety still to be relieved, before he lay down to
+      rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took off his shoes, and stole upstairs to Carmina&rsquo;s door. The faithful
+      Teresa was astir, earnestly persuading her to take some nourishment. The
+      little that he could hear of her voice, as she answered, made his heart
+      ache&mdash;it was so faint and so low. Still she could speak; and still
+      there was the old saying to remember, which has comforted so many and
+      deceived so many: While there&rsquo;s life, there&rsquo;s hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0060" id="link2HCH0060">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LX.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      After a brief interview with his step-son, Mr. Gallilee returned to his
+      daughters in Scotland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Touched by his fatherly interest in Carmina, Ovid engaged to keep him
+      informed of her progress towards recovery. If the anticipation of saving
+      her proved to be the sad delusion of love and hope, silence would signify
+      what no words could say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In ten days&rsquo; time, there was a happy end to suspense. The slow process of
+      recovery might extend perhaps to the end of the year. But, if no accident
+      happened, Ovid had the best reasons for believing that Carmina&rsquo;s life was
+      safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Freed from the terrible anxieties that had oppressed him, he was able to
+      write again, a few days later, in a cheerful tone, and to occupy his pen
+      at Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s express request, with such an apparently trifling
+      subject as the conduct of Mr. Null.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your old medical adviser was quite right in informing you that I had
+      relieved him from any further attendance on Carmina. But his lively
+      imagination (or perhaps I ought to say, his sense of his own consequence)
+      has misled you when he also declares that I purposely insulted him. I took
+      the greatest pains not to wound his self-esteem. He left me in anger,
+      nevertheless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A day or two afterwards, I received a note from him; addressing me as
+      &lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; and asking ironically if I had any objection to his looking at the
+      copies of my prescriptions in the chemist&rsquo;s book. Though he was old enough
+      to be my father (he remarked) it seemed that experience counted for
+      nothing; he had still something to learn from his junior, in the treatment
+      of disease&mdash;and so on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At that miserable time of doubt and anxiety, I could only send a verbal
+      reply, leaving him to do what he liked. Before I tell you of the use that
+      he made of his liberty of action, I must confess something relating to the
+      prescriptions themselves. Don&rsquo;t be afraid of long and learned words, and
+      don&rsquo;t suppose that I am occupying your attention in this way, without a
+      serious reason for it which you will presently understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A note in the manuscript&mdash;to my study of which, I owe, under God,
+      the preservation of Carmina&rsquo;s life&mdash;warned me that chemists, in the
+      writer&rsquo;s country, had either refused to make up certain prescriptions
+      given in the work, or had taken the liberty of altering the new quantities
+      and combinations of some of the drugs prescribed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Precisely the same thing happened here, in the case of the first chemist
+      to whom I sent. He refused to make up the medicine, unless I provided him
+      with a signed statement taking the whole responsibility on myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Having ascertained the exact nature of his objection, I dismissed him
+      without his guarantee, and employed another chemist; taking care (in the
+      interests of my time and my temper) to write my more important
+      prescriptions under reserve. That is to say, I followed the conventional
+      rules, as to quantities and combinations, and made the necessary additions
+      or changes from my own private stores when the medicine was sent home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor foolish Mr. Null, finding nothing to astonish him in my course of
+      medicine&mdash;as represented by the chemist&mdash;appears by his own
+      confession, to have copied the prescriptions with a malicious object in
+      view. &lsquo;I have sent them, (he informs me, in a second letter) to Doctor
+      Benjulia; in order that he too may learn something in his profession from
+      the master who has dispensed with our services.&rsquo; This new effort of irony
+      means that I stand self-condemned of vanity, in presuming to rely on my
+      own commonplace resources&mdash;represented by the deceitful evidence of
+      the chemist&rsquo;s book!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am grateful to Mr. Null, notwithstanding: he has done me a service,
+      in meaning to do me an injury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My imperfect prescriptions have quieted the mind of the man to whom he
+      sent them. This wretch&rsquo;s distrust has long since falsely suspected me of
+      some professional rivalry pursued in secret; the feeling showed itself
+      again, when I met with him by accident on the night of my return to
+      London. Since Mr. Null has communicated with him, the landlady is no
+      longer insulted by his visits, and offended by his questions&mdash;all
+      relating to the course of treatment which I was pursuing upstairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You now understand why I have ventured to trouble you on a purely
+      professional topic. To turn to matters of more interest&mdash;our dear
+      Carmina is well enough to remember you, and to send her love to you and
+      the girls. But even this little effort is followed by fatigue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t mean only fatigue of body: that is now a question of time and
+      care. I mean fatigue of mind&mdash;expressing itself by defect of memory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the morning when the first positive change for the better appeared, I
+      was at her bedside when she woke. She looked at me in amazement. &lsquo;Why
+      didn&rsquo;t you warn me of your sudden return?&rsquo; she asked, &lsquo;I have only written
+      to you to-day&mdash;to your bankers at Quebec! What does it mean?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did my best to soothe her, and succeeded. There is a complete lapse in
+      her memory&mdash;I am only too sure of it! She has no recollection of
+      anything that has happened since she wrote her last letter to me&mdash;a
+      letter which must have been lost (perhaps intercepted?), or I should have
+      received it before I left Quebec. This forgetfulness of the dreadful
+      trials through which my poor darling has passed, is, in itself, a
+      circumstance which we must all rejoice over for her sake. But I am
+      discouraged by it, at the same time; fearing it may indicate some more
+      serious injury than I have yet discovered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Minerva&mdash;what should I do without the help and sympathy of that
+      best of true women?&mdash;Miss Minerva has cautiously tested her memory in
+      other directions, with encouraging results, so far. But I shall not feel
+      easy until I have tried further experiments, by means of some person who
+      does not exercise a powerful influence over her, and whose memory is
+      naturally occupied with what we older people call trifles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you all leave Scotland next month, bring Zo here with you. My dear
+      little correspondent is just the sort of quaint child I want for the
+      purpose. Kiss her for me till she is out of breath&mdash;and say that is
+      what I mean to do when we meet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The return to London took place in the last week in October.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lord and Lady Northlake went to their town residence, taking Maria and Zo
+      with them. There were associations connected with Fairfield Gardens, which
+      made the prospect of living there&mdash;without even the society of his
+      children&mdash;unendurable to Mr. Gallilee. Ovid&rsquo;s house, still waiting
+      the return of its master, was open to his step-father. The poor man was
+      only too glad (in his own simple language) &ldquo;to keep the nest warm for his
+      son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The latest inquiries made at the asylum were hopefully answered. Thus far,
+      the measures taken to restore Mrs. Gallilee to herself had succeeded
+      beyond expectation. But one unfavourable symptom remained. She was
+      habitually silent. When she did speak, her mind seemed to be occupied with
+      scientific subjects: she never mentioned her husband, or any other member
+      of the family. Time and attention would remove this drawback. In two or
+      three months more perhaps, if all went well, she might return to her
+      family and her friends, as sane a woman as ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calling at Fairfield Gardens for any letters that might be waiting there,
+      Mr. Gallilee received a circular in lithographed writing; accompanied by a
+      roll of thick white paper. The signature revealed the familiar name of Mr.
+      Le Frank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The circular set forth that the writer had won renown and a moderate
+      income, as pianist and teacher of music. &ldquo;A terrible accident, ladies and
+      gentlemen, has injured my right hand, and has rendered amputation of two
+      of my fingers necessary. Deprived for life of my professional resources, I
+      have but one means of subsistence left&mdash;<i>viz:</i>&mdash;-collecting
+      subscriptions for a song of my own composition. N.B.&mdash;The mutilated
+      musician leaves the question of terms in the hands of the art-loving
+      public, and will do himself the honour of calling to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Good-natured Mr. Gallilee left a sovereign to be given to the victim of
+      circumstances&mdash;and then set forth for Lord Northlake&rsquo;s house. He and
+      Ovid had arranged that Zo was to be taken to see Carmina that day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On his way through the streets, he was met by Mr. Mool. The lawyer looked
+      at the song under his friend&rsquo;s arm. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s that you&rsquo;re taking such care
+      of?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;It looks like music. A new piece for the young ladies&mdash;eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee explained. Mr. Mool struck his stick on the pavement, as the
+      nearest available means of expressing indignation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never let another farthing of your money get into that rascal&rsquo;s pocket!
+      It&rsquo;s no merit of his that the poor old Italian nurse has not made her
+      appearance in the police reports.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With this preface, Mr. Mool related the circumstances under which Mr. Le
+      Frank had met with his accident. &ldquo;His first proceeding when they
+      discharged him from the hospital,&rdquo; continued the lawyer, &ldquo;was to summon
+      Teresa before a magistrate. Fortunately she showed the summons to me. I
+      appeared for her, provided with a plan of the rooms which spoke for
+      itself; and I put two questions to the complainant. What business had he
+      in another person&rsquo;s room? and why was his hand in that other person&rsquo;s
+      cupboard? The reporter kindly left the case unrecorded; and when the
+      fellow ended by threatening the poor woman outside the court, we bound him
+      over to keep the peace. I have my eye on him&mdash;and I&rsquo;ll catch him yet,
+      under the Vagrant Act!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0061" id="link2HCH0061">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LXI.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Aided by time, care, and skill, Carmina had gained strength enough to pass
+      some hours of the day in the sitting-room; reclining in an invalid-chair
+      invented for her by Ovid. The welcome sight of Zo&mdash;brightened and
+      developed by happy autumn days passed in Scotland&mdash;brought a deep
+      flush to her face, and quickened the pulse which Ovid was touching, under
+      pretence of holding her hand. These signs of excessive nervous sensibility
+      warned him to limit the child&rsquo;s visit to a short space of time. Neither
+      Miss Minerva nor Teresa were in the room: Carmina could have Zo all to
+      herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, my dear,&rdquo; she said, in a kiss, &ldquo;tell me about Scotland.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Scotland,&rdquo; Zo answered with dignity, &ldquo;belongs to uncle Northlake. He pays
+      for everything; and I&rsquo;m Missus.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s true,&rdquo; said Mr. Gallilee, bursting with pride. &ldquo;My lord says it&rsquo;s no
+      use having a will of your own where Zo is. When he introduces her to
+      anybody on the estate, he says, &lsquo;Here&rsquo;s the Missus.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s youngest daughter listened critically to the parental
+      testimony. &ldquo;You see he knows,&rdquo; she said to Ovid. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing to laugh
+      at.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina tried another question. &ldquo;Did you think of me, dear, when you were
+      far away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think of you?&rdquo; Zo repeated. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re to sleep in my bedroom when we go
+      back to Scotland&mdash;and I&rsquo;m to be out of bed, and one of &lsquo;em, when you
+      eat your first Scotch dinner. Shall I tell you what you&rsquo;ll see on the
+      table? You&rsquo;ll see a big brown steaming bag in a dish&mdash;and you&rsquo;ll see
+      me slit it with a knife&mdash;and the bag&rsquo;s fat inside will tumble out,
+      all smoking hot and stinking. That&rsquo;s a Scotch dinner. Oh!&rdquo; she cried,
+      losing her dignity in the sudden interest of a new idea, &ldquo;oh, Carmina, do
+      you remember the Italian boy, and his song?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here was one of those tests of her memory for trifles, applied with a
+      child&rsquo;s happy abruptness, for which Ovid had been waiting. He listened
+      eagerly. To his unutterable relief, Carmina laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I remember it!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Who could forget the boy who sings
+      and grins and says <i>Gimmeehaypenny?&rdquo;</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s it!&rdquo; cried Zo. &ldquo;The boy&rsquo;s song was a good one in its way. I&rsquo;ve
+      learnt a better in Scotland. You&rsquo;ve heard of Donald, haven&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo turned indignantly to her father. &ldquo;Why didn&rsquo;t you tell her of Donald?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee humbly admitted that he was in fault. Carmina asked who
+      Donald was, and what he was like. Zo unconsciously tested her memory for
+      the second time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know that day,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;when Joseph had an errand at the grocer&rsquo;s
+      and I went along with him, and Miss Minerva said I was a vulgar child?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina&rsquo;s memory recalled this new trifle, without an effort. &ldquo;I know,&rdquo;
+       she answered; &ldquo;you told me Joseph and the grocer weighed you in the great
+      scales.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo delighted Ovid by trying her again. &ldquo;When they put me into the scales,
+      Carmina, what did I weigh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nearly four stone, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite four stone. Donald weighs fourteen.&rsquo; What do you think of that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee once more offered his testimony. &ldquo;The biggest Piper on my
+      lord&rsquo;s estate,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;comes of a Highland family, and was removed to
+      the Lowlands by my lord&rsquo;s father. A great player&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And <i>my</i> friend,&rdquo; Zo explained, stopping her father in full career.
+      &ldquo;He takes snuff out of a cow&rsquo;s horn. He shovels it up his fat nose with a
+      spoon, like this. His nose wags. He says, &lsquo;Try my sneeshin.&rsquo; Sneeshin&rsquo;s
+      Scotch for snuff. He boos till he&rsquo;s nearly double when uncle Northlake
+      speaks to him. Boos is Scotch for bows. He skirls on the pipes&mdash;skirls
+      means screeches. When you first hear him, he&rsquo;ll make your stomach ache.
+      You&rsquo;ll get used to that&mdash;and you&rsquo;ll find you like him. He wears a
+      purse and a petticoat; he never had a pair of trousers on in his life;
+      there&rsquo;s no pride about him. Say you&rsquo;re my friend and he&rsquo;ll let you smack
+      his legs&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here, Ovid was obliged to bring the biography of Donald to a close.
+      Carmina&rsquo;s enjoyment of Zo was becoming too keen for her strength; her
+      bursts of laughter grew louder and louder&mdash;the wholesome limit of
+      excitement was being rapidly passed. &ldquo;Tell us about your cousins,&rdquo; he
+      said, by way of effecting a diversion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The big ones?&rdquo; Zo asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; the little ones, like you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nice girls&mdash;they play at everything I tell &lsquo;em. Jolly boys&mdash;when
+      they knock a girl down, they pick her up again, and clean her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carmina was once more in danger of passing the limit. Ovid made another
+      attempt to effect a diversion. Singing would be comparatively harmless in
+      its effect&mdash;as he rashly supposed. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s that song you learnt in
+      Scotland?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s Donald&rsquo;s song,&rdquo; Zo replied. <i>&ldquo;He</i> taught me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the sound of Donald&rsquo;s dreadful name, Ovid looked at his watch, and said
+      there was no time for the song. Mr. Gallilee suddenly and seriously sided
+      with his step-son. &ldquo;How she got among the men after dinner,&rdquo; he said,
+      &ldquo;nobody knows. Lady Northlake has forbidden Donald to teach her any more
+      songs; and I have requested him, as a favour to me, not to let her smack
+      his legs. Come, my dear, it&rsquo;s time we were home again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Well intended by both gentlemen&mdash;but too late. Zo was ready for the
+      performance; her hat was cocked on one side; her plump little arms were
+      set akimbo; her round eyes opened and closed facetiously in winks worthy
+      of a low comedian. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m Donald,&rdquo; she announced: and burst out with the
+      song: <i>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re gayly yet, we&rsquo;re gayly yet; We&rsquo;re not very fou, but we&rsquo;re
+      gayly yet: Then sit ye awhile, and tipple a bit; For we&rsquo;re not very fou,
+      but we&rsquo;re gayly yet.&rdquo;</i> She snatched up Carmina&rsquo;s medicine glass, and
+      waved it over her head with a Bacchanalian screech. &ldquo;Fill a brimmer,
+      Tammie! Here&rsquo;s to Redshanks!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And pray who is Redshanks?&rdquo; asked a lady, standing in the doorway. Zo
+      turned round&mdash;and instantly collapsed. A terrible figure, associated
+      with lessons and punishments, stood before her. The convivial friend of
+      Donald, the established Missus of Lord Northlake, disappeared&mdash;and a
+      polite pupil took their place. &ldquo;If you please, Miss Minerva, Redshanks is
+      nickname for a Highlander.&rdquo; Who would have recognised the singer of &ldquo;We&rsquo;re
+      gayly yet,&rdquo; in the subdued young person who made that reply?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door opened again. Another disastrous intrusion? Yes, another! Teresa
+      appeared this time&mdash;caught Zo up in her arms&mdash;and gave the child
+      a kiss that was heard all over the room. &ldquo;Ah, mia Giocosa!&rdquo; cried the old
+      nurse&mdash;too happy to speak in any language but her own. &ldquo;What does
+      that mean?&rdquo; Zo asked, settling her ruffled petticoats. &ldquo;It means,&rdquo; said
+      Teresa, who prided herself on her English, &ldquo;Ah, my Jolly.&rdquo; This to a young
+      lady who could slit a haggis! This to the only person in Scotland,
+      privileged to smack Donald&rsquo;s legs! Zo turned to her father, and recovered
+      her dignity. Maria herself could hardly have spoken with more severe
+      propriety. &ldquo;I wish to go home,&rdquo; said Zo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid had only to look at Carmina, and to see the necessity of immediate
+      compliance with his little sister&rsquo;s wishes. No more laughing, no more
+      excitement, for that day. He led Zo out himself, and resigned her to her
+      father at the door of his rooms on the ground floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cheered already by having got away from Miss Minerva and the nurse, Zo
+      desired to know who lived downstairs; and, hearing that these were Ovid&rsquo;s
+      rooms, insisted on seeing them. The three went in together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid drew Mr. Gallilee into a corner. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m easier about Carmina now,&rdquo; he
+      said. &ldquo;The failure of her memory doesn&rsquo;t extend backwards. It begins with
+      the shock to her brain, on the day when Teresa removed her to this house&mdash;and
+      it will end, I feel confident, with the end of her illness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s attention suddenly wandered. &ldquo;Zo!&rdquo; he called out, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t
+      touch your brother&rsquo;s papers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The one object that had excited the child&rsquo;s curiosity was the
+      writing-table. Dozens of sheets of paper were scattered over it, covered
+      with writing, blotted and interlined. Some of these leaves had overflowed
+      the table, and found a resting-place on the floor. Zo was amusing herself
+      by picking them up. &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; she said, handing them obediently to Ovid,
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve had many a rap on the knuckles for writing not half as bad as
+      yours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hearing his daughter&rsquo;s remark, Mr. Gallilee became interested in looking
+      at the fragments of manuscript. &ldquo;What an awful mess!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;May I
+      try if I can read a bit?&rdquo; Ovid smiled. &ldquo;Try by all means; you will make
+      one useful discovery at least&mdash;you will see that the most patient men
+      on the face of the civilised earth are Printers!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee tried a page&mdash;and gave it up before he turned giddy. &ldquo;Is
+      it fair to ask what this is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Something easy to feel, and hard to express,&rdquo; Ovid answered. &ldquo;These
+      ill-written lines are my offering of gratitude to the memory of an unknown
+      and unhappy man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The man you told me of, who died at Montreal?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You never mentioned his name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His last wishes forbade me to mention it to any living creature. God
+      knows there were pitiable, most pitiable, reasons for his dying unknown!
+      The stone over his grave only bears his initials, and the date of his
+      death. But,&rdquo; said Ovid, kindling with enthusiasm, as he laid his hand on
+      his manuscript, &ldquo;the discoveries of this great physician shall benefit
+      humanity! And my debt to him shall be acknowledged, with the admiration
+      and the devotion that I truly feel!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In a book?&rdquo; asked Mr. Gallilee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In a book that is now being printed. You will see it before the New
+      Year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Finding nothing to amuse her in the sitting-room, Zo had tried the bedroom
+      next. She now returned to Ovid, dragging after her a long white staff that
+      looked like an Alpen-stock. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;A broomstick?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A specimen of rare Canadian wood, my dear. Would you like to have it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo took the offer quite seriously. She looked with longing eyes at the
+      specimen, three times as tall as herself&mdash;and shook her head. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+      not big enough for it, yet,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Look at it, papa! Benjulia&rsquo;s stick
+      is nothing to this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That name&mdash;on the child&rsquo;s lips&mdash;had a sound revolting to Ovid.
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t speak of him!&rdquo; he said irritably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mustn&rsquo;t I speak of him,&rdquo; Zo asked, &ldquo;when I want him to tickle me?&rdquo; Ovid
+      beckoned to her father. &ldquo;Take her away now,&rdquo; he whispered&mdash;&ldquo;and never
+      let her see that man again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The warning was needless. The man&rsquo;s destiny had decreed that he and Zo
+      were never more to meet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0062" id="link2HCH0062">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LXII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia&rsquo;s servants had but a dull time of it, poor souls, in the lonely
+      house. Towards the end of December, they subscribed among themselves to
+      buy one of those wonderful Christmas Numbers&mdash;presenting year after
+      year the same large-eyed ladies, long-legged lovers, corpulent children,
+      snow landscapes, and gluttonous merry-makings&mdash;which have become a
+      national institution: say, the pictorial plum puddings of the English
+      nation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The servants had plenty of time to enjoy their genial newspaper, before
+      the dining-room bell disturbed them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For some weeks past, the master had again begun to spend the whole of his
+      time in the mysterious laboratory. On the rare occasions when he returned
+      to the house, he was always out of temper. If the servants knew nothing
+      else, they knew what these signs meant&mdash;the great man was harder at
+      work than ever; and in spite of his industry, he was not getting on so
+      well as usual.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On this particular evening, the bell rang at the customary time&mdash;and
+      the cook (successor to the unfortunate creature with pretensions to beauty
+      and sentiment) hastened to get the dinner ready.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The footman turned to the dresser, and took from it a little heap of
+      newspapers; carefully counting them before he ventured to carry them
+      upstairs. This was Doctor Benjulia&rsquo;s regular weekly supply of medical
+      literature; and here, again, the mysterious man presented an
+      incomprehensible problem to his fellow-creatures. He subscribed to every
+      medical publication in England&mdash;and he never read one of them! The
+      footman cut the leaves; and the master, with his forefinger to help him,
+      ran his eye up and down the pages; apparently in search of some
+      announcement that he never found&mdash;and, still more extraordinary,
+      without showing the faintest sign of disappointment when he had done.
+      Every week, he briskly shoved his unread periodicals into a huge basket,
+      and sent them downstairs as waste paper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The footman took up the newspapers and the dinner together&mdash;and was
+      received with frowns and curses. He was abused for everything that he did
+      in his own department, and for everything that the cook had done besides.
+      &ldquo;Whatever the master&rsquo;s working at,&rdquo; he announced, on returning to the
+      kitchen, &ldquo;he&rsquo;s farther away from hitting the right nail on the head than
+      ever. Upon my soul, I think I shall have to give warning! Let&rsquo;s relieve
+      our minds. Where&rsquo;s the Christmas Number?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Half an hour later, the servants were startled by a tremendous bang of the
+      house-door which shook the whole building. The footman ran upstairs: the
+      dining-room was empty; the master&rsquo;s hat was not on its peg in the hall;
+      and the medical newspapers were scattered about in the wildest confusion.
+      Close to the fender lay a crumpled leaf, torn out. Its position suggested
+      that it had narrowly missed being thrown into the fire. The footman
+      smoothed it out, and looked at it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One side of the leaf contained a report of a lecture. This was dry
+      reading. The footman tried the other side, and found a review of a new
+      medical work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This would have been dull reading too, but for an extract from a Preface,
+      stating how the book came to be published, and what wonderful discoveries,
+      relating to peoples&rsquo; brains, it contained. There were some curious things
+      said here&mdash;especially about a melancholy deathbed at a place called
+      Montreal&mdash;which made the Preface almost as interesting as a story.
+      But what was there in this to hurry the master out of the house, as if the
+      devil had been at his heels?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Doctor Benjulia&rsquo;s nearest neighbour was a small farmer named Gregg. He was
+      taking a nap that evening, when his wife bounced into the room, and said,
+      &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s the big doctor gone mad!&rdquo; And there he was truly, at Mrs. Gregg&rsquo;s
+      heels, clamouring to have the horse put to in the gig, and to be driven to
+      London instantly. He said, &ldquo;Pay yourself what you please&rdquo;&mdash;and opened
+      his pocket-book, full of bank-notes. Mr. Gregg said, &ldquo;It seems, sir, this
+      is a matter of life or death.&rdquo; Whereupon he looked at Mr. Gregg&mdash;and
+      considered a little&mdash;and, becoming quiet on a sudden, answered, &ldquo;Yes,
+      it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the road to London, he never once spoke&mdash;except to himself&mdash;and
+      then only from time to time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed, judging by what fell from him now and then, that he was
+      troubled about a man and a letter. He had suspected the man all along; but
+      he had nevertheless given him the letter&mdash;and now it had ended in the
+      letter turning out badly for Doctor Benjulia himself. Where he went to in
+      London, it was not possible to say. Mr. Gregg&rsquo;s horse was not fast enough
+      for him. As soon as he could find one, he took a cab.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The shopman of Mr. Barrable, the famous publisher of medical works, had
+      just put up the shutters, and was going downstairs to his tea, when he
+      heard a knocking at the shop door. The person proved to be a very tall
+      man, in a violent hurry to buy Mr. Ovid Vere&rsquo;s new book. He said, by way
+      of apology, that he was in that line himself, and that his name was
+      Benjulia. The shopman knew him by reputation, and sold him the book. He
+      was in such a hurry to read it, that he actually began in the shop. It was
+      necessary to tell him that business hours were over. Hearing this, he ran
+      out, and told the cabman to drive as fast as possible to Pall Mall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The library waiter at Doctor Benjulia&rsquo;s Club found him in the library,
+      busy with a book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was quite alone; the members, at that hour of the evening, being
+      generally at dinner, or in the smoking-room. The man whose business it was
+      to attend to the fires, went in during the night, from time to time, and
+      always found him in the same corner. It began to get late. He finished his
+      reading; but it seemed to make no difference. There he sat&mdash;wide
+      awake&mdash;holding his closed book on his knee, seemingly lost in his own
+      thoughts. This went on till it was time to close the Club. They were
+      obliged to disturb him. He said nothing; and went slowly down into the
+      hall, leaving his book behind him. It was an awful night, raining and
+      sleeting&mdash;but he took no notice of the weather. When they fetched a
+      cab, the driver refused to take him to where he lived, on such a night as
+      that. He only said, &ldquo;Very well; go to the nearest hotel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The night porter at the hotel let in a tall gentleman, and showed him into
+      one of the bedrooms kept ready for persons arriving late. Having no
+      luggage, he paid the charges beforehand. About eight o&rsquo;clock in the
+      morning, he rang for the waiter&mdash;who observed that his bed had not
+      been slept in. All he wanted for breakfast was the strongest coffee that
+      could be made. It was not strong enough to please him when he tasted it;
+      and he had some brandy put in. He paid, and was liberal to the waiter, and
+      went away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The policeman on duty, that day, whose beat included the streets at the
+      back of Fairfield Gardens, noticed in one of them, a tall gentleman
+      walking backwards and forwards, and looking from time to time at one
+      particular house. When he passed that way again, there was the gentleman
+      still patrolling the street, and still looking towards the same house. The
+      policeman waited a little, and watched. The place was a respectable
+      lodging house, and the stranger was certainly a gentleman, though a queer
+      one to look at. It was not the policeman&rsquo;s business to interfere on
+      suspicion, except in the case of notoriously bad characters. So, though he
+      did think it odd, he went on again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Between twelve and one o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon, Ovid left his Lodgings,
+      to go to the neighbouring livery stables, and choose an open carriage. The
+      sun was shining, and the air was brisk and dry, after the stormy night. It
+      was just the day when he might venture to take Carmina out for a drive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On his way down the street, he heard footsteps behind him, and felt
+      himself touched on the shoulder. He turned&mdash;and discovered Benjulia.
+      On the point of speaking resentfully, he restrained himself. There was
+      something in the wretch&rsquo;s face that struck him with horror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia said, &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t keep you long; I want to know one thing. Will she
+      live or die?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her life is safe&mdash;I hope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Through your new mode of treatment?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His eyes and his voice said more than his words. Ovid instantly knew that
+      he had seen the book; and that the book had forestalled him in the
+      discovery to which he had devoted his life. Was it possible to pity a man
+      whose hardened nature never pitied others? All things are possible to a
+      large heart. Ovid shrank from answering him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia spoke again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When we met that night at my garden gate,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you told me my life
+      should answer for her life, if she died. My neglect has not killed her&mdash;and
+      you have no need to keep your word. But I don&rsquo;t get off, Mr. Ovid Vere,
+      without paying the penalty. You have taken something from me, which was
+      dearer than life, I wished to tell you that&mdash;I have no more to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ovid silently offered his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Benjulia&rsquo;s head drooped in thought. The generous protest of the man whom
+      he had injured, spoke in that outstretched hand. He looked at Ovid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; he said&mdash;and walked away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Leaving the street, he went round to Fairfield Gardens, and rang the bell
+      at Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s door. The bell was answered by a polite old woman&mdash;a
+      stranger to him among the servants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Zo in the house?&rdquo; he inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody&rsquo;s in the house, sir. It&rsquo;s to be let, if you please, as soon as the
+      furniture can be moved.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know where Zo is? I mean, Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s youngest child.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry to say, sir, I&rsquo;m not acquainted with the family.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited at the door, apparently hesitating what to do next. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go
+      upstairs,&rdquo; he said suddenly; &ldquo;I want to look at the house. You needn&rsquo;t go
+      with me; I know my way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you kindly, sir!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He went straight to the schoolroom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The repellent melancholy of an uninhabited place had fallen on it already.
+      The plain furniture was not worth taking care of: it was battered and old,
+      and left to dust and neglect. There were two common deal writing desks,
+      formerly used by the two girls. One of them was covered with splashes of
+      ink: varied here and there by barbarous caricatures of faces, in which
+      dots and strokes represented eyes, noses, and mouths. He knew whose desk
+      this was, and opened the cover of it. In the recess beneath were soiled
+      tables of figures, torn maps, and dogs-eared writing books. The ragged
+      paper cover of one of these last, bore on its inner side a grotesquely
+      imperfect inscription:&mdash;<i>my cop book zo.</i> He tore off the cover,
+      and put it in the breast pocket of his coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should have liked to tickle her once more,&rdquo; he thought, as he went down
+      stairs again. The polite old woman opened the door, curtsying
+      deferentially. He gave her half a crown. &ldquo;God bless you, sir!&rdquo; she burst
+      out, in a gush of gratitude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He checked himself, on the point of stepping into the street, and looked
+      at her with some curiosity. &ldquo;Do you believe in God?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old woman was even capable of making a confession of faith politely.
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;if you have no objection.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stepped into the street. &ldquo;I wonder whether she is right?&rdquo; he thought.
+      &ldquo;It doesn&rsquo;t matter; I shall soon know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The servants were honestly glad to see him, when he got home. They had
+      taken it in turn to sit up through the night; knowing his regular habits,
+      and feeling the dread that some accident had happened. Never before had
+      they seen him so fatigued. He dropped helplessly into his chair; his
+      gigantic body shook with shivering fits. The footman begged him to take
+      some refreshment. &ldquo;Brandy, and raw eggs,&rdquo; he said. These being brought to
+      him, he told them to wait until he rang&mdash;and locked the door when
+      they went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After waiting until the short winter daylight was at an end, the footman
+      ventured to knock, and ask if the master wanted lights. He replied that he
+      had lit the candles for himself. No smell of tobacco smoke came from the
+      room; and he had let the day pass without going to the laboratory. These
+      were portentous signs. The footman said to his fellow servants, &ldquo;There&rsquo;s
+      something wrong.&rdquo; The women looked at each other in vague terror. One of
+      them said, &ldquo;Hadn&rsquo;t we better give notice to leave?&rdquo; And the other
+      whispered a question: &ldquo;Do you think he&rsquo;s committed a crime?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Towards ten o&rsquo;clock, the bell rang at last. Immediately afterwards they
+      heard him calling to them from the hall. &ldquo;I want you, all three, up here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They went up together&mdash;the two women anticipating a sight of horror,
+      and keeping close to the footman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The master was walking quietly backwards and forwards in the room: the
+      table had pen and ink on it, and was covered with writings. He spoke to
+      them in his customary tones; there was not the slightest appearance of
+      agitation in his manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean to leave this house, and go away,&rdquo; he began. &ldquo;You are dismissed
+      from my service, for that reason only. Take your written characters from
+      the table; read them, and say if there is anything to complain of.&rdquo; There
+      was nothing to complain of. On another part of the table there were three
+      little heaps of money. &ldquo;A month&rsquo;s wages for each of you,&rdquo; he explained,
+      &ldquo;in place of a month&rsquo;s warning. I wish you good luck.&rdquo; One of the women
+      (the one who had suggested giving notice to leave) began to cry. He took
+      no notice of this demonstration, and went on. &ldquo;I want two of you to do me
+      a favour before we part. You will please witness the signature of my
+      Will.&rdquo; The sensitive servant drew back directly. &ldquo;No!&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I
+      couldn&rsquo;t do it. I never heard the Death-Watch before in winter time&mdash;I
+      heard it all last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The other two witnessed the signature. They observed that the Will was a
+      very short one. It was impossible not to notice the only legacy left; the
+      words crossed the paper, just above the signatures, and only occupied two
+      lines: &ldquo;I leave to Zoe, youngest daughter of Mr. John Gallilee, of
+      Fairfield Gardens, London, everything absolutely of which I die
+      possessed.&rdquo; Excepting the formal introductory phrases, and the statement
+      relating to the witnesses&mdash;both copied from a handy book of law,
+      lying open on the table&mdash;this was the Will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The female servants were allowed to go downstairs; after having been
+      informed that they were to leave the next morning. The footman was
+      detained in the dining-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going to the laboratory,&rdquo; the master said; &ldquo;and I want a few things
+      carried to the door.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The big basket for waste paper, three times filled with letters and
+      manuscripts; the books; the medicine chest; and the stone jar of oil from
+      the kitchen&mdash;these, the master and the man removed together; setting
+      them down at the laboratory door. It was a still cold starlight winter&rsquo;s
+      night. The intermittent shriek of a railway whistle in the distance, was
+      the only sound that disturbed the quiet of the time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good night!&rdquo; said the master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man returned the salute, and walked back to the house, closing the
+      front door. He was now more firmly persuaded than ever that something was
+      wrong. In the hall, the women were waiting for him. &ldquo;What does it mean?&rdquo;
+       they asked. &ldquo;Keep quiet,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In another minute he was posted at the back of the house, behind the edge
+      of the wall. Looking out from this place, he could see the light of the
+      lamps in the laboratory streaming through the open door, and the dark
+      figure of the master coming and going, as he removed the objects left
+      outside into the building. Then the door was shut, and nothing was visible
+      but the dim glow that found its way to the skylight, through the white
+      blind inside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He boldly crossed the open space of ground, resolved to try what his ears
+      might discover, now that his eyes were useless. He posted himself at the
+      back of the laboratory, close to one of the side walls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now and then, he heard&mdash;what had reached his ears when he had been
+      listening on former occasions&mdash;the faint whining cries of animals.
+      These were followed by new sounds. Three smothered shrieks, succeeding
+      each other at irregular intervals, made his blood run cold. Had three
+      death-strokes been dealt on some suffering creatures, with the same sudden
+      and terrible certainty? Silence, horrible silence, was all that answered.
+      In the distant railway there was an interval of peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door was opened again; the flood of light streamed out on the
+      darkness. Suddenly the yellow glow was spotted by the black figures of
+      small swiftly-running creatures&mdash;perhaps cats, perhaps rabbits&mdash;escaping
+      from the laboratory. The tall form of the master followed slowly, and
+      stood revealed watching the flight of the animals. In a moment more, the
+      last of the liberated creatures came out&mdash;a large dog, limping as if
+      one of its legs was injured. It stopped as it passed the master, and tried
+      to fawn on him. He threatened it with his hand. &ldquo;Be off with you, like the
+      rest!&rdquo; he said. The dog slowly crossed the flow of light, and was
+      swallowed up in darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The last of them that could move was gone. The death shrieks of the others
+      had told their fate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But still, there stood the master alone&mdash;a grand black figure, with
+      its head turned up to the stars. The minutes followed one another: the
+      servant waited, and watched him. The solitary man had a habit, well known
+      to those about him, of speaking to himself; not a word escaped him now;
+      his upturned head never moved; the bright wintry heaven held him
+      spellbound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last, the change came. Once more the silence was broken by the scream
+      of the railway whistle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He started like a person suddenly roused from deep sleep, and went back
+      into the laboratory. The last sound then followed&mdash;the locking and
+      bolting of the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The servant left his hiding-place: his master&rsquo;s secret, was no secret now.
+      He hated himself for eating that master&rsquo;s bread, and earning that master&rsquo;s
+      money. One of the ignorant masses, this man! Mere sentiment had a strange
+      hold on his stupid mind; the remembrance of the poor wounded dog,
+      companionable and forgiving under cruel injuries, cut into his heart like
+      a knife. His thought at that moment, was an act of treason to the royalty
+      of Knowledge,&mdash;&ldquo;I wish to God I could lame <i>him,</i> as he has
+      lamed the dog!&rdquo; Another fanatic! another fool! Oh, Science, be merciful to
+      the fanatics, and the fools!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he got back to the house, the women were still on the look-out for
+      him. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t speak to me now,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Get to your beds. And, mind this&mdash;let&rsquo;s
+      be off to-morrow morning before <i>he</i> can see us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no sleep for him when he went to his own bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The remembrance of the dog tormented him. The other lesser animals were
+      active; capable of enjoying their liberty and finding shelter for
+      themselves. Where had the maimed creature found a refuge, on that bitter
+      night? Again, and again, and again, the question forced its way into his
+      mind. He could endure it no longer. Cautiously and quickly&mdash;in dread
+      of his extraordinary conduct being perhaps discovered by the women&mdash;he
+      dressed himself, and opened the house door to look for the dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out of the darkness on the step, there rose something dark. He put out his
+      hand. A persuasive tongue, gently licking it, pleaded for a word of
+      welcome. The crippled animal could only have got to the door in one way;
+      the gate which protected the house-enclosure must have been left open.
+      First giving the dog a refuge in the kitchen, the footman&mdash;rigidly
+      performing his last duties&mdash;went to close the gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At his first step into the enclosure he stopped panic-stricken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The starlit sky over the laboratory was veiled in murky red. Roaring
+      flame, and spouting showers of sparks, poured through the broken skylight.
+      Voices from the farm raised the first cry&mdash;&ldquo;Fire! fire!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the inquest, the evidence suggested suspicion of incendiarism and
+      suicide. The papers, the books, the oil betrayed themselves as combustible
+      materials, carried into the place for a purpose. The medicine chest was
+      known (by its use in cases of illness among the servants) to contain
+      opium. Adjourned inquiry elicited that the laboratory was not insured, and
+      that the deceased was in comfortable circumstances. Where were the
+      motives? One intelligent man, who had drifted into the jury, was satisfied
+      with the evidence. He held that the desperate wretch had some reason of
+      his own for first poisoning himself, and then setting fire to the scene of
+      his labours. Having a majority of eleven against him, the wise juryman
+      consented to a merciful verdict of death by misadventure. The hideous
+      remains of what had once been Benjulia, found Christian burial. His
+      brethren of the torture-table, attended the funeral in large numbers.
+      Vivisection had been beaten on its own field of discovery. They honoured
+      the martyr who had fallen in their cause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0063" id="link2HCH0063">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LXIII.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The life of the New Year was still only numbered by weeks, when a modest
+      little marriage was celebrated&mdash;without the knowledge of the
+      neighbours, without a crowd in the church, and even without a
+      wedding-breakfast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee (honoured with the office of giving away the bride) drew Ovid
+      into a corner before they left the house. &ldquo;She still looks delicate, poor
+      dear,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Do you really consider her to be well again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As well as she will ever be,&rdquo; Ovid answered. &ldquo;Before I returned to her,
+      time had been lost which no skill and no devotion can regain. But the
+      prospect has its bright side. Past events which might have cast their
+      shadow over all her life to come, have left no trace in her memory. I will
+      make her a happy woman. Leave the rest to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teresa and Mr. Mool were the witnesses; Maria and Zo were the bridesmaids:
+      they had only waited to go to church, until one other eagerly expected
+      person joined them. There was a general inquiry for Miss Minerva. Carmina
+      astonished everybody, from the bride-groom downwards, by announcing that
+      circumstances prevented her best and dearest friend from being present.
+      She smiled and blushed as she took Ovid&rsquo;s arm. &ldquo;When we are man and wife,
+      and I am quite sure of you,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;I will tell <i>you,</i> what
+      nobody else must know. In the meantime, darling, if you can give Frances
+      the highest place in your estimation&mdash;next to me&mdash;you will only
+      do justice to the noblest woman that ever lived.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had a little note hidden in her bosom, while she said those words. It
+      was dated on the morning of her marriage: &ldquo;When you return from the
+      honeymoon, Carmina, I shall be the first friend who opens her arms and her
+      heart to you. Forgive me if I am not with you to-day. We are all human, my
+      dear&mdash;don&rsquo;t tell your husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was her last weakness. Carmina had no excuses to make for an absent
+      guest, when the first christening was celebrated. On that occasion the
+      happy young mother betrayed a conjugal secret to her dearest friend. It
+      was at Ovid&rsquo;s suggestion that the infant daughter was called by Miss
+      Minerva&rsquo;s christian name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But when the married pair went away to their happy new life, there was a
+      little cloud of sadness, which vanished in sunshine&mdash;thanks to Zo.
+      Polite Mr. Mool, bent on making himself agreeable to everybody, paid his
+      court to Mr. Gallilee&rsquo;s youngest daughter. &ldquo;And who do you mean to marry,
+      my little Miss, when you grow up?&rdquo; the lawyer asked with feeble drollery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zo looked at him in grave surprise. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s all settled,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
+      got a man waiting for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, indeed! And who may he be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Donald!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s a very extraordinary child of yours,&rdquo; Mr. Mool said to his friend,
+      as they walked away together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gallilee absently agreed. &ldquo;Has my message been given to my wife?&rdquo; he
+      asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Mool sighed and shook his head. &ldquo;Messages from her husband are as
+      completely thrown away on her,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;as if she was still in the
+      asylum. In justice to yourself, consent to an amicable separation, and I
+      will arrange it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you seen her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I insisted on it, before I met her lawyers. She declares herself to be an
+      infamously injured woman&mdash;and, upon my honour, she proves it, from
+      her own point of view. &lsquo;My husband never came near me in my illness, and
+      took my children away by stealth. My children were so perfectly ready to
+      be removed from their mother, that neither of them had the decency to
+      write me a letter. My niece contemplated shamelessly escaping to my son,
+      and wrote him a letter vilifying his mother in the most abominable terms.
+      And Ovid completes the round of ingratitude by marrying the girl who has
+      behaved in this way.&rsquo; I declare to you, Gallilee, that was how she put it!
+      &lsquo;Am I to blame,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;for believing that story about my brother&rsquo;s
+      wife? It&rsquo;s acknowledged that she gave the man money&mdash;the rest is a
+      matter of opinion. Was I wrong to lose my temper, and say what I did say
+      to this so-called niece of mine? Yes, I was wrong, there: it&rsquo;s the only
+      case in which there is a fault to find with me. But had I no provocation?
+      Have I not suffered? Don&rsquo;t try to look as if you pitied me. I stand in no
+      need of pity. But I owe a duty to my own self-respect; and that duty
+      compels me to speak plainly. I will have nothing more to do with the
+      members of my heartless family. The rest of my life is devoted to
+      intellectual society, and the ennobling pursuits of science. Let me hear
+      no more, sir, of you or your employers.&rsquo; She rose like a queen, and bowed
+      me out of the room. I declare to you, my flesh creeps when I think of
+      her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I leave her now,&rdquo; said Mr. Gallilee, &ldquo;I leave her in debt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me your word of honour not to mention what I am going to tell you,&rdquo;
+       Mr. Mool rejoined. &ldquo;If she needs money, the kindest man in the world has
+      offered me a blank cheque to fill in for her&mdash;and his name is Ovid
+      Vere.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      As the season advanced, two social entertainments which offered the most
+      complete contrast to each other, were given in London on the same evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. and Mrs. Ovid Vere had a little dinner party to celebrate their
+      return. Teresa (advanced to the dignity of housekeeper) insisted on
+      stuffing the tomatoes and cooking the macaroni with her own hand. The
+      guests were Lord and Lady Northlake; Maria and Zo; Miss Minerva and Mr.
+      Mool. Mr. Gallilee was present as one of the household. While he was in
+      London, he and his children lived under Ovid&rsquo;s roof. When they went to
+      Scotland, Mr. Gallilee had a cottage of his own (which he insisted on
+      buying) in Lord Northlake&rsquo;s park. He and Zo drank too much champagne at
+      dinner. The father made a speech; and the daughter sang, &ldquo;We&rsquo;re gayly
+      yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In another quarter of London, there was a party which filled the street
+      with carriages, and which was reported in the newspapers the next morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Gallilee was At Home to Science. The Professors of the civilised
+      universe rallied round their fair friend. France, Italy, and Germany
+      bewildered the announcing servants with a perfect Babel of names&mdash;and
+      Great Britain was grandly represented. Those three superhuman men, who had
+      each had a peep behind the veil of creation, and discovered the mystery of
+      life, attended the party and became centres of three circles&mdash;the
+      circle that believed in &ldquo;protoplasm,&rdquo; the circle that believed in
+      &ldquo;bioplasm,&rdquo; and the circle that believed in &ldquo;atomized charges of
+      electricity, conducted into the system by the oxygen of respiration.&rdquo;
+       Lectures and demonstrations went on all through the evening, all over the
+      magnificent room engaged for the occasion. In one corner, a fair
+      philosopher in blue velvet and point lace, took the Sun in hand
+      facetiously. &ldquo;The sun&rsquo;s life, my friends, begins with a nebulous infancy
+      and a gaseous childhood.&rdquo; In another corner, a gentleman of shy and
+      retiring manners converted &ldquo;radiant energy into sonorous vibrations&rdquo;&mdash;themselves
+      converted into sonorous poppings by waiters and champagne bottles at the
+      supper table. In the centre of the room, the hostess solved the serious
+      problem of diet; viewed as a method of assisting tadpoles to develop
+      themselves into frogs&mdash;with such cheering results that these last
+      lively beings joined the guests on the carpet, and gratified intelligent
+      curiosity by explorations on the stairs. Within the space of one
+      remarkable evening, three hundred illustrious people were charmed,
+      surprised, instructed, and amused; and when Science went home, it left a
+      conversazione (for once) with its stomach well filled. At two in the
+      morning, Mrs. Gallilee sat down in the empty room, and said to the learned
+      friend who lived with her,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At last, I&rsquo;m a happy woman!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      THE END. <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Heart and Science, by Wilkie Collins
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEART AND SCIENCE ***
+
+***** This file should be named 7892-h.htm or 7892-h.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        http://www.gutenberg.org/7/8/9/7892/
+
+Produced by James Rusk, and David Widger
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions 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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase &ldquo;Project
+Gutenberg&rdquo;), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  &ldquo;Project Gutenberg&rdquo; is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (&ldquo;the Foundation&rdquo;
+ or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase &ldquo;Project Gutenberg&rdquo; appears, or with which the phrase &ldquo;Project
+Gutenberg&rdquo; is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase &ldquo;Project Gutenberg&rdquo; associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+&ldquo;Plain Vanilla ASCII&rdquo; or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original &ldquo;Plain Vanilla ASCII&rdquo; or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, &ldquo;Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.&rdquo;
+ 
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+&ldquo;Defects,&rdquo; such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the &ldquo;Right
+of Replacement or Refund&rdquo; described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you &lsquo;AS-IS&rsquo; WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm&rsquo;s
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation&rsquo;s EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state&rsquo;s laws.
+
+The Foundation&rsquo;s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation&rsquo;s web site and official
+page at http://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+
+</pre>
+  </body>
+</html>
diff --git a/7892.txt b/7892.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c282bbf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/7892.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,15752 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Heart and Science, by Wilkie Collins
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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
+
+
+Title: Heart and Science
+       A Story of the Present Time
+
+Author: Wilkie Collins
+
+Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7892]
+Posting Date: July 29, 2009
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEART AND SCIENCE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by James Rusk
+
+
+
+
+
+HEART AND SCIENCE
+
+A Story of the Present Time
+
+By Wilkie Collins
+
+
+
+TO
+
+SARONY
+
+(OF NEW YORK)
+
+ARTIST; PHOTOGRAPHER,
+
+AND
+
+GOOD FRIEND
+
+
+
+
+
+I. PREFACE TO READERS IN GENERAL
+
+
+You are the children of Old Mother England, on both sides of the
+Atlantic; you form the majority of buyers and borrowers of novels; and
+you judge of works of fiction by certain inbred preferences, which but
+slightly influence the other great public of readers on the continent of
+Europe.
+
+The two qualities in fiction which hold the highest rank in your
+estimation are: Character and Humour. Incident and dramatic situation
+only occupy the second place in your favour. A novel that tells no
+story, or that blunders perpetually in trying to tell a story--a novel
+so entirely devoid of all sense of the dramatic side of human life,
+that not even a theatrical thief can find anything in it to steal--will
+nevertheless be a work that wins (and keeps) your admiration, if it has
+Humour which dwells on your memory, and characters which enlarge the
+circle of your friends.
+
+I have myself always tried to combine the different merits of a good
+novel, in one and the same work; and I have never succeeded in keeping
+an equal balance. In the present story you will find the scales
+inclining, on the whole, in favour of character and Humour. This has not
+happened accidentally.
+
+Advancing years, and health that stands sadly in need of improvement,
+warn me--if I am to vary my way of work--that I may have little time
+to lose. Without waiting for future opportunities, I have kept your
+standard of merit more constantly before my mind, in writing this book,
+than on some former occasions.
+
+Still persisting in telling you a story--still refusing to get up in the
+pulpit and preach, or to invade the platform and lecture, or to take you
+by the buttonhole in confidence and make fun of my Art--it has been
+my chief effort to draw the characters with a vigour and breadth of
+treatment, derived from the nearest and truest view that I could get of
+the one model, Nature. Whether I shall at once succeed in adding to
+the circle of your friends in the world of fiction--or whether you will
+hurry through the narrative, and only discover on a later reading that
+it is the characters which have interested you in the story--remains to
+be seen. Either way, your sympathy will find me grateful; for, either
+way, my motive has been to please you.
+
+During its periodical publication correspondents, noting certain
+passages in "Heart and Science," inquired how I came to think of writing
+this book. The question may be readily answered in better words than
+mine. My book has been written in harmony with opinions which have an
+indisputable claim to respect. Let them speak for themselves.
+
+
+     SHAKESPEARE'S OPINION.--"It was always yet the trick of our
+English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common."
+_(King Henry IV., Part II.)_
+
+     WALTER SCOTT'S OPINION--"I am no great believer in the extreme
+degree of improvement to be derived from the advancement of Science; for
+every study of that nature tends, when pushed to a certain extent, to
+harden the heart." _(Letter to Miss Edgeworth.)_
+
+     FARADAY'S OPINION.--"The education of the judgment has for its
+first and its last step--Humility." _(Lecture on Mental Education, at
+the Royal Institution.)_
+
+Having given my reasons for writing the book, let me conclude by telling
+you what I have kept out of the book.
+
+It encourages me to think that we have many sympathies in common; and
+among them, that most of us have taken to our hearts domestic pets.
+Writing under this conviction, I have not forgotten my responsibility
+towards you, and towards my Art, in pleading the cause of the harmless
+and affectionate beings of God's creation. From first to last, you are
+purposely left in ignorance of the hideous secrets of Vivisection. The
+outside of the laboratory is a necessary object in my landscape--but I
+never once open the door and invite you to look in. I trace, in one of
+my characters, the result of the habitual practice of cruelty (no matter
+under what pretence) in fatally deteriorating the nature of man--and
+I leave the picture to speak for itself. My own personal feeling has
+throughout been held in check. Thankfully accepting the assistance
+rendered to me by Miss Frances Power Cobbe, by Mrs. H. M. Gordon, and by
+Surgeon-General Gordon, C.B., I have borne in mind (as they have borne
+in mind) the value of temperate advocacy to a good cause.
+
+With this, your servant withdraws, and leaves you to the story.
+
+
+
+
+II. TO READERS IN PARTICULAR.
+
+If you are numbered among those good friends of ours, who are especially
+capable of understanding us and sympathising with us, be pleased to
+accept the expression of our gratitude, and to pass over the lines that
+follow.
+
+But if you open our books with a mind soured by distrust; if you
+habitually anticipate inexcusable ignorance where the course of the
+story happens to turn on matters of fact; it is you, Sir or Madam, whom
+I now want.
+
+Not to dispute with you--far from it! I own with sorrow that your
+severity does occasionally encounter us on assailable ground. But there
+are exceptions, even to the stiffest rules. Some of us are not guilty
+of wilful carelessness: some of us apply to competent authority, when
+we write on subjects beyond the range of our own experience. Having thus
+far ventured to speak for my colleagues, you will conclude that I am
+paving the way for speaking next of myself. As our cousins in the United
+States say--that is so.
+
+In the following pages, there are allusions to medical practice at the
+bedside; leading in due course to physiological questions which connect
+themselves with the main interest of the novel. In traversing this
+delicate ground, you have not been forgotten. Before the manuscript went
+to the printer, it was submitted for correction to an eminent London
+surgeon, whose experience extends over a period of forty years.
+
+Again: a supposed discovery in connection with brain disease, which
+occupies a place of importance, is not (as you may suspect) the
+fantastic product of the author's imagination. Finding his
+materials everywhere, he has even contrived to make use of Professor
+Ferrier--writing on the "Localisation of Cerebral Disease," and closing
+a confession of the present result of post-mortem examination of brains
+in these words: "We cannot even be sure, whether many of the changes
+discovered are the cause or the result of the Disease, or whether the
+two are the conjoint results of a common cause." Plenty of elbow room
+here for the spirit of discovery.
+
+On becoming acquainted with "Mrs. Gallilee," you will find her
+talking--and you will sometimes even find the author talking--of
+scientific subjects in general. You will naturally conclude that it is
+"all gross caricature." No; it is all promiscuous reading. Let me spare
+you a long list of books consulted, and of newspapers and magazines
+mutilated for "cuttings"--and appeal to examples once more, and for the
+last time.
+
+When "Mrs. Gallilee" wonders whether "Carmina has ever heard of
+the Diathermancy of Ebonite," she is thinking of proceedings at a
+conversazione in honour of Professor Helmholtz (reported in the _Times_
+of April 12, 1881), at which "radiant energy" was indeed converted into
+"sonorous vibrations." Again: when she contemplates taking part in
+a discussion on Matter, she has been slily looking into Chambers's
+Encyclopaedia, and has there discovered the interesting conditions on
+which she can "dispense with the idea of atoms." Briefly, not a word of
+my own invention occurs, when Mrs. Gallilee turns the learned side of
+her character to your worships' view.
+
+I have now only to add that the story has been subjected to careful
+revision, and I hope to consequent improvement, in its present form of
+publication. Past experience has shown me that you have a sharp eye for
+slips of the pen, and that you thoroughly enjoy convicting a novelist,
+by post, of having made a mistake. Whatever pains I may have taken to
+disappoint you, it is quite likely that we may be again indebted to each
+other on this occasion. So, to our infinite relief on either side, we
+part friends after all.
+
+W. C.
+
+London: April 1883
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+The weary old nineteenth century had advanced into the last twenty years
+of its life.
+
+Towards two o'clock in the afternoon, Ovid Vere (of the Royal College of
+Surgeons) stood at the window of his consulting-room in London, looking
+out at the summer sunshine, and the quiet dusty street.
+
+He had received a warning, familiar to the busy men of our time--the
+warning from overwrought Nature, which counsels rest after excessive
+work. With a prosperous career before him, he had been compelled (at
+only thirty-one years of age) to ask a colleague to take charge of his
+practice, and to give the brain which he had cruelly wearied a rest of
+some months to come. On the next day he had arranged to embark for the
+Mediterranean in a friend's yacht.
+
+An active man, devoted heart and soul to his profession, is not a man
+who can learn the happy knack of being idle at a moment's notice. Ovid
+found the mere act of looking out of window, and wondering what he
+should do next, more than he had patience to endure.
+
+He turned to his study table. If he had possessed a wife to look after
+him, he would have been reminded that he and his study table had nothing
+in common, under present circumstances. Being deprived of conjugal
+superintendence, he broke though his own rules. His restless hand
+unlocked a drawer, and took out a manuscript work on medicine of his own
+writing. "Surely," he thought, "I may finish a chapter, before I go to
+sea to-morrow?"
+
+His head, steady enough while he was only looking out of window, began
+to swim before he had got to the bottom of a page. The last sentences of
+the unfinished chapter alluded to a matter of fact which he had not yet
+verified. In emergencies of any sort, he was a patient man and a man of
+resource. The necessary verification could be accomplished by a visit to
+the College of Surgeons, situated in the great square called Lincoln's
+Inn Fields. Here was a motive for a walk--with an occupation at the end
+of it, which only involved a question to a Curator, and an examination
+of a Specimen. He locked up his manuscript, and set forth for Lincoln's
+Inn Fields.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+When two friends happen to meet in the street, do they ever look back
+along the procession of small circumstances which has led them both,
+from the starting-point of their own houses, to the same spot, at the
+same time? Not one man in ten thousand has probably ever thought of
+making such a fantastic inquiry as this. And consequently not one man in
+ten thousand, living in the midst of reality, has discovered that he is
+also living in the midst of romance.
+
+From the moment when the young surgeon closed the door of his house,
+he was walking blindfold on his way to a patient in the future who was
+personally still a stranger to him. He never reached the College of
+Surgeons. He never embarked on his friend's yacht.
+
+What were the obstacles which turned him aside from the course that he
+had in view? Nothing but a series of trivial circumstances, occurring in
+the experience of a man who goes out for a walk.
+
+He had only reached the next street, when the first of the circumstances
+presented itself in the shape of a friend's carriage, which drew up at
+his side. A bright benevolent face encircled by bushy white whiskers,
+looked out of the window, and a hearty voice asked him if he had
+completed his arrangements for a long holiday. Having replied to this,
+Ovid had a question to put, on his side.
+
+"How is our patient, Sir Richard?"
+
+"Out of danger."
+
+"And what do the other doctors say now?"
+
+Sir Richard laughed: "They say it's my luck."
+
+"Not convinced yet?"
+
+"Not in the least. Who has ever succeeded in convincing fools? Let's try
+another subject. Is your mother reconciled to your new plans?"
+
+"I can hardly tell you. My mother is in a state of indescribable
+agitation. Her brother's Will has been found in Italy. And his daughter
+may arrive in England at a moment's notice."
+
+"Unmarried?" Sir Richard asked slyly.
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Any money?"
+
+Ovid smiled--not cheerfully. "Do you think my poor mother would be in a
+state of indescribable agitation if there was _not_ money?"
+
+Sir Richard was one of those obsolete elderly persons who quote
+Shakespeare. "Ah, well," he said, "your mother is like Kent in King
+Lear--she's too old to learn. Is she as fond as ever of lace? and as
+keen as ever after a bargain?" He handed a card out of the carriage
+window. "I have just seen an old patient of mine," he resumed, "in whom
+I feel a friendly interest. She is retiring from business by my advice;
+and she asks me, of all the people in the world, to help her in getting
+rid of some wonderful 'remnants,' at 'an alarming sacrifice!' My kind
+regards to your mother--and there's a chance for her. One last word,
+Ovid. Don't be in too great a hurry to return to work; you have plenty
+of spare time before you. Look at my wise dog here, on the front seat,
+and learn from him to be idle and happy."
+
+The great physician had another companion, besides his dog. A friend,
+bound his way, had accepted a seat in the carriage. "Who is that
+handsome young man?" the friend asked as they drove away.
+
+"He is the only son of a relative of mine, dead many years since," Sir
+Richard replied. "Don't forget that you have seen him."
+
+"May I ask why?"
+
+"He has not yet reached the prime of life; and he is on the way--already
+far on the way--to be one of the foremost men of his time. With a
+private fortune, he has worked as few surgeons work who have their bread
+to get by their profession. The money comes from his late father. His
+mother has married again. The second husband is a lazy, harmless
+old fellow, named Gallilee; possessed of one small attraction--fifty
+thousand pounds, grubbed up in trade. There are two little daughters,
+by the second marriage. With such a stepfather as I have described, and,
+between ourselves, with a mother who has rather more than her fair share
+of the jealous, envious, and money-loving propensities of humanity, my
+friend Ovid is not diverted by family influences from the close pursuit
+of his profession. You will tell me, he may marry. Well! if he gets a
+good wife she will be a circumstance in his favour. But, so far as I
+know, he is not that sort of man. Cooler, a deal cooler, with women than
+I am--though I am old enough to be his father. Let us get back to his
+professional prospects. You heard him ask me about a patient?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very good. Death was knocking hard at that patient's door, when I
+called Ovid into consultation with myself and with two other doctors
+who differed with me. It was one of the very rare cases in which the old
+practice of bleeding was, to my mind, the only treatment to pursue. I
+never told him that this was the point in dispute between me and the
+other men--and they said nothing, on their side, at my express request.
+He took his time to examine and think; and he saw the chance of saving
+the patient by venturing on the use of the lancet as plainly as I
+did--with my forty years' experience to teach me! A young man with that
+capacity for discovering the remote cause of disease, and with that
+superiority to the trammels of routine in applying the treatment, has no
+common medical career before him. His holiday will set his health right
+in next to no time. I see nothing in his way, at present--not even a
+woman! But," said Sir Richard, with the explanatory wink of one eye
+peculiar (like quotation from Shakespeare) to persons of the obsolete
+old time, _"we_ know better than to forecast the weather if a petticoat
+influence appears on the horizon. One prediction, however, I do risk.
+If his mother buys any of that lace--I know who will get the best of the
+bargain!"
+
+The conditions under which the old doctor was willing to assume the
+character of a prophet never occurred. Ovid remembered that he was going
+away on a long voyage--and Ovid was a good son. He bought some of the
+lace, as a present to his mother at parting; and, most assuredly, he got
+the worst of the bargain.
+
+His shortest way back to the straight course, from which he had deviated
+in making his purchase, led him into a by-street, near the flower and
+fruit market of Covent Garden. Here he met with the second in number of
+the circumstances which attended his walk. He found himself encountered
+by an intolerably filthy smell.
+
+The market was not out of the direct way to Lincoln's Inn Fields. He
+fled from the smell to the flowery and fruity perfumes of Covent
+Garden, and completed the disinfecting process by means of a basket of
+strawberries.
+
+Why did a poor ragged little girl, carrying a big baby, look with such
+longing eyes at the delicious fruit, that, as a kind-hearted man, he had
+no alternative but to make her a present of the strawberries? Why did
+two dirty boyfriends of hers appear immediately afterwards with news of
+Punch in a neighbouring street, and lead the little girl away with them?
+Why did these two new circumstances inspire him with a fear that the
+boys might take the strawberries away from the poor child, burdened
+as she was with a baby almost as big as herself? When we suffer from
+overwrought nerves we are easily disturbed by small misgivings. The idle
+man of wearied mind followed the friends of the street drama to see what
+happened, forgetful of the College of Surgeons, and finding a new fund
+of amusement in himself.
+
+Arrived in the neighbouring street, he discovered that the Punch
+performance had come to an end--like some other dramatic performances
+of higher pretensions--for want of a paying audience. He waited at a
+certain distance, watching the children. His doubts had done them an
+injustice. The boys only said, "Give us a taste." And the liberal little
+girl rewarded their good conduct. An equitable and friendly division of
+the strawberries was made in a quiet corner.
+
+Where--always excepting the case of a miser or a millionaire--is the man
+to be found who could have returned to the pursuit of his own affairs,
+under these circumstances, without encouraging the practice of the
+social virtues by a present of a few pennies? Ovid was not that man.
+
+Putting back in his breast-pocket the bag in which he was accustomed to
+carry small coins for small charities, his hand touched something which
+felt like the envelope of a letter. He took it out--looked at it with
+an expression of annoyance and surprise--and once more turned aside from
+the direct way to Lincoln's Inn Fields.
+
+The envelope contained his last prescription. Having occasion to consult
+the "Pharmacopoeia," he had written it at home, and had promised to send
+it to the patient immediately. In the absorbing interest of making
+his preparations for leaving England, it had remained forgotten in his
+pocket for nearly two days. The one means of setting this unlucky error
+right, without further delay, was to deliver his prescription himself,
+and to break through his own rules for the second time by attending to a
+case of illness--purely as an act of atonement.
+
+The patient lived in a house nearly opposite to the British Museum. In
+this northward direction he now set his face.
+
+He made his apologies, and gave his advice--and, getting out again
+into the street, tried once more to shape his course for the College
+of Surgeons. Passing the walled garden of the British Museum, he looked
+towards it--and paused. What had stopped him, this time? Nothing but a
+tree, fluttering its bright leaves in the faint summer air.
+
+A marked change showed itself in his face.
+
+The moment before he had been passing in review the curious little
+interruptions which had attended his walk, and had wondered humorously
+what would happen next. Two women, meeting him, and seeing a smile on
+his lips, had said to each other, "There goes a happy man." If they had
+encountered him now, they might have reversed their opinion. They would
+have seen a man thinking of something once dear to him, in the far and
+unforgotten past.
+
+He crossed over the road to the side-street which faced the garden. His
+head drooped; he moved mechanically. Arrived in the street, he lifted
+his eyes, and stood (within nearer view of it) looking at the tree.
+
+Hundreds of miles away from London, under another tree of that gentle
+family, this man--so cold to women in after life--had made child-love,
+in the days of his boyhood, to a sweet little cousin long since numbered
+with the dead. The present time, with its interests and anxieties,
+passed away like the passing of a dream. Little by little, as the
+minutes followed each other, his sore heart felt a calming influence,
+breathed mysteriously from the fluttering leaves. Still forgetful of
+the outward world, he wandered slowly up the street; living in the old
+scenes; thinking, not unhappily now, the old thoughts.
+
+Where, in all London, could he have found a solitude more congenial to a
+dreamer in daylight?
+
+The broad district, stretching northward and eastward from the British
+Museum, is like the quiet quarter of a country town set in the midst of
+the roaring activities of the largest city in the world. Here, you can
+cross the road, without putting limb or life in peril. Here, when you
+are idle, you can saunter and look about, safe from collision with
+merciless straight-walkers whose time is money, and whose destiny is
+business. Here, you may meet undisturbed cats on the pavement, in the
+full glare of noontide, and may watch, through the railings of the
+squares, children at play on grass that almost glows with the lustre of
+the Sussex Downs. This haven of rest is alike out of the way of fashion
+and business; and is yet within easy reach of the one and the other.
+Ovid paused in a vast and silent square. If his little cousin had lived,
+he might perhaps have seen his children at play in some such secluded
+place as this.
+
+The birds were singing blithely in the trees. A tradesman's boy,
+delivering fish to the cook, and two girls watering flowers at a window,
+were the only living creatures near him, as he roused himself and looked
+around.
+
+Where was the College? Where were the Curator and the Specimen? Those
+questions brought with them no feeling of anxiety or surprise. He
+turned, in a half-awakened way, without a wish or a purpose--turned, and
+listlessly looked back.
+
+Two foot-passengers, dressed in mourning garments, were rapidly
+approaching him. One of them, as they came nearer, proved to be an aged
+woman. The other was a girl.
+
+He drew aside to let them pass. They looked at him with the lukewarm
+curiosity of strangers, as they went by. The girl's eyes and his met.
+Only the glance of an instant--and its influence held him for life.
+
+She went swiftly on, as little impressed by the chance meeting as the
+old woman at her side. Without stopping to think--without being capable
+of thought--Ovid followed them. Never before had he done what he was
+doing now; he was, literally, out of himself. He saw them ahead of him,
+and he saw nothing else.
+
+Towards the middle of the square, they turned aside into a street on the
+left. A concert-hall was in the street--with doors open for an afternoon
+performance. They entered the hall. Still out of himself, Ovid followed
+them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+A room of magnificent size; furnished with every conventional luxury
+that money can buy; lavishly provided with newspapers and books of
+reference; lighted by tall windows in the day-time, and by gorgeous
+chandeliers at night, may be nevertheless one of the dreariest places of
+rest and shelter that can be found on the civilised earth. Such places
+exist, by hundreds, in those hotels of monstrous proportions and
+pretensions, which now engulf the traveller who ends his journey on the
+pier or the platform. It may be that we feel ourselves to be strangers
+among strangers--it may be that there is something innately repellent in
+splendid carpets and curtains, chairs and tables, which have no social
+associations to recommend them--it may be that the mind loses its
+elasticity under the inevitable restraint on friendly communication,
+which expresses itself in lowered tones and instinctive distrust of
+our next neighbour; but this alone is certain: life, in the public
+drawing-room of a great hotel, is life with all its healthiest
+emanations perishing in an exhausted receiver.
+
+On the same day, and nearly at the same hour, when Ovid had left his
+house, two women sat in a corner of the public room, in one of the
+largest of the railway hotels latterly built in London.
+
+Without observing it themselves, they were objects of curiosity to their
+fellow-travellers. They spoke to each other in a foreign language.
+They were dressed in deep mourning--with an absence of fashion and a
+simplicity of material which attracted the notice of every other woman
+in the room. One of them wore a black veil over her gray hair. Her hands
+were brown, and knotty at the joints; her eyes looked unnaturally bright
+for her age; innumerable wrinkles crossed and re-crossed her skinny
+face; and her aquiline nose (as one of the ladies present took occasion
+to remark) was so disastrously like the nose of the great Duke of
+Wellington as to be an offensive feature in the face of a woman.
+
+The lady's companion, being a man, took a more merciful view. "She can't
+help being ugly," he whispered. "But see how she looks at the girl with
+her. A good old creature, I say, if ever there was one yet." The lady
+eyed him, as only a jealous woman can eye her husband, and whispered
+back, "Of course you're in love with that slip of a girl!"
+
+She _was_ a slip of a girl--and not even a tall slip. At seventeen years
+of age, it was doubtful whether she would ever grow to a better height.
+
+But a girl who is too thin, and not even so tall as the Venus de'
+Medici, may still be possessed of personal attractions. It was not
+altogether a matter of certainty, in this case, that the attractions
+were sufficiently remarkable to excite general admiration. The fine
+colour and the plump healthy cheeks, the broad smile, and the regular
+teeth, the well-developed mouth, and the promising bosom which form
+altogether the average type of beauty found in the purely bred English
+maiden, were not among the noticeable charms of the small creature in
+gloomy black, shrinking into a corner of the big room. She had very
+little colour of any sort to boast of. Her hair was of so light a brown
+that it just escaped being flaxen; but it had the negative merit of
+not being forced down to her eyebrows, and twisted into the hideous
+curly-wig which exhibits a liberal equality of ugliness on the heads
+of women in the present day. There was a delicacy of finish in her
+features--in the nose and the lips especially--a sensitive changefulness
+in the expression of her eyes (too dark in themselves to be quite in
+harmony with her light hair), and a subtle yet simple witchery in
+her rare smile, which atoned, in some degree at least, for want of
+complexion in the face and of flesh in the figure. Men might dispute
+her claims to beauty--but no one could deny that she was, in the common
+phrase, an interesting person. Grace and refinement; a quickness of
+apprehension and a vivacity of movement, suggestive of some foreign
+origin; a childish readiness of wonder, in the presence of new
+objects--and perhaps, under happier circumstances, a childish
+playfulness with persons whom she loved--were all characteristic
+attractions of the modest stranger who was in the charge of the ugly old
+woman, and who was palpably the object of that wrinkled duenna's devoted
+love.
+
+A travelling writing-case stood open on a table near them. In an
+interval of silence the girl looked at it reluctantly. They had been
+talking of family affairs--and had spoken in Italian, so as to keep
+their domestic secrets from the ears of the strangers about them. The
+old woman was the first to resume the conversation.
+
+"My Carmina, you really ought to write that letter," she said; "the
+illustrious Mrs. Gallilee is waiting to hear of our arrival in London."
+
+Carmina took up the pen, and put it down again with a sigh. "We only
+arrived last night," she pleaded. "Dear old Teresa, let us have one day
+in London by ourselves!"
+
+Teresa received this proposal with undisguised amazement and alarm,
+
+"Jesu Maria! a day in London--and your aunt waiting for you all the
+time! She is your second mother, my dear, by appointment; and her house
+is your new home. And you propose to stop a whole day at an hotel,
+instead of going home. Impossible! Write, my Carmina--write. See, here
+is the address on a card:--'Fairfield Gardens.' What a pretty place
+it must be to live in, with such a name as that! And a sweet lady, no
+doubt. Come! Come!"
+
+But Carmina still resisted. "I have never even seen my aunt," she said.
+"It is dreadful to pass my life with a stranger. Remember, I was only
+a child when you came to us after my mother's death. It is hardly six
+months yet since I lost my father. I have no one but you, and, when I go
+to this new home, you will leave me. I only ask for one more day to be
+together, before we part."
+
+The poor old duenna drew back out of sight, in the shadow of a
+curtain--and began to cry. Carmina took her hand, under cover of
+a tablecloth; Carmina knew how to console her. "We will go and see
+sights," she whispered "and, when dinner-time comes, you shall have a
+glass of the Porto-porto-wine."
+
+Teresa looked round out of the shadow, as easily comforted as a child.
+"Sights!" she exclaimed--and dried her tears. "Porto-porto-wine!" she
+repeated--and smacked her withered lips at the relishing words. "Ah,
+my child, you have not forgotten the consolations I told you of, when
+I lived in London in my young days. To think of you, with an English
+father, and never in London till now! I used to go to museums and
+concerts sometimes, when my English mistress was pleased with me. That
+gracious lady often gave me a glass of the fine strong purple wine. The
+Holy Virgin grant that Aunt Gallilee may be as kind a woman! Such a head
+of hair as the other one she cannot hope to have. It was a joy to dress
+it. Do you think I wouldn't stay here in England with you if I could?
+What is to become of my old man in Italy, with his cursed asthma, and
+nobody to nurse him? Oh, but those were dull years in London! The black
+endless streets--the dreadful Sundays--the hundreds of thousands of
+people, always in a hurry; always with grim faces set on business,
+business, business! I was glad to go back and be married in Italy. And
+here I am in London again, after God knows how many years. No matter.
+We will enjoy ourselves to-day; and when we go to Madam Gallilee's
+to-morrow, we will tell a little lie, and say we only arrived on the
+evening that has not yet come."
+
+The duenna's sense of humour was so tickled by this prospective view of
+the little lie, that she leaned back in her chair and laughed. Carmina's
+rare smile showed itself faintly. The terrible first interview with the
+unknown aunt still oppressed her. She took up a newspaper in despair.
+"Oh, my old dear!" she said, "let us get out of this dreadful room, and
+be reminded of Italy!" Teresa lifted her ugly hands in bewilderment.
+"Reminded of Italy--in London?"
+
+"Is there no Italian music in London?" Carmina asked suggestively.
+
+The duenna's bright eyes answered this in their own language. She
+snatched up the nearest newspaper.
+
+It was then the height of the London concert season. Morning
+performances of music were announced in rows. Reading the advertised
+programmes, Carmina found them, in one remarkable respect, all alike.
+They would have led an ignorant stranger to wonder whether any such
+persons as Italian composers, French composers, and English composers
+had ever existed. The music offered to the English public was music of
+exclusively German (and for the most part modern German) origin. Carmina
+held the opinion--in common with Mozart and Rossini, as well as other
+people--that music without melody is not music at all. She laid aside
+the newspaper.
+
+The plan of going to a concert being thus abandoned, the idea occurred
+to them of seeing pictures. Teresa, in search of information, tried her
+luck at a great table in the middle of the room, on which useful books
+were liberally displayed. She returned with a catalogue of the Royal
+Academy Exhibition (which someone had left on the table), and with the
+most universally well-informed book, on a small scale, that has ever
+enlightened humanity--modestly described on the title-page as an
+Almanac.
+
+Carmina opened the catalogue at the first page, and discovered a list of
+Royal Academicians. Were all these gentlemen celebrated painters? Out
+of nearly forty names, three only had made themselves generally known
+beyond the limits of England. She turned to the last page. The works of
+art on show numbered more than fifteen hundred. Teresa, looking over her
+shoulder, made the same discovery. "Our heads will ache, and our feet
+will ache," she remarked, "before we get out of that place." Carmina
+laid aside the catalogue.
+
+Teresa opened the Almanac at hazard, and hit on the page devoted
+to Amusements. Her next discovery led her to the section inscribed
+"Museums." She scored an approving mark at that place with her
+thumbnail--and read the list in fluent broken English.
+
+The British Museum? Teresa's memory of that magnificent building
+recalled it vividly in one respect. She shook her head. "More headache
+and footache, there!" Bethnal Green; Indian Museum; College of Surgeons;
+Practical Geology; South Kensington; Patent Museum--all unknown to
+Teresa. "The saints preserve us! what headaches and footaches in all
+these, if they are as big as that other one!" She went on with the
+list--and astonished everybody in the room by suddenly clapping her
+hands. Sir John Soane's Museum, Lincoln's Inn Fields. "Ah, but I
+remember that! A nice little easy museum in a private house, and all
+sorts of pretty things to see. My dear love, trust your old Teresa. Come
+to Soane!"
+
+In ten minutes more they were dressed, and on the steps of the hotel.
+The bright sunlight, the pleasant air, invited them to walk. On the same
+afternoon, when Ovid had set forth on foot for Lincoln's Inn Fields,
+Carmina and Teresa set forth on foot for Lincoln's Inn Fields. Trivial
+obstacles had kept the man away from the College. Would trivial
+obstacles keep the women away from the Museum?
+
+They crossed the Strand, and entered a street which led out of it
+towards the North; Teresa's pride in her memory forbidding her thus far
+to ask their way.
+
+Their talk--dwelling at first on Italy, and on the memory of Carmina's
+Italian mother--reverted to the formidable subject of Mrs. Gallilee.
+Teresa's hopeful view of the future turned to the cousins, and drew
+the picture of two charming little girls, eagerly waiting to give their
+innocent hearts to their young relative from Italy. "Are there only
+two?" she said. "Surely you told me there was a boy, besides the girls?"
+Carmina set her right. "My cousin Ovid is a great doctor," she continued
+with an air of importance. "Poor papa used to say that our family would
+have reason to be proud of him." "Does he live at home?" asked simple
+Teresa. "Oh, dear, no! He has a grand house of his own. Hundreds of
+sick people go there to be cured, and give hundreds of golden
+guineas." Hundreds of golden guineas gained by only curing sick people,
+represented to Teresa's mind something in the nature of a miracle: she
+solemnly raised her eyes to heaven. "What a cousin to have! Is he young?
+is he handsome? is he married?"
+
+Instead of answering these questions, Carmina looked over her shoulder.
+"Is this poor creature following us?" she asked.
+
+They had now turned to the right, and had entered a busy street leading
+directly to Covent Garden. The "creature" (who was undoubtedly following
+them) was one of the starved and vagabond dogs of London. Every now and
+then, the sympathies of their race lead these inveterate wanderers to
+attach themselves, for the time, to some human companion, whom their
+mysterious insight chooses from the crowd. Teresa, with the hard feeling
+towards animals which is one of the serious defects of the Italian
+character, cried, "Ah, the mangy beast!" and lifted her umbrella. The
+dog starred back, waited a moment, and followed them again as they went
+on.
+
+Carmina's gentle heart gave its pity to this lost and hungry
+fellow-creature. "I must buy that poor dog something to eat," she
+said--and stopped suddenly as the idea struck her.
+
+The dog, accustomed to kicks and curses, was ignorant of kindness.
+Following close behind her, when she checked herself, he darted away in
+terror into the road. A cab was driven by rapidly at the same moment.
+The wheel passed over the dog's neck. And there was an end, as a man
+remarked looking on, of the troubles of a cur.
+
+This common accident struck the girl's sensitive nature with horror.
+Helpless and speechless, she trembled piteously. The nearest open door
+was the door of a music-seller's shop. Teresa led her in, and asked for
+a chair and a glass of water. The proprietor, feeling the interest in
+Carmina which she seldom failed to inspire among strangers, went the
+length of offering her a glass of wine. Preferring water, she soon
+recovered herself sufficiently to be able to leave her chair.
+
+"May I change my mind about going to the museum?" she said to her
+companion. "After what has happened, I hardly feel equal to looking at
+curiosities."
+
+Teresa's ready sympathy tried to find some acceptable alternative.
+"Music would be better, wouldn't it?" she suggested.
+
+The so-called Italian Opera was open that night, and the printed
+announcement of the performance was in the shop. They both looked at
+it. Fortune was still against them. A German opera appeared on the bill.
+Carmina turned to the music-seller in despair. "Is there no music,
+sir, but German music to be heard in London?" she asked. The hospitable
+shopkeeper produced a concert programmed for that afternoon--the modest
+enterprise of an obscure piano-forte teacher, who could only venture to
+address pupils, patrons, and friends. What did he promise? Among other
+things, music from "Lucia," music from "Norma," music from "Ernani."
+Teresa made another approving mark with her thumb-nail; and Carmina
+purchased tickets.
+
+The music-seller hurried to the door to stop the first empty cab that
+might pass. Carmina showed a deplorable ignorance of the law of chances.
+She shrank from the bare idea of getting into a cab. "We may run over
+some other poor creature," she said. "If it isn't a dog, it may be
+a child next time." Teresa and the music-seller suggested a more
+reasonable view as gravely as they could. Carmina humbly submitted to
+the claims of common sense--without yielding, for all that. "I know I'm
+wrong," she confessed. "Don't spoil my pleasure; I can't do it!"
+
+The strange parallel was now complete. Bound for the same destination,
+Carmina and Ovid had failed to reach it alike. And Carmina had stopped
+to look at the garden of the British Museum, before she overtook Ovid in
+the quiet square.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+If, on entering the hall, Ovid had noticed the placards, he would have
+found himself confronted by a coincidence. The person who gave the
+concert was also the person who taught music to his half-sisters. Not
+many days since, he had himself assisted the enterprise, by taking
+a ticket at his mother's request. Seeing nothing, remembering
+nothing--hurried by the fear of losing sight of the two strangers if
+there was a large audience--he impatiently paid for another ticket, at
+the doors.
+
+The room was little more than half full, and so insufficiently
+ventilated that the atmosphere was oppressive even under those
+circumstances. He easily discovered the two central chairs, in the
+midway row of seats, which she and her companion had chosen. There was a
+vacant chair (among many others) at one extremity of the row in front
+of them. He took that place. To look at her, without being
+discovered--there, so far, was the beginning and the end of his utmost
+desire.
+
+The performances had already begun. So long as her attention was
+directed to the singers and players on the platform, he could feast his
+eyes on her with impunity. In an unoccupied interval, she looked at the
+audience--and discovered him.
+
+Had he offended her?
+
+If appearances were to be trusted, he had produced no impression of any
+sort. She quietly looked away, towards the other side of the room.
+The mere turning of her head was misinterpreted by Ovid as an implied
+rebuke. He moved to the row of seats behind her. She was now nearer to
+him than she had been yet. He was again content, and more than content.
+The next performance was a solo on the piano. A round of applause
+welcomed the player. Ovid looked at the platform for the first time.
+In the bowing man, with a prematurely bald head and a servile smile,
+he recognized Mrs. Gallilee's music-master. The inevitable inference
+followed. His mother might be in the room.
+
+After careful examination of the scanty audience, he failed to discover
+her--thus far. She would certainly arrive, nevertheless. My money's
+worth for my money was a leading principle in Mrs. Gallilee's life.
+
+He sighed as he looked towards the door of entrance. Not for long had
+he revelled in the luxury of a new happiness. He had openly avowed his
+dislike of concerts, when his mother had made him take a ticket for this
+concert. With her quickness of apprehension what might she not suspect,
+if she found him among the audience?
+
+Come what might of it, he still kept his place; he still feasted his
+eyes on the slim figure of the young girl, on the gentle yet spirited
+carriage of her head. But the pleasure was no longer pleasure without
+alloy. His mother had got between them now.
+
+The solo on the piano came to an end.
+
+In the interval that followed, he turned once more towards the entrance.
+Just as he was looking away again, he heard Mrs. Gallilee's loud voice.
+She was administering a maternal caution to one of the children. "Behave
+better here than you behaved in the carriage, or I shall take you away."
+
+If she found him in his present place--if she put her own clever
+construction on what she saw--her opinion would assuredly express itself
+in some way. She was one of those women who can insult another woman
+(and safely disguise it) by an inquiring look. For the girl's sake, Ovid
+instantly moved away from her to the seats at the back of the hall.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee made a striking entrance--dressed to perfection; powdered
+and painted to perfection; leading her daughters, and followed by her
+governess. The usher courteously indicated places near the platform.
+Mrs. Galilee astonished him by a little lecture on acoustics, delivered
+with the sweetest condescension. Her Christian humility smiled, and call
+the usher, Sir. "Sound, sir, is most perfectly heard towards the centre
+of the auditorium." She led the way towards the centre. Vacant places
+invited her to the row of seats occupied by Carmina and Teresa. She, the
+unknown aunt, seated herself next to the unknown niece.
+
+They looked at each other.
+
+Perhaps, it was the heat of the room. Perhaps, she had not perfectly
+recovered the nervous shock of seeing the dog killed. Carmina's head
+sank on good Teresa's shoulder. She had fainted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+"May I ask for a cup of tea, Miss Minerva?"
+
+"Delighted, I'm sure, Mr. Le Frank."
+
+"And was Mrs. Gallilee pleased with the Concert?"
+
+"Charmed."
+
+Mr. Le Frank shook his head. "I am afraid there was a drawback,"
+he suggested. "You forget the lady who fainted. So alarming to the
+audience. So disagreeable to the artists."
+
+"Take care, Mr. Le Frank! These new houses are flimsily built; they
+might hear you upstairs. The fainting lady is upstairs. All the elements
+of a romance are upstairs. Is your tea to your liking?"
+
+In this playfully provocative manner, Miss Minerva (the governess)
+trifled with the curiosity of Mr. Le Frank (the music-master), as the
+proverbial cat trifles with the terror of the captive mouse. The man
+of the bald head and the servile smile showed a polite interest in the
+coming disclosure; he opened his deeply-sunk eyes, and lazily lifted his
+delicate eyebrows.
+
+He had called at Mrs. Gallilee's house, after the concert, to get
+a little tea (with a large infusion of praise) in the schoolroom. A
+striking personal contrast confronted him, in the face of the lady who
+was dispensing the hospitalities of the table. Mr. Le Frank's plump
+cheeks were, in colour, of the obtrusively florid sort. The relics of
+yellow hair, still adhering to the sides of his head, looked as silkily
+frail as spun glass. His noble beard made amends for his untimely
+baldness. The glossy glory of it exhaled delicious perfumes; the keenest
+eyes might have tried in vain to discover a hair that was out of place.
+Miss Minerva's eager sallow face, so lean, and so hard, and so long,
+looked, by contrast, as if it wanted some sort of discreet covering
+thrown over some part of it. Her coarse black hair projected like a
+penthouse over her bushy black eyebrows and her keen black eyes.
+Oh, dear me (as they said in the servants' hall), she would never be
+married--so yellow and so learned, so ugly and so poor! And yet, if
+mystery is interesting, this was an interesting woman. The people about
+her felt an uneasy perception of something secret, ominously secret,
+in the nature of the governess which defied detection. If Inquisitive
+Science, vowed to medical research, could dissect firmness of will,
+working at its steadiest repressive action--then, the mystery of Miss
+Minerva's inner nature might possibly have been revealed. As it was,
+nothing more remarkable exposed itself to view than an irritable temper;
+serving perhaps as safety-valve to an underlying explosive force, which
+(with strong enough temptation and sufficient opportunity) might yet
+break out.
+
+"Gently, Mr. Le Frank! The tea is hot--you may burn your mouth. How am
+I to tell you what has happened?" Miss Minerva dropped the playfully
+provocative tone, with infinite tact, exactly at the right moment. "Just
+imagine," she resumed, "a scene on the stage, occurring in private life.
+The lady who fainted at your concert, turns out to be no less a person
+that Mrs. Gallilee's niece!"
+
+The general folly which reads a prospectus and blindly speculates in
+shares, is matched by the equally diffused stupidity, which is incapable
+of discovering that there can be any possible relation between fiction
+and truth. Say it's in a novel--and you are a fool if you believe it.
+Say it's in a newspaper--and you are a fool if you doubt it. Mr. Le
+Frank, following the general example, followed it on this occasion a
+little too unreservedly. He avowed his doubts of the circumstance just
+related, although it was, on the authority of a lady, a circumstance
+occurring in real life! Far from being offended, Miss Minerva cordially
+sympathized with him.
+
+"It _is_ too theatrical to be believed," she admitted; "but this
+fainting young person is positively the interesting stranger we have
+been expecting from Italy. You know Mrs. Gallilee. Hers was the first
+smelling-bottle produced; hers was the presence of mind which suggested
+a horizontal position. 'Help the heart,' she said; 'don't impede it.'
+The whole theory of fainting fits, in six words! In another moment,"
+proceeded the governess making a theatrical point without suspecting
+it--"in another moment, Mrs. Gallilee herself stood in need of the
+smelling-bottle."
+
+Mr. Le Frank was not a true believer, even yet. "You don't mean _she_
+fainted!" he said.
+
+Miss Minerva held up the indicative forefinger, with which she
+emphasized instruction when her pupils required rousing. "Mrs.
+Gallilee's strength of mind--as I was about to say, if you had listened
+to me--resisted the shock. What the effort must have cost her you will
+presently understand. Our interesting young lady was accompanied by a
+hideous old foreign woman who completely lost her head. She smacked
+her hands distractedly; she called on the saints (without producing the
+slightest effect)--but she mixed up a name, remarkable even in Italy,
+with the rest of the delirium; and _that_ was serious. Put yourself in
+Mrs. Gallilee's place--"
+
+"I couldn't do it," said Mr. Le Frank, with humility.
+
+Miss Minerva passed over this reply without notice. Perhaps she was not
+a believer in the humility of musicians.
+
+"The young lady's Christian name," she proceeded, "is Carmina; (put
+the accent, if you please, on the _first_ syllable). The moment Mrs.
+Gallilee heard the name, it struck her like a blow. She enlightened the
+old woman, and asserted herself as Miss Carmina's aunt in an instant.
+'I am Mrs. Gallilee:' that was all she said. The result"--Miss Minerva
+paused, and pointed to the ceiling; "the result is up there. Our
+charming guest was on the sofa, and the hideous old nurse was fanning
+her, when I had the honour of seeing them just now. No, Mr. Le Frank!
+I haven't done yet. There is a last act in this drama of private life
+still to relate. A medical gentleman was present at the concert, who
+offered his services in reviving Miss Carmina. The same gentleman is now
+in attendance on the interesting patient. Can you guess who he is?"
+
+Mr. Le Frank had sold a ticket for his concert to the medical adviser of
+the family--one Mr. Null. A cautious guess in this direction seemed to
+offer the likeliest chance of success.
+
+"He is a patron of music," the pianist began.
+
+"He hates music," the governess interposed.
+
+"I mean Mr. Null," Mr. Le Frank persisted.
+
+_"I_ mean--" Miss Minerva paused (like the cat with the mouse
+again!)--_"I_ mean, Mr. Ovid Vere."
+
+What form the music-master's astonishment might have assumed may be
+matter for speculation, it was never destined to become matter of fact.
+At the moment when Miss Minerva overwhelmed him with the climax of her
+story, a little, rosy, elderly gentleman, with a round face, a sweet
+smile, and a curly gray head, walked into the room, accompanied by two
+girls. Persons of small importance--only Mr. Gallilee and his daughters.
+
+"How d'ye-do, Mr. Le Frank. I hope you got plenty of money by the
+concert. I gave away my own two tickets. You will excuse me, I'm sure.
+Music, I can't think why, always sends me to sleep. Here are your two
+pupils, Miss Minerva, safe and sound. It struck me we were rather in the
+way, when that sweet young creature was brought home. Sadly in want
+of quiet, poor thing--not in want of _us._ Mrs. Gallilee and Ovid, so
+clever and attentive, were just the right people in the right place. So
+I put on my hat--I'm always available, Mr. Le Frank; I have the great
+advantage of never having anything to do--and I said to the girls,
+'Let's have a walk.' We had no particular place to go to--that's another
+advantage of mine--so we drifted about. I didn't mean it, but, somehow
+or other, we stopped at a pastry-cook's shop. What was the name of the
+pastry-cook?"
+
+So far Mr. Gallilee proceeded, speaking in the oddest self-contradictory
+voice, if such a description is permissible--a voice at once high in
+pitch and mild in tone: in short, as Mr. Le Frank once professionally
+remarked, a soft falsetto. When the good gentleman paused to make his
+little effort of memory, his eldest daughter--aged twelve, and always
+ready to distinguish herself--saw her opportunity, and took the rest of
+the narrative into her own hands.
+
+Miss Maria, named after her mother, was one of the successful new
+products of the age we live in--the conventionally-charming child (who
+has never been smacked); possessed of the large round eyes that we see
+in pictures, and the sweet manners and perfect principles that we read
+of in books. She called everybody "dear;" she knew to a nicety how much
+oxygen she wanted in the composition of her native air; and--alas, poor
+wretch!--she had never wetted her shoes or dirtied her face since the
+day when she was born.
+
+"Dear Miss Minerva," said Maria, "the pastry-cook's name was Timbal. We
+have had ices."
+
+His mind being now set at rest on the subject of the pastry-cook, Mr.
+Gallilee turned to his youngest daughter--aged ten, and one of the
+unsuccessful products of the age we live in. This was a curiously
+slow, quaint, self-contained child; the image of her father, with an
+occasional reflection of his smile; incurably stupid, or incurably
+perverse--the friends of the family were not quite sure which. Whether
+she might have been over-crammed with useless knowledge, was not a
+question in connection with the subject which occurred to anybody.
+
+"Rouse yourself, Zo," said Mr. Gallilee. "What did we have besides
+ices?"
+
+Zoe (known to her father, by vulgar abbreviation, as "Zo") took Mr.
+Gallilee's stumpy red hand, and held hard by it as if that was the
+one way in which a dull child could rouse herself, with a prospect of
+success.
+
+"I've had so many of them," she said; "I don't know. Ask Maria."
+
+Maria responded with the sweetest readiness. "Dear Zoe, you are so slow!
+Cheesecakes."
+
+Mr. Gallilee patted Zoe's head as encouragingly as if she had discovered
+the right answer by herself. "That's right--ices and cheese-cakes," he
+said. "We tried cream-ice, and then we tried water-ice. The children,
+Miss Minerva, preferred the cream-ice. And, do you know, I'm of their
+opinion. There's something in a cream-ice--what do you think yourself of
+cream-ices, Mr. Le Frank?"
+
+It was one among the many weaknesses of Mr. Gallilee's character to be
+incapable of opening his lips without, sooner or later, taking somebody
+into his confidence. In the merest trifles, he instinctively invited
+sympathy and agreement from any person within his reach--from a total
+stranger quite as readily as from an intimate friend. Mr. Le Frank,
+representing the present Court of Social Appeal, attempted to deliver
+judgment on the question of ices, and was interrupted without ceremony
+by Miss Minerva. She, too, had been waiting her opportunity to speak,
+and she now took it--not amiably.
+
+"With all possible respect, Mr. Gallilee, I venture to entreat that you
+will be a little more thoughtful, where the children are concerned. I
+beg your pardon, Mr. Le Frank, for interrupting you--but it is really
+a little too hard on Me. I am held responsible for the health of these
+girls; I am blamed over and over again, when it is not my fault, for
+irregularities in their diet--and there they are, at this moment,
+chilled with ices and cloyed with cakes! What will Mrs. Gallilee say?"
+
+"Don't tell her," Mr. Gallilee suggested.
+
+"The girls will be thirsty for the rest of the evening," Miss Minerva
+persisted; "the girls will have no appetite for the last meal before
+bedtime. And their mother will ask Me what it means."
+
+"My good creature," cried Mr. Gallilee, "don't be afraid of the girls'
+appetites! Take off their hats, and give them something nice for supper.
+They inherit my stomach, Miss Minerva--and they'll 'tuck in,' as we used
+to say at school. Did they say so in your time, Mr. Le Frank?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's governess and vulgar expressions were anomalies never to
+be reconciled, under any circumstances. Miss Minerva took off the hats
+in stern silence. Even "Papa" might have seen the contempt in her face,
+if she had not managed to hide it in this way, by means of the girls.
+
+In the silence that ensued, Mr. Le Frank had his chance of speaking, and
+showed himself to be a gentleman with a happily balanced character--a
+musician, with an eye to business. Using gratitude to Mr. Gallilee as a
+means of persuasion, he gently pushed the interests of a friend who was
+giving a concert next week. "We poor artists have our faults, my dear
+sir; but we are all earnest in helping each other. My friend sang for
+nothing at my concert. Don't suppose for a moment that he expects it of
+me! But I am going to play for nothing at his concert. May I appeal to
+your kind patronage to take two tickets?" The reply ended appropriately
+in musical sound--a golden tinkling, in Mr. Le Frank's pocket.
+
+Having paid his tribute to art and artists, Mr. Gallilee looked
+furtively at Miss Minerva. On the wise principle of letting well alone,
+he perceived that the happy time had arrived for leaving the room. How
+was he to make his exit? He prided himself on his readiness of resource,
+in difficulties of this sort, and he was equal to the occasion as
+usual--he said he would go to his club.
+
+"We really have a capital smoking-room at that club," he said. "I do
+like a good cigar; and--what do _you_ think Mr. Le Frank?--isn't a pint
+of champagne nice drinking, this hot weather? Just cooled with ice--I
+don't know whether you feel the weather, Miss Minerva, as I do?--and
+poured, fizzing, into a silver mug. Lord, how delicious! Good-bye,
+girls. Give me a kiss before I go."
+
+Maria led the way, as became the elder. She not only gave the kiss, but
+threw an appropriate sentiment into the bargain. "I do love you,
+dear papa!" said this perfect daughter--with a look in Miss Minerva's
+direction, which might have been a malicious look in any eyes but
+Maria's.
+
+Mr. Gallilee turned to his youngest child. "Well, Zo--what do _you_
+say?"
+
+Zo took her father's hand once more, and rubbed her head against it like
+a cat. This new method of expressing filial affection seemed to interest
+Mr. Gallilee. "Does your head itch, my dear?" he asked. The idea was new
+to Zo. She brightened, and looked at her father with a sly smile. "Why
+do you do it?" Miss Minerva asked sharply. Zo clouded over again, and
+answered, "I don't know." Mr. Gallilee rewarded her with a kiss, and
+went away to champagne and the club.
+
+Mr. Le Frank left the schoolroom next. He paid the governess the
+compliment of reverting to her narrative of events at the concert.
+
+"I am greatly struck," he said, "by what you told me about Mr. Ovid
+Vere. We may, perhaps, have misjudged him in thinking that he doesn't
+like music. His coming to my concert suggests a more cheering view. Do
+you think there would be any impropriety in my calling to thank him?
+Perhaps it would be better if I wrote, and enclosed two tickets for my
+friend's concert? To tell you the truth, I've pledged myself to dispose
+of a certain number of tickets. My friend is so much in request--it's
+expecting too much to ask him to sing for nothing. I think I'll write.
+Good-evening!"
+
+Left alone with her pupils, Miss Minerva looked at her watch. "Prepare
+your lessons for to-morrow," she said.
+
+The girls produced their books. Maria's library of knowledge was in
+perfect order. The pages over which Zo pondered in endless perplexity
+were crumpled by weary fingers, and stained by frequent tears. Oh, fatal
+knowledge! mercifully forbidden to the first two of our race, who shall
+count the crimes and stupidities committed in your name?
+
+Miss Minerva leaned back in her easy-chair. Her mind was occupied by the
+mysterious question of Ovid's presence at the concert. She raised her
+keenly penetrating eyes to the ceiling, and listened for sounds from
+above.
+
+"I wonder," she thought to herself, "what they are doing upstairs?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was as complete a mistress of the practice of domestic
+virtue as of the theory of acoustics and fainting fits. At dressing
+with taste, and ordering dinners with invention; at heading her table
+gracefully, and making her guests comfortable; at managing refractory
+servants and detecting dishonest tradespeople, she was the equal of
+the least intellectual woman that ever lived. Her preparations for the
+reception of her niece were finished in advance, without an oversight
+in the smallest detail. Carmina's inviting bedroom, in blue, opened
+into Carmina's irresistible sitting-room, in brown. The ventilation
+was arranged, the light and shade were disposed, the flowers were
+attractively placed, under Mrs. Gallilee's infallible superintendence.
+Before Carmina had recovered her senses she was provided with a second
+mother, who played the part to perfection.
+
+The four persons, now assembled in the pretty sitting-room upstairs,
+were in a position of insupportable embarrassment towards each other.
+
+Finding her son at a concert (after he had told her that he hated music)
+Mrs. Gallilee, had first discovered him hurrying to the assistance of
+a young lady in a swoon, with all the anxiety and alarm which he might
+have shown in the case of a near and dear friend. And yet, when this
+stranger was revealed as a relation, he had displayed an amazement equal
+to her own! What explanation could reconcile such contradictions as
+these?
+
+As for Carmina, her conduct complicated the mystery.
+
+What was she doing at a concert, when she ought to have been on her way
+to her aunt's house? Why, if she must faint when the hot room had not
+overpowered anyone else, had she failed to recover in the usual way?
+There she lay on the sofa, alternately flushing and turning pale when
+she was spoken to; ill at ease in the most comfortable house in London;
+timid and confused under the care of her best friends. Making all
+allowance for a sensitive temperament, could a long journey from Italy,
+and a childish fright at seeing a dog run over, account for such a state
+of things as this?
+
+Annoyed and perplexed--but yet far too prudent to commit herself
+ignorantly to inquiries which might lead to future embarrassment--Mrs.
+Gallilee tried suggestive small talk as a means of enlightenment. The
+wrinkled duenna, sitting miserably on satin supported by frail gilt
+legs, seemed to take her tone of feeling from her young mistress,
+exactly as she took her orders. Mrs. Gallilee spoke to her in English,
+and spoke to her in Italian--and could make nothing of the experiment in
+either case. The wild old creature seemed to be afraid to look at her.
+
+Ovid himself proved to be just as difficult to fathom, in another way
+
+He certainly answered when his mother spoke to him, but always briefly,
+and in the same absent tone. He asked no questions, and offered no
+explanations. The sense of embarrassment, on his side, had produced
+unaccountable changes. He showed the needful attention to Carmina,
+with a silent gentleness which presented him in a new character. His
+customary manner with ailing persons, women as well as men, was rather
+abrupt: his quick perception hurried him into taking the words out of
+their mouths (too pleasantly to give offence) when they were describing
+their symptoms. There he sat now, contemplating his pale little cousin,
+with a patient attention wonderful to see; listening to the commonplace
+words which dropped at intervals from her lips, as if--in his state of
+health, and with the doubtful prospect which it implied--there were no
+serious interests to occupy his mind.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee could endure it no longer.
+
+If she had not deliberately starved her imagination, and emptied her
+heart of any tenderness of feeling which it might once have possessed,
+her son's odd behaviour would have interested instead of perplexing her.
+As it was, her scientific education left her as completely in the dark,
+where questions of sentiment were concerned, as if her experience of
+humanity, in its relation to love, had been experience in the cannibal
+islands. She decided on leaving her niece to repose, and on taking her
+son away with her.
+
+"In your present state of health, Ovid," she began, "Carmina must not
+accept your professional advice."
+
+Something in those words stung Ovid's temper.
+
+"My professional advice?" he repeated. "You talk as if she was seriously
+ill!"
+
+Carmina's sweet smile stopped him there.
+
+"We don't know what may happen," she said, playfully.
+
+"God forbid _that_ should happen!" He spoke so fervently that the women
+all looked at him in surprise.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee turned to her niece, and proceeded quietly with what she
+had to say.
+
+"Ovid is so sadly overworked, my dear, that I actually rejoice in his
+giving up practice, and going away from us to-morrow. We will leave you
+for the present with your old friend. Pray ring, if you want anything."
+She kissed her hand to Carmina, and, beckoning to her son, advanced
+towards the door.
+
+Teresa looked at her, and suddenly looked away again. Mrs. Gallilee
+stopped on her way out, at a chiffonier, and altered the arrangement of
+some of the china on it. The duenna followed on tiptoe--folded her thumb
+and two middle fingers into the palm of her hand--and, stretching out
+the forefinger and the little finger, touched Mrs. Gallilee on the back,
+so softly that she was unaware of it. "The Evil Eye," Teresa whispered
+to herself in Italian, as she stole back to her place.
+
+Ovid lingered near his cousin: neither of them had seen what Teresa
+had done. He rose reluctantly to go. Feeling his little attentions
+gratefully, Carmina checked him with innocent familiarity as he left his
+chair. "I must thank you," she said, simply; "it seems hard indeed that
+you, who cure others, should suffer from illness yourself."
+
+Teresa, watching them with interest, came a little nearer.
+
+She could now examine Ovid's face with close and jealous scrutiny. Mrs.
+Gallilee reminded her son that she was waiting for him. He had some last
+words yet to say. The duenna drew back from the sofa, still looking at
+Ovid: she muttered to herself, "Holy Teresa, my patroness, show me that
+man's soul in his face!" At last, Ovid took his leave. "I shall call and
+see how you are to-morrow," he said, "before I go." He nodded kindly to
+Teresa. Instead of being satisfied with that act of courtesy, she wanted
+something more. "May I shake hands?" she asked. Mrs. Gallilee was a
+Liberal in politics; never had her principles been tried, as they
+were tried when she heard those words. Teresa wrung Ovid's hand with
+tremulous energy--still intent on reading his character in his face. He
+asked her, smiling, what she saw to interest her. "A good man, I hope,"
+she answered, sternly. Carmina and Ovid were amused. Teresa rebuked
+them, as if they had been children. "Laugh at some fitter time," she
+said, "not now."
+
+Descending the stairs, Mrs. Gallilee and Ovid met the footman. "Mr. Mool
+is in the library, ma'am," the man said.
+
+"Have you anything to do, Ovid, for the next half-hour?" his mother
+asked.
+
+"Do you wish me to see Mr. Mool? If it's law-business, I am afraid I
+shall not be of much use."
+
+"The lawyer is here by appointment, with a copy of your late uncle's
+Will," Mrs. Gallilee answered. "You may have some interest in it. I
+think you ought to hear it read."
+
+Ovid showed no inclination to adopt this proposal. He asked an idle
+question. "I heard of their finding the Will--are there any romantic
+circumstances?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee surveyed her son with an expression of good-humoured
+contempt. "What a boy you are, in some things! Have you been reading a
+novel lately? My dear, when the people in Italy made up their minds, at
+last, to have the furniture in your uncle's room taken to pieces, they
+found the Will. It had slipped behind a drawer, in a rotten old cabinet,
+full of useless papers. Nothing romantic (thank God!), and nothing
+(as Mr. Mool's letter tells me) that can lead to misunderstandings or
+disputes."
+
+Ovid's indifference was not to be conquered. He left it to his mother to
+send him word if he had a legacy "I am not as much interested in it as
+you are," he explained. "Plenty of money left to you, of course?" He was
+evidently thinking all the time of something else.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee stopped in the hall, with an air of downright alarm.
+
+"Your mind is in a dreadful state," she said.
+
+"Have you really forgotten what I told you, only yesterday? The Will
+appoints me Carmina's guardian."
+
+He had plainly forgotten it--he started, when his mother recalled the
+circumstance. "Curious," he said to himself, "that I was not reminded of
+it, when I saw Carmina's rooms prepared for her." His mother, anxiously
+looking at him, observed that his face brightened when he spoke of
+Carmina. He suddenly changed his mind.
+
+"Make allowances for an overworked man," he said. "You are quite right.
+I ought to hear the Will read--I am at your service."
+
+Even Mrs. Gallilee now drew the right inference at last. She made no
+remark. Something seemed to move feebly under her powder and paint. Soft
+emotion trying to find its way to the surface? Impossible!
+
+As they entered the library together, Miss Minerva returned to the
+schoolroom. She had lingered on the upper landing, and had heard the
+conversation between mother and son.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+The library at Fairfield Gardens possessed two special attractions,
+besides the books. It opened into a large conservatory; and it was
+adorned by an admirable portrait of Mrs. Gallilee, painted by her
+brother.
+
+Waiting the appearance of the fair original, Mr. Mool looked at the
+portrait, and then mentally reviewed the history of Mrs. Gallilee's
+family. What he did next, no person acquainted with the habits of
+lawyers will be weak enough to believe. Mr. Mool blushed.
+
+Is this the language of exaggeration, describing a human anomaly on the
+roll of attorneys? The fact shall be left to answer the question. Mr.
+Mool had made a mistake in his choice of a profession. The result of the
+mistake was--a shy lawyer.
+
+Attended by such circumstances as these, the history of the family
+assumes, for the moment, a certain importance. It is connected with a
+blushing attorney. It will explain what happened on the reading of the
+Will. And it is sure beforehand of a favourable reception--for it is all
+about money.
+
+
+Old Robert Graywell began life as the son of a small farmer. He was
+generally considered to be rather an eccentric man; but prospered,
+nevertheless, as a merchant in the city of London. When he retired from
+business, he possessed a house and estate in the country, and a handsome
+fortune safely invested in the Funds.
+
+His children were three in number:--his son Robert, and his daughters
+Maria and Susan.
+
+The death of his wife, to whom he was devotedly attached, was the first
+serious calamity of his life. He retired to his estate a soured and
+broken man. Loving husbands are not always, as a necessary consequence,
+tender fathers. Old Robert's daughters afforded him no consolation on
+their mother's death. Their anxiety about their mourning dresses so
+disgusted him that he kept out of their way. No extraordinary interest
+was connected with their prospects in life: they would be married--and
+there would be an end of them. As for the son, he had long since placed
+himself beyond the narrow range of his father's sympathies. In the first
+place, his refusal to qualify himself for a mercantile career had made
+it necessary to dispose of the business to strangers. In the second
+place, young Robert Graywell proved--without any hereditary influence,
+and in the face of the strongest discouragement--to be a born painter!
+One of the greatest artists of that day saw the boy's first efforts, and
+pronounced judgment in these plain words: "What a pity he has not got
+his bread to earn by his brush!"
+
+On the death of old Robert, his daughters found themselves (to use their
+own expression) reduced to a trumpery legacy of ten thousand pounds
+each. Their brother inherited the estate, and the bulk of the
+property--not because his father cared about founding a family, but
+because the boy had always been his mother's favourite.
+
+The first of the three children to marry was the eldest sister.
+
+Maria considered herself fortunate in captivating Mr. Vere--a man of
+old family, with a high sense of what he owed to his name. He had a
+sufficient income, and he wanted no more. His wife's dowry was settled
+on herself. When he died, he left her a life-interest in his property
+amounting to six hundred a year. This, added to the annual proceeds
+of her own little fortune, made an income of one thousand pounds. The
+remainder of Mr. Vere's property was left to his only surviving child,
+Ovid.
+
+With a thousand a year for herself, and with two thousand a year for her
+son, on his coming of age, the widowed Maria might possibly have been
+satisfied--but for the extraordinary presumption of her younger sister.
+
+Susan, ranking second in age, ranked second also in beauty; and yet, in
+the race for a husband, Susan won the prize!
+
+Soon after her sister's marriage, she made a conquest of a Scotch
+nobleman, possessed of a palace in London, and a palace in Scotland, and
+a rent-roll of forty thousand pounds. Maria, to use her own expression,
+never recovered it. From the horrid day when Susan became Lady
+Northlake, Maria became a serious woman. All her earthly interests
+centred now in the cultivation of her intellect. She started on that
+glorious career, which associated her with the march of science. In only
+a year afterwards--as an example of the progress which a resolute woman
+can make--she was familiar with zoophyte fossils, and had succeeded in
+dissecting the nervous system of a bee.
+
+Was there no counter-attraction in her married life?
+
+Very little. Mr. Vere felt no sympathy with his wife's scientific
+pursuits.
+
+On her husband's death, did she find no consolation in her son? Let
+her speak for herself. "My son fills my heart. But the school, the
+university, and the hospital have all in turn taken his education out of
+my hands. My mind must be filled, as well as my heart." She seized her
+exquisite instruments, and returned to the nervous system of the bee.
+
+In course of time, Mr. John Gallilee--"drifting about," as he said of
+himself--drifted across the path of science.
+
+The widowed Mrs. Vere (as exhibited in public) was still a fine woman.
+Mr. Gallilee admired "that style"; and Mr. Gallilee had fifty thousand
+pounds. Only a little more, to my lord and my lady, than one year's
+income. But, invested at four percent, it added an annual two thousand
+pounds to Mrs. Vere's annual one thousand. Result, three thousand a
+year, encumbered with Mr. Gallilee. On reflection, Mrs. Vere
+accepted the encumbrance--and reaped her reward. Susan was no longer
+distinguished as the sister who had her dresses made in Paris; and Mrs.
+Gallilee was not now subjected to the indignity of getting a lift in
+Lady Northlake's carriage.
+
+What was the history of Robert, during this interval of time? In two
+words, Robert disgraced himself.
+
+Taking possession of his country house, the new squire was invited to
+contribute towards the expense of a pack of hounds kept by subscription
+in the neighbourhood, and was advised to make acquaintance with his
+fellow-sportsmen by giving a hunt-breakfast. He answered very politely;
+but the fact was not to be concealed--the new man refused to encourage
+hunting: he thought that noble amusement stupid and cruel. For the same
+reason, he refused to preserve game. A last mistake was left to make,
+and he made it. After returning the rector's visit, he failed to
+appear at church. No person with the smallest knowledge of the English
+character, as exhibited in an English county, will fail to foresee that
+Robert's residence on his estate was destined to come, sooner or later,
+to an untimely end. When he had finished his sketches of the picturesque
+aspects of his landed property, he disappeared. The estate was not
+entailed. Old Robert--who had insisted on the minutest formalities
+and details in providing for his dearly-loved wife--was impenetrably
+careless about the future of his children. "My fortune has no value now
+in my eyes," he said to judicious friends; "let them run through it all,
+if they please. It would do them a deal of good if they were obliged to
+earn their own living, like better people than themselves." Left free to
+take his own way, Robert sold the estate merely to get rid of it. With
+no expensive tastes, except the taste for buying pictures, he became a
+richer man than ever.
+
+When their brother next communicated with them, Lady Northlake and Mrs.
+Gallilee heard of him as a voluntary exile in Italy. He was building a
+studio and a gallery; he was contemplating a series of pictures; and he
+was a happy man for the first time in his life.
+
+Another interval passed--and the sisters heard of Robert again.
+
+Having already outraged the sense of propriety among his English
+neighbours, he now degraded himself in the estimation of his family,
+by marrying a "model." The letter announcing this event declared, with
+perfect truth, that he had chosen a virtuous woman for his wife. She sat
+to artists, as any lady might sit to any artist, "for the head only."
+Her parents gained a bare subsistence by farming their own little morsel
+of land; they were honest people--and what did brother Robert care for
+rank? His own grandfather had been a farmer.
+
+Lady Northlake and Mrs. Gallilee felt it due to themselves to hold a
+consultation, on the subject of their sister-in-law. Was it desirable,
+in their own social interests, to cast Robert off from that moment?
+
+Susan (previously advised by her kind-hearted husband) leaned to the
+side of mercy. Robert's letter informed them that he proposed to live,
+and die, in Italy. If he held to this resolution, his marriage would
+surely be an endurable misfortune to his relatives in London. "Suppose
+we write to him," Susan concluded, "and say we are surprised, but
+we have no doubt he knows best. We offer our congratulations to Mrs.
+Robert, and our sincere wishes for his happiness."
+
+To Lady Northlake's astonishment, Mrs. Gallilee adopted this indulgent
+point of view, without a word of protest. She had her reasons--but they
+were not producible to a relative whose husband had forty thousand a
+year. Robert had paid her debts.
+
+An income of three thousand pounds, even in these days, represents a
+handsome competence--provided you don't "owe a duty to society." In
+Mrs. Gallilee's position, an income of three thousand pounds represented
+genteel poverty. She was getting into debt again; and she was meditating
+future designs on her brother's purse. A charming letter to Robert
+was the result. It ended with, "Do send me a photograph of your lovely
+wife!" When the poor "model" died, not many years afterwards, leaving
+one little daughter, Mrs. Gallilee implored her brother to return to
+England. "Come, dearest Robert, and find consolation and a home, under
+the roof of your affectionate Maria."
+
+But Robert remained in Italy, and was buried in Italy. At the date of
+his death, he had three times paid his elder sister's debts. On
+every occasion when he helped her in this liberal way, she proved her
+gratitude by anticipating a larger, and a larger, and a larger legacy if
+she outlived him.
+
+Knowing (as the family lawyer) what sums of money Mrs. Gallilee had
+extracted from her brother, Mr. Mool also knew that the advances thus
+made had been considered as representing the legacy, to which she might
+otherwise have had some sisterly claim. It was his duty to have warned
+her of this, when she questioned him generally on the subject of the
+Will; and he had said nothing about it, acting under a most unbecoming
+motive--in plain words, the motive of fear. From the self-reproachful
+feeling that now disturbed him, had risen that wonderful blush which
+made its appearance on Mr. Mool's countenance. He was actually ashamed
+of himself. After all, is it too much to have suggested that he was a
+human anomaly on the roll of attorneys?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee made her appearance in the library--and Mr. Mool's
+pulse accelerated its beat. Mrs. Gallilee's son followed her into the
+room--and Mr. Mool's pulse steadied itself again. By special arrangement
+with the lawyer, Ovid had been always kept in ignorance of his mother's
+affairs. No matter how angry she might be in the course of the next few
+minutes, she could hardly express her indignation in the presence of her
+son.
+
+Joyous anticipation has the happiest effect on female beauty. Mrs.
+Gallilee looked remarkably well, that day. Having rather a round and
+full face, she wore her hair (coloured from youthful nature) in a fringe
+across her forehead, balanced on either side by clusters of charming
+little curls. Her mourning for Robert was worthy of its Parisian origin;
+it showed to perfect advantage the bloom of her complexion and the
+whiteness of her neck--also worthy of their Parisian origin. She looked
+like a portrait of the period of Charles the Second, endowed with life.
+
+"And how do you do, Mr. Mool? Have you been looking at my ferns?"
+
+The ferns were grouped at the entrance, leading from the library to the
+conservatory. They had certainly not escaped the notice of the lawyer,
+who possessed a hot-house of his own, and who was an enthusiast in
+botany. It now occurred to him--if he innocently provoked embarrassing
+results--that ferns might be turned to useful and harmless account as a
+means of introducing a change of subject. "Even when she hasn't spoken a
+word," thought Mr. Mool, consulting his recollections, "I have felt her
+eyes go through me like a knife."
+
+"Spare us the technicalities, please," Mrs. Gallilee continued, pointing
+to the documents on the table. "I want to be exactly acquainted with the
+duties I owe to Carmina. And, by the way, I naturally feel some interest
+in knowing whether Lady Northlake has any place in the Will."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee never said "my sister," never spoke in the family
+circle of "Susan." The inexhaustible sense of injury, aroused by that
+magnificent marriage, asserted itself in keeping her sister at the full
+distance implied by never forgetting her title.
+
+"The first legacy mentioned in the Will," said Mr. Mool, "is a legacy
+to Lady Northlake." Mrs. Gallilee's face turned as hard as iron. "One
+hundred pounds," Mr. Mool continued, "to buy a mourning ring."' Mrs.
+Gallilee's eyes became eloquent in an instant, and said as if in words,
+"Thank Heaven!"
+
+"So like your uncle's unpretending good sense," she remarked to her son.
+"Any other legacy to Lady Northlake would have been simply absurd. Yes,
+Mr. Mool? Perhaps my name follows?"
+
+Mr. Mool cast a side-look at the ferns. He afterwards described his
+sensations as reminding him of previous experience in a dentist's chair,
+at the awful moment when the operator says "Let me look," and has his
+devilish instrument hidden in his hand. The "situation," to use the
+language of the stage, was indeed critical enough already. Ovid added to
+the horror of it by making a feeble joke. "What will you take for your
+chance, mother?"
+
+Before bad became worse, Mr. Mool summoned the energy of despair. He
+wisely read the exact words of the Will, this time: "'And I give and
+bequeath to my sister, Mrs. Maria Gallilee, one hundred pounds."'
+
+Ovid's astonishment could only express itself in action. He started to
+his feet.
+
+Mr. Mool went on reading. "'Free of legacy duty, to buy a mourning
+ring--"'
+
+"Impossible!" Ovid broke out.
+
+Mr. Mool finished the sentence. "'And my sister will understand the
+motive which animates me in making this bequest."' He laid the Will on
+the table, and ventured to look up. At the same time, Ovid turned to
+his mother, struck by the words which had been just read, and eager to
+inquire what their meaning might be.
+
+Happily for themselves, the two men never knew what the preservation of
+their tranquillity owed to that one moment of delay.
+
+If they had looked at Mrs. Gallilee, when she was first aware of
+her position in the Will, they might have seen the incarnate Devil
+self-revealed in a human face. They might have read, in her eyes and on
+her lips, a warning hardly less fearful than the unearthly writing on
+the wall, which told the Eastern Monarch of his coming death. "See
+this woman, and know what I can do with her, when she has repelled her
+guardian angel, and her soul is left to ME."
+
+But the revelation showed itself, and vanished. Her face was composed
+again, when her son and her lawyer looked at it. Her voice was under
+control; her inbred capacity for deceit was ready for action. All those
+formidable qualities in her nature, which a gentler and wiser training
+than hers had been might have held in check--by development of
+preservative influences that lay inert--were now driven back to their
+lurking-place; leaving only the faintest traces of their momentary
+appearance on the surface. Her breathing seemed to be oppressed; her
+eyelids drooped heavily--and that was all.
+
+"Is the room too hot for you?" Ovid asked.
+
+It was a harmless question, but any question annoyed her at that moment.
+"Nonsense!" she exclaimed irritably.
+
+"The atmosphere of the conservatory is rich in reviving smells," Mr.
+Mool remarked. "Do I detect, among the delightful perfumes which reach
+us, the fragrant root-stock of the American fern? If I am wrong, Mrs.
+Gallilee, may I send you some of the sweet-smelling Maidenhair from my
+own little hot-house?" He smiled persuasively. The ferns were already
+justifying his confidence in their peace-making virtues, turned
+discreetly to account. Those terrible eyes rested on him mercifully.
+Not even a covert allusion to his silence in the matter of the legacy
+escaped her. Did the lawyer's artlessly abrupt attempt to change the
+subject warn her to be on her guard? In any case, she thanked him with
+the readiest courtesy for his kind offer. Might she trouble him in the
+meantime to let her see the Will?
+
+She read attentively the concluding words of the clause in which her
+name appeared--"My sister will understand the motive which animates
+me in making this bequest"--and then handed back the Will to Mr.
+Mool. Before Ovid could ask for it, she was ready with a plausible
+explanation. "When your uncle became a husband and a father," she said,
+"those claims on him were paramount. He knew that a token of remembrance
+(the smaller the better) was all I could accept, if I happened to
+outlive him. Please go on, Mr. Mool."
+
+In one respect, Ovid resembled his late uncle. They both belonged to
+that high-minded order of men, who are slow to suspect, and therefore
+easy to deceive. Ovid tenderly took his mother's hand.
+
+"I ought to have known it," he said, "without obliging you to tell me."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee did _not_ blush. Mr. Mool did.
+
+"Go on!" Mrs. Gallilee repeated. Mr. Mool looked at Ovid. "The next
+name, Mr. Vere, is yours."
+
+"Does my uncle remember me as he has remembered my mother?" asked Ovid.
+
+"Yes, sir--and let me tell you, a very pretty compliment is attached to
+the bequest. 'It is needless' (your late uncle says) 'to leave any more
+important proof of remembrance to my nephew. His father has already
+provided for him; and, with his rare abilities, he will make a second
+fortune by the exercise of his profession.' Most gratifying, Mrs.
+Gallilee, is it nor? The next clause provides for the good old
+housekeeper Teresa, and for her husband if he survives her, in the
+following terms--"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was becoming impatient to hear more of herself. "We may, I
+think, pass over that," she suggested, "and get to the part of it
+which relates to Carmina and me. Don't think I am impatient; I am only
+desirous--"
+
+The growling of a dog in the conservatory interrupted her. "That
+tiresome creature!" she said sharply; "I shall be obliged to get rid of
+him!"
+
+Mr. Mool volunteered to drive the dog out of the conservatory. Mrs.
+Gallilee, as irritable as ever, stopped him at the door.
+
+"Don't, Mr. Mool! That dog's temper is not to be trusted. He shows it
+with Miss Minerva, my governess--growls just in that way whenever he
+sees her. I dare say he smells you. There! Now he barks! You are only
+making him worse. Come back!"
+
+Being at the door, gentle Mr. Mool tried the ferns as peace-makers once
+more. He gathered a leaf, and returned to his place in a state of meek
+admiration. "The flowering fern!" he said softly.
+
+"A really fine specimen, Mrs. Gallilee, of the Osmunda Regalis. What
+a world of beauty in this bipinnate frond! One hardly knows where the
+stalk ends and the leaf begins!"
+
+The dog, a bright little terrier, came trotting into the library He
+saluted the company briskly with his tail, not excepting Mr. Mool. No
+growl, or approach to a growl, now escaped him. The manner in which
+he laid himself down at Mrs. Gallilee's feet completely refuted her
+aspersion on his temper. Ovid suggested that he might have been provoked
+by a cat in the conservatory.
+
+Meanwhile, Mr. Mool turned over a page of the Will, and arrived at the
+clauses relating to Carmina and her guardian.
+
+"It may not be amiss," he began, "to mention, in the first place, that
+the fortune left to Miss Carmina amounts, in round numbers, to one
+hundred and thirty thousand pounds. The Trustees--"
+
+"Skip the Trustees," said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Mr. Mool skipped.
+
+"In the matter of the guardian," he said, "there is a preliminary
+clause, in the event of your death or refusal to act, appointing Lady
+Northlake--"
+
+"Skip Lady Northlake," said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Mr. Mool skipped.
+
+"You are appointed Miss Carmina's guardian, until she comes of age," he
+resumed. "If she marries in that interval--"
+
+He paused to turn over a page. Not only Mrs. Gallilee, but Ovid also,
+now listened with the deepest interest.
+
+"If she marries in that interval, with her guardian's approval--"
+
+"Suppose I don't approve of her choice?" Mrs. Gallilee interposed.
+
+Ovid looked at his mother--and quickly looked away again. The restless
+little terrier caught his eye, and jumped up to be patted. Ovid was
+too pre-occupied to notice this modest advance. The dog's eyes and ears
+expressed reproachful surprise. His friend Ovid had treated him rudely
+for the first time in his life.
+
+"If the young lady contracts a matrimonial engagement of which you
+disapprove," Mr. Mool answered, "you are instructed by the testator to
+assert your reasons in the presence of--well, I may describe it, as
+a family council; composed of Mr. Gallilee, and of Lord and Lady
+Northlake."
+
+"Excessively foolish of Robert," Mrs. Gallilee remarked. "And what, Mr.
+Mool, is this meddling council of three to do?"
+
+"A majority of the council, Mrs. Gallilee, is to decide the question
+absolutely. If the decision confirms your view, and if Miss Carmina
+still persists in her resolution notwithstanding--"
+
+"Am I to give way?" Mrs. Gallilee asked.
+
+"Not until your niece comes of age, ma'am. Then, she decides for
+herself."
+
+"And inherits the fortune?"
+
+"Only an income from part of it--if her marriage is disapproved by her
+guardian and her relatives."
+
+"And what becomes of the rest?"
+
+"The whole of it," said Mr. Mool, "will be invested by the Trustees, and
+will be divided equally, on her death, among her children."
+
+"Suppose she leaves no children?"
+
+"That case is provided for, ma'am, by the last clause. I will only say
+now, that you are interested in the result."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee turned swiftly and sternly to her son. "When I am dead and
+gone," she said, "I look to you to defend my memory."
+
+"To defend your memory?" Ovid repeated, wondering what she could
+possibly mean.
+
+"If I do become interested in the disposal of Robert's fortune--which
+God forbid!--can't you foresee what will happen?" his mother inquired
+bitterly. "Lady Northlake will say, 'Maria intrigued for this!'"
+
+Mr. Mool looked doubtfully at the ferns. No! His vegetable allies were
+not strong enough to check any further outpouring of such family feeling
+as this. Nothing was to be trusted, in the present emergency, but the
+superior authority of the Will.
+
+"Pardon me," he said; "there are some further instructions, Mrs.
+Gallilee, which, as I venture to think, exhibit your late brother's
+well-known liberality of feeling in a very interesting light. They
+relate to the provision made for his daughter, while she is residing
+under your roof. Miss Carmina is to have the services of the best
+masters, in finishing her education."
+
+"Certainly!" cried Mrs. Gallilee, with the utmost fervour.
+
+"And the use of a carriage to herself, whenever she may require it."
+
+"No, Mr. Mool! _Two_ carriages--in such a climate as this. One open, and
+one closed."
+
+"And to defray these and other expenses, the Trustees are authorized to
+place at your disposal one thousand a year."
+
+"Too much! too much!"
+
+Mr. Mool might have agreed with her--if he had nor known that Robert
+Graywell had thought of his sister's interests, in making this excessive
+provision for expenses incurred on his daughter's account.
+
+"Perhaps, her dresses and her pocket money are included?" Mrs. Gallilee
+resumed.
+
+Mr. Mool smiled, and shook his head. "Mr. Graywell's generosity has no
+limits," he said, "where his daughter is concerned. Miss Carmina is to
+have five hundred a year for pocket-money and dresses."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee appealed to the sympathies of her son. "Isn't it
+touching?" she said. "Dear Carmina! my own people in Paris shall make
+her dresses. Well, Mr. Mool?"
+
+"Allow me to read the exact language of the Will next," Mr. Mool
+answered. "'If her sweet disposition leads her into exceeding her
+allowance, in the pursuit of her own little charities, my Trustees are
+hereby authorized, at their own discretion, to increase the amount,
+within the limit of another five hundred pounds annually.' It sounds
+presumptuous, perhaps, on my part," said Mr. Mool, venturing on a modest
+confession of enthusiasm, "but one can't help thinking, What a good
+father! what a good child!"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee had another appropriate remark ready on her lips, when the
+unlucky dog interrupted her once more. He made a sudden rush into the
+conservatory, barking with all his might. A crashing noise followed the
+dog's outbreak, which sounded like the fall of a flower-pot.
+
+Ovid hurried into the conservatory--with the dog ahead of him, tearing
+down the steps which led into the back garden.
+
+The pot lay broken on the tiled floor. Struck by the beauty of the
+flower that grew in it, he stooped to set it up again. If, instead of
+doing this, he had advanced at once to the second door, he would have
+seen a lady hastening into the house; and, though her back view only was
+presented, he could hardly have failed to recognize Miss Minerva. As it
+was, when he reached the door, the garden was empty.
+
+He looked up at the house, and saw Carmina at the open window of her
+bedroom.
+
+The sad expression on that sweet young face grieved him. Was she
+thinking of her happy past life? or of the doubtful future, among
+strangers in a strange country? She noticed Ovid--and her eyes
+brightened. His customary coldness with women melted instantly: he
+kissed his hand to her. She returned the salute (so familiar to her
+in Italy) with her gentle smile, and looked back into the room. Teresa
+showed herself at the window. Always following her impulses without
+troubling herself to think first, the duenna followed them now. "We are
+dull up here," she called out. "Come back to us, Mr. Ovid." The words
+had hardly been spoken before they both turned from the window. Teresa
+pointed significantly into the room. They disappeared.
+
+Ovid went back to the library.
+
+"Anybody listening?" Mr. Mool inquired.
+
+"I have not discovered anybody, but I doubt if a stray cat could have
+upset that heavy flower-pot." He looked round him as he made the reply.
+"Where is my mother?" he asked.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee had gone upstairs, eager to tell Carmina of the handsome
+allowance made to her by her father. Having answered in these terms, Mr.
+Mool began to fold up the Will--and suddenly stopped.
+
+"Very inconsiderate, on my part," he said; "I forgot, Mr. Ovid, that you
+haven't heard the end of it. Let me give you a brief abstract. You
+know, perhaps, that Miss Carmina is a Catholic? Very natural--her poor
+mother's religion. Well, sir, her good father forgets nothing. All
+attempts at proselytizing are strictly forbidden."
+
+Ovid smiled. His mother's religious convictions began and ended with the
+inorganic matter of the earth.
+
+"The last clause," Mr. Mool proceeded, "seemed to agitate Mrs. Gallilee
+quite painfully. I reminded her that her brother had no near relations
+living, but Lady Northlake and herself. As to leaving money to my lady,
+in my lord's princely position--"
+
+"Pardon me," Ovid interposed, "what is there to agitate my mother in
+this?"
+
+Mr. Mool made his apologies for not getting sooner to the point, with
+the readiest good-will. "Professional habit, Mr. Ovid," he explained.
+"We are apt to be wordy--paid, in fact, at so much a folio, for so many
+words!--and we like to clear the ground first. Your late uncle ends
+his Will, by providing for the disposal of his fortune, in two possible
+events, as follows: Miss Carmina may die unmarried, or Miss Carmina
+(being married) may die without offspring."
+
+Seeing the importance of the last clause now, Ovid stopped him again.
+"Do I remember the amount of the fortune correctly?" he asked. "Was it a
+hundred and thirty thousand pounds?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And what becomes of all that money, if Carmina never marries, or if she
+leaves no children?"
+
+"In either of those cases, sir, the whole of the money goes to Mrs.
+Gallilee and her daughters."'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+Time had advanced to midnight, after the reading of the Will--and Ovid
+was at home.
+
+The silence of the quiet street in which he lived was only disturbed by
+the occasional rolling of carriage wheels, and by dance-music from the
+house of one of his neighbours who was giving a ball. He sat at his
+writing-table, thinking. Honest self-examination had laid out the
+state of his mind before him like a map, and had shown him, in its true
+proportions, the new interest that filled his life.
+
+Of that interest he was now the willing slave. If he had not known
+his mother to be with her, he would have gone back to Carmina when
+the lawyer left the house. As it was, he had sent a message upstairs,
+inviting himself to dinner, solely for the purpose of seeing Carmina
+again--and he had been bitterly disappointed when he heard that Mr. and
+Mrs. Gallilee were engaged, and that his cousin would take tea in her
+room. He had eaten something at this club, without caring what it was.
+He had gone to the Opera afterwards, merely because his recollections of
+a favourite singing-lady of that season vaguely reminded him of Carmina.
+And there he was, at midnight, on his return from the music, eager for
+the next opportunity of seeing his cousin, a few hours hence--when he
+had arranged to say good-bye at the family breakfast-table.
+
+To feel this change in him as vividly as he felt it, could lead to
+but one conclusion in the mind of a man who was incapable of purposely
+deceiving himself. He was as certain as ever of the importance of rest
+and change, in the broken state of his health. And yet, in the face of
+that conviction, his contemplated sea-voyage had already become one of
+the vanished illusions of his life!
+
+His friend had arranged to travel with him, that morning, from London
+to the port at which the yacht was waiting for them. They were hardly
+intimate enough to trust each other unreservedly with secrets. The
+customary apology for breaking an engagement was the alternative that
+remained. With the paper on his desk and with the words on his mind, he
+was yet in such a strange state of indecision that he hesitated to write
+the letter!
+
+His morbidly-sensitive nerves were sadly shaken. Even the familiar
+record of the half-hour by the hall clock startled him. The stroke
+of the bell was succeeded by a mild and mournful sound outside the
+door--the mewing of a cat.
+
+He rose, without any appearance of surprise, and opened the door.
+
+With grace and dignity entered a small black female cat; exhibiting, by
+way of variety of colour, a melancholy triangular patch of white over
+the lower part of her face, and four brilliantly clean white paws. Ovid
+went back to his desk. As soon as he was in his chair again, the cat
+jumped on his shoulder, and sat there purring in his ear. This was the
+place she occupied, whenever her master was writing alone. Passing one
+day through a suburban neighbourhood, on his round of visits, the young
+surgeon had been attracted by a crowd in a by-street. He had rescued his
+present companion from starvation in a locked-up house, the barbarous
+inhabitants of which had gone away for a holiday, and had forgotten the
+cat. When Ovid took the poor creature home with him in his carriage,
+popular feeling decided that the unknown gentleman was "a rum 'un." From
+that moment, this fortunate little member of a brutally-slandered race
+attached herself to her new friend, and to that friend only. If Ovid had
+owned the truth, he must have acknowledged that her company was a relief
+to him, in the present state of his mind.
+
+When a man's flagging purpose is in want of a stimulant, the most
+trifling change in the circumstances of the moment often applies the
+animating influence. Even such a small interruption as the appearance of
+his cat rendered this service to Ovid. To use the common and expressive
+phrase, it had "shaken him up." He wrote the letter--and his patient
+companion killed the time by washing her face.
+
+His mind being so far relieved, he went to bed--the cat following him
+upstairs to her bed in a corner of the room. Clothes are unwholesome
+superfluities not contemplated in the system of Nature. When we are
+exhausted, there is no such thing as true repose for us until we are
+freed from our dress. Men subjected to any excessive exertion--fighting,
+rowing, walking, working--must strip their bodies as completely as
+possible, or they are nor equal to the call on them. Ovid's knowledge
+of his own temperament told him that sleep was not to be hoped for,
+that night. But the way to bed was the way to rest notwithstanding, by
+getting rid of his clothes.
+
+With the sunrise he rose and went out.
+
+He took his letter with him, and dropped it into the box in his friend's
+door. The sooner he committed himself to the new course that he had
+taken, the more certain he might feel of not renewing the miserable and
+useless indecision of the past night. "Thank God, that's done!" he
+said to himself, as he heard the letter fall into the box, and left the
+house.
+
+After walking in the Park until he was weary, he sat down by the
+ornamental lake, and watched the waterfowl enjoying their happy lives.
+
+Wherever he went, whatever he did, Carmina was always with him. He
+had seen thousands of girls, whose personal attractions were far more
+remarkable--and some few among them whose manner was perhaps equally
+winning. What was the charm in the little half-foreign cousin that had
+seized on him in an instant, and that seemed to fasten its subtle hold
+more and more irresistibly with every minute of his life? He was content
+to feel the charm without caring to fathom it. The lovely morning light
+took him in imagination to her bedside; he saw here sleeping peacefully
+in her new room. Would the time come when she might dream of him?
+He looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. The breakfast-hour at
+Fairfield Gardens had been fixed for eight, to give him time to catch
+the morning train. Half an hour might be occupied in walking back to
+his own house. Add ten minutes to make some change in his dress--and
+he might set forth for his next meeting with Carmina. No uneasy
+anticipation of what the family circle might think of his sudden change
+of plan troubled his mind. A very different question occupied him. For
+the first time in his life, he wondered what dress a woman would wear at
+breakfast time.
+
+He opened his house door with his own key. An elderly person, in a
+coarse black gown, was seated on the bench in the hall. She rose,
+and advanced towards him. In speechless astonishment, he confronted
+Carmina's faithful companion--Teresa.
+
+"If you please, I want to speak to you," she said, in her best English.
+Ovid took her into his consulting-room. She wasted no time in apologies
+or explanations. "Don't speak!" she broke out. "Carmina has had a bad
+night."
+
+"I shall be at the house in half an hour!" Ovid eagerly assured her.
+
+The duenna shook her forefinger impatiently. "She doesn't want a doctor.
+She wants a friend, when I am gone. What is her life here? A new life,
+among new people. Don't speak! She's frightened and miserable. So young,
+so shy, so easily startled. And I must leave her--I must! I must! My old
+man is failing fast; he may die, without a creature to comfort him, if
+I don't go back. I could tear my hair when I think of it. Don't speak!
+It's _my_ business to speak. Ha! I know, what I know. Young doctor,
+you're in love with Carmina! I've read you like a book. You're quick to
+see, sudden to feel--like one of my people. _Be_ one of my people. Help
+me."
+
+She dragged a chair close to Ovid, and laid her hand suddenly and
+heavily on his arm.
+
+"It's not my fault, mind; _I_ have said nothing to disturb her. No! I've
+made the best of it. I've lied to her. What do I care? I would lie like
+Judas Iscariot himself to spare Carmina a moment's pain. It's such a
+new life for her--try to see it for yourself--such a new life. You and I
+shook hands yesterday. Do it again. Are you surprised to see me? I asked
+your mother's servants where you lived; and here I am--with the cruel
+teeth of anxiety gnawing me alive when I think of the time to come. Oh,
+my lamb! my angel! she's alone. Oh, my God, only seventeen years old,
+and alone in the world! No father, no mother; and soon--oh, too soon,
+too soon--not even Teresa! What are you looking at? What is there so
+wonderful in the tears of a stupid old fool? Drops of hot water. Ha! ha!
+if they fall on your fine carpet here, they won't hurt it. You're a good
+fellow; you're a dear fellow. Hush! I know the Evil Eye when I see
+it. No more of that! A secret in your ear--I've said a word for you
+to Carmina already. Give her time; she's not cold; young and innocent,
+that's all. Love will come--I know, what I know--love will come."
+
+She laughed--and, in the very act of laughing, changed again. Fright
+looked wildly at Ovid out of her staring eyes. Some terrifying
+remembrance had suddenly occurred to her. She sprang to her feet.
+
+"You said you were going away," she cried. "You said it, when you left
+us yesterday. It can't be! it shan't be! You're not going to leave
+Carmina, too?"
+
+Ovid's first impulse was to tell the whole truth. He resisted the
+impulse. To own that Carmina was the cause of his abandonment of the
+sea-voyage, before she was even sure of the impression she had
+produced on him, would be to place himself in a position from which
+his self-respect recoiled. "My plans are changed," was all he said to
+Teresa. "Make your mind easy; I'm not going away."
+
+The strange old creature snapped her fingers joyously. "Good-bye! I
+want no more of you." With those cool and candid words of farewell, she
+advanced to the door--stopped suddenly to think--and came back. Only a
+moment had passed, and she was as sternly in earnest again as ever.
+
+"May I call you by your name?" she asked.
+
+"Certainly!"
+
+"Listen, Ovid! I may not see you again before I go back to my husband.
+This is my last word--never forget it. Even Carmina may have enemies!"
+
+What could she be thinking of? "Enemies--in my mother's house!" Ovid
+exclaimed. "What can you possibly mean?"
+
+Teresa returned to the door, and only answered him when she had opened
+it to go.
+
+"The Evil Eye never lies," she said. "Wait--and you will see."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was on her way to the breakfast-room, when her son entered
+the house. They met in the hall. "Is your packing done?" she asked.
+
+He was in no humour to wait, and make his confession at that moment.
+"Not yet," was his only reply.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee led the way into the room. "Ovid's luggage is not ready
+yet," she announced; "I believe he will lose his train."
+
+They were all at the breakfast table, the children and the governess
+included. Carmina's worn face, telling its tale of a wakeful night,
+brightened again, as it had brightened at the bedroom window, when she
+saw Ovid. She took his hand frankly, and made light of her weary looks.
+"No, my cousin," she said, playfully; "I mean to be worthier of my
+pretty bed to-night; I am not going to be your patient yet." Mr.
+Gallilee (with this mouth full at the moment) offered good advice. "Eat
+and drink as I do, my dear," he said to Carmina; "and you will sleep as
+I do. Off I go when the light's out--flat on my back, as Mrs. Gallilee
+will tell you--and wake me if you can, till it's time to get up. Have
+some buttered eggs, Ovid. They're good, ain't they, Zo?" Zo looked
+up from her plate, and agreed with her father, in one emphatic word,
+"Jolly!" Miss Minerva, queen of governesses, instantly did her duty.
+"Zoe! how often must I tell you not to talk slang? Do you ever hear
+your sister say 'Jolly?'" That highly-cultivated child, Maria, strong
+in conscious virtue, added her authority in support of the protest.
+"No young lady who respects herself, Zoe, will ever talk slang." Mr.
+Gallilee was unworthy of such a daughter. He muttered under his
+breath, "Oh, bother!" Zo held out her plate for more. Mr. Gallilee was
+delighted. "My child all over!" he exclaimed. "We are both of us good
+feeders. Zo will grow up a fine woman." He appealed to his stepson to
+agree with him. "That's your medical opinion, Ovid, isn't it?"
+
+Carmina's pretty smile passed like rippling light over her eyes and
+her lips. In her brief experience of England, Mr. Gallilee was the one
+exhilarating element in family life.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's mind still dwelt on her son's luggage, and on the
+rigorous punctuality of railway arrangements.
+
+"What is your servant about?" she said to Ovid. "It's his business to
+see that you are ready in time."
+
+It was useless to allow the false impression that prevailed to continue
+any longer. Ovid set them all right, in the plainest and fewest words.
+
+"My servant is not to blame," he said. "I have written an apology to my
+friend--I am not going away."
+
+For the moment, this astounding announcement was received in silent
+dismay--excepting the youngest member of the company. After her father,
+Ovid was the one other person in the world who held a place in Zo's odd
+little heart. Her sentiments were now expressed without hesitation
+and without reserve. She put down her spoon, and she cried, "Hooray!"
+Another exhibition of vulgarity. But even Miss Minerva was too
+completely preoccupied by the revelation which had burst on the family
+to administer the necessary reproof. Her eager eyes were riveted on
+Ovid. As for Mr. Gallilee, he held his bread and butter suspended
+in mid-air, and stared open-mouthed at his stepson, in helpless
+consternation.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee always set the right example. Mrs. Gallilee was the first
+to demand an explanation.
+
+"What does this extraordinary proceeding mean?" she asked.
+
+Ovid was impenetrable to the tone in which that question was put. He had
+looked at his cousin, when he declared his change of plan--and he was
+looking at her still. Whatever the feeling of the moment might be,
+Carmina's sensitive face expressed it vividly. Who could mistake the
+faintly-rising colour in her cheeks, the sweet quickening of light in
+her eyes, when she met Ovid's look? Still hardly capable of estimating
+the influence that she exercised over him, her sense of the interest
+taken in her by Ovid was the proud sense that makes girls innocently
+bold. Whatever the others might think of his broken engagement, her
+artless eyes said plainly, "My feeling is happy surprise."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee summoned her son to attend her, in no friendly voice.
+She, too, had looked at Carmina--and had registered the result of her
+observation privately.
+
+"Are we to hear your reasons?" she inquired.
+
+Ovid had made the one discovery in the world, on which his whole heart
+was set. He was so happy, that he kept his mother out of his secret,
+with a masterly composure worthy of herself.
+
+"I don't think a sea-voyage is the right thing for me," he answered.
+
+"Rather a sudden change of opinion," Mrs. Gallilee remarked.
+
+Ovid coolly agreed with her. It _was_ rather sudden, he said.
+
+The governess still looked at him, wondering whether he would provoke an
+outbreak.
+
+After a little pause, Mrs. Gallilee accepted her son's short
+answer--with a sudden submission which had a meaning of its own. She
+offered Ovid another cup of tea; and, more remarkable yet, she turned
+to her eldest daughter, and deliberately changed the subject. "What are
+your lessons, my dear, to-day?" she asked, with bland maternal interest.
+
+By this time, bewildered Mr. Gallilee had finished his bread and
+butter. "Ovid knows best, my dear," he said cheerfully to his wife. Mrs.
+Gallilee's sudden recovery of her temper did not include her husband.
+If a look could have annihilated that worthy man, his corporal presence
+must have vanished into air, when he had delivered himself of his
+opinion. As it was, he only helped Zo to another spoonful of jam. "When
+Ovid first thought of that voyage," he went on, "I said, Suppose he's
+sick? A dreadful sensation isn't it, Miss Minerva? First you seem to
+sink into your shoes, and then it all comes up--eh? You're _not_ sick
+at sea? I congratulate you! I most sincerely congratulate you! My dear
+Ovid, come and dine with me to-night at the club." He looked doubtfully
+at his wife, as he made that proposal. "Got the headache, my dear? I'll
+take you out with pleasure for a walk. What's the matter with her, Miss
+Minerva? Oh, I see! Hush! Maria's going to say grace.--Amen! Amen!"
+
+They all rose from the table.
+
+Mr. Gallilee was the first to open the door. The smoking-room at
+Fairfield Gardens was over the kitchen; he preferred enjoying his cigar
+in the garden of the Square. He looked at Carmina and Ovid, as if he
+wanted one of them to accompany him. They were both at the aviary,
+admiring the birds, and absorbed in their own talk. Mr. Gallilee
+resigned himself to his fate; appealing, on his way out, to somebody to
+agree with him as usual. "Well!" he said with a little sigh, "a cigar
+keeps one company." Miss Minerva (absorbed in her own thoughts) passed
+near him, on her way to the school-room with her pupils. "You would find
+it so yourself, Miss Minerva--that is to say, if you smoked, which of
+course you don't. Be a good girl, Zo; attend to your lessons."
+
+Zo's perversity in the matter of lessons put its own crooked
+construction on this excellent advice. She answered in a whisper, "Give
+us a holiday."
+
+The passing aspirations of idle minds, being subject to the law of
+chances, are sometimes fulfilled, and so exhibit poor human wishes in a
+consolatory light. Thanks to the conversation between Carmina and Ovid,
+Zo got her holiday after all.
+
+
+Mrs. Gallilee, still as amiable as ever, had joined her son and her
+niece at the aviary. Ovid said to his mother, "Carmina is fond of birds.
+I have been telling her she may see all the races of birds assembled in
+the Zoological Gardens. It's a perfect day. Why shouldn't we go!"
+
+The stupidest woman living would have understood what this proposal
+really meant. Mrs. Gallilee sanctioned it as composedly as if Ovid and
+Carmina had been brother and sister. "I wish I could go with you," she
+said, "but my household affairs fill my morning. And there is a lecture
+this afternoon, which I cannot possibly lose. I don't know, Carmina,
+whether you are interested in these things. We are to have the
+apparatus, which illustrates the conversion of radiant energy into
+sonorous vibrations. Have you ever heard, my dear, of the Diathermancy
+of Ebonite? Not in your way, perhaps?"
+
+Carmina looked as unintelligent as Zo herself. Mrs. Gallilee's
+science seemed to frighten her. The Diathermancy of Ebonite, by some
+incomprehensible process, drove her bewildered mind back on her old
+companion. "I want to give Teresa a little pleasure before we part," she
+said timidly; "may she go with us?"
+
+"Of course!" cried Mrs. Gallilee. "And, now I think of it, why shouldn't
+the children have a little pleasure too? I will give them a holiday.
+Don't be alarmed, Ovid; Miss Minerva will look after them. In the
+meantime, Carmina, tell your good old friend to get ready."
+
+Carmina hastened away, and so helped Mrs. Gallilee to the immediate
+object which she had in view--a private interview with her son.
+
+Ovid anticipated a searching inquiry into the motives which had led
+him to give up the sea voyage. His mother was far too clever a woman to
+waste her time in that way. Her first words told him that his motive was
+as plainly revealed to her as the sunlight shining in at the window.
+
+"That's a charming girl," she said, when Carmina closed the door behind
+her. "Modest and natural--quite the sort of girl, Ovid, to attract a
+clever man like you."
+
+Ovid was completely taken by surprise, and owned it by his silence. Mrs.
+Gallilee went on in a tone of innocent maternal pleasantry.
+
+"You know you began young," she said; "your first love was that poor
+little wizen girl of Lady Northlake's who died. Child's play, you will
+tell me, and nothing more. But, my dear, I am afraid I shall require
+some persuasion, before I quite sympathize with this new--what shall I
+call it?--infatuation is too hard a word, and 'fancy' means nothing. We
+will leave it a blank. Marriages of cousins are debatable marriages,
+to say the least of them; and Protestant fathers and Papist mothers do
+occasionally involve difficulties with children. Not that I say, No. Far
+from it. But if this is to go on, I do hesitate."
+
+Something in his mother's tone grated on Ovid's sensibilities. "I don't
+at all follow you," he said, rather sharply; "you are looking a little
+too far into the future."
+
+"Then we will return to the present," Mrs. Gallilee replied--still with
+the readiest submission to the humour of her son.
+
+On recent occasions, she had expressed the opinion that Ovid would do
+wisely--at his age, and with his professional prospects--to wait a few
+years before he thought of marrying. Having said enough in praise of her
+niece to satisfy him for the time being (without appearing to be meanly
+influenced, in modifying her opinion, by the question of money), her
+next object was to induce him to leave England immediately, for the
+recovery of his health. With Ovid absent, and with Carmina under her
+sole superintendence, Mrs. Gallilee could see her way to her own private
+ends.
+
+"Really," she resumed, "you ought to think seriously of change of air
+and scene. You know you would not allow a patient, in your present state
+of health, to trifle with himself as your are trifling now. If you don't
+like the sea, try the Continent. Get away somewhere, my dear, for your
+own sake."
+
+It was only possible to answer this, in one way. Ovid owned that his
+mother was right and asked for time to think. To his infinite relief,
+he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Miss Minerva entered the
+room--not in a very amiable temper, judging by appearances.
+
+"I am afraid I disturb you," she began.
+
+Ovid seized the opportunity of retreat. He had some letters to write--he
+hurried away to the library.
+
+"Is there any mistake?" the governess asked, when she and Mrs. Gallilee
+were alone.
+
+"In what respect, Miss Minerva?"
+
+"I met your niece, ma'am, on the stairs. She says you wish the children
+to have a holiday."
+
+"Yes, to go with my son and Miss Carmina to the Zoological Gardens."
+
+"Miss Carmina said I was to go too."
+
+"Miss Carmina was perfectly right."
+
+The governess fixed her searching eyes on Mrs. Gallilee. "You really
+wish me to go with them?" she said.
+
+"I do."
+
+"I know why."
+
+In the course of their experience, Mrs. Gallilee and Miss Minerva had
+once quarrelled fiercely--and Mrs. Gallilee had got the worst of it.
+She learnt her lesson. For the future she knew how to deal with her
+governess. When one said, "I know why," the other only answered, "Do
+you?"
+
+"Let's have it out plainly, ma'am," Miss Minerva proceeded. "I am not
+to let Mr. Ovid" (she laid a bitterly strong emphasis on the name, and
+flushed angrily)--"I am not to let Mr. Ovid and Miss Carmina be alone
+together."
+
+"You are a good guesser," Mrs. Gallilee remarked quietly.
+
+"No," said Miss Minerva more quietly still; "I have only seen what you
+have seen."
+
+"Did I tell you what I have seen?"
+
+"Quite needless, ma'am. Your son is in love with his cousin. When am I
+to be ready?"
+
+The bland mistress mentioned the hour. The rude governess left the room.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee looked at the closing door with a curious smile. She had
+already suspected Miss Minerva of being crossed in love. The suspicion
+was now confirmed, and the man was discovered.
+
+"Soured by a hopeless passion," she said to herself. "And the object
+is--my son."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+On entering the Zoological Gardens, Ovid turned at once to the right,
+leading Carmina to the aviaries, so that she might begin by seeing the
+birds. Miss Minerva, with Maria in dutiful attendance, followed them.
+Teresa kept at a little distance behind; and Zo took her own erratic
+course, now attaching herself to one member of the little party, and now
+to another.
+
+When they reached the aviaries the order of march became confused;
+differences in the birds made their appeal to differences in the
+taste of the visitors. Insatiably eager for useful information, that
+prize-pupil Maria held her governess captive at one cage; while Zo
+darted away towards another, out of reach of discipline, and good Teresa
+volunteered to bring her back. For a minute, Ovid and his cousin were
+left alone. He might have taken a lover's advantage even of that small
+opportunity. But Carmina had something to say to him--and Carmina spoke
+first.
+
+"Has Miss Minerva been your mother's governess for a long time?" she
+inquired.
+
+"For some years," Ovid replied. "Will you let me put a question on my
+side? Why do you ask?"
+
+Carmina hesitated--and answered in a whisper, "She looks ill-tempered."
+
+"She _is_ ill-tempered," Ovid confessed. "I suspect," he added with a
+smile, "you don't like Miss Minerva."
+
+Carmina attempted no denial; her excuse was a woman's excuse all over:
+"She doesn't like _me."_
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"I have been looking at her. Does she beat the children?"
+
+"My dear Carmina! do you think she would be my mother's governess if she
+treated the children in that way? Besides, Miss Minerva is too well-bred
+a woman to degrade herself by acts of violence. Family misfortunes have
+very materially lowered her position in the world."
+
+He was reminded, as he said those words, of the time when Miss Minerva
+had entered on her present employment, and when she had been the object
+of some little curiosity on his own part. Mrs. Gallilee's answer, when
+he once asked why she kept such an irritable woman in the house, had
+been entirely satisfactory, so far as she herself was concerned: "Miss
+Minerva is remarkably well informed, and I get her cheap." Exactly
+like his mother! But it left Miss Minerva's motives involved in utter
+obscurity. Why had this highly cultivated woman accepted an inadequate
+reward for her services, for years together? Why--to take the event of
+that morning as another example--after plainly showing her temper to her
+employer, had she been so ready to submit to a suddenly decreed holiday,
+which disarranged her whole course of lessons for the week? Little
+did Ovid think that the one reconciling influence which adjusted these
+contradictions, and set at rest every doubt that grew out of them, was
+to be found in himself. Even the humiliation of watching him in his
+mother's interest, and of witnessing his devotion to another woman,
+was a sacrifice which Miss Minerva could endure for the one inestimable
+privilege of being in Ovid's company.
+
+Before Carmina could ask any more questions a shrill voice, at its
+highest pitch of excitement, called her away. Zo had just discovered
+the most amusing bird in the Gardens--the low comedian of the feathered
+race--otherwise known as the Piping Crow.
+
+Carmina hurried to the cage as if she had been a child herself. Seeing
+Ovid left alone, the governess seized _her_ chance of speaking to him.
+The first words that passed her lips told their own story. While Carmina
+had been studying Miss Minerva, Miss Minerva had been studying Carmina.
+Already, the same instinctive sense of rivalry had associated, on
+a common ground of feeling, the two most dissimilar women that ever
+breathed the breath of life.
+
+"Does your cousin know much about birds?" Miss Minerva began.
+
+The opinion which declares that vanity is a failing peculiar to the sex
+is a slander on women. All the world over, there are more vain men in it
+than vain women. If Ovid had not been one of the exceptions to a general
+rule among men, or even if his experience of the natures of women had
+been a little less limited, he too might have discovered Miss Minerva's
+secret. Even her capacity for self-control failed, at the moment when
+she took Carmina's place. Those keen black eyes, so hard and cold
+when they looked at anyone else--flamed with an all-devouring sense of
+possession when they first rested on Ovid. "He's mine. For one golden
+moment he's mine!" They spoke--and, suddenly, the every-day blind
+was drawn down again; there was nobody present but a well-bred woman,
+talking with delicately implied deference to a distinguished man.
+
+"So far, we have not spoken of the birds," Ovid innocently answered.
+
+"And yet you seemed to be both looking at them!" She at once covered
+this unwary outbreak of jealousy under an impervious surface of
+compliment. "Miss Carmina is not perhaps exactly pretty, but she is a
+singularly interesting girl."
+
+Ovid cordially (too cordially) agreed. Miss Minerva had presented
+her better self to him under a most agreeable aspect. She
+tried--struggled--fought with herself--to preserve appearances. The
+demon in her got possession again of her tongue. "Do you find the young
+lady intelligent?" she inquired.
+
+"Certainly!"
+
+Only one word--spoken perhaps a little sharply. The miserable woman
+shrank under it. "An idle question on my part," she said, with the
+pathetic humility that tries to be cheerful. "And another warning, Mr.
+Vere, never to judge by appearances." She looked at him, and returned to
+the children.
+
+Ovid's eyes followed her compassionately. "Poor wretch!" he thought.
+"What an infernal temper, and how hard she tries to control it!" He
+joined Carmina, with a new delight in being near her again. Zo was still
+in ecstasies over the Piping Crow. "Oh, the jolly little chap! Look
+how he cocks his head! He mocks me when I whistle. Buy him," cried Zo,
+tugging at Ovid's coat tails in the excitement that possessed her; "buy
+him, and let me take him home with me!"
+
+Some visitors within hearing began to laugh. Miss Minerva opened her
+lips; Maria opened her lips. To the astonishment of both of them the
+coming rebuke proved to be needless.
+
+A sudden transformation to silence and docility had made a new creature
+of Zo, before they could speak--and Ovid had unconsciously worked the
+miracle. For the first time in the child's experience, he had suffered
+his coat tails to be pulled without immediately attending to her. Who
+was he looking at? It was only too easy to see that Carmina had got
+him all to herself. The jealous little heart swelled in Zo's bosom.
+In silent perplexity she kept watch on the friend who had never
+disappointed her before. Little by little, her slow intelligence began
+to realise the discovery of something in his face which made him look
+handsomer than ever, and which she had never seen in it yet. They all
+left the aviaries, and turned to the railed paddocks in which the larger
+birds were assembled. And still Zo followed so quietly, so silently,
+that her elder sister--threatened with a rival in good behaviour--looked
+at her in undisguised alarm.
+
+Incited by Maria (who felt the necessity of vindicating her character)
+Miss Minerva began a dissertation on cranes, suggested by the birds with
+the brittle-looking legs hopping up to her in expectation of something
+to eat. Ovid was absorbed in attending to his cousin; he had provided
+himself with some bread, and was helping Carmina to feed the birds. But
+one person noticed Zo, now that her strange lapse into good behaviour
+had lost the charm of novelty. Old Teresa watched her. There was
+something plainly troubling the child in secret; she had a mind to know
+what it might be.
+
+Zo approached Ovid again, determined to understand the change in him if
+perseverance could do it. He was talking so confidentially to Carmina,
+that he almost whispered in her ear. Zo eyed him, without daring to
+touch his coat tails again. Miss Minerva tried hard to go on composedly
+with the dissertation on cranes. "Flocks of these birds, Maria, pass
+periodically over the southern and central countries of Europe"--Her
+breath failed her, as she looked at Ovid: she could say no more.
+Zo stopped those maddening confidences; Zo, in desperate want of
+information, tugged boldly at Carmina's skirts this time.
+
+The young girl turned round directly. "What is it, dear?"
+
+With big tears of indignation rising in her eyes, Zo pointed to Ovid. "I
+say!" she whispered, "is he going to buy the Piping Crow for you?"
+
+To Zo's discomfiture they both smiled. She dried her eyes with her
+fists, and waited doggedly for an answer. Carmina set the child's mind
+at ease very prettily and kindly; and Ovid added the pacifying influence
+of a familiar pat on her cheek. Noticed at last, and satisfied that
+the bird was not to be bought for anybody, Zo's sense of injury
+was appeased; her jealousy melted away as the next result. After a
+pause--produced, as her next words implied, by an effort of memory--she
+suddenly took Carmina into her confidence.
+
+"Don't tell!" she began. "I saw another man look like Ovid."
+
+"When, dear?" Carmina asked--meaning, at what past date.
+
+"When his face was close to yours," Zo answered--meaning, under what
+recent circumstances.
+
+Ovid, hearing this reply, knew his small sister well enough to foresee
+embarrassing results if he allowed the conversation to proceed. He took
+Carmina's arm, and led her a little farther on.
+
+Miss Minerva obstinately followed them, with Maria in attendance, still
+imperfectly enlightened on the migration of cranes. Zo looked round, in
+search of another audience. Teresa had been listening; she was present,
+waiting for events. Being herself what stupid people call "an oddity,"
+her sympathies were attracted by this quaint child. In Teresa's opinion,
+seeing the animals was very inferior, as an amusement, to exploring Zo's
+mind. She produced a cake of chocolate, from a travelling bag which she
+carried with her everywhere. The cake was sweet, it was flavoured with
+vanilla, and it was offered to Zo, unembittered by advice not to
+be greedy and make herself ill. Staring hard at Teresa, she took an
+experimental bite. The wily duenna chose that propitious moment to
+present herself in the capacity of a new audience.
+
+"Who was that other man you saw, who looked like Mr. Ovid?" she asked;
+speaking in the tone of serious equality which is always flattering to
+the self-esteem of children in intercourse with elders. Zo was so proud
+of having her own talk reported by a grown-up stranger, that she even
+forgot the chocolate. "I wanted to say more than that," she announced.
+"Would you like to hear the end of it?" And this admirable foreign
+person answered, "I should very much like."
+
+Zo hesitated. To follow out its own little train of thought, in
+words, was no easy task to the immature mind which Miss Minerva had so
+mercilessly overworked. Led by old Dame Nature (first of governesses!)
+Zo found her way out of the labyrinth by means of questions.
+
+"Do you know Joseph?" she began.
+
+Teresa had heard the footman called by his name: she knew who Joseph
+was.
+
+"Do you know Matilda?" Zo proceeded.
+
+Teresa had heard the housemaid called by her name: she knew who Matilda
+was. And better still, she helped her little friend by a timely guess
+at what was coming, presented under the form of a reminder. "You saw Mr.
+Ovid's face close to Carmina's face," she suggested.
+
+Zo nodded furiously--the end of it was coming already.
+
+"And before that," Teresa went on, "you saw Joseph's face close to
+Matilda's face."
+
+"I saw Joseph kiss Matilda!" Zo burst out, with a scream of triumph.
+"Why doesn't Ovid kiss Carmina?"
+
+A deep bass voice, behind them, answered gravely: "Because the governess
+is in the way." And a big bamboo walking-stick pointed over their heads
+at Miss Minerva. Zo instantly recognised the stick, and took it into her
+own hands.
+
+Teresa turned--and found herself in the presence of a remarkable man.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+In the first place, the stranger was almost tall enough to be shown as a
+giant; he towered to a stature of six feet six inches, English measure.
+If his immense bones had been properly covered with flesh, he might have
+presented the rare combination of fine proportions with great height. He
+was so miserably--it might almost be said, so hideously--thin that his
+enemies spoke of him as "the living skeleton." His massive forehead,
+his great gloomy gray eyes, his protuberant cheek-bones, overhung
+a fleshless lower face naked of beard, whiskers, and moustache. His
+complexion added to the startling effect which his personal appearance
+produced on strangers. It was of the true gipsy-brown, and, being darker
+in tone than his eyes, added remarkably to the weird look, the dismal
+thoughtful scrutiny, which it was his habit to fix on persons talking
+with him, no matter whether they were worthy of attention or not. His
+straight black hair hung as gracelessly on either side of his hollow
+face as the hair of an American Indian. His great dusky hands, never
+covered by gloves in the summer time, showed amber-coloured nails on
+bluntly-pointed fingers, turned up at the tips. Those tips felt like
+satin when they touched you. When he wished to be careful, he could
+handle the frailest objects with the most exquisite delicacy. His dress
+was of the recklessly loose and easy kind. His long frock-coat descended
+below his knees; his flowing trousers were veritable bags; his lean and
+wrinkled throat turned about in a widely-opened shirt-collar, unconfined
+by any sort of neck-tie. He had a theory that a head-dress should
+be solid enough to resist a chance blow--a fall from a horse, or the
+dropping of a loose brick from a house under repair. His hard black hat,
+broad and curly at the brim, might have graced the head of a bishop, if
+it had not been secularised by a queer resemblance to the bell-shaped
+hat worn by dandies in the early years of the present century. In one
+word he was, both in himself and in his dress, the sort of man whom no
+stranger is careless enough to pass without turning round for a second
+look. Teresa, eyeing him with reluctant curiosity, drew back a step, and
+privately reviled him (in the secrecy of her own language) as an ugly
+beast! Even his name startled people by the outlandish sound of it.
+Those enemies who called him "the living skeleton" said it revealed his
+gipsy origin. In medical and scientific circles he was well and widely
+known as--Doctor Benjulia.
+
+Zo ran away with his bamboo stick. After a passing look of gloomy
+indifference at the duenna, he called to the child to come back.
+
+She obeyed him in an oddly indirect way, as if she had been returning
+against her will. At the same time she looked up in his face, with an
+absence of shyness which showed, like the snatching away of his stick,
+that she was familiarly acquainted with him, and accustomed to take
+liberties. And yet there was an expression of uneasy expectation in her
+round attentive eyes. "Do you want it back again?" she asked, offering
+the stick.
+
+"Of course I do. What would your mother say to me, if you tumbled over
+my big bamboo, and dashed out your brains on this hard gravel walk?"
+
+"Have you been to see Mama?" Zo asked.
+
+"I have _not_ been to see Mama--but I know what she would say to me if
+you dashed out your brains, for all that."
+
+"What would she say?"
+
+"She would say--Doctor Benjulia, your name ought to be Herod."'
+
+"Who was Herod?"
+
+"Herod was a Royal Jew, who killed little girls when they took away his
+walking-stick. Come here, child. Shall I tickle you?"
+
+"I knew you'd say that," Zo answered.
+
+When men in general thoroughly enjoy the pleasure of talking nonsense
+to children, they can no more help smiling than they can help breathing.
+The doctor was an extraordinary exception to this rule; his grim face
+never relaxed--not even when Zo reminded him that one of his favourite
+recreations was tickling her. She obeyed, however, with the curious
+appearance of reluctant submission showing itself once more. He put two
+of his soft big finger-tips on her spine, just below the back of her
+neck, and pressed on the place. Zo started and wriggled under his touch.
+He observed her with as serious an interest as if he had been conducting
+a medical experiment. "That's how you make our dog kick with his leg,"
+said Zo, recalling her experience of the doctor in the society of the
+dog. "How do you do it?"
+
+"I touch the Cervical Plexus," Doctor Benjulia answered as gravely as
+ever.
+
+This attempt at mystifying the child failed completely. Zo considered
+the unknown tongue in which he had answered her as being equivalent to
+lessons. She declined to notice the Cervical Plexus, and returned to the
+little terrier at home. "Do you think the dog likes it?" she asked.
+
+"Never mind the dog. Do _you_ like it?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+Doctor Benjulia turned to Teresa. His gloomy gray eyes rested on her, as
+they might have rested on any inanimate object near him--on the railing
+that imprisoned the birds, or on the pipes that kept the monkey-house
+warm. "I have been playing the fool, ma'am, with this child," he said;
+"and I fear I have detained you. I beg your pardon." He pulled off his
+episcopal hat, and walked grimly on, without taking any further notice
+of Zo.
+
+Teresa made her best courtesy in return. The magnificent civility of the
+ugly giant daunted, while it flattered her. "The manners of a prince,"
+she said, "and the complexion of a gipsy. Is he a nobleman?"
+
+Zo answered, "He's a doctor,"--as if that was something much better.
+
+"Do you like him?" Teresa inquired next.
+
+Zo answered the duenna as she had answered the doctor: "I don't know."
+
+In the meantime, Ovid and his cousin had not been unobservant of what
+was passing at a little distance from them. Benjulia's great height, and
+his evident familiarity with the child, stirred Carmina's curiosity.
+
+Ovid seemed to be disinclined to talk of him. Miss Minerva made herself
+useful, with the readiest politeness. She mentioned his odd name, and
+described him as one of Mrs. Gallilee's old friends. "Of late years,"
+she proceeded, "he is said to have discontinued medical practice, and
+devoted himself to chemical experiments. Nobody seems to know much about
+him. He has built a house in a desolate field--in some lost suburban
+neighbourhood that nobody can discover. In plain English, Dr. Benjulia
+is a mystery."
+
+Hearing this, Carmina appealed again to Ovid.
+
+"When I am asked riddles," she said, "I am never easy till the answer
+is guessed for me. And when I hear of mysteries, I am dying to have them
+revealed. You are a doctor yourself. Do tell me something more!"
+
+Ovid might have evaded her entreaties by means of an excuse. But her
+eyes were irresistible: they looked him into submission in an instant.
+
+"Doctor Benjulia is what we call a Specialist," he said. "I mean that
+he only professes to treat certain diseases. Brains and nerves are
+Benjulia's diseases. Without quite discontinuing his medical practice,
+he limits himself to serious cases--when other doctors are puzzled, you
+know, and want him to help them. With this exception, he has certainly
+sacrificed his professional interests to his mania for experiments in
+chemistry. What those experiments are, nobody knows but himself. He
+keeps the key of his laboratory about him by day and by night. When the
+place wants cleaning, he does the cleaning with his own hands."
+
+Carmina listened with great interest: "Has nobody peeped in at the
+windows?" she asked.
+
+"There are no windows--only a skylight in the roof."
+
+"Can't somebody get up on the roof, and look in through the skylight?"
+
+Ovid laughed. "One of his men-servants is said to have tried that
+experiment," he replied.
+
+"And what did the servant see?"
+
+"A large white blind, drawn under the skylight, and hiding the whole
+room from view. Somehow, the doctor discovered him--and the man was
+instantly dismissed. Of course there are reports which explain the
+mystery of the doctor and his laboratory. One report says that he
+is trying to find a way of turning common metals into gold. Another
+declares that he is inventing some explosive compound, so horribly
+destructive that it will put an end to war. All I can tell you is, that
+his mind (when I happen to meet him) seems to be as completely absorbed
+as ever in brains and nerves. But, what they can have to do with
+chemical experiments, secretly pursued in a lonely field, is a riddle to
+which I have thus far found no answer.
+
+"Is he married?" Carmina inquired.
+
+The question seemed to amuse Ovid. "If Doctor Benjulia had a wife, you
+think we might get at his secrets? There is no such chance for us--he
+manages his domestic affairs for himself."
+
+"Hasn't he even got a housekeeper?"
+
+"Not even a housekeeper!"
+
+While he was making that reply, he saw the doctor slowly advancing
+towards them. "Excuse me for one minute," he resumed; "I will just speak
+to him, and come back to you."
+
+Carmina turned to Miss Minerva in surprise.
+
+"Ovid seems to have some reason for keeping the tall man away from us,"
+she said. "Does he dislike Doctor Benjulia?"
+
+But for restraining motives, the governess might have gratified her
+hatred of Carmina by a sharp reply. She had her reasons--not only after
+what she had overheard in the conservatory, but after what she had seen
+in the Gardens--for winning Carmina's confidence, and exercising over
+her the influence of a trusted friend. Miss Minerva made instant use of
+her first opportunity.
+
+"I can tell you what I have noticed myself," she said confidentially.
+"When Mrs. Gallilee gives parties, I am allowed to be present--to see
+the famous professors of science. On one of these occasions they were
+talking of instinct and reason. Your cousin, Mr. Ovid Vere, said it was
+no easy matter to decide where instinct ended and reason began. In
+his own experience, he had sometimes found people of feeble minds, who
+judged by instinct, arrive at sounder conclusions than their superiors
+in intelligence, who judged by reason. The talk took another turn--and,
+soon after, Doctor Benjulia joined the guests. I don't know whether you
+have observed that Mr. Gallilee is very fond of his stepson?"
+
+Oh, yes! Carmina had noticed that. "I like Mr. Gallilee," she said
+warmly; "he is such a nice, kind-hearted, natural old man."
+
+Miss Minerva concealed a sneer under a smile. Fond of Mr. Gallilee? what
+simplicity! "Well," she resumed, "the doctor paid his respects to the
+master of the house, and then he shook hands with Mr. Ovid; and then
+the scientific gentlemen all got round him, and had learned talk. Mr.
+Gallilee came up to his stepson, looking a little discomposed. He spoke
+in a whisper--you know his way?--'Ovid, do you like Doctor Benjulia?
+Don't mention it; I hate him.' Strong language for Mr. Gallilee, wasn't
+it? Mr. Ovid said, 'Why do you hate him?' And poor Mr. Gallilee answered
+like a child, 'Because I do.' Some ladies came in, and the old gentleman
+left us to speak to them. I ventured to say to Mr. Ovid, 'Is that
+instinct or reason?' He took it quite seriously. 'Instinct,' he
+said--'and it troubles me.' I leave you, Miss Carmina, to draw your own
+conclusion."
+
+They both looked up. Ovid and the doctor were walking slowly away from
+them, and were just passing Teresa and the child. At the same moment,
+one of the keepers of the animals approached Benjulia. After they had
+talked together for a while, the man withdrew. Zo (who had heard it all,
+and had understood a part of it) ran up to Carmina, charged with news.
+
+"There's a sick monkey in the gardens, in a room all by himself!" the
+child cried. "And, I say, look there!" She pointed excitedly to Benjulia
+and Ovid, walking on again slowly in the direction of the aviaries.
+"There's the big doctor who tickles me! He says he'll see the poor
+monkey, as soon as he's done with Ovid. And what do you think he said
+besides? He said perhaps he'd take the monkey home with him."
+
+"I wonder what's the matter with the poor creature?" Carmina asked.
+
+"After what Mr. Ovid has told us, I think I know," Miss Minerva
+answered. "Doctor Benjulia wouldn't be interested in the monkey unless
+it had a disease of the brain."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+Ovid had promised to return to Carmina in a minute. The minutes passed,
+and still Doctor Benjulia held him in talk.
+
+Now that he was no longer seeking amusement, in his own dreary way,
+by mystifying Zo, the lines seemed to harden in the doctor's fleshless
+face. A scrupulously polite man, he was always cold in his politeness.
+He waited to have his hand shaken, and waited to be spoken to. And
+yet, on this occasion, he had something to say. When Ovid opened the
+conversation, he changed the subject directly.
+
+"Benjulia! what brings You to the Zoological Gardens?"
+
+"One of the monkeys has got brain disease; and they fancy I might like
+to see the beast before they kill him. Have you been thinking lately of
+that patient we lost?"
+
+Not at the moment remembering the patient, Ovid made no immediate reply.
+The doctor seemed to distrust his silence.
+
+"You don't mean to say you have forgotten the case?" he resumed. "We
+called it hysteria, not knowing what else it was. I don't forgive the
+girl for slipping through our fingers; I hate to be beaten by Death, in
+that way. Have you made up your mind what to do, on the next occasion?
+Perhaps you think you could have saved her life if you had been sent
+for, now?"
+
+"No, indeed, I am just as ignorant--"
+
+"Give ignorance time," Benjulia interposed, "and ignorance will become
+knowledge--if a man is in earnest. The proper treatment might occur to
+you to-morrow."
+
+He held to his idea with such obstinacy that Ovid set him right, rather
+impatiently. "The proper treatment has as much chance of occurring
+to the greatest ass in the profession," he answered, "as it has of
+occurring to me. I can put my mind to no good medical use; my work has
+been too much for me. I am obliged to give up practice, and rest--for a
+time."
+
+Not even a formal expression of sympathy escaped Doctor Benjulia. Having
+been a distrustful friend so far, he became an inquisitive friend now.
+"You're going away, of course," he said. "Where to? On the Continent?
+Not to Italy--if you really want to recover your health!"
+
+"What is the objection to Italy?"
+
+The doctor put his great hand solemnly on his young friend's shoulder.
+"The medical schools in that country are recovering their past
+reputation," he said. "They are becoming active centres of physiological
+inquiry. You will be dragged into it, to a dead certainty. They're sure
+to try what they can strike out by collision with a man like you. What
+will become of that overworked mind of yours, when a lot of professors
+are searching it without mercy? Have you ever been to Canada?"
+
+"No. Have you?"
+
+"I have been everywhere. Canada is just the place for you, in this
+summer season. Bracing air; and steady-going doctors who leave the fools
+in Europe to pry into the secrets of Nature. Thousands of miles of land,
+if you like riding. Thousands of miles of water, if you like sailing.
+Pack up, and go to Canada."
+
+What did all this mean? Was he afraid that his colleague might stumble
+on some discovery which he was in search of himself? And did the
+discovery relate to his own special subject of brains and nerves? Ovid
+made an attempt to understand him.
+
+"Tell me something about yourself, Benjulia," he said. "Are you
+returning to your regular professional work?"
+
+Benjulia struck his bamboo stick emphatically on the gravel-walk.
+"Never! Unless I know more than I know now."
+
+This surely meant that he was as much devoted to his chemical
+experiments as ever? In that case, how could Ovid (who knew nothing of
+chemical experiments) be an obstacle in the doctor's way? Baffled thus
+far, he made another attempt at inducing Benjulia to explain himself.
+
+"When is the world to hear of your discoveries?" he asked.
+
+The doctor's massive forehead gathered ominously into a frown, "Damn the
+world!" That was his only reply.
+
+Ovid was not disposed to allow himself to be kept in the dark in this
+way. "I suppose you are going on with your experiments?" he said.
+
+The gloom of Benjulia's grave eyes deepened: they stared with a stern
+fixedness into vacancy. His great head bent slowly over his broad
+breast. The whole man seemed to be shut up in himself. "I go on a way of
+my own," he growled. "Let nobody cross it."
+
+After that reply, to persist in making inquiries would only have ended
+in needlessly provoking an irritable man. Ovid looked back towards
+Carmina. "I must return to my friends," he said.
+
+The doctor lifted his head, like a man awakened. "Have I been rude?" he
+asked. "Don't talk to me about my experiments. That's my raw place,
+and you hit me on it. What did you say just now? Friends? who are your
+friends?" He rubbed his hand savagely over his forehead--it was a way he
+had of clearing his mind. "I know," he went on. "I saw your friends just
+now. Who's the young lady?" His most intimate companions had never heard
+him laugh: they had sometimes seen his thin-lipped mouth widen drearily
+into a smile. It widened now. "Whoever she is," he proceeded, "Zo
+wonders why you don't kiss her."
+
+This specimen of Benjulia's attempts at pleasantry was not exactly
+to Ovid's taste. He shifted the topic to his little sister. "You were
+always fond of Zo," he said.
+
+Benjulia looked thoroughly puzzled. Fondness for anybody was, to all
+appearance, one of the few subjects on which he had not qualified
+himself to offer an opinion. He gave his head another savage rub, and
+returned to the subject of the young lady. "Who is she?" he asked again.
+
+"My cousin," Ovid replied as shortly as possible.
+
+"Your cousin? A girl of Lady Northlake's?"
+
+"No: my late uncle's daughter."
+
+Benjulia suddenly came to a standstill. "What!" he cried, "has that
+misbegotten child grown up to be a woman?"'
+
+Ovid started. Words of angry protest were on his lips, when he perceived
+Teresa and Zo on one side of him, and the keeper of the monkeys on the
+other. Benjulia dismissed the man, with the favourable answer which
+Zo had already reported. They walked on again. Ovid was at liberty to
+speak.
+
+"Do you know what you said of my cousin, just now?" he began.
+
+His tone seemed to surprise the doctor. "What did I say?" he asked.
+
+"You used a very offensive word. You called Carmina a 'misbegotten
+child.' Are you repeating some vile slander on the memory of her
+mother?"
+
+Benjulia came to another standstill. "Slander?" he repeated--and said no
+more.
+
+Ovid's anger broke out. "Yes!" he replied. "Or a lie, if you like, told
+of a woman as high above reproach as your mother or mine!"
+
+"You are hot," the doctor remarked, and walked on again. "When I was in
+Italy--" he paused to calculate, "when I was at Rome, fifteen years
+ago, your cousin was a wretched little rickety child. I said to Robert
+Graywell, 'Don't get too fond of that girl; she'll never live to grow
+up.' He said something about taking her away to the mountain air. I
+didn't think, myself, the mountain air would be of any use. It seems
+I was wrong. Well! it's a surprise to me to find her--" he waited, and
+calculated again, "to find her grown up to be seventeen years old." To
+Ovid's ears, there was an inhuman indifference in his tone as he said
+this, which it was impossible not to resent, by looks, if not in words.
+Benjulia noticed the impression that he had produced, without in the
+least understanding it. "Your nervous system's in a nasty state," he
+remarked; "you had better take care of yourself. I'll go and look at the
+monkey."
+
+His face was like the face of the impenetrable sphinx; his deep bass
+voice droned placidly. Ovid's anger had passed by him like the passing
+of the summer air. "Good-bye!" he said; "and take care of those nasty
+nerves. I tell you again--they mean mischief."
+
+Not altogether willingly, Ovid made his apologies. "If I have
+misunderstood you, I beg your pardon. At the same time, I don't think I
+am to blame. Why did you mislead me by using that detestable word?"
+
+"Wasn't it the right word?"
+
+"The right word--when you only wanted to speak of a poor sickly child!
+Considering that you took your degree at Oxford--"
+
+"You could expect nothing better from the disadvantages of my
+education," said the doctor, finishing the sentence with the grave
+composure that distinguished him. "When I said 'misbegotten,' perhaps
+I ought to have said 'half-begotten'? Thank you for reminding me. I'll
+look at the dictionary when I get home."
+
+Ovid's mind was not set at ease yet. "There's one other thing," he
+persisted, "that seems unaccountable." He started, and seized Benjulia
+by the arm. "Stop!" he cried, with a sudden outburst of alarm.
+
+"Well?" asked the doctor, stopping directly. "What is it?"
+
+"Nothing," said Ovid, recoiling from a stain on the gravel walk, caused
+by the remains of an unlucky beetle, crushed under his friend's heavy
+foot. "You trod on the beetle before I could stop you."
+
+Benjulia's astonishment at finding an adult male human being (not in a
+lunatic asylum) anxious to spare the life of a beetle, literally struck
+him speechless. His medical instincts came to his assistance. "You had
+better leave London at once," he suggested. "Get into pure air, and be
+out of doors all day long." He turned over the remains of the beetle
+with the end of his stick. "The common beetle," he said; "I haven't
+damaged a Specimen."
+
+Ovid returned to the subject, which had suffered interruption through
+his abortive little act of mercy. "You knew my uncle in Italy. It seems
+strange, Benjulia, that I should never have heard of it before."
+
+"Yes; I knew your uncle; and," he added with especial emphasis, "I knew
+his wife."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, I can't say I felt any particular interest in either of them.
+Nothing happened afterwards to put me in mind of the acquaintance till
+you told me who the young lady was, just now.
+
+"Surely my mother must have reminded you?"
+
+"Not that I can remember. Women in her position don't much fancy talking
+of a relative who has married"--he stopped to choose his next words. "I
+don't want to be rude; suppose we say married beneath him?"
+
+Reflection told Ovid that this was true. Even in conversation with
+himself (before the arrival in England of Robert's Will), his mother
+rarely mentioned her brother--and still more rarely his family. There
+was another reason for Mrs. Gallilee's silence, known only to herself.
+Robert was in the secret of her debts, and Robert had laid her under
+heavy pecuniary obligations. The very sound of his name was revolting to
+his amiable sister: it reminded her of that humiliating sense, known in
+society as a sense of gratitude.
+
+Carmina was still waiting--and there was nothing further to be gained by
+returning to the subject of her mother with such a man as Benjulia. Ovid
+held out his hand to say good-bye.
+
+Taking the offered hand readily enough, the doctor repeated his odd
+question--"I haven't been rude, have I?"--with an unpleasant appearance
+of going through a form purely for form's sake. Ovid's natural
+generosity of feeling urged him to meet the advance, strangely as it had
+been made, with a friendly reception.
+
+"I am afraid it is I who have been rude," he said. "Will you go back
+with me, and be introduced to Carmina?"
+
+Benjulia made his acknowledgments in his own remarkable way. "No, thank
+you," he said, quietly, "I'd rather see the monkey."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+In the meantime, Zo had become the innocent cause of a difference of
+opinion between two no less dissimilar personages than Maria and the
+duenna.
+
+Having her mind full of the sick monkey, the child felt a natural
+curiosity to see the other monkeys who were well. Amiable Miss Minerva
+consulted her young friend from Italy before she complied with Zo's
+wishes. Would Miss Carmina like to visit the monkey-house? Ovid's
+cousin, remembering Ovid's promise, looked towards the end of the walk.
+He was not returning to her--he was not even in sight. Carmina resigned
+herself to circumstances, with a little air of pique which was duly
+registered in Miss Minerva's memory.
+
+Arriving at the monkey-house, Teresa appeared in a new character. She
+surprised her companions by showing an interest in natural history.
+
+"Are they all monkeys in that big place?" she asked. "I don't know much
+about foreign beasts. How do they like it, I wonder?"
+
+This comprehensive inquiry was addressed to the governess, as the most
+learned person present. Miss Minerva referred to her elder pupil with
+an encouraging smile. "Maria will inform you," she said. "Her studies
+in natural history have made her well acquainted with the habits of
+monkeys."
+
+Thus authorised to exhibit her learning, even the discreet Maria
+actually blushed with pleasure. It was that young lady's most
+highly-prized reward to display her knowledge (in imitation of her
+governess's method of instruction) for the benefit of unfortunate
+persons of the lower rank, whose education had been imperfectly carried
+out. The tone of amiable patronage with which she now imparted useful
+information to a woman old enough to be her grandmother, would have made
+the hands of the bygone generation burn to box her ears.
+
+"The monkeys are kept in large and airy cages," Maria began; "and the
+temperature is regulated with the utmost care. I shall be happy to point
+out to you the difference between the monkey and the ape. You are
+not perhaps aware that the members of the latter family are called
+'Simiadae,' and are without tails and cheek-pouches?"
+
+Listening so far in dumb amazement, Teresa checked the flow of
+information at tails and cheek-pouches.
+
+"What gibberish is this child talking to me?" she asked. "I want to know
+how the monkeys amuse themselves in that large house?"
+
+Maria's perfect training condescended to enlighten even this state of
+mind.
+
+"They have ropes to swing on," she answered sweetly; "and visitors feed
+them through the wires of the cage. Branches of trees are also placed
+for their diversion; reminding many of them no doubt of the vast
+tropical forests in which, as we learn from travellers, they pass in
+flocks from tree to tree."
+
+Teresa held up her hand as a signal to stop. "A little of You, my young
+lady, goes a long way," she said. "Consider how much I can hold, before
+you cram me at this rate."
+
+Maria was bewildered, but nor daunted yet. "Pardon me," she pleaded; "I
+fear I don't quite understand you."
+
+"Then there are two of us puzzled," the duenna remarked. _"I_ don't
+understand _you._ I shan't go into that house. A Christian can't be
+expected to care about beasts--but right is right all the world over.
+Because a monkey is a nasty creature (as I have heard, not even good
+to eat when he's dead), that's no reason for taking him out of his
+own country and putting him into a cage. If we are to see creatures in
+prison, let's see creatures who have deserved it--men and women, rogues
+and sluts. The monkeys haven't deserved it. Go in--I'll wait for you at
+the door."
+
+Setting her bitterest emphasis on this protest, which expressed
+inveterate hostility to Maria (using compassion for caged animals as the
+readiest means at hand), Teresa seated herself in triumph on the nearest
+bench.
+
+A young person, possessed of no more than ordinary knowledge, might have
+left the old woman to enjoy the privilege of saying the last word. Miss
+Minerva's pupil, exuding information as it were at every pore in her
+skin, had been rudely dried up at a moment's notice. Even earthly
+perfection has its weak places within reach. Maria lost her temper.
+
+
+"You will allow me to remind you," she said, "that intelligent curiosity
+leads us to study the habits of animals that are new to us. We place
+them in a cage--"
+
+Teresa lost _her_ temper.
+
+"You're an animal that's new to me," cried the irate duenna. "I never
+in all my life met with such a child before. If you please, madam
+governess, put this girl into a cage. My intelligent curiosity wants to
+study a monkey that's new to me."
+
+It was fortunate for Teresa that she was Carmina's favourite and friend,
+and, as such, a person to be carefully handled. Miss Minerva stopped
+the growing quarrel with the readiest discretion and good-feeling. She
+patted Teresa on the shoulder, and looked at Carmina with a pleasant
+smile. "Worthy old creature! how full of humour she is! The energy of
+the people, Miss Carmina. I often remark the quaint force with which
+they express their ideas. No--not a word of apology, I beg and pray.
+Maria, my dear, take your sister's hand, and we will follow." She put
+her arm in Carmina's arm with the happiest mixture of familiarity and
+respect, and she nodded to Carmina's old companion with the cordiality
+of a good-humoured friend.
+
+Teresa was not further irritated by being kept waiting for any length of
+time. In a few minutes Carmina joined her on the bench.
+
+"Tired of the beasts already, my pretty one?"
+
+"Worse than tired--driven away by the smell! Dear old Teresa, why did
+you speak so roughly to Miss Minerva and Maria?"
+
+"Because I hate them! because I hate the family! Was your poor father
+demented in his last moments, when he trusted you among these detestable
+people?"
+
+Carmina listened in astonishment. "You said just the contrary of the
+family," she exclaimed, "only yesterday!"
+
+Teresa hung her head in confusion. Her well-meant attempt to reconcile
+Carmina to the new life on which she had entered was now revealed as a
+sham, thanks to her own outbreak of temper. The one honest alternative
+left was to own the truth, and put Carmina on her guard without alarming
+her, if possible.
+
+"I'll never tell a lie again, as long as I live," Teresa declared. "You
+see I didn't like to discourage you. After all, I dare say I'm more
+wrong than right in my opinion. But it _is_ my opinion, for all that.
+I hate those women, mistress and governess, both alike. There! now it's
+out. Are you angry with me?"
+
+"I am never angry with you, my old friend; I am only a little vexed.
+Don't say you hate people, after only knowing them for a day or two!
+I am sure Miss Minerva has been very kind--to me, as well as to you. I
+feel ashamed of myself already for having begun by disliking her."
+
+Teresa took her young mistress's hand, and patted it compassionately.
+"Poor innocent, if you only had my experience to help you! There are
+good ones and bad ones among all creatures. I say to you the Gallilees
+are bad ones! Even their music-master (I saw him this morning) looks
+like a rogue. You will tell me the poor old gentleman is harmless,
+surely. I shall not contradict that--I shall only ask, what is the use
+of a man who is as weak as water? Oh, I like him, but I distinguish!
+I also like Zo. But what is a child--especially when that beastly
+governess has muddled her unfortunate little head with learning? No, my
+angel, there's but one person among these people who comforts me, when I
+think of the day that will part us. Ha! do I see a little colour coming
+into your cheeks? You sly girl! you know who it is. _There_ is what I
+call a Man! If I was as young as you are, and as pretty as you are--"
+
+A warning gesture from Carmina closed Teresa's lips. Ovid was rapidly
+approaching them.
+
+He looked a little annoyed, and he made his apologies without mentioning
+the doctor's name. His cousin was interested enough in him already to
+ask herself what this meant. Did he really dislike Benjulia, and had
+there been some disagreement between them?
+
+"Was the tall doctor so very interesting?" she ventured to inquire.
+
+"Not in the least!" He answered as if the subject was disagreeable to
+him--and yet he returned to it. "By-the-by, did you ever hear Benjulia's
+name mentioned, at home in Italy?"
+
+"Never! Did he know my father and mother?"
+
+"He says so."
+
+"Oh, do introduce me to him!"
+
+"We must wait a little. He prefers being introduced to the monkey
+to-day. Where are Miss Minerva and the children?"
+
+Teresa replied. She pointed to the monkey-house, and then drew Ovid
+aside. "Take her to see some more birds, and trust me to keep the
+governess out of your way," whispered the good creature. "Make love--hot
+love to her, doctor!"
+
+In a minute more the cousins were out of sight. How are you to make love
+to a young girl, after an acquaintance of a day or two? The question
+would have been easily answered by some men. It thoroughly puzzled Ovid.
+
+"I am so glad to get back to you!" he said, honestly opening his mind to
+her. "Were you half as glad when you saw me return?"
+
+He knew nothing of the devious and serpentine paths by which love finds
+the way to its ends. It had not occurred to him to approach her with
+those secret tones and stolen looks which speak for themselves. She
+answered with the straightforward directness of which he had set the
+example.
+
+"I hope you don't think me insensible to your kindness," she said. "I am
+more pleased and more proud than I can tell you."
+
+"Proud!" Ovid repeated, not immediately understanding her.
+
+"Why not?" she asked. "My poor father used to say you would be an honour
+to the family. Ought I not to be proud, when I find such a man taking so
+much notice of me?"
+
+She looked up at him shyly. At that moment, he would have resigned all
+his prospects of celebrity for the privilege of kissing her. He made
+another attempt to bring her--in spirit--a little nearer to him.
+
+"Carmina, do you remember where you first saw me?"
+
+"How can you ask?--it was in the concert-room. When I saw you there,
+I remembered passing you in the large Square. It seems a strange
+coincidence that you should have gone to the very concert that Teresa
+and I went to by accident."
+
+Ovid ran the risk, and made his confession. "It was no coincidence," he
+said. "After our meeting in the Square I followed you to the concert."
+
+This bold avowal would have confused a less innocent girl. It only took
+Carmina by surprise.
+
+"What made you follow us?" she asked.
+
+Us? Did she suppose he had followed the old woman? Ovid lost no time
+in setting her right. "I didn't even see Teresa," he said. "I followed
+You."
+
+She was silent. What did her silence mean? Was she confused, or was she
+still at a loss to understand him? That morbid sensitiveness, which was
+one of the most serious signs of his failing health, was by this time
+sufficiently irritated to hurry him into extremities. "Did you ever
+hear," he asked, "of such a thing as love at first sight?"
+
+She started. Surprise, confusion, doubt, succeeded each other in rapid
+changes on her mobile and delicate face. Still silent, she roused her
+courage, and looked at him.
+
+If he had returned the look, he would have told the story of his first
+love without another word to help him. But his shattered nerves unmanned
+him, at the moment of all others when it was his interest to be bold.
+The fear that he might have allowed himself to speak too freely--a
+weakness which would never have misled him in his days of health and
+strength--kept his eyes on the ground. She looked away again with a
+quick flush of shame. When such a man as Ovid spoke of love at first
+sight, what an instance of her own vanity it was to have thought that
+his mind was dwelling on _her!_ He had kindly lowered himself to the
+level of a girl's intelligence, and had been trying to interest her by
+talking the language of romance. She was so dissatisfied with herself
+that she made a movement to turn back.
+
+He was too bitterly disappointed, on his side, to attempt to prolong the
+interview. A deadly sense of weakness was beginning to overpower him. It
+was the inevitable result of his utter want of care for himself. After a
+sleepless night, he had taken a long walk before breakfast; and to
+these demands on his failing reserves of strength, he had now added the
+fatigue of dawdling about a garden. Physically and mentally he had no
+energy left.
+
+"I didn't mean it," he said to Carmina sadly; "I am afraid I have
+offended you."
+
+"Oh, how little you know me," she cried, "if you think that!"
+
+This time their eyes met. The truth dawned on her--and he saw it.
+
+He took her hand. The clammy coldness of his grasp startled her. "Do you
+still wonder why I followed you?" he asked. The words were so faintly
+uttered that she could barely hear them. Heavy drops of perspiration
+stood on his forehead; his face faded to a gray and ghastly
+whiteness--he staggered, and tried desperately to catch at the branch
+of a tree near them. She threw her arms round him. With all her little
+strength she tried to hold him up. Her utmost effort only availed to
+drag him to the grass plot by their side, and to soften his fall. Even
+as the cry for help passed her lips, she saw help coming. A tall man was
+approaching her--not running, even when he saw what had happened; only
+stalking with long strides. He was followed by one of the keepers of the
+gardens. Doctor Benjulia had his sick monkey to take care of. He kept
+the creature sheltered under his long frock-coat.
+
+"Don't do that, if you please," was all the doctor said, as Carmina
+tried to lift Ovid's head from the grass. He spoke with his customary
+composure, and laid his hand on the heart of the fainting man, as coolly
+as if it had been the heart of a stranger. "Which of you two can run the
+fastest?" he asked, looking backwards and forwards between Carmina and
+the keeper. "I want some brandy."
+
+The refreshment room was within sight. Before the keeper quite
+understood what was required of him, Carmina was speeding over the grass
+like Atalanta herself.
+
+Benjulia looked after her, with his usual grave attention. "That wench
+can run," he said to himself, and turned once more to Ovid. "In his
+state of health, he's been fool enough to over-exert himself." So he
+disposed of the case in his own mind. Having done that, he remembered
+the monkey, deposited for the time being on the grass. "Too cold for
+him," he remarked, with more appearance of interest than he had shown
+yet. "Here, keeper! Pick up the monkey till I'm ready to take him
+again." The man hesitated.
+
+"He might bite me, sir."
+
+"Pick him up!" the doctor reiterated; "he can't bite anybody, after
+what I've done to him." The monkey was indeed in a state of stupor.
+The keeper obeyed his instructions, looking half stupefied himself: he
+seemed to be even more afraid of the doctor than of the monkey. "Do you
+think I'm the Devil?" Benjulia asked with dismal irony. The man looked
+as if he would say "Yes," if he dared.
+
+Carmina came running back with the brandy. The doctor smelt it first,
+and then took notice of her. "Out of breath?" he said.
+
+"Why don't you give him the brandy?" she answered impatiently.
+
+"Strong lungs," Benjulia proceeded, sitting down cross-legged by Ovid,
+and administering the stimulant without hurrying himself. "Some girls
+would not have been able to speak, after such a run as you have had. I
+didn't think much of you or your lungs when you were a baby."
+
+"Is he coming to himself?" Carmina asked.
+
+"Do you know what a pump is?" Benjulia rejoined. "Very well; a pump
+sometimes gets out of order. Give the carpenter time, and he'll put it
+right again." He let his mighty hand drop on Ovid's breast. _"This_ pump
+is out of order; and I'm the carpenter. Give me time, and I'll set it
+right again. You're not a bit like your mother."
+
+Watching eagerly for the slightest signs of recovery in Ovid's face,
+Carmina detected a faint return of colour. She was so relieved that she
+was able to listen to the doctor's oddly discursive talk, and even to
+join in it. "Some of our friends used to think I was like my father,"
+she answered.
+
+"Did they?" said Benjulia--and shut his thin-lipped mouth as if he was
+determined to drop the subject for ever.
+
+Ovid stirred feebly, and half opened his eyes.
+
+Benjulia got up. "You don't want me any longer," he said. "Now, Mr.
+Keeper, give me back the monkey." He dismissed the man, and tucked
+the monkey under one arm as if it had been a bundle. "There are your
+friends," he resumed, pointing to the end of the walk. "Good-day!"
+
+Carmina stopped him. Too anxious to stand on ceremony, she laid her hand
+on his arm. He shook it off--not angrily: just brushing it away, as he
+might have brushed away the ash of his cigar or a splash of mud in the
+street.
+
+"What does this fainting fit mean?" she asked timidly. "Is Ovid going to
+be ill?"
+
+"Seriously ill--unless you do the right thing with him, and do it at
+once." He walked away. She followed him, humbly and yet resolutely.
+"Tell me, if you please," she said, "what we are to do."
+
+He looked back over his shoulder. "Send him away."
+
+She returned, and knelt down by Ovid--still slowly reviving. With a fond
+and gentle hand, she wiped the moisture from his forehead.
+
+"Just as we were beginning to understand each other!" she said to
+herself, with a sad little sigh.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+Two days passed. In spite of the warnings that he had received, Ovid
+remained in London.
+
+The indisputable authority of Benjulia had no more effect on him than
+the unanswerable arguments of Mrs. Gallilee. "Recent circumstances" (as
+his mother expressed it) "had strengthened his infatuated resistance to
+reason." The dreaded necessity for Teresa's departure had been hastened
+by a telegram from Italy: Ovid felt for Carmina's distress with
+sympathies which made her dearer to him than ever. On the second morning
+after the visit to the Zoological Gardens, her fortitude had been
+severely tried. She had found the telegram under her pillow, enclosed in
+a farewell letter. Teresa had gone.
+
+"My Carmina,--I have kissed you, and cried over you, and I am writing
+good-bye as well as my poor eyes will let me. Oh, my heart's darling, I
+cannot be cruel enough to wake you, and see you suffer! Forgive me for
+going away, with only this dumb farewell. I am so fond of you--that is
+my only excuse. While he still lives, my helpless old man has his claim
+on me. Write by every post, and trust me to write back--and remember
+what I said when I spoke of Ovid. Love the good man who loves _you;_ and
+try to make the best of the others. They cannot surely be cruel to the
+poor angel who depends on their kindness. Oh, how hard life is--"
+
+The paper was blotted, and the rest was illegible.
+
+The miserable day of Teresa's departure was passed by Carmina in the
+solitude of her room: gently and firmly, she refused to see anyone. This
+strange conduct added to Mrs. Gallilee's anxieties. Already absorbed in
+considering Ovid's obstinacy, and the means of overcoming it, she was
+now confronted by a resolute side in the character of her niece, which
+took her by surprise. There might be difficulties to come, in managing
+Carmina, which she had not foreseen. Meanwhile, she was left to act on
+her own unaided discretion in the serious matter of her son's failing
+health. Benjulia had refused to help her; he was too closely occupied
+in his laboratory to pay or receive visits. "I have already given my
+advice" (the doctor wrote). "Send him away. When he has had a month's
+change, let me see his letters; and then, if I have anything more to
+say, I will tell you what I think of your son."
+
+Left in this position, Mrs. Gallilee's hard self-denial yielded to the
+one sound conclusion that lay before her. The only influence that could
+be now used over Ovid, with the smallest chance of success, was the
+influence of Carmina. Three days after Teresa's departure, she invited
+her niece to take tea in her own boudoir. Carmina found her reading. "A
+charming book," she said, as she laid it down, "on a most interesting
+subject, Geographical Botany. The author divides the earth into
+twenty-five botanical regions--but, I forget; you are not like Maria;
+you don't care about these things."
+
+"I am so ignorant," Carmina pleaded. "Perhaps, I may know better when I
+get older." A book on the table attracted her by its beautiful binding.
+She took it up. Mrs. Gallilee looked at her with compassionate good
+humour.
+
+"Science again, my dear," she said facetiously, "inviting you in a
+pretty dress! You have taken up the 'Curiosities of Coprolites.' That
+book is one of my distinctions--a presentation copy from the author."
+
+"What are Coprolites?" Carmina asked, trying to inform herself on the
+subject of her aunt's distinctions.
+
+Still good-humoured, but with an effort that began to appear, Mrs.
+Gallilee lowered herself to the level of her niece.
+
+"Coprolites," she explained, "are the fossilised indigestions of extinct
+reptiles. The great philosopher who has written that book has discovered
+scales, bones, teeth, and shells--the undigested food of those
+interesting Saurians. What a man! what a field for investigation! Tell
+me about your own reading. What have you found in the library?"
+
+"Very interesting books--at least to me," Carmina answered. "I have
+found many volumes of poetry. Do you ever read poetry?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee laid herself back in her chair, and submitted patiently
+to her niece's simplicity. "Poetry?" she repeated, in accents of
+resignation. "Oh, good heavens!"
+
+Unlucky Carmina tried a more promising topic. "What beautiful flowers
+you have in the drawing-room!" she said.
+
+"Nothing remarkable, my dear. Everybody has flowers in their
+drawing-rooms--they are part of the furniture."
+
+"Did you arrange them yourself, aunt?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee still endured it. "The florist's man," she said, "does all
+that. I sometimes dissect flowers, but I never trouble myself to arrange
+them. What would be the use of the man if I did?" This view of the
+question struck Carmina dumb. Mrs. Gallilee went on. "By-the-by, talking
+of flowers reminds one of other superfluities. Have you tried the piano
+in your room? Will it do?"
+
+"The tone is quite perfect!" Carmina answered with enthusiasm. "Did
+you choose it?" Mrs. Gallilee looked as if she was going to say "Good
+Heavens!" again, and perhaps to endure it no longer. Carmina was too
+simple to interpret these signs in the right way. Why should her aunt
+not choose a piano? "Don't you like music?" she asked.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee made a last effort. "When you see a little more of
+society, my child, you will know that one _must_ like music. So again
+with pictures--one _must_ go to the Royal Academy Exhibition. So
+again--"
+
+Before she could mention any more social sacrifices, the servant came in
+with a letter, and stopped her.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee looked at the address. The weary indifference of her
+manner changed to vivid interest, the moment she saw the handwriting.
+"From the Professor!" she exclaimed. "Excuse me, for one minute." She
+read the letter, and closed it again with a sigh of relief. "I knew
+it!" she said to herself. "I have always maintained that the albuminoid
+substance of frog's eggs is insufficient (viewed as nourishment) to
+transform a tadpole into a frog--and, at last, the Professor owns that
+I am right. I beg your pardon, Carmina; I am carried away by a subject
+that I have been working at in my stolen intervals for weeks past. Let
+me give you some tea. I have asked Miss Minerva to join us. What is
+keeping her, I wonder? She is usually so punctual. I suppose Zoe has
+been behaving badly again."
+
+In a few minutes more, the governess herself confirmed this maternal
+forewarning of the truth. Zo had declined to commit to memory "the
+political consequences of the granting of Magna Charta"--and now stood
+reserved for punishment, when her mother "had time to attend to it."
+Mrs. Gallilee at once disposed of this little responsibility. "Bread and
+water for tea," she said, and proceeded to the business of the evening.
+
+"I wish to speak to you both," she began, "on the subject of my son."
+
+The two persons addressed waited in silence to hear more. Carmina's
+head drooped: she looked down. Miss Minerva attentively observed Mrs.
+Gallilee. "Why am I invited to hear what she has to say about her son?"
+was the question which occurred to the governess. "Is she afraid
+that Carmina might tell me about it, if I was not let into the family
+secrets?"
+
+Admirably reasoned, and correctly guessed!
+
+Mrs. Gallilee had latterly observed that the governess was insinuating
+herself into the confidence of her niece--that is to say, into the
+confidence of a young lady, whose father was generally reported to
+have died in possession of a handsome fortune. Personal influence, once
+obtained over an heiress, is not infrequently misused. To check the
+further growth of a friendship of this sort (without openly offending
+Miss Minerva) was an imperative duty. Mrs. Gallilee saw her way to the
+discreet accomplishment of that object. Her niece and her governess
+were interested--diversely interested--in Ovid. If she invited them both
+together, to consult with her on the delicate subject of her son,
+there would be every chance of exciting some difference of opinion,
+sufficiently irritating to begin the process of estrangement, by keeping
+them apart when they had left the tea-table.
+
+"It is most important that there should be no misunderstanding among
+us," Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. "Let me set the example of speaking
+without reserve. We all three know that Ovid persists in remaining in
+London--"
+
+She paused, on the point of finishing the sentence. Although she _had_
+converted a Professor, Mrs. Gallilee was still only a woman. There did
+enter into her other calculations, the possibility of exciting some
+accidental betrayal of her governess's passion for her son. On alluding
+to Ovid, she turned suddenly to Miss Minerva. "I am sure you will excuse
+my troubling you with family anxieties," she said--"especially when they
+are connected with the health of my son."
+
+It was cleverly done, but it laboured under one disadvantage. Miss
+Minerva had no idea of what the needless apology meant, having no
+suspicion of the discovery of her secret by her employer. But to feel
+herself baffled in trying to penetrate Mrs. Gallilee's motives was
+enough, of itself, to put Mrs. Gallilee's governess on her guard for the
+rest of the evening.
+
+"You honour me, madam, by admitting me to your confidence"--was what she
+said. "Trip me up, you cat, if you can!"--was what she thought.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee resumed.
+
+"We know that Ovid persists in remaining in London, when change of air
+and scene are absolutely necessary to the recovery of his health. And we
+know why. Carmina, my child, don't think for a moment that I blame you!
+don't even suppose that I blame my son. You are too charming a person
+not to excuse, nay even to justify, any man's admiration. But let us (as
+we hard old people say) look the facts in the face. If Ovid had not seen
+you, he would be now on the health-giving sea, on his way to Spain and
+Italy. You are the innocent cause of his obstinate indifference, his
+most deplorable and dangerous disregard of the duty which he owes to
+himself. He refuses to listen to his mother, he sets the opinion of his
+skilled medical colleague at defiance. But one person has any influence
+over him now." She paused again, and tried to trip up the governess once
+more. "Miss Minerva, let me appeal to You. I regard you as a member of
+our family; I have the sincerest admiration of your tact and good sense.
+Am I exceeding the limits of delicacy, if I say plainly to my niece,
+Persuade Ovid to go?"
+
+If Carmina had possessed an elder sister, with a plain personal
+appearance and an easy conscience, not even that sister could have
+matched the perfect composure with which Miss Minerva replied.
+
+"I don't possess your happy faculty of expressing yourself, Mrs.
+Gallilee. But, if I had been in your place, I should have said to the
+best of my poor ability exactly what you have said now." She bent her
+head with a graceful gesture of respect, and looked at Carmina with a
+gentle sisterly interest while she stirred her tea.
+
+At the very opening of the skirmish, Mrs. Gallilee was defeated. She had
+failed to provoke the slightest sign of jealousy, or even of
+ill-temper. Unquestionably the most crafty and most cruel woman of the
+two--possessing the most dangerously deceitful manner, and the most
+mischievous readiness of language--she was, nevertheless, Miss Minerva's
+inferior in the one supreme capacity of which they both stood in need,
+the capacity for self-restraint.
+
+She showed this inferiority on expressing her thanks. The underlying
+malice broke through the smooth surface that was intended to hide it.
+"I am apt to doubt myself," she said; "and such sound encouragement as
+yours always relieves me. Of course I don't ask you for more than a word
+of advice. Of course I don't expect _you_ to persuade Ovid."
+
+"Of course not!" Miss Minerva agreed. "May I ask for a little more sugar
+in my tea?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee turned to Carmina.
+
+"Well, my dear? I have spoken to you, as I might have spoken to one
+of my own daughters, if she had been of your age. Tell me frankly, in
+return, whether I may count on your help."
+
+Still pale and downcast, Carmina obeyed. "I will do my best, if you wish
+it. But--"
+
+"Yes? Go on."
+
+She still hesitated. Mrs. Gallilee tried gentle remonstrance. "My child,
+surely you are not afraid of me?"
+
+She was certainly afraid. But she controlled herself.
+
+"You are Ovid's mother, and I am only his cousin," she resumed. "I don't
+like to hear you say that my influence over him is greater than yours."
+
+It was far from the poor girl's intention; but there was an implied
+rebuke in this. In her present state of irritation, Mrs. Gallilee felt
+it.
+
+"Come! come!" she said. "Don't affect to be ignorant, my dear, of what
+you know perfectly well."
+
+Carmina lifted her head. For the first time in the experience of the
+two elder women, this gentle creature showed that she could resent an
+insult. The fine spirit that was in her fired her eyes, and fixed them
+firmly on her aunt.
+
+"Do you accuse me of deceit?" she asked.
+
+"Let us call it false modesty," Mrs. Gallilee retorted.
+
+Carmina rose without another word--and walked out of the room.
+
+In the extremity of her surprise, Mrs. Gallilee appealed to Miss
+Minerva. "Is she in a passion?"
+
+"She didn't bang the door," the governess quietly remarked.
+
+"I am not joking, Miss Minerva."
+
+"I am not joking either, madam."
+
+The tone of that answer implied an uncompromising assertion of equality.
+You are not to suppose (it said) that a lady drops below your level,
+because she receives a salary and teaches your children. Mrs. Gallilee
+was so angry, by this time, that she forgot the importance of preventing
+a conference between Miss Minerva and her niece. For once, she was the
+creature of impulse--the overpowering impulse to dismiss her insolent
+governess from her hospitable table.
+
+"May I offer you another cup of tea?"
+
+"Thank you--no more. May I return to my pupils?"
+
+"By all means!"
+
+Carmina had not been five minutes in her own room before she heard a
+knock at the door. Had Mrs. Gallilee followed her? "Who is there?" she
+asked. And a voice outside answered,
+
+"Only Miss Minerva!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+"I am afraid I have startled you?" said the governess, carefully closing
+the door.
+
+"I thought it was my aunt," Carmina answered, as simply as a child.
+
+"Have you been crying?"
+
+"I couldn't help it, Miss Minerva."
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee spoke cruelly to you--I don't wonder at your feeling
+angry."
+
+Carmina gently shook her head. "I have been crying," she explained,
+"because I am sorry and ashamed. How can I make it up with my aunt?
+Shall I go back at once and beg her pardon? I think you are my friend,
+Miss Minerva. Will you advise me?"
+
+It was so prettily and innocently said that even the governess was
+touched--for a moment. "Shall I prove to you that I am your friend?" she
+proposed. "I advise you not to go back yet to your aunt--and I will tell
+you why. Mrs. Gallilee bears malice; she is a thoroughly unforgiving
+woman. And I should be the first to feel it, if she knew what I have
+just said to you."
+
+"Oh, Miss Minerva! you don't think that I would betray your confidence?"
+
+"No, my dear, I don't. I felt attracted towards you, when we first met.
+You didn't return the feeling--you (very naturally) disliked me. I am
+ugly and ill-tempered: and, if there is anything good in me, it doesn't
+show itself on the surface. Yes! yes! I believe you are beginning to
+understand me. If I can make your life here a little happier, as time
+goes on, I shall be only too glad to do it." She put her long yellow
+hands on either side of Carmina's head, and kissed her forehead.
+
+The poor child threw her arms round Miss Minerva's neck, and cried
+her heart out on the bosom of the woman who was deceiving her. "I have
+nobody left, now Teresa has gone," she said. "Oh, do try to be kind to
+me--I feel so friendless and so lonely!"
+
+Miss Minerva neither moved nor spoke. She waited, and let the girl cry.
+
+Her heavy black eyebrows gathered into a frown; her sallow face deepened
+in colour. She was in a state of rebellion against herself. Through all
+the hardening influences of the woman's life--through the fortifications
+against good which watchful evil builds in human hearts--that innocent
+outburst of trust and grief had broken its way; and had purified for a
+while the fetid inner darkness with divine light. She had entered the
+room, with her own base interests to serve. In her small sordid way she,
+like her employer, was persecuted by debts--miserable debts to sellers
+of expensive washes, which might render her ugly complexion more
+passable in Ovid's eyes; to makers of costly gloves, which might show
+Ovid the shape of her hands, and hide their colour; to skilled workmen
+in fine leather, who could tempt Ovid to look at her high instep, and
+her fine ankle--the only beauties that she could reveal to the only
+man whom she cared to please. For the time, those importunate creditors
+ceased to threaten her. For the time, what she had heard in the
+conservatory, while they were reading the Will, lost its tempting
+influence. She remained in the room for half an hour more--and she left
+it without having borrowed a farthing.
+
+"Are you easier now?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+Carmina dried her eyes, and looked shyly at Miss Minerva. "I have been
+treating you as if I had a sister," she said; "you don't think me too
+familiar, I hope?"
+
+"I wish I was your sister, God knows!"
+
+The words were hardly out of her mouth before she was startled by her
+own fervour. "Shall I tell you what to do with Mrs. Gallilee?" she said
+abruptly. "Write her a little note."
+
+"Yes! yes! and you will take it for me?"
+
+Carmina's eyes brightened through her tears, the suggestion was such a
+relief! In a minute the note was written: "My dear Aunt, I have behaved
+very badly, and I am very much ashamed of it. May I trust to your kind
+indulgence to forgive me? I will try to be worthier of your kindness
+for the future; and I sincerely beg your pardon." She signed her name in
+breathless haste. "Please take it at once!" she said eagerly.
+
+Miss Minerva smiled. "If I take it," she said, "I shall do harm instead
+of good--I shall be accused of interfering. Give it to one of the
+servants. Not yet! When Mrs. Gallilee is angry, she doesn't get over
+it so soon as you seem to think. Leave her to dabble in science first,"
+said the governess in tones of immeasurable contempt. "When she has
+half stifled herself with some filthy smell, or dissected some wretched
+insect or flower, she may be in a better humour. Wait."
+
+Carmina thought of the happy days at home in Italy, when her father
+used to laugh at her little outbreaks of temper, and good Teresa only
+shrugged her shoulders. What a change--oh, me, what a change for the
+worse! She drew from her bosom a locket, hung round her neck by a thin
+gold chain--and opened it, and kissed the glass over the miniature
+portraits inside. "Would you like to see them?" she said to Miss
+Minerva. "My mother's likeness was painted for me by my father; and then
+he had his photograph taken to match it. I open my portraits and look at
+them, while I say my prayers. It's almost like having them alive again,
+sometimes. Oh, if I only had my father to advise me now--!" Her
+heart swelled--but she kept back the tears: she was learning that
+self-restraint, poor soul, already! "Perhaps," she went on, "I ought
+not to want advice. After that fainting-fit in the Gardens, if I can
+persuade Ovid to leave us, I ought to do it--and I will do it!"
+
+Miss Minerva crossed the room, and looked out of window. Carmina had
+roused the dormant jealousy; Carmina had fatally weakened the good
+influences which she had herself produced. The sudden silence of her new
+friend perplexed her. She too went to the window. "Do you think it would
+be taking a liberty?" she asked.
+
+"No."
+
+A short answer--and still looking out of window! Carmina tried
+again. "Besides, there are my aunt's wishes to consider. After my bad
+behaviour--"
+
+Miss Minerva turned round from the window sharply. "Of course! There
+can't be a doubt of it." Her tone softened a little. "You are young,
+Carmina--I suppose I may call you by your name--you are young and
+simple. Do those innocent eyes of yours ever see below the surface?"
+
+"I don't quite understand you."
+
+"Do you think your aunt's only motive in wishing Mr. Ovid Vere to leave
+London is anxiety about his health? Do you feel no suspicion that she
+wants to keep him away from You?"
+
+Carmina toyed with her locket, in an embarrassment which she was quite
+unable to disguise. "Are you afraid to trust me?" Miss Minerva asked.
+That reproach opened the girl's lips instantly.
+
+"I am afraid to tell you how foolish I am," she answered. "Perhaps, I
+still feel a little strangeness between us? It seems to be so formal to
+call you Miss Minerva. I don't know what your Christian name is. Will
+you tell me?"
+
+Miss Minerva replied rather unwillingly. "My name is Frances. Don't call
+me Fanny!"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because it's too absurd to be endured! What does the mere sound of
+Fanny suggest? A flirting, dancing creature--plump and fair, and playful
+and pretty!" She went to the looking-glass, and pointed disdainfully to
+the reflection of herself. "Sickening to think of," she said, "when you
+look at that. Call me Frances--a man's name, with only the difference
+between an i and an e. No sentiment in it; hard, like me. Well, what was
+it you didn't like to say of yourself?"
+
+Carmina dropped her voice to a whisper. "It's no use asking me what I
+do see, or don't see, in my aunt," she answered. "I am afraid we shall
+never be--what we ought to be to each other. When she came to that
+concert, and sat by me and looked at me--" She stopped, and shuddered
+over the recollection of it.
+
+Miss Minerva urged her to go on--first, by a gesture; then by a
+suggestion: "They said you fainted under the heat."
+
+"I didn't feel the heat. I felt a horrid creeping all over me. Before I
+looked at her, mind!--when I only knew that somebody was sitting next to
+me. And then, I did look round. Her eyes and my eyes flashed into each
+other. In that one moment, I lost all sense of myself as if I was dead.
+I can only tell you of it in that way. It was a dreadful surprise to
+me to remember it--and a dreadful pain--when they brought me to myself
+again. Though I do look so little and so weak, I am stronger than
+people think; I never fainted before. My aunt is--how can I say it
+properly?--hard to get on with since that time. Is there something
+wicked in my nature? I do believe she feels in the same way towards me.
+Yes; I dare say it's imagination, but it's as bad as reality for all
+that. Oh, I am sure you are right--she does want to keep Ovid out of my
+way!"
+
+"Because she doesn't like you?" said Miss Minerva. "Is that the only
+reason you can think of?"
+
+"What other reason can there be?"
+
+The governess summoned her utmost power of self-restraint. She needed
+it, even to speak of the bare possibility of Carmina's marriage to Ovid,
+as if it was only a matter of speculative interest to herself.
+
+"Some people object to marriages between cousins," she said. "You
+are cousins. Some people object to marriages between Catholics and
+Protestants. You are a Catholic--" No! She could not trust herself to
+refer to him directly; she went on to the next sentence. "And there
+might be some other reason," she resumed.
+
+"Do you know what that is?" Carmina asked.
+
+"No more than you do--thus far."
+
+She spoke the plain truth. Thanks to the dog's interruption, and to the
+necessity of saving herself from discovery, the last clauses of the Will
+had been read in her absence.
+
+"Can't you even guess what it is?" Carmina persisted.
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee is very ambitious," the governess replied: "and her son
+has a fortune of his own. She may wish him to marry a lady of high
+rank. But--no--she is always in need of money. In some way, money may be
+concerned in it."
+
+"In what way?" Carmina asked.
+
+"I have already told you," Miss Minerva answered, "that I don't know."
+
+Before the conversation could proceed, they were interrupted by the
+appearance of Mrs. Gallilee's maid, with a message from the schoolroom.
+Miss Maria wanted a little help in her Latin lesson. Noticing Carmina's
+letter, as she advanced to the door, it struck Miss Minerva that the
+woman might deliver it. "Is Mrs. Gallilee at home?" she asked. Mrs.
+Gallilee had just gone out. "One of her scientific lectures, I suppose,"
+said Miss Minerva to Carmina. "Your note must wait till she comes back."
+
+The door closed on the governess--and the lady's-maid took a liberty.
+She remained in the room; and produced a morsel of folded paper,
+hitherto concealed from view. Smirking and smiling, she handed the paper
+to Carmina.
+
+"From Mr. Ovid, Miss."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+"Pray come to me; I am waiting for you in the garden of the Square."
+
+In those two lines, Ovid's note began and ended. Mrs. Gallilee's
+maid--deeply interested in an appointment which was not without
+precedent in her own experience--ventured on an expression of sympathy,
+before she returned to the servants' hall. "Please to excuse me, Miss;
+I hope Mr. Ovid isn't ill? He looked sadly pale, I thought. Allow me to
+give you your hat." Carmina thanked her, and hurried downstairs.
+
+Ovid was waiting at the gate of the Square--and he did indeed look
+wretchedly ill.
+
+It was useless to make inquiries; they only seemed to irritate him. "I
+am better already, now you have come to me." He said that, and led the
+way to a sheltered seat among the trees. In the later evening-time the
+Square was almost empty. Two middle-aged ladies, walking up and down
+(who considerately remembered their own youth, and kept out of the way),
+and a boy rigging a model yacht (who was too closely occupied to notice
+them), were the only persons in the enclosure besides themselves.
+
+"Does my mother know that you have come here?" Ovid asked.
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee has gone out. I didn't stop to think of it, when I got
+your letter. Am I doing wrong?"
+
+Ovid took her hand. "Is it doing wrong to relieve me of anxieties that I
+have no courage to endure? When we meet in the house either my mother or
+her obedient servant, Miss Minerva, is sure to interrupt us. At last, my
+darling, I have got you to myself! You know that I love you. Why can't I
+look into your heart, and see what secrets it is keeping from me? I try
+to hope; but I want some little encouragement. Carmina! shall I ever
+hear you say that you love me?"
+
+She trembled, and turned away her head. Her own words to the governess
+were in her mind; her own conviction of the want of all sympathy between
+his mother and herself made her shrink from answering him.
+
+"I understand your silence." With those words he dropped her hand, and
+looked at her no more.
+
+It was sadly, not bitterly spoken. She attempted to find excuses; she
+showed but too plainly how she pitied him. "If I only had myself to
+think of--" Her voice failed her. A new life came into his eyes, the
+colour rose in his haggard face: even those few faltering words had
+encouraged him!
+
+She tried again to make him understand her. "I am so afraid of
+distressing you, Ovid; and I am so anxious not to make mischief between
+you and your mother--"
+
+"What has my mother to do with it?"
+
+She went on, without noticing the interruption. "You won't think me
+ungrateful? We had better speak of something else. Only this evening,
+your mother sent for me, and--don't be angry!--I am afraid she might be
+vexed if she knew what you have been saying to me. Perhaps I am wrong?
+Perhaps she only thinks I am too young. Oh, Ovid, how you look at me!
+Your mother hasn't said in so many words--"
+
+"What has she said?"
+
+In that question she saw the chance of speaking to him of other
+interests than the interests of love.
+
+"You must go away to another climate," she said; "and your mother tells
+me I must persuade you to do it. I obey her with a heavy heart. Dear
+Ovid, you know how I shall miss you; you know what a loss it will be to
+me, when you say good-bye--but there is only one way to get well again.
+I entreat you to take that way! Your mother thinks I have some influence
+over you. Have I any influence?"
+
+"Judge for yourself," he answered. "You wish me to leave you?"
+
+"For your own sake. Only for your own sake."
+
+"Do you wish me to come back again?"
+
+"It's cruel to ask the question!"
+
+"It rests with you, Carmina. Send me away when you like, and where you
+like. But, before I go, give me my one reason for making the sacrifice.
+No change will do anything for me, no climate will restore my
+health--unless you give me your love. I am old enough to know myself; I
+have thought of it by day and by night. Am I cruel to press you in this
+way? I will only say one word more. It doesn't matter what becomes of
+me--if you refuse to be my wife."
+
+Without experience, without advice--with her own heart protesting
+against her silence--the restraint that she had laid on herself grew
+harder and harder to endure. The tears rose in her eyes. He saw them;
+they embittered his mind against his mother. With a darkening face he
+rose, and walked up and down before her, struggling with himself.
+
+"This is my mother's doing," he said.
+
+His tone terrified her. The dread, present to her mind all through the
+interview, of making herself a cause of estrangement between mother and
+son, so completely overcame her that she even made an attempt to defend
+Mrs. Gallilee! At the first words, he sat down by her again. For a
+moment, he scrutinised her face without mercy--and then repented of his
+own severity.
+
+"My poor child," he said, "you are afraid to tell me what has happened.
+I won't press you to speak against your own inclinations. It would be
+cruel and needless--I have got at the truth at last. In the one hope of
+my life, my mother is my enemy. She is bent on separating us; she shall
+not succeed. I won't leave you."
+
+Carmina looked at him. His eyes dropped before her, in confusion and
+shame.
+
+"Are you angry with me?" she asked.
+
+No reproaches could have touched his heart as that question touched it.
+"Angry with you? Oh, my darling, if you only knew how angry I am with
+myself! It cuts me to the heart to see how I have distressed you. I am
+a miserable selfish wretch; I don't deserve your love. Forgive me, and
+forget me. I will make the best atonement I can, Carmina. I will go away
+to-morrow."
+
+Under hard trial, she had preserved her self-control. She had resisted
+him; she had resisted herself. His sudden submission disarmed her in an
+instant. With a low cry of love and fear she threw her arms round his
+neck, and laid her burning cheek against his face. "I can't help it,"
+she whispered; "oh, Ovid, don't despise me!" His arms closed round
+her; his lips were pressed to hers. "Kiss me," he said. She kissed him,
+trembling in his embrace. That innocent self-abandonment did not plead
+with him in vain. He released her--and only held her hand. There was
+silence between them; long, happy silence.
+
+He was the first to speak again. "How can I go away now?" he said.
+
+She only smiled at that reckless forgetfulness of the promise, by which
+he had bound himself a few minutes since. "What did you tell me," she
+asked playfully, "when you called yourself by hard names, and said you
+didn't deserve my love?" Her smile vanished softly, and left only a
+look of tender entreaty in its place. "Set me an example of firmness,
+Ovid--don't leave it all to me! Remember what you have made me say.
+Remember"--she only hesitated for a moment--"remember what an interest I
+have in you now. I love you, Ovid. Say you will go."
+
+He said it gratefully. "My life is yours; my will is yours. Decide for
+me, and I will begin my journey."
+
+She was so impressed by her sense of this new responsibility, that she
+answered him as gravely as if she had been his wife. "I must give you
+time to pack up," she said.
+
+"Say time to be with You!"
+
+She fell into thought. He asked if she was still considering when
+to send him away. "No," she said; "it isn't that. I was wondering at
+myself. What is it that makes a great man like you so fond of me?"
+
+His arm stole round her waist. He could just see her in the darkening
+twilight under the trees; the murmuring of the leaves was the only sound
+near them--his kisses lingered on her face. She sighed softly. "Don't
+make it too hard for me to send you away!" she whispered. He raised her,
+and put her arm in his. "Come," he said, "we will walk a little in the
+cool air."
+
+They returned to the subject of his departure. It was still early in the
+week. She inquired if Saturday would be too soon to begin his journey.
+No: he felt it, too--the longer they delayed, the harder the parting
+would be.
+
+"Have you thought yet where you will go?" she asked.
+
+"I must begin with a sea-voyage," he replied. "Long railway journeys,
+in my present state, will only do me harm. The difficulty is where to
+go to. I have been to America; India is too hot; Australia is too far.
+Benjulia has suggested Canada."
+
+As he mentioned the doctor's name, her hand mechanically pressed his
+arm.
+
+"That strange man!" she said. "Even his name startles one; I hardly know
+what to think of him. He seemed to have more feeling for the monkey than
+for you or me. It was certainly kind of him to take the poor creature
+home, and try what he could do with it. Are you sure he is a great
+chemist?"
+
+Ovid stopped. Such a question, from Carmina, sounded strange to him.
+"What makes you doubt it?" he said.
+
+"You won't laugh at me, Ovid?"
+
+"You know I won't!"
+
+"Now you shall hear. We knew a famous Italian chemist at Rome--such
+a nice old man! He and my father used to play piquet; and I looked at
+them, and tried to learn--and I was too stupid. But I had plenty of
+opportunities of noticing our old friend's hands. They were covered
+with stains; and he caught me looking at them. He was not in the least
+offended; he told me his experiments had spotted his skin in that way,
+and nothing would clean off the stains. I saw Doctor Benjulia's
+great big hands, while he was giving you the brandy--and I remembered
+afterwards that there were no stains on them. I seem to surprise you."
+
+"You do indeed surprise me. After knowing Benjulia for years, I have
+never noticed, what you have discovered on first seeing him."
+
+"Perhaps he has some way of cleaning the stains off his hands."
+
+Ovid agreed to this, as the readiest means of dismissing the subject.
+Carmina had really startled him. Some irrational connection between the
+great chemist's attention to the monkey, and the perplexing purity of
+his hands, persisted in vaguely asserting itself in Ovid's mind.
+His unacknowledged doubts of Benjulia troubled him as they had never
+troubled him yet. He turned to Carmina for relief.
+
+"Still thinking, my love?"
+
+"Thinking of you," she answered. "I want you to promise me
+something--and I am afraid to ask it."
+
+"Afraid? You don't love me, after all!"
+
+"Then I will say it at once! How long do you expect to be away?"
+
+"For two or three months, perhaps."
+
+"Promise to wait till you return, before you tell your mother--"
+
+"That we are engaged?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You have my promise, Carmina; but you make me uneasy."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"In my absence, you will be under my mother's care. And you don't like
+my mother."
+
+Few words and plain words--and they sorely troubled her.
+
+If she owned that he was right, what would the consequence be? He might
+refuse to leave her. Even assuming that he controlled himself, he would
+take his departure harassed by anxieties, which might exercise the worst
+possible influence over the good effect of the journey. To prevaricate
+with herself or with him was out of the question. That very evening she
+had quarrelled with his mother; and she had yet to discover whether Mrs.
+Gallilee had forgiven her. In her heart of hearts she hated deceit--and
+in her heart of hearts she longed to set his mind at ease. In that
+embarrassing position, which was the right way out? Satan persuaded Eve;
+and Love persuaded Carmina. Love asked if she was cruel enough to make
+her heart's darling miserable when he was so fond of her? Before she
+could realise it, she had begun to deceive him. Poor humanity! poor
+Carmina!
+
+"You are almost as hard on me as if you were Doctor Benjulia himself!"
+she said. "I feel your mother's superiority--and you tell me I don't
+like her. Haven't you seen how good she has been to me?"
+
+She thought this way of putting it irresistible. Ovid resisted,
+nevertheless. Carmina plunged into lower depths of deceit immediately.
+
+"Haven't you seen my pretty rooms--my piano--my pictures--my china--my
+flowers? I should be the most insensible creature living if I didn't
+feel grateful to your mother."
+
+"And yet, you are afraid of her."
+
+She shook his arm impatiently. "I say, No!"
+
+He was as obstinate as ever. "I say, Yes! If you're not afraid, why do
+you wish to keep our engagement from my mother's knowledge?"
+
+His reasoning was unanswerable. But where is the woman to be found who
+is not supple enough to slip through the stiff fingers of Reason? She
+sheltered herself from his logic behind his language.
+
+"Must I remind you again of the time when you were angry?" she rejoined.
+"You said your mother was bent on separating us. If I don't want her to
+know of our engagement just yet--isn't that a good reason?" She rested
+her head caressingly on his shoulder. "Tell me," she went on, thinking
+of one of Miss Minerva's suggestions, "doesn't my aunt look to a higher
+marriage for you than a marriage with me?"
+
+It was impossible to deny that Mrs. Gallilee's views might justify that
+inquiry. Had she not more than once advised him to wait a few years--in
+other words, to wait until he had won the highest honours of his
+profession--before he thought of marrying at all? But Carmina was too
+precious to him to be humiliated by comparisons with other women, no
+matter what their rank might be. He paid her a compliment, instead of
+giving her an answer.
+
+"My mother can't look higher than you," he said. "I wish I could feel
+sure, Carmina--in leaving you with her--that I am leaving you with a
+friend whom you trust and love."
+
+There was a sadness in his tone that grieved her. "Wait till you come
+back," she replied, speaking as gaily as she could. "You will be ashamed
+to remember your own misgivings. And don't forget, dear, that I have
+another friend besides your mother--the best and kindest of friends--to
+take care of me."
+
+Ovid heard this with some surprise. "A friend in my mother's house?" he
+asked.
+
+"Certainly!"
+
+"Who is it?"
+
+"Miss Minerva."
+
+"What!" His tone expressed such immeasurable amazement, that Carmina's
+sense of justice was roused in defence of her new friend.
+
+"If I began by wronging Miss Minerva, I had the excuse of being a
+stranger," she said, warmly. "You have known her for years, and you
+ought to have found out her good qualities long since! Are all men
+alike, I wonder? Even my kind dear father used to call ugly women the
+inexcusable mistakes of Nature. Poor Miss Minerva says herself she
+is ugly, and expects everybody to misjudge her accordingly. I don't
+misjudge her, for one. Teresa has left me; and you are going away next.
+A miserable prospect, Ovid, but not quite without hope. Frances--yes, I
+call her by her Christian name, and she calls me by mine!--Frances will
+console me, and make my life as happy as it can be till you come back."
+
+Excepting bad temper, and merciless cultivation of the minds of
+children, Ovid knew of nothing that justified his prejudice against
+the governess. Still, Carmina's sudden conversion inspired him with
+something like alarm. "I suppose you have good reasons for what you tell
+me," he said.
+
+"The best reasons," she replied, in the most positive manner.
+
+He considered for a moment how he could most delicately inquire what
+those reasons might be. But valuable opportunities may be lost, even
+in a moment. "Will you help me to do justice to Miss Minerva?" he
+cautiously began.
+
+"Hush!" Carmina interposed. "Surely, I heard somebody calling to me?"
+
+They paused, and listened. A voice hailed them from the outer side of
+the garden. They started guiltily. It was the voice of Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+"Carmina! are you in the Square?"
+
+"Leave it to me," Ovid whispered. "We will come to you directly," he
+called back.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was waiting for them at the gate. Ovid spoke, the moment
+they were within sight of each other. "You will have no more cause to
+complain of me," he said cheerfully; "I am going away at the end of the
+week."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's answer was addressed to Carmina instead of to her son.
+"Thank you, my dear," she said, and pressed her niece's hand.
+
+It was too dark to see more of faces than their shadowy outline. The
+learned lady's tone was the perfection of amiability. She sent Ovid
+across the road to knock at the house-door, and took Carmina's arm
+confidentially. "You little goose!" she whispered, "how could you
+suppose I was angry with you? I can't even regret your mistake, you have
+written such a charming note."
+
+Ovid was waiting for them in the hall. They went into the library. Mrs.
+Gallilee enfolded her son in a fervent motherly embrace.
+
+"This completes the enjoyment of a most delightful evening," she said.
+"First a perfect lecture--and then the relief of overpowering anxiety
+about my son. I suppose your professional studies, Ovid, have never
+taken you as high as the Interspacial Regions? We were an immense
+audience to-night, to hear the Professor on that subject, and I really
+haven't recovered it yet. Fifty miles above us--only fifty miles--there
+is an atmosphere of cold that would freeze the whole human family to
+death in a second of time. Moist matter, in that terrific emptiness,
+would explode, and become stone; and--listen to this, Carmina--the
+explosion itself would be frozen, and produce no sound. Think of serious
+people looking up in that dreadful direction, and talking of going to
+Heaven. Oh, the insignificance of man, except--I am going to make a
+joke, Ovid--except when he pleases his old mother by going away for the
+benefit of his health! And where are you going? Has sensible Carmina
+advised you? I agree with her beforehand, whatever she has said."
+
+Ovid informed his mother of Benjulia's suggestion, and asked her what
+she thought of it.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's overflowing geniality instantly flooded the absent
+doctor. He was rude, he was ugly; but what an inestimable friend! what
+admirable advice! In Ovid's state of health he must not write letters;
+his mother would write and thank the doctor, and ask for introductions
+to local grandees who occupied a position in colonial society. She
+seized the newspaper: a steamer for Canada sailed from Liverpool on
+Saturday. Ovid could secure his cabin the next morning ("amidships, my
+dear, if you can possibly get it"), and could leave London by Friday's
+train. In her eagerness to facilitate his departure, she proposed to
+superintend the shutting up of his house, in his absence, and to arrange
+the disposal of the servants, if he considered it worth while to keep
+them. She even thought of the cat. The easiest way to provide for
+the creature would be of course to have her poisoned; but Ovid was so
+eccentric in some things, that practical suggestions were thrown away on
+him. "Sixpence a week for cat's meat isn't much," cried Mrs. Gallilee in
+an outburst of generosity. "We will receive the cat!"
+
+Ovid made his acknowledgments resignedly. Carmina could see that Mrs.
+Gallilee's overpowering vitality was beginning to oppress her son.
+
+"I needn't trouble you, mother," he said. "My domestic affairs were all
+settled when I first felt the necessity of getting rest. My manservant
+travels with me. My housemaid and kitchenmaid will go to their friends
+in the country; the cook will look after the house; and her nephew, the
+little page, is almost as fond of the cat as I am. If you will send for
+a cab, I think I will go home. Like other people in my wretched state, I
+feel fatigued towards night-time."
+
+His lips just touched Carmina's delicate little ear, while his mother
+turned away to ring the bell. "Expect me to-morrow," he whispered. "I
+love you!--love you!--love you!" He seemed to find the perfection of
+luxury in the reiteration of those words.
+
+When Ovid had left them, Carmina expected to hear something of her
+aunt's discovery in the Square.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's innocence was impenetrable. Not finding her niece in the
+house, she had thought of the Square. What could be more natural than
+that the cousins should take an evening walk, in one of the prettiest
+enclosures in London? Her anticipation of Ovid's recovery, and her
+admiration of Carmina's powers of persuasion appeared, for the time, to
+be the only active ideas in that comprehensive mind. When the servant
+brought in the tray, with the claret and soda-water, she sent for Miss
+Minerva to join them, and hear the good news; completely ignoring the
+interruption of their friendly relations, earlier in the evening. She
+became festive and facetious at the sight of the soda-water. "Let us
+imitate the men, Miss Minerva, and drink a toast before we go to bed.
+Be cheerful, Carmina, and share half a bottle of soda-water with me. A
+pleasant journey to Ovid, and a safe return!" Cheered by the influences
+of conviviality, the friend of Professors, the tender nurse of
+half-developed tadpoles, lapsed into learning again. Mrs. Gallilee
+improvised an appropriate little lecture on Canada--on the botany of the
+Dominion; on the geology of the Dominion; on the number of gallons of
+water wasted every hour by the falls of Niagara. "Science will set it
+all right, my dears; we shall make that idle water work for us, one of
+these days. Good-night, Miss Minerva! Dear Carmina, pleasant dreams!"
+
+Safe in the solitude of her bedroom, the governess ominously knitted her
+heavy eyebrows.
+
+"In all my experience," she thought, "I never saw Mrs. Gallilee in such
+spirits before. What mischief is she meditating, when she has got rid of
+her son?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+The lapse of a few hours exercised no deteriorating influence on Mrs.
+Gallilee's amiability.
+
+On the next day, thanks to his mother's interference, Ovid was left in
+the undisturbed enjoyment of Carmina's society. Not only Miss Minerva,
+but even Mr. Gallilee and the children, were kept out of the way with a
+delicately-exercised dexterity, which defied the readiest suspicion to
+take offence. In one word, all that sympathy and indulgence could do to
+invite Ovid's confidence, was unobtrusively and modestly done. Never had
+the mistress of domestic diplomacy reached her ends with finer art.
+
+In the afternoon, a messenger delivered Benjulia's reply to Mrs.
+Gallilee's announcement of her son's contemplated journey--despatched by
+the morning's post. The doctor was confined to the house by an attack of
+gout. If Ovid wanted information on the subject of Canada, Ovid must go
+to him, and get it. That was all.
+
+"Have you ever been to Doctor Benjulia's house?" Carmina asked.
+
+"Never."
+
+"Then all you have told me about him is mere report? Now you will find
+out the truth! Of course you will go?"
+
+Ovid felt no desire to make a voyage of exploration to Benjulia's
+house--and said so plainly. Carmina used all her powers of persuasion to
+induce him to change his mind. Mrs. Gallilee (superior to the influence
+of girlish curiosity) felt the importance of obtaining introductions
+to Canadian society, and agreed with her niece. "I shall order the
+carriage," she said, assuming a playfully despotic tone; "and, if you
+don't go to the doctor--Carmina and I will pay him a visit in your
+place."
+
+Threatened, if he remained obstinate, with such a result as this, Ovid
+had no alternative but to submit.
+
+The one order that could be given to the coachman was to drive to the
+village of Hendon, on the north-western side of London, and to trust to
+inquiries for the rest of the way. Between Hendon and Willesden, there
+are pastoral solitudes within an hour's drive of Oxford Street--wooded
+lanes and wild-flowers, farms and cornfields, still unprofaned by the
+devastating brickwork of the builder of modern times. Following winding
+ways, under shadowing trees, the coachman made his last inquiry at a
+roadside public-house. Hearing that Benjulia's place of abode was now
+within half a mile of him, Ovid set forth on foot; leaving the driver
+and the horses to take their ease at their inn.
+
+He arrived at an iron gate, opening out of a lonely lane.
+
+There, in the middle of a barren little field, he saw Benjulia's
+house--a hideous square building of yellow brick, with a slate roof. A
+low wall surrounded the place, having another iron gate at the entrance.
+The enclosure within was as barren as the field without: not even an
+attempt at flower-garden or kitchen-garden was visible. At a distance
+of some two hundred yards from the house stood a second and smaller
+building, with a skylight in the roof, which Ovid recognised (from
+description) as the famous laboratory. Behind it was the hedge which
+parted Benjulia's morsel of land from the land of his neighbour.
+Here, the trees rose again, and the fields beyond were cultivated. No
+dwellings, and no living creatures appeared. So near to London--and yet,
+in its loneliness, so far away--there was something unnatural in the
+solitude of the place.
+
+Led by a feeling of curiosity, which was fast degenerating into
+suspicion, Ovid approached the laboratory, without showing himself in
+front of the house. No watch-dog barked; no servant appeared on the
+look-out for a visitor. He was ashamed of himself as he did it, but (so
+strongly had he been impressed by Carmina's observation of the doctor)
+he even tried the locked door of the laboratory, and waited and
+listened! It was a breezy summer-day; the leaves of the trees near him
+rustled cheerfully. Was there another sound audible? Yes--low and faint,
+there rose through the sweet woodland melody a moaning cry. It paused;
+it was repeated; it stopped. He looked round him, not quite sure whether
+the sound proceeded from the outside or the inside of the building. He
+shook the door. Nothing happened. The suffering creature (if it was
+a suffering creature) was silent or dead. Had chemical experiment
+accidentally injured some living thing? Or--?
+
+He recoiled from pursuing that second inquiry. The laboratory had,
+by this time, become an object of horror to him. He returned to the
+dwelling-house.
+
+He put his hand on the latch of the gate, and looked back at the
+laboratory. He hesitated.
+
+That moaning cry, so piteous and so short-lived, haunted his ears. The
+idea of approaching Benjulia became repellent to him. What he might
+afterwards think of himself--what his mother and Carmina might think
+of him--if he returned without having entered the doctors' house, were
+considerations which had no influence over his mind, in its present
+mood. The impulse of the moment was the one power that swayed him. He
+put the latch back in the socket. "I won't go in," he said to himself.
+
+It was too late. As he turned from the house a manservant appeared
+at the door--crossed the enclosure--and threw the gate open for Ovid,
+without uttering a word.
+
+They entered the passage. The speechless manservant opened a door on the
+right, and made a bow, inviting the visitor to enter. Ovid found himself
+in a room as barren as the field outside. There were the plastered
+walls, there was the bare floor, left exactly as the builders had
+left them when the house was finished. After a short absence, the man
+appeared again. He might be depressed in spirits, or crabbed in temper:
+the fact remained that, even now, he had nothing to say. He opened
+a door on the opposite side of the passage--made another bow--and
+vanished.
+
+"Don't come near me!" cried Benjulia, the moment Ovid showed himself.
+
+The doctor was seated in an inner corner of the room; robed in a long
+black dressing-gown, buttoned round his throat, which hid every part
+of him below his fleshless face, except his big hands, and his tortured
+gouty foot. Rage and pain glared in his gloomy gray eyes, and shook
+his clenched fists, resting on the arms of an easy chair. "Ten thousand
+red-hot devils are boring ten thousand holes through my foot," he said.
+"If you touch the pillow on my stool, I shall fly at your throat." He
+poured some cooling lotion from a bottle into a small watering-pot, and
+irrigated his foot as if it had been a bed of flowers. By way of further
+relief to the pain, he swore ferociously; addressing his oaths to
+himself, in thunderous undertones which made the glasses ring on the
+sideboard.
+
+Relieved, in his present frame of mind, to have escaped the necessity
+of shaking hands, Ovid took a chair, and looked about him. Even here
+he discovered but little furniture, and that little of the heavy
+old-fashioned sort. Besides the sideboard, he perceived a dining-table,
+six chairs, and a dingy brown carpet. There were no curtains on the
+window, and no pictures or prints on the drab-coloured walls. The empty
+grate showed its bleak black cavity undisguised; and the mantelpiece had
+nothing on it but the doctor's dirty and strong-smelling pipe. Benjulia
+set down his watering-pot, as a sign that the paroxysm of pain had
+passed away. "A dull place to live in, isn't it?" In those words he
+welcomed the visitor to his house.
+
+Irritated by the accident which had forced him into the repellent
+presence of Benjulia, Ovid answered in a tone which matched the doctor
+on his own hard ground.
+
+"It's your own fault if the place is dull. Why haven't you planted
+trees, and laid out a garden?"
+
+"I dare say I shall surprise you," Benjulia quietly rejoined; "but I
+have a habit of speaking my mind. I don't object to a dull place; and I
+don't care about trees and gardens."
+
+"You don't seem to care about furniture either," said Ovid.
+
+Now that he was out of pain for awhile, the doctor's innate
+insensibility to what other people might think of him, or might say to
+him, resumed its customary torpor in its own strangely unconscious way.
+He seemed only to understand that Ovid's curiosity was in search of
+information about trifles. Well, there would be less trouble in giving
+him his information, than in investigating his motives. So Benjulia
+talked of his furniture.
+
+"I dare say you're right," he said. "My sister-in-law--did you know
+I had a relation of that sort?--my sister-in-law got the tables and
+chairs, and beds and basins. Buying things at shops doesn't interest me.
+I gave her a cheque; and I told her to furnish a room for me to eat in,
+and a room for me to sleep in--and not to forget the kitchen and the
+garrets for the servants. What more do I want?"
+
+His intolerable composure only added to his guest's irritability.
+
+"A selfish way of putting it," Ovid broke out. "Have you nobody to think
+of but yourself?"
+
+"Nobody--I am happy to say."
+
+"That's downright cynicism, Benjulia!"
+
+The doctor reflected. "Is it?" he said. "Perhaps you may be right again.
+I think it's only indifference, myself. Curiously enough my brother
+looks at it from your point of view--he even used the same word that
+you used just now. I suppose he found my cynicism beyond the reach of
+reform. At any rate, he left off coming here. I got rid of _him_ on easy
+terms. What do you say? That inhuman way of talking is unworthy of
+me? Really I don't think so. I'm not a downright savage. It's only
+indifference."
+
+"Does your brother return your indifference? You must be a nice pair, if
+he does!"
+
+Benjulia seemed to find a certain dreary amusement in considering the
+question that Ovid had proposed. He decided on doing justice to his
+absent relative.
+
+"My brother's intelligence is perhaps equal to such a small effort as
+you suggest," he said. "He has just brains enough to keep himself out of
+an asylum for idiots. Shall I tell you what he is in two words? A stupid
+sensualist--that's what he is. I let his wife come here sometimes, and
+cry. It doesn't trouble _me;_ and it seems to relieve _her._ More of my
+indifference--eh? Well, I don't know. I gave her the change out of
+the furniture-cheque, to buy a new bonnet with. You might call that
+indifference, and you might be right once more. I don't care about
+money. Will you have a drink? You see I can't move. Please ring for the
+man."
+
+Ovid refused the drink, and changed the subject. "Your servant is a
+remarkably silent person," he said.
+
+"That's his merit," Benjulia answered; "the women-servants have
+quarrelled with every other man I've had. They can't quarrel with
+this man. I have raised his wages in grateful acknowledgment of his
+usefulness to me. I hate noise."
+
+"Is that the reason why you don't keep a watch-dog?"
+
+"I don't like dogs. They bark."
+
+He had apparently some other disagreeable association with dogs, which
+he was not disposed to communicate. His hollow eyes stared gloomily into
+vacancy. Ovid's presence in the room seemed to have become, for the time
+being, an impression erased from his mind. He recovered himself, with
+the customary vehement rubbing of his head, and turned the talk to the
+object of Ovid's visit.
+
+"So you have taken my advice," he said. "You're going to Canada, and you
+want to get at what I can tell you before you start. Here's my journal.
+It will jog my memory, and help us both."
+
+His writing materials were placed on a movable table, screwed to his
+chair. Near them lay a shabby-looking book, guarded by a lock. Ten
+minutes after he had opened his journal, and had looked here and there
+through the pages, his hard intellect had grasped all that it required.
+Steadily and copiously his mind emptied its information into Ovid's
+mind; without a single digression from beginning to end, and with the
+most mercilessly direct reference to the traveller's practical wants.
+Not a word escaped him, relating to national character or to the
+beauties of Nature. Mrs. Gallilee had criticized the Falls of Niagara
+as a reservoir of wasted power. Doctor Benjulia's scientific superiority
+over the woman asserted itself with magnificent ease. Niagara being
+nothing but useless water, he never mentioned Niagara at all.
+
+"Have I served your purpose as a guide?" he asked. "Never mind thanking
+me. Yes or no will do. Very good. I have got a line of writing to give
+you next." He mended his quill pen, and made an observation. "Have you
+ever noticed that women have one pleasure which lasts to the end of
+their lives?" he said. "Young and old, they have the same inexhaustible
+enjoyment of society; and, young and old, they are all alike incapable
+of understanding a man, when he says he doesn't care to go to a party.
+Even your clever mother thinks you want to go to parties in Canada." He
+tried his pen, and found it would do--and began his letter.
+
+Seeing his hands at work, Ovid was again reminded of Carmina's
+discovery. His eyes wandered a little aside, towards the corner formed
+by the pillar of the chimney-piece and the wall of the room. The
+big bamboo-stick rested there. A handle was attached to it, made of
+light-coloured horn, and on that handle there were some stains. Ovid
+looked at them with a surgeon's practised eye. They were dry stains of
+blood. (Had he washed his hands on the last occasion when he used his
+stick? And had he forgotten that the handle wanted washing too?)
+
+Benjulia finished his letter, and wrote the address. He took up the
+envelope, to give it to Ovid--and stopped, as if some doubt tempted him
+to change his mind. The hesitation was only momentary. He persisted in
+his first intention, and gave Ovid the letter. It was addressed to a
+doctor at Montreal.
+
+"That man won't introduce you to society," Benjulia announced, "and
+won't worry your brains with medical talk. Keep off one subject on your
+side. A mad bull is nothing to my friend if you speak of Vivisection."
+
+Ovid looked at him steadily, when he uttered the last word. Benjulia
+looked back, just as steadily at Ovid.
+
+At the moment of that reciprocal scrutiny, did the two men suspect each
+other? Ovid, on his side, determined not to leave the house without
+putting his suspicions to the test.
+
+"I thank you for the letter," he began; "and I will not forget the
+warning."
+
+The doctor's capacity for the exercise of the social virtues had its
+limits. His reserves of hospitality were by this time near their end.
+
+"Is there anything more I can do for you?" he interposed.
+
+"You can answer a simple question," Ovid replied. "My cousin Carmina--"
+
+Benjulia interrupted him again: "Don't you think we said enough about
+your cousin in the Gardens?" he suggested.
+
+Ovid acknowledged the hint with a neatness of retort almost worthy
+of his mother. "You have your own merciful disposition to blame, if
+I return to the subject," he replied. "My cousin cannot forget your
+kindness to the monkey."
+
+"The sooner she forgets my kindness the better. The monkey is dead."
+
+"I am glad to hear it."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I thought the creature was living in pain."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that I heard a moaning--"
+
+"Where?"
+
+"In the building behind your house."
+
+"You heard the wind in the trees."
+
+"Nothing of the sort. Are your chemical experiments ever made on
+animals?"
+
+The doctor parried that direct attack, without giving ground by so much
+as a hair's breadth.
+
+"What did I say when I gave you your letter of introduction?" he asked.
+"I said, A mad bull is nothing to my friend, if you speak to him
+of Vivisection. Now I have something more to tell you. I am like my
+friend." He waited a little. "Will that do?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," said Ovid; "that will do."
+
+They were as near to an open quarrel as two men could be: Ovid took up
+his hat to go. Even at that critical moment, Benjulia's strange jealousy
+of his young colleague--as a possible rival in some field of discovery
+which he claimed as his own--showed itself once more. There was no
+change in his tone; he still spoke like a judicious friend.
+
+"A last word of advice," he said. "You are travelling for your health;
+don't let inquisitive strangers lead you into talk. Some of them might
+be physiologists."
+
+"And might suggest new ideas," Ovid rejoined, determined to make him
+speak out this time.
+
+Benjulia nodded, in perfect agreement with his guest's view.
+
+"Are you afraid of new ideas?" Ovid went on.
+
+"Perhaps I am--in _your_ head." He made that admission, without
+hesitation or embarrassment. "Good-bye!" he resumed. "My sensitive foot
+feels noises: don't bang the door."
+
+Getting out into the lane again, Ovid looked at his letter to the doctor
+at Montreal. His first impulse was to destroy it.
+
+As Benjulia had hesitated before giving him the letter, so he now
+hesitated before tearing it up.
+
+Contrary to the usual practice in such cases, the envelope was closed.
+Under those circumstances, Ovid's pride decided him on using the
+introduction. Time was still to pass, before events opened his eyes to
+the importance of his decision. To the end of his life he remembered
+that Benjulia had been near to keeping back the letter, and that he had
+been near to tearing it up.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+The wise ancient who asserted that "Time flies," must have made that
+remarkable discovery while he was in a state of preparation for a
+journey. When are we most acutely sensible of the shortness of life?
+When do we consult our watches in perpetual dread of the result?
+When does the night steal on us unawares, and the morning take us by
+surprise? When we are going on a journey.
+
+The remaining days of the week went by with a rush. Ovid had hardly time
+to ask himself if Friday had really come, before the hours of his life
+at home were already numbered.
+
+He had still a little time to spare when he presented himself at
+Fairfield Gardens late in the afternoon. Finding no one in the library,
+he went up to the drawing-room. His mother was alone, reading.
+
+"Have you anything to say to me, before I tell Carmina that you are
+here?" Mrs. Gallilee put that question quietly, so far as her voice was
+concerned. But she still kept her eyes on her book. Ovid knew that she
+was offering him his first and last chance of speaking plainly, before
+he went away. In Carmina's interests he spoke.
+
+"Mother," he said, "I am leaving the one person in the world who is most
+precious to me, under your care."
+
+"Do you mean," Mrs. Gallilee asked, "that you and Carmina are engaged to
+be married?"
+
+"I mean that; and I am not sure that you approve of the engagement. Will
+you be plainer with me than you were on the last occasion when we spoke
+on this subject?"
+
+"When was that?" Mrs. Gallilee inquired.
+
+"When you and I were alone for a few minutes, on the morning when I
+breakfasted here. You said it was quite natural that Carmina should
+have attracted me; but you were careful not to encourage the idea of a
+marriage between us. I understood that you disapproved of it--but you
+didn't plainly tell me why."
+
+"Can women always give their reason?"
+
+"Yes--when they are women like you."
+
+"Thank you, my dear, for a pretty compliment. I can trust my memory.
+I think I hinted at the obvious objections to an engagement. You and
+Carmina are cousins; and you belong to different religious communities.
+I may add that a man with your brilliant prospects has, in my opinion,
+no reason to marry unless his wife is in a position to increase his
+influence and celebrity. I had looked forward to seeing my clever son
+rise more nearly to a level with persons of rank, who are members of our
+family. There is my confession, Ovid. If I did hesitate on the occasion
+to which you have referred, I have now, I think, told you why."
+
+"Am I to understand that you hesitate still?" Ovid asked.
+
+"No." With that brief reply she rose to put away her book.
+
+Ovid followed her to the bookcase. "Has Carmina conquered you?" he said.
+
+She put her book back in its place. "Carmina has conquered me," she
+answered.
+
+"You say it coldly."
+
+"What does that matter, if I say it truly?"
+
+The struggle in him between hope and fear burst its way out. "Oh,
+mother, no words can tell you how fond I am of Carmina! For God's sake
+take care of her, and be kind to her!"
+
+"For _your_ sake," said Mrs. Gallilee, gently correcting the language of
+her excitable son, from her own protoplastic point of view. "You do me
+an injustice if you feel anxious about Carmina, when you leave her here.
+My dead brother's child, is _my_ child. You may be sure of that." She
+took his hand, and drew him to her, and kissed his forehead with dignity
+and deliberation. If Mr. Mool had been present, during the registration
+of that solemn pledge, he would have been irresistibly reminded of the
+other ceremony, which is called signing a deed.
+
+"Have you any instructions to give me?" Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. "For
+instance, do you object to my taking Carmina to parties? I mean, of
+course, parties which will improve her mind."
+
+He fell sadly below his mother's level in replying to this. "Do
+everything you can to make her life happy while I am away." Those were
+his only instructions.
+
+But Mrs. Gallilee had not done with him yet. "With regard to visitors,"
+she went on, "I presume you wish me to be careful, if I find young men
+calling here oftener than usual?"
+
+Ovid actually laughed at this. "Do you think I doubt her?" he asked.
+"The earth doesn't hold a truer girl than my little Carmina!" A thought
+struck him while he said it. The brightness faded out of his face; his
+voice lost its gaiety. "There is one person who may call on you," he
+said, "whom I don't wish her to see."
+
+"Who is he?"
+
+"Unfortunately, he is a man who has excited her curiosity. I mean
+Benjulia."
+
+It was now Mrs. Gallilee's turn to be amused. Her laugh was not one of
+her foremost fascinations. It was hard in tone, and limited in range--it
+opened her mouth, but it failed to kindle any light in her eyes.
+"Jealous of the ugly doctor!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Ovid, what next?"
+
+"You never made a greater mistake in your life," her son answered
+sharply.
+
+"Then what is the objection to him?" Mrs. Gallilee rejoined.
+
+It was not easy to meet that question with a plain reply. If Ovid
+asserted that Benjulia's chemical experiments were assumed--for some
+reason known only to himself--as a cloak to cover the atrocities of
+the Savage Science, he would only raise the doctor in his mother's
+estimation. If, on the other hand, he described what had passed between
+them when they met in the Zoological Gardens, Mrs. Gallilee might summon
+Benjulia to explain the slur which he had indirectly cast on the memory
+of Carmina's mother--and might find, in the reply, some plausible reason
+for objecting to her son's marriage. Having rashly placed himself in
+this dilemma, Ovid unwisely escaped from it by the easiest way. "I don't
+think Benjulia a fit person," he said, "to be in the company of a young
+girl."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee accepted this expression of opinion with a readiness,
+which would have told a more suspicious man that he had made a mistake.
+Ovid had roused the curiosity--perhaps awakened the distrust--of his
+clever mother.
+
+"You know best," Mrs. Gallilee replied; "I will bear in mind what you
+say." She rang the bell for Carmina, and left the room. Ovid found the
+minutes passing slowly, for the first time since the day had been
+fixed for his departure. He attributed this impression to his natural
+impatience for the appearance of his cousin--until the plain evidence
+of the clock pointed to a delay of five endless minutes, and more. As
+he approached the door to make inquiries, it opened at last. Hurrying to
+meet Carmina, he found himself face to face with Miss Minerva!
+
+She came in hastily, and held out her hand without looking at him.
+
+"Forgive me for intruding on you," she said, with a rapidity of
+utterance and a timidity of manner strangely unlike herself. "I'm
+obliged to prepare the children's lessons for to-morrow; and this is my
+only opportunity of bidding you good-bye. You have my best wishes--my
+heartfelt wishes--for your safety and your health, and--and your
+enjoyment of the journey. Good-bye! good-bye!"
+
+After holding his hand for a moment, she hastened back to the door.
+There she stopped, turned towards him again, and looked at him for the
+first time. "I have one thing more to say," she broke out. "I will do
+all I can to make Carmina's life pleasant in your absence." Before he
+could thank her, she was gone.
+
+In another minute Carmina came in, and found Ovid looking perplexed
+and annoyed. She had passed Frances on the stairs--had there been any
+misunderstanding between Ovid and the governess?
+
+"Have you seen Miss Minerva?" she asked.
+
+He put his arm round her, and seated her by him on the sofa. "I don't
+understand Miss Minerva," he said. "How is it that she came here, when I
+was expecting You?"
+
+"She asked me, as a favour, to let her see you first; and she seemed to
+be so anxious about it that I gave way. I didn't do wrong, Ovid--did I?"
+
+"My darling, you are always kind, and always right! But why couldn't
+she say good-bye (with the others) downstairs? Do _you_ understand this
+curious woman?"
+
+"I think I do." She paused, and toyed with the hair over Ovid's
+forehead. "Miss Minerva is fond of you, poor thing," she said
+innocently.
+
+"Fond of me?"
+
+The surprise which his tone expressed, failed to attract her attention.
+She quietly varied the phrase that she had just used.
+
+"Miss Minerva has a true regard for you--and knows that you don't return
+it," she explained, still playing with Ovid's hair. "I want to see how
+it looks," she went on, "when it's parted in the middle. No! it looks
+better as you always wear it. How handsome you are, Ovid! Don't you wish
+I was beautiful, too? Everybody in the house loves you; and everybody
+is sorry you are going away. I like Miss Minerva, I like everybody, for
+being so fond of my dear, dear hero. Oh, what shall I do when day after
+day passes, and only takes you farther and farther away from me? No! I
+won't cry. You shan't go away with a heavy heart, my dear one, if I can
+help it. Where is your photograph? You promised me your photograph. Let
+me look at it. Yes! it's like you, and yet not like you. It will do to
+think over, when I am alone. My love, it has copied your eyes, but it
+has not copied the divine kindness and goodness that I see in them!"
+She paused, and laid her head on his bosom. "I shall cry, in spite of my
+resolution, if I look at you any longer. We won't look--we won't talk--I
+can feel your arm round me--I can hear your heart. Silence is best.
+I have been told of people dying happily; and I never understood it
+before. I think I could die happily now." She put her hand over his lips
+before he could reprove her, and nestled closer to him. "Hush!" she said
+softly; "hush!"
+
+They neither moved nor spoke: that silent happiness was the best
+happiness, while it lasted. Mrs. Gallilee broke the charm. She suddenly
+opened the door, pointed to the clock, and went away again.
+
+The cruel time had come. They made their last promises; shared their
+last kisses; held each other in the last embrace. She threw herself
+on the sofa, as he left her--with a gesture which entreated him to go,
+while she could still control herself. Once, he looked round, when he
+reached the door--and then it was over.
+
+Alone on the landing, he dashed the tears away from his eyes. Suffering
+and sorrow tried hard to get the better of his manhood: they had shaken,
+but had not conquered him. He was calm, when he joined the members of
+the family, waiting in the library.
+
+Perpetually setting an example, Mrs. Gallilee ascended her domestic
+pedestal as usual. She favoured her son with one more kiss, and reminded
+him of the railway. "We understand each other, Ovid--you have only
+five minutes to spare. Write, when you get to Quebec. Now, Maria! say
+good-bye."
+
+Maria presented herself to her brother with a grace which did honour to
+the family dancing-master. Her short farewell speech was a model of its
+kind.
+
+"Dear Ovid, I am only a child; but I feel truly anxious for the recovery
+of your health. At this favourable season you may look forward to a
+pleasant voyage. Please accept my best wishes." She offered her cheek
+to be kissed--and looked like a young person who had done her duty, and
+knew it.
+
+Mr. Gallilee--modestly secluded behind the window curtains--appeared,
+at a sign from his wife. One of his plump red hands held a bundle of
+cigars. The other clutched an enormous new travelling-flask--the giant
+of its tribe.
+
+"My dear boy, it's possible there may be good brandy and cigars on
+board; but that's not my experience of steamers--is it yours?" He
+stopped to consult his wife. "My dear, is it yours?" Mrs. Gallilee held
+up the "Railway Guide," and shook it significantly. Mr. Gallilee went on
+in a hurry. "There's some of the right stuff in this flask, Ovid, if you
+will accept it. Five-and-forty years old--would you like to taste it?
+Would you like to taste it, my dear?" Mrs. Gallilee seized the "Railway
+Guide" again, with a terrible look. Her husband crammed the big flask
+into one of Ovid's pockets, and the cigars into the other. "You'll find
+them a comfort when you're away from us. God bless you, my son! You
+don't mind my calling you my son? I couldn't be fonder of you, if I
+really was your father. Let's part as cheerfully as we can," said poor
+Mr. Gallilee, with the tears rolling undisguisedly over his fat cheeks.
+"We can write to each other--can't we? Oh dear! dear! I wish I could
+take it as easy as Maria does. Zo! come and give him a kiss, poor
+fellow. Where's Zo?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee made the discovery--she dragged Zo into view, from under
+the table. Ovid took his little sister on his knee, and asked why she
+had hidden herself.
+
+"Because I don't want to say good-bye!" cried the child, giving her
+reason with a passionate outbreak of sorrow that shook her from head
+to foot. "Take me with you, Ovid, take me with you!" He did his best to
+console her, under adverse circumstances. Mrs. Gallilee's warning voice
+sounded like a knell--"Time! time!" Zo's shrill treble rang out louder
+still. Zo was determined to write to Ovid, if she was not allowed to go
+with him. "Pa's going to write to you--why shouldn't I?" she screamed
+through her tears. "Dear Zoe, you are too young," Maria remarked.
+"Damned nonsense!" sobbed Mr. Gallilee; "she _shall_ write!" "Time,
+time!" Mrs. Gallilee reiterated. Taking no part in the dispute, Ovid
+directed two envelopes for Zo, and quieted her in that way. He hurried
+into the hall; he glanced at the stairs that led to the drawing-room.
+Carmina was on the landing, waiting for a farewell look at him. On
+the higher flight of stairs, invisible from the hall, Miss Minerva was
+watching the scene of departure. Reckless of railways and steamers,
+Ovid ran up to Carmina. Another and another kiss; and then away to the
+house-door, with Zo at his heels, trying to get into the cab with him.
+A last kind word to the child, as they carried her back to the house; a
+last look at the familiar faces in the doorway; a last effort to resist
+that foretaste of death which embitters all human partings--and Ovid was
+gone!
+
+VOLUME TWO
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+On the afternoon of the day that followed Ovid's departure, the three
+ladies of the household were in a state of retirement--each in her own
+room.
+
+The writing-table in Mrs. Gallilee's boudoir was covered with letters.
+Her banker's pass-book and her cheque-book were on the desk; Mr.
+Gallilee's affairs having been long since left as completely in the
+hands of his wife, as if Mr. Gallilee had been dead. A sheet of paper
+lay near the cheque-book, covered with calculations divided into two
+columns. The figures in the right-hand column were contained in one line
+at the top of the page. The figures in the left-hand column filled the
+page from top to bottom. With her fan in her hand, and her pen in the
+ink-bottle, Mrs. Gallilee waited, steadily thinking.
+
+It was the hottest day of the season. All the fat women in London fanned
+themselves on that sultry afternoon; and Mrs. Gallilee followed the
+general example. When she looked to the right, her calculations showed
+the balance at the bank. When she looked to the left, her calculations
+showed her debts: some partially paid, some not paid at all. If she
+wearied of the prospect thus presented, and turned for relief to
+her letters, she was confronted by polite requests for money; from
+tradespeople in the first place, and from secretaries of fashionable
+Charities in the second. Here and there, by way of variety, were
+invitations to parties, representing more pecuniary liabilities,
+incurred for new dresses, and for hospitalities acknowledged by dinners
+and conversaziones at her own house. Money that she owed, money that she
+must spend; nothing but outlay of money--and where was it to come from?
+
+So far as her pecuniary resources were concerned, she was equally
+removed from hope and fear. Twice a year the same income flowed in
+regularly from the same investments. What she could pay at any future
+time was far more plainly revealed to her than what she might owe. With
+tact and management it would be possible to partially satisfy creditors,
+and keep up appearances for six months more. To that conclusion her
+reflections led her, and left her to write cheques.
+
+And after the six months--what then?
+
+Having first completed her correspondence with the tradespeople, and
+having next decided on her contributions to the Charities, this iron
+matron took up her fan again, cooled herself, and met the question of
+the future face to face.
+
+Ovid was the central figure in the prospect.
+
+If he lived devoted to his profession, and lived unmarried, there was
+a last resource always left to Mrs. Gallilee. For years past, his
+professional gains had added largely to the income which he had
+inherited from his father. Unembarrassed by expensive tastes, he had
+some thousands of pounds put by--for the simple reason that he was at a
+loss what else to do with them. Thus far, her brother's generosity had
+spared Mrs. Gallilee the hard necessity of making a confession to her
+son. As things were now, she must submit to tell the humiliating truth;
+and Ovid (with no wife to check _his_ liberal instincts) would do what
+Ovid's uncle (with no wife living to check his liberal instincts) had
+done already.
+
+There was the prospect, if her son remained a bachelor. But her son
+had resolved to marry Carmina. What would be the result if she was weak
+enough to allow it?
+
+There would be, not one result, but three results. Natural; Legal;
+Pecuniary.
+
+The natural result would be--children.
+
+The legal result (if only one of those children lived) would be the loss
+to Mrs. Gallilee and her daughters of the splendid fortune reserved for
+them in the Will, if Carmina died without leaving offspring.
+
+The pecuniary result would be (adding the husband's income to the
+wife's) about eight thousand a year for the young married people.
+
+And how much for a loan, applicable to the mother-in-law's creditors?
+Judging Carmina by the standard of herself--by what other standard do we
+really judge our fellow-creatures, no matter how clever we may be?--Mrs.
+Gallilee decided that not one farthing would be left to help her to pay
+debts, which were steadily increasing with every new concession that she
+made to the claims of society. Young Mrs. Ovid Vere, at the head of a
+household, would have the grand example of her other aunt before her
+eyes. Although her place of residence might not be a palace, she would
+be a poor creature indeed, if she failed to spend eight thousand a year,
+in the effort to be worthy of the social position of Lady Northlake. Add
+to these results of Ovid's contemplated marriage the loss of a thousand
+a year, secured to the guardian by the Will, while the ward remained
+under her care--and the statement of disaster would be complete.
+"We must leave this house, and submit to be Lady Northlake's poor
+relations--there is the price I pay for it, if Ovid and Carmina become
+man and wife."
+
+She quietly laid aside her fan, as the thought in her completed itself
+in this form.
+
+The trivial action, and the look which accompanied it, had a sinister
+meaning of their own, beyond the reach of words. And Ovid was already on
+the sea. And Teresa was far away in Italy.
+
+The clock on the mantelpiece struck five; the punctual parlour-maid
+appeared with her mistress's customary cup of tea. Mrs. Gallilee asked
+for the governess. The servant answered that Miss Minerva was in her
+room.
+
+"Where are the young ladies?"
+
+"My master has taken them out for a walk."
+
+"Have they had their music lesson?"
+
+"Not yet, ma'am. Mr. Le Frank left word yesterday that he would come at
+six this evening."
+
+"Does Mr. Gallilee know that?"
+
+"I heard Miss Minerva tell my master, while I was helping the young
+ladies to get ready."
+
+"Very well. Ask Miss Minerva to come here, and speak to me."
+
+Miss Minerva sat at the open window of her bedroom, looking out vacantly
+at the backs of houses, in the street behind Fairfield Gardens.
+
+The evil spirit was the dominant spirit in her again. She, too, was
+thinking of Ovid and Carmina. Her memory was busy with the parting scene
+on the previous day.
+
+The more she thought of all that had happened in that short space
+of time, the more bitterly she reproached herself. Her one besetting
+weakness had openly degraded her, without so much as an attempt at
+resistance on her part. The fear of betraying herself if she took leave
+of the man she secretly loved, in the presence of his family, had forced
+her to ask a favour of Carmina, and to ask it under circumstances which
+might have led her rival to suspect the truth. Admitted to a private
+interview with Ovid, she had failed to control her agitation; and, worse
+still, in her ungovernable eagerness to produce a favourable impression
+on him at parting, she had promised--honestly promised, in that moment
+of impulse--to make Carmina's happiness her own peculiar care! Carmina,
+who had destroyed in a day the hope of years! Carmina, who had taken
+him away from her; who had clung round him when he ran upstairs, and had
+kissed him--fervently, shamelessly kissed him--before the servants in
+the hall!
+
+She started to her feet, roused to a frenzy of rage by her own
+recollections. Standing at the window, she looked down at the pavement
+of the courtyard--it was far enough below to kill her instantly if she
+fell on it. Through the heat of her anger there crept the chill and
+stealthy prompting of despair. She leaned over the window-sill--she was
+not afraid--she might have done it, but for a trifling interruption.
+Somebody spoke outside.
+
+It was the parlour-maid. Instead of entering the room, she spoke through
+the open door. The woman was one of Miss Minerva's many enemies in the
+house. "Mrs. Gallilee wishes to see you," she said--and shut the door
+again, the instant the words were out of her mouth.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee!
+
+The very name was full of promise at that moment. It suggested
+hope--merciless hope.
+
+She left the window, and consulted her looking-glass. Even to herself,
+her haggard face was terrible to see. She poured eau-de-cologne and
+water into her basin, and bathed her burning head and eyes. Her shaggy
+black hair stood in need of attention next. She took almost as much
+pains with it as if she had been going into the presence of Ovid
+himself. "I must make a calm appearance," she thought, still as far as
+ever from suspecting that her employer had guessed her secret, "or his
+mother may find me out." Her knees trembled under her. She sat down for
+a minute to rest.
+
+Was she merely wanted for some ordinary domestic consultation? or
+was there really a chance of hearing the question of Ovid and Carmina
+brought forward at the coming interview?
+
+She believed what she hoped: she believed that the time had come when
+Mrs. Gallilee had need of an ally--perhaps of an accomplice. Only let
+her object be the separation of the two cousins--and Miss Minerva was
+eager to help her, in either capacity. Suppose she was too cautious to
+mention her object? Miss Minerva was equally ready for her employer,
+in that case. The doubt which had prompted her fruitless suggestions
+to Carmina, when they were alone in the young girl's room--the doubt
+whether a clue to the discovery of Mrs. Gallilee's motives might not
+be found, in that latter part of the Will which she had failed to
+overhear--was as present as ever in the governess's mind. "The learned
+lady is not infallible," she thought as she entered Mrs. Gallilee's
+room. "If one unwary word trips over her tongue, I shall pick it up!"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's manner was encouraging at the outset. She had left
+her writing-table; and she now presented herself, reclining in an
+easy chair, weary and discouraged--the picture of a woman in want of a
+helpful friend.
+
+"My head aches with adding up figures, and writing letters," she said.
+"I wish you would finish my correspondence for me."
+
+Miss Minerva took her place at the desk. She at once discovered the
+unfinished correspondence to be a false pretence. Three cheques for
+charitable subscriptions, due at that date, were waiting to be sent
+to three secretaries, with the customary letters. In five minutes, the
+letters were ready for the post. "Anything more?" Miss Minerva asked.
+
+"Not that I remember. Do you mind giving me my fan? I feel perfectly
+helpless--I am wretchedly depressed to-day."
+
+"The heat, perhaps?"
+
+"No. The expenses. Every year, the demands on our resources seem to
+increase. On principle, I dislike living up to our income--and I am
+obliged to do it."
+
+Here, plainly revealed to the governess's experienced eyes, was another
+false pretence--used to introduce the true object of the interview,
+as something which might accidentally suggest itself in the course of
+conversation. Miss Minerva expressed the necessary regret with innocent
+readiness. "Might I suggest economy?" she asked with impenetrable
+gravity.
+
+"Admirably advised," Mrs. Gallilee admitted; "but how is it to be done?
+Those subscriptions, for instance, are more than I ought to give. And
+what happens if I lower the amount? I expose myself to unfavourable
+comparison with other people of our rank in society."
+
+Miss Minerva still patiently played the part expected of her. "You might
+perhaps do with only one carriage-horse," she remarked.
+
+"My good creature, look at the people who have only one carriage-horse!
+Situated as I am, can I descend to that level? Don't suppose I care two
+straws about such things, myself. My one pride and pleasure in life is
+the pride and pleasure of improving my mind. But I have Lady Northlake
+for a sister; and I must not be entirely unworthy of my family
+connections. I have two daughters; and I must think of their interests.
+In a few years, Maria will be presented at Court. Thanks to you, she
+will be one of the most accomplished girls in England. Think of Maria's
+mother in a one-horse chaise. Dear child! tell me all about her lessons.
+Is she getting on as well as ever?"
+
+"Examine her yourself, Mrs. Gallilee. I can answer for the result."
+
+"No, Miss Minerva! I have too much confidence in you to do anything
+of the kind. Besides, in one of the most important of Maria's
+accomplishments, I am entirely dependent on yourself. I know nothing
+of music. You are not responsible for her progress in that direction.
+Still, I should like to know if you are satisfied with Maria's music?"
+
+"Quite satisfied."
+
+"You don't think she is getting--how can I express it?--shall I say
+beyond the reach of Mr. Le Frank's teaching?"
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"Perhaps you would consider Mr. Le Frank equal to the instruction of an
+older and more advanced pupil than Maria?"
+
+Thus far, Miss Minerva had answered the questions submitted to her with
+well-concealed indifference. This last inquiry roused her attention.
+Why did Mrs. Gallilee show an interest, for the first time, in Mr. Le
+Frank's capacity as a teacher? Who was this "older and more advanced
+pupil," for whose appearance in the conversation the previous questions
+had so smoothly prepared the way? Feeling delicate ground under her, the
+governess advanced cautiously.
+
+"I have always thought Mr. Le Frank an excellent teacher," she said.
+
+"Can you give me no more definite answer than that?" Mrs. Gallilee
+asked.
+
+"I am quite unacquainted, madam, with the musical proficiency of the
+pupil to whom you refer. I don't even know (which adds to my perplexity)
+whether you are speaking of a lady or a gentleman."
+
+"I am speaking," said Mrs. Gallilee quietly, "of my niece, Carmina."
+
+Those words set all further doubt at rest in Miss Minerva's mind.
+Introduced by such elaborate preparation, the allusion to Carmina's name
+could only lead, in due course, to the subject of Carmina's marriage.
+By indirect methods of approach, Mrs. Gallilee had at last reached the
+object that she had in view.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+There was an interval of silence between the two ladies.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee waited for Miss Minerva to speak next. Miss Minerva waited
+to be taken into Mrs. Gallilee's confidence. The sparrows twittered
+in the garden; and, far away in the schoolroom, the notes of the piano
+announced that the music lesson had begun.
+
+"The birds are noisy," said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+"And the piano sounds out of tune," Miss Minerva remarked.
+
+There was no help for it. Either Mrs. Gallilee must return to the matter
+in hand---or the matter in hand must drop.
+
+"I am afraid I have not made myself understood," she resumed.
+
+"I am afraid I have been very stupid," Miss Minerva confessed.
+
+Resigning herself to circumstances, Mrs. Gallilee put the adjourned
+question under a new form. "We were speaking of Mr. Le Frank as a
+teacher, and of my niece as a pupil," she said. "Have you been able to
+form any opinion of Carmina's musical abilities?"
+
+Miss Minerva remained as prudent as ever. She answered, "I have had no
+opportunity of forming an opinion."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee met this cautious reply by playing her trump card. She
+handed a letter to Miss Minerva. "I have received a proposal from Mr. Le
+Frank," she said. "Will you tell me what you think of it?"
+
+The letter was short and servile. Mr. Le Frank presented his best
+respects. If Mrs. Gallilee's charming niece stood in need of musical
+instruction, he ventured to hope that he might have the honour and
+happiness of superintending her studies. Looking back to the top of the
+letter, the governess discovered that this modest request bore a date of
+eight days since. "Have you written to Mr. Le Frank?" she asked.
+
+"Only to say that I will take his request into consideration," Mrs.
+Gallilee replied.
+
+Had she waited for her son's departure, before she committed herself
+to a decision? On the chance that this might be the case, Miss Minerva
+consulted her memory. When Mrs. Gallilee first decided on engaging a
+music-master to teach the children, her son had disapproved of employing
+Mr. Le Frank. This circumstance might possibly be worth bearing in mind.
+"Do you see any objection to accepting Mr. Le Frank's proposal?" Mrs.
+Gallilee asked. Miss Minerva saw an objection forthwith, and, thanks
+to her effort of memory, discovered an especially mischievous way of
+stating it. "I feel a certain delicacy in offering an opinion," she said
+modestly.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was surprised. "Do you allude to Mr. Le Frank?" she
+inquired.
+
+"No. I don't doubt that his instructions would be of service to any
+young lady."
+
+"Are you thinking of my niece?"
+
+"No, Mrs. Gallilee. I am thinking of your son."
+
+"In what way, if you please?"
+
+"In this way. I believe your son would object to employing Mr. Le Frank
+as Miss Carmina's teacher."
+
+"On musical grounds?"
+
+"No; on personal grounds."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+Miss Minerva explained her meaning. "I think you have forgotten what
+happened, when you first employed Mr. Le Frank to teach Maria and Zoe.
+His personal appearance produced an unfavourable impression on your son;
+and Mr. Ovid made certain inquiries which you had not thought necessary.
+Pardon me if I persist in mentioning the circumstances. I owe it to
+myself to justify my opinion--an opinion, you will please to remember,
+that I did not volunteer. Mr. Ovid's investigations brought to light a
+very unpleasant report, relating to Mr. Le Frank and a young lady who
+had been one of his pupils."
+
+"An abominable slander, Miss Minerva! I am surprised that you should
+refer to it."
+
+"I am referring, madam, to the view of the matter taken by Mr. Ovid.
+If Mr. Le Frank had failed to defend himself successfully, he would of
+course not have been received into this house. But your son had his own
+opinion of the defence. I was present at the time, and I heard him say
+that, if Maria and Zoe had been older, he should have advised employing
+a music-master who had no false reports against him to contradict. As
+they were only children, he would say nothing more. That is what I had
+in my mind, when I gave my opinion. I think Mr. Ovid will be annoyed
+when he hears that Mr. Le Frank is his cousin's music-master. And, if
+any foolish gossip reaches him in his absence, I fear it might lead to
+mischievous results--I mean, to misunderstandings not easily set right
+by correspondence, and quite likely therefore to lead, in the end, to
+distrust and jealousy."
+
+There she paused, and crossed her hands on her lap, and waited for what
+was to come next.
+
+If Mrs. Gallilee could have looked into her mind at that moment as well
+as into her face, she would have read Miss Minerva's thoughts in these
+plain terms: "All this time, madam, you have been keeping up appearances
+in the face of detection. You are going to use Mr. Le Frank as a means
+of making mischief between Ovid and Carmina. If you had taken me into
+your confidence, I might have been willing to help you. As it is, please
+observe that I am not caught in the trap you have set for me. If
+Mr. Ovid discovers your little plot, you can't lay the blame on your
+governess's advice."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee felt that she had again measured herself with Miss
+Minerva, and had again been beaten. She had confidently reckoned on
+the governess's secret feeling towards her son to encourage, without
+hesitation or distrust, any project for promoting the estrangement of
+Ovid and Carmina. There was no alternative now but to put her first
+obstacle in the way of the marriage, on her own sole responsibility.
+
+"I don't doubt that you have spoken sincerely," she said; "but you have
+failed to do justice to my son's good sense; and you are--naturally
+enough, in your position--incapable of estimating his devoted attachment
+to Carmina." Having planted that sting, she paused to observe the
+effect. Not the slightest visible result rewarded her. She went on.
+"Almost the last words he said to me expressed his confidence--his
+affectionate confidence--in my niece. The bare idea of his being jealous
+of anybody, and especially of such a person as Mr. Le Frank, is simply
+ridiculous. I am astonished that you don't see it in that light."
+
+"I should see it in that light as plainly as you do," Miss Minerva
+quietly replied, "if Mr. Ovid was at home."
+
+"What difference does that make?"
+
+"Excuse me--it makes a great difference, as I think. He has gone away on
+a long journey, and gone away in bad health. He will have his hours
+of depression. At such times, trifles are serious things; and even
+well-meant words--in letters--are sometimes misunderstood. I can offer
+no better apology for what I have said; and I can only regret that I
+have made so unsatisfactory a return for your flattering confidence in
+me."
+
+Having planted _her_ sting, she rose to retire.
+
+"Have you any further commands for me?" she asked.
+
+"I should like to be quite sure that I have not misunderstood you," said
+Mrs. Gallilee. "You consider Mr. Le Frank to be competent, as director
+of any young lady's musical studies? Thank you. On the one point on
+which I wished to consult you, my mind is at ease. Do you know where
+Carmina is?"
+
+"In her room, I believe."
+
+"Will you have the goodness to send her here?"
+
+"With the greatest pleasure. Good-evening!"
+
+So ended Mrs. Gallilee's first attempt to make use of Miss Minerva,
+without trusting her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+The mistress of the house, and the governess of the house, had their own
+special reasons for retiring to their own rooms. Carmina was in solitude
+as a matter of necessity. The only friends that the poor girl could
+gather round her now, were the absent and the dead.
+
+She had written to Ovid--merely for the pleasure of thinking that
+her letter would accompany him, in the mail-steamer which took him to
+Quebec. She had written to Teresa. She had opened her piano, and had
+played the divinely beautiful music of Mozart, until its tenderness
+saddened her, and she closed the instrument with an aching heart. For
+a while she sat by the window, thinking of Ovid. The decline of day has
+its melancholy affinities with the decline of life. As the evening wore
+on, her loneliness had become harder and harder to endure. She rang for
+the maid, and asked if Miss Minerva was at leisure. Miss Minerva had
+been sent for by Mrs. Gallilee. Where was Zo? In the schoolroom, waiting
+until Mr. Le Frank had done with Maria, to take her turn at the piano.
+Left alone again, Carmina opened her locket, and put Ovid's portrait by
+it on the table. Her sad fancy revived her dead parents--imagined her
+lover being presented to them--saw him winning their hearts by his
+genial voice, his sweet smile, his wise and kindly words. Miss Minerva,
+entering the room, found her still absorbed in her own little melancholy
+daydream; recalling the absent, reviving the dead--as if she had been
+nearing the close of life. And only seventeen years old. Alas for
+Carmina, only seventeen!
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee wishes to see you."
+
+She started. "Is there anything wrong?" she asked.
+
+"No. What makes you think so?"
+
+"You speak in such a strange way. Oh, Frances, I have been longing for
+you to keep me company! And now you are here, you look at me as coldly
+as if I had offended you. Perhaps you are not well?"
+
+"That's it. I am not well."
+
+"Have some of my lavender water! Let me bathe your forehead, and then
+blow on it to cool you this hot weather. No? Sit down, dear, at any
+rate. What does my aunt want with me?"
+
+"I think I had better not tell you."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Your aunt is sure to ask you what I have said. I have tried her temper;
+you know what her temper is! She has sent me here instead of sending a
+maid, on the chance that I may commit some imprudence. I give you her
+message exactly as the servant might have given it--and you can tell her
+so with a safe conscience. No more questions!"
+
+"One more, please. Is it anything about Ovid?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then my aunt can wait a little. Do sit down! I want to speak to you."
+
+"About what?"
+
+"About Ovid, of course!"
+
+Carmina's look and tone at once set Miss Minerva's mind at ease.
+Her conduct, on the day of Ovid's departure, had aroused no jealous
+suspicion in her innocent rival. She refused to take the offered chair.
+
+"I have already told you your aunt is out of temper," she said. "Go to
+her at once."
+
+Carmina rose unwillingly. "There were so many things I wanted to say to
+you," she began--and was interrupted by a rapid little series of knocks
+at the door. Was the person in a hurry? The person proved to be the
+discreet and accomplished Maria. She made her excuses to Carmina with
+sweetness, and turned to Miss Minerva with sorrow.
+
+"I regret to say that you are wanted in the schoolroom. Mr. Le Frank can
+do nothing with Zoe. Oh, dear!" She sighed over her sister's wickedness,
+and waited for instructions.
+
+To be called away, under any circumstances, was a relief to Miss
+Minerva. Carmina's affectionate welcome had irritated her in the most
+incomprehensible manner. She was angry with herself for being irritated;
+she felt inclined to abuse the girl for believing her. "You fool, why
+don't you see through me? Why don't you write to that other fool who
+is in love with you, and tell him how I hate you both?" But for her
+self-command, she might have burst out with such mad words as those.
+Maria's appearance was inexpressibly welcome. "Say I will follow you
+directly," she answered.
+
+Maria, in the language of the stage, made a capital exit. With a few
+hurried words of apology, Miss Minerva prepared to follow. Carmina
+stopped her at the door.
+
+"Don't be hard on Zo!" she said.
+
+"I must do my duty," Miss Minerva answered sternly.
+
+"We were sometimes naughty ourselves when we were children," Carmina
+pleaded. "And only the other day she had bread and water for tea. I am
+so fond of Zo! And besides--" she looked doubtfully at Miss Minerva--"I
+don't think Mr. Le Frank is the sort of man to get on with children."
+
+After what had just passed between Mrs. Gallilee and herself, this
+expression of opinion excited the governess's curiosity. "What makes you
+say that?" she asked.
+
+"Well, my dear, for one thing Mr. Le Frank is so ugly. Don't you agree
+with me?"
+
+"I think you had better keep your opinion to yourself. If he heard of
+it--"
+
+"Is he vain? My poor father used to say that all bad musicians were
+vain."
+
+"You don't call Mr. Le Frank a bad musician?"
+
+"Oh, but I do! I heard him at his concert. Mere execution of the most
+mechanical kind. A musical box is as good as that man's playing. This is
+how he does it!"
+
+Her girlish good spirits had revived in her friend's company. She turned
+gaily to the piano, and amused herself by imitating Mr. Le Frank.
+
+Another knock at the door--a single peremptory knock this time--stopped
+the performance.
+
+Miss Minerva had left the door ajar, when Carmina had prevented her
+from quitting the room. She looked through the open space, and
+discovered--Mr. Le Frank.
+
+His bald head trembled, his florid complexion was livid with suppressed
+rage. "That little devil has run away!" he said--and hurried down the
+stairs again, as if he dare not trust himself to utter a word more.
+
+"Has he heard me?" Carmina asked in dismay.
+
+"He may only have heard you playing."
+
+Offering this hopeful suggestion, Miss Minerva felt no doubt, in her
+own mind, that Mr. Le Frank was perfectly well acquainted with Carmina's
+opinion of him. It was easy enough to understand that he should himself
+inform the governess of an incident, so entirely beyond the reach of his
+own interference as the flight of Zo. But it was impossible to assume
+that the furious anger which his face betrayed, could have been excited
+by a child who had run away from a lesson. No: the vainest of men and
+musicians had heard that he was ugly, and that his pianoforte-playing
+resembled the performance of a musical box.
+
+They left the room together--Carmina, ill at ease, to attend on her
+aunt; Miss Minerva, pondering on what had happened, to find the fugitive
+Zo.
+
+The footman had already spared her the trouble of searching the
+house. He had seen Zo running out bare-headed into the Square, and had
+immediately followed her. The young rebel was locked up. "I don't care,"
+said Zo; "I hate Mr. Le Frank!" Miss Minerva's mind was too seriously
+preoccupied to notice this aggravation of her pupil's offence. One
+subject absorbed her attention--the interview then in progress between
+Carmina and her aunt.
+
+How would Mrs. Gallilee's scheme prosper now? Mr. Le Frank might, or
+might not, consent to be Carmina's teacher. Another result, however, was
+certain. Miss Minerva thoroughly well knew the vindictive nature of the
+man. He neither forgave nor forgot--he was Carmina's enemy for life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+The month of July was near its end.
+
+On the morning of the twenty-eighth, Carmina was engaged in replying to
+a letter received from Teresa. Her answer contained a record of domestic
+events, during an interval of serious importance in her life under Mrs.
+Gallilee's roof. Translated from the Italian, the letter was expressed
+in these terms:
+
+
+"Are you vexed with me, dearest, for this late reply to your sad news
+from Italy? I have but one excuse to offer.
+
+"Can I hear of your anxiety about your husband, and not feel the wish to
+help you to bear your burden by writing cheerfully of myself? Over and
+over again, I have thought of you and have opened my desk. My spirits
+have failed me, and I have shut it up again. Am I now in a happier frame
+of mind? Yes, my good old nurse, I am happier. I have had a letter from
+Ovid.
+
+"He has arrived safely at Quebec, and he is beginning to feel better
+already, after the voyage. You cannot imagine how beautifully, how
+tenderly he writes! I am almost reconciled to his absence, when I
+read his letter. Will that give you some idea of the happiness and the
+consolation that I owe to this best and dearest of men?
+
+"Ah, my old granny, I see you start, and make that favourite mark
+with your thumb-nail under the word 'consolation'! I hear you say to
+yourself, 'Is she unhappy in her English home? And is Aunt Gallilee to
+blame for it?' Yes! it is even so. What I would not for the whole world
+write to Ovid, I may confess to you. Aunt Gallilee is indeed a hard,
+hard woman.
+
+"Do you remember telling me, in your dear downright way, that Mr. Le
+Frank looked like a rogue? I don't know whether he is a rogue--but I do
+know that it is through his conduct that my aunt is offended with me.
+
+"It happened three weeks ago.
+
+"She sent for me, and said that my education must be completed, and that
+my music in particular must be attended to. I was quite willing to obey
+her, and I said so with all needful readiness and respect. She answered
+that she had already chosen a music-master for me--and then, to my
+astonishment, she mentioned his name. Mr. Le Frank, who taught her
+children, was also to teach me! I have plenty of faults, but I really
+think vanity is not one of them. It is only due to my excellent master
+in Italy to say, that I am a better pianoforte player than Mr. Le Frank.
+
+"I never breathed a word of this, mind, to my aunt. It would have been
+ungrateful and useless. She knows and cares nothing about music.
+
+"So we parted good friends, and she wrote the same evening to engage my
+master. The next day she got his reply. Mr. Le Frank refused to be my
+professor of music--and this, after he had himself proposed to teach me,
+in a letter addressed to my aunt! Being asked for his reasons, he made
+an excuse. The spare time at his disposal, when he had written, had been
+since occupied by another pupil. The true reason for his conduct is,
+that he heard me speak of him--rashly enough, I don't deny it--as an
+ugly man and a bad player. Miss Minerva sounded him on the subject,
+at my request, for the purpose of course of making my apologies. He
+affected not to understand what she meant--with what motive I am sure
+I don't know. False and revengeful, you may say, and perhaps you may
+be right. But the serious part of it, so far as I am concerned, is my
+aunt's behaviour to me. If I had thwarted her in the dearest wish of her
+life, she could hardly treat me with greater coldness and severity. She
+has not stirred again, in the matter of my education. We only meet at
+meal-times; and she receives me, when I sit down at table, as she might
+receive a perfect stranger. Her icy civility is unendurable. And this
+woman is my darling Ovid's mother!
+
+"Have I done with my troubles now? No, Teresa; not even yet. Oh, how I
+wish I was with you in Italy!
+
+"Your letters persist in telling me that I am deluded in believing
+Miss Minerva to be truly my friend. Do pray remember--even if I am
+wrong--what a solitary position mine is, in Mrs. Gallilee's house! I can
+play with dear little Zo; but whom can I talk to, whom can I confide in,
+if it turns out that Miss Minerva has been deceiving me?
+
+"When I wrote to you, I refused to acknowledge that any such dreadful
+discovery as this could be possible; I resented the bare idea of it as
+a cruel insult to my friend. Since that time--my face burns with
+shame while I write it--I am a little, just a little, shaken in my own
+opinion.
+
+"Shall I tell you how it began? Yes; I will.
+
+"My good old friend, you have your prejudices. But you speak your mind
+truly--and whom else can I consult? Not Ovid! The one effort of my life
+is to prevent him from feeling anxious about me. And, besides, I have
+contended against his opinion of Miss Minerva, and have brought him to
+think of her more kindly. Has he been right, notwithstanding? and are
+you right? And am I alone wrong? You shall judge for yourself.
+
+"Miss Minerva began to change towards me, after I had done the thing of
+all others which ought to have brought us closer together than ever.
+She is very poorly paid by my aunt, and she has been worried by little
+debts. When she owned this, I most willingly lent her the money to pay
+her bills--a mere trifle, only thirty pounds. What do you think she
+did? She crushed up the bank-notes in her hand, and left the room in the
+strangest headlong manner--as if I had insulted her instead of helping
+her! All the next day, she avoided me. The day after, I myself went
+to her room, and asked what was the matter. She gave me a most
+extraordinary answer. She said, 'I don't know which of us two I most
+detest--myself or you. Myself for borrowing your money, or you for
+lending it.' I left her; not feeling offended, only bewildered and
+distressed. More than an hour passed before she made her excuses. 'I
+am ill and miserable'--that was all she said. She did indeed look so
+wretched that I forgave her directly. Would you not have done so too, in
+my place?
+
+"This happened a fortnight since. Only yesterday, she broke out again,
+and put my affection for her to a far more severe trial. I have not got
+over it yet.
+
+"There was a message for her in Ovid's letter--expressed in the
+friendliest terms. He remembered with gratitude her kind promise, on
+saying good-bye; he believed she would do all that lay in her power to
+make my life happy in his absence; and he only regretted her leaving him
+in such haste that he had no time to thank her personally. Such was
+the substance of the message. I was proud and pleased to go to her room
+myself, and read it to her.
+
+"Can you guess how she received me? Nobody--I say it positively--nobody
+could guess.
+
+"She actually flew into a rage! Not only with me (which I might have
+pardoned), but with Ovid (which is perfectly inexcusable). 'How dare
+he write to _you,'_ she burst out, 'of what I said to him when we took
+leave of each other? And how dare you come here, and read it to me? What
+do I care about your life, in his absence? Of what earthly consequence
+are his remembrance and his gratitude to Me!' She spoke of him, with
+such fury and such contempt, that she roused me at last. I said to her,
+'You abominable woman, there is but one excuse for you--you're mad!' I
+left the room--and didn't I bang the door! We have not met since. Let
+me hear your opinion, Teresa. I was in a passion when I told her she was
+mad; but was I altogether wrong? Do you really think the poor creature
+is in her right senses?
+
+"Looking back at your letter, I see that you ask if I have made any new
+acquaintances.
+
+"I have been introduced to one of the sweetest women I ever met with.
+And who do you think she is? My other aunt--Mrs. Gallilee's younger
+sister, Lady Northlake! They say she was not so handsome as Mrs.
+Gallilee, when they were both young. For my part, I can only declare
+that no such comparison is possible between them now. In look, in voice,
+in manner there is something so charming in Lady Northlake that I quite
+despair of describing it. My father used to say that she was amiable
+and weak; led by her husband, and easily imposed upon. I am not clever
+enough to have his eye for character: and perhaps I am weak and easily
+imposed upon too. Before I had been ten minutes in Lady Northlake's
+company, I would have given everything I possess in the world to have
+had _her_ for my guardian.
+
+"She had called to say good-bye, on leaving London; and my aunt was not
+at home. We had a long delightful talk together. She asked me so kindly
+to visit her in Scotland, and be introduced to Lord Northlake, that I
+accepted the invitation with a glad heart.
+
+"When my aunt returned, I quite forgot that we were on bad terms. I gave
+her an enthusiastic account of all that had passed between her sister
+and myself. How do you think she met this little advance on my part? She
+positively refused to let me go to Scotland.
+
+"As soon as I had in some degree got over my disappointment, I asked
+for her reasons. 'I am your guardian,' she said; 'and I am acting in the
+exercise of my own discretion. I think it better you should stay with
+me.' I made no further remark. My aunt's cruelty made me think of
+my dead father's kindness. It was as much as I could do to keep from
+crying.
+
+"Thinking over it afterwards, I supposed (as this is the season when
+everybody leaves town) that she had arranged to take me into the country
+with her. Mr. Gallilee, who is always good to me, thought so too,
+and promised me some sailing at the sea-side. To the astonishment of
+everybody, she has not shown any intention of going away from London!
+Even the servants ask what it means.
+
+"This is a letter of complaints. Am I adding to your anxieties instead
+of relieving them? My kind old nurse, there is no need to be anxious. At
+the worst of my little troubles, I have only to think of Ovid--and his
+mother's ice melts away from me directly; I feel brave enough to endure
+anything.
+
+"Take my heart's best love, dear--no, next best love, after Ovid!--and
+give some of it to your poor suffering husband. May I ask one little
+favour? The English gentleman who has taken our old house at Rome, will
+not object to give you a few flowers out of what was once my garden.
+Send them to me in your next letter."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+On the twelfth of August, Carmina heard from Ovid again. He wrote from
+Montreal; describing the presentation of that letter of introduction
+which he had once been tempted to destroy. In the consequences that
+followed the presentation--apparently harmless consequences at the
+time--the destinies of Ovid, of Carmina, and of Benjulia proved to be
+seriously involved.
+
+Ovid's letter was thus expressed:
+
+
+"I want to know, my love, if there is any other man in the world who is
+as fond of his darling as I am of you? If such a person exists, and
+if adverse circumstances compel him to travel, I should like to ask a
+question. Is he perpetually calling to mind forgotten things, which he
+ought to have said to his sweetheart before he left her?
+
+"This is my case. Let me give you an instance.
+
+"I have made a new friend here--one Mr. Morphew. Last night, he was so
+kind as to invite me to a musical entertainment at his house. He is a
+medical man; and he amuses himself in his leisure hours by playing
+on that big and dreary member of the family of fiddles, whose name is
+Violoncello. Assisted by friends, he hospitably cools his guests, in the
+hot season, by the amateur performance of quartets. My dear, I passed
+a delightful evening. Listening to the music? Not listening to a single
+note of it. Thinking of You.
+
+"Have I roused your curiosity? I fancy I can see your eyes brighten; I
+fancy I can hear you telling me to go on!
+
+"My thoughts reminded me that music is one of the enjoyments of your
+life. Before I went away, I ought to have remembered this, and to have
+told you that the manager of the autumn concerts at the opera-house is
+an old friend of mine. He will be only too glad to place a box at your
+disposal, on any night when his programme attracts your notice; I have
+already made amends for my forgetfulness, by writing to him by this
+mail. Miss Minerva will be your companion at the theatre. If Mr. Le
+Frank (who is sure to be on the free list) pays you a visit in your box,
+tell him from me to put a wig on his bald head, and to try if _that_
+will make him look like an honest man!
+
+"Did I forget anything else before my departure? Did I tell you how
+precious you are to me? how beautiful you are to me? how entirely
+worthless my life is without you? I dare say I did; but I tell it all
+over again--and, when you are tired of the repetition, you have only to
+let me know.
+
+"In the meanwhile, have I nothing else to say? have I no travelling
+adventures to relate? You insist on hearing of everything that happens
+to me; and you are to have your own way before we are married, as
+well as after. My sweet Carmina, your willing slave has something more
+serious than common travelling adventures to relate--he has a confession
+to make. In plain words, I have been practising my profession again, in
+the city of Montreal!
+
+"I wonder whether you will forgive me, when you are informed of the
+circumstances? It is a sad little story; but I am vain enough to think
+that my part in it will interest you. I have been a vain man, since
+that brightest and best of all possible days when you first made _your_
+confession--when you said that you loved me.
+
+"Look back in my letter, and you will see Mr. Morphew mentioned as a new
+friend of mine, in Canada. I became acquainted with him through a letter
+of introduction, given to me by Benjulia.
+
+"Say nothing to anybody of what I am now going to tell you--and be
+especially careful, if you happen to see him, to keep Benjulia in
+the dark. I sincerely hope you will not see him. He is a hard-hearted
+man--and he might say something which would distress you, if he knew of
+the result which has followed his opening to me the door of his friend's
+house.
+
+"Mr. Morphew is a worthy busy old gentleman, who follows his
+professional routine, and whose medical practice consists principally
+in bringing infant Canadians into the world. His services happened to be
+specially in request, at the time when I made his acquaintance. He was
+called away from his table, on the day after the musical party, when I
+dined with him. I was the only guest--and his wife was left to entertain
+me.
+
+"The good lady began by speaking of Benjulia. She roundly declared him
+to be a brute--and she produced my letter of introduction (closed by the
+doctor's own hand, before he gave it to me) as a proof. Would you like
+to read the letter, too? Here is a copy:--'The man who brings this is an
+overworked surgeon, named Ovid Vere. He wants rest and good air. Don't
+encourage him to use his brains; and give him information enough to take
+him, by the shortest way, to the biggest desert in Canada.' You will
+now understand that I am indebted to myself for the hospitable reception
+which has detained me at Montreal.
+
+"To return to my story. Mr. Morphew's services were again in request,
+ten minutes after he had left the house. This time the patient was a
+man--and the messenger declared that he was at the point of death.
+
+"Mrs. Morphew seemed to be at a loss what to do. 'In this dreadful
+case,' she said, 'death is a mercy. What I cannot bear to think of is
+the poor man's lonely position. In his last moments, there will not be a
+living creature at his bedside.'
+
+"Hearing this, I ventured to make some inquiries. The answers painted
+such a melancholy picture of poverty and suffering, and so vividly
+reminded me of a similar case in my own experience, that I forgot I
+was an invalid myself, and volunteered to visit the dying man in Mr.
+Morphew's place.
+
+"The messenger led me to the poorest quarter of the city and to a garret
+in one of the wretchedest houses in the street. There he lay, without
+anyone to nurse him, on a mattress on the floor. What his malady was,
+you will not ask to know. I will only say that any man but a doctor
+would have run out of the room, the moment he entered it. To save the
+poor creature was impossible. For a few days longer, I could keep pain
+in subjection, and could make death easy when it came.
+
+"At my next visit he was able to speak.
+
+"I discovered that he was a member of my own profession--a mulatto from
+the Southern States of America, by birth. The one fatal event of his
+life had been his marriage. Every worst offence of which a bad woman can
+be guilty, his vile wife had committed--and his infatuated love clung
+to her through it all. She had disgraced and ruined him. Not once, but
+again and again he had forgiven her, under circumstances which degraded
+him in his own estimation, and in the estimation of his best friends. On
+the last occasion when she left him, he had followed her to Montreal.
+In a fit of drunken frenzy, she had freed him from her at last by
+self-destruction. Her death affected his reason. When he was discharged
+from the asylum, he spent his last miserable savings in placing a
+monument over her grave. As long as his strength held out, he made
+daily pilgrimages to the cemetery. And now, when the shadow of death was
+darkening over him, his one motive for clinging to life, his one reason
+for vainly entreating me to cure him, still centred in devotion to the
+memory of his wife. 'Nobody will take care of her grave,' he said, 'when
+I am gone.'
+
+"My love, I have always thought fondly of you. After hearing this
+miserable story, my heart overflowed with gratitude to God for giving me
+Carmina.
+
+"He died yesterday. His last words implored me to have him buried in
+the same grave with the woman who had dishonoured him. Who am I that
+I should judge him? Besides, I shall fulfil his last wishes as a
+thank-offering for You.
+
+"There is still something more to tell.
+
+"On the day before his death he asked me to open an old
+portmanteau--literally, the one thing that he possessed. He had no money
+left, and no clothes. In a corner of the portmanteau there was a roll of
+papers, tied with a piece of string--and that was all.
+
+"I can make you but one return,' he said; 'I give you my book.'
+
+"He was too weak to tell me what the book was about, or to express any
+wish relative to its publication. I am ashamed to say I set no sort of
+value on the manuscript presented to me--except as a memorial of a sad
+incident in my life. Waking earlier than usual this morning, I opened
+and examined my gift for the first time.
+
+"To my amazement, I found myself rewarded a hundredfold for the little
+that I had been able to do. This unhappy man must have been possessed of
+abilities which (under favouring circumstances) would, I don't hesitate
+to say, have ranked him among the greatest physicians of our time. The
+language in which he writes is obscure, and sometimes grammatically
+incorrect. But he, and he alone, has solved a problem in the treatment
+of disease, which has thus far been the despair of medical men
+throughout the whole civilised world.
+
+"If a stranger was looking over my shoulder, he would be inclined to
+say, This curious lover writes to his young lady as if she was a medical
+colleague! We understand each other, Carmina, don't we? My future career
+is an object of interest to my future wife. This poor fellow's gratitude
+has opened new prospects to me; and who will be so glad to hear of it as
+you?
+
+"Before I close my letter, you will expect me to say a word more about
+my health. Sometimes I feel well enough to take my cabin in the
+next vessel that sails for Liverpool. But there are other occasions,
+particularly when I happen to over-exert myself in walking or riding,
+which warn me to be careful and patient. My next journey will take me
+inland, to the mighty plains and forest of this grand country. When I
+have breathed the health-giving air of those regions, I shall be able
+to write definitely of the blessed future day which is to unite us once
+more.
+
+"My mother has, I suppose, given her usual conversazione at the end
+of the season. Let me hear how you like the scientific people at close
+quarters, and let me give you a useful hint. When you meet in society
+with a particularly positive man, who looks as if he was sitting for his
+photograph, you may safely set that man down as a Professor.
+
+"Seriously, I do hope that you and my mother get on well together. You
+say too little of each other in your letters to me, and I am sometimes
+troubled by misgivings. There is another odd circumstance, connected
+with our correspondence, which sets me wondering. I always send messages
+to Miss Minerva; and Miss Minerva never sends any messages back to me.
+Do you forget? or am I an object of perfect indifference to your friend?
+
+"My latest news of you all is from Zo. She has sent me a letter, in
+one of the envelopes that I directed for her when I went away. Miss
+Minerva's hair would stand on end if she could see the blots and the
+spelling. Zo's account of the family circle (turned into intelligible
+English), will I think personally interest you. Here it is, in its own
+Roman brevity--with your pretty name shortened to two syllables: 'Except
+Pa and Car, we are a bad lot at home.' After that, I can add nothing
+that is worth reading.
+
+"Take the kisses, my angel, that I leave for you on the blank morsel
+of paper below, and love me as I love you. There is a world of meaning,
+Carmina, even in those commonplace words. Oh, if I could only go to you
+by the mail steamer, in the place of my letter!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+The answers to Ovid's questions were not to be found in Carmina's reply.
+She had reasons for not mentioning the conversazione; and she shrank
+from writing to him of his mother. Her true position in Mrs. Gallilee's
+house--growing, day by day, harder and harder to endure; threatening,
+more and more plainly, complications and perils to come--was revealed in
+her next letter to her old friend in Italy. She wrote to Teresa in these
+words:
+
+
+"If you love me, forget the inhuman manner in which I have spoken of
+Miss Minerva!
+
+"After I had written to you, I would have recalled my letter, if it
+could have been done. I began, that evening, to feel ashamed of what I
+had said in my anger. As the hours went on, and bedtime approached, I
+became so wretched that I ran the risk of another harsh reception, by
+intruding on her once more. It was a circumstance in my favour that she
+was, to all appearance, in bad spirits too. There was something in her
+voice, when she asked what I wanted, which made me think--though
+she looks like the last person in the world to be guilty of such
+weakness--that she had been crying.
+
+"I gave the best expression I could to my feelings of repentance and
+regret. What I actually said to her, has slipped out of my memory; I
+was frightened and upset--and I am always stupid in that condition. My
+attempt at reconciliation may have been clumsy enough; but she might
+surely have seen that I had no intention to mystify and distress her.
+And yet, what else could she have imagined?--to judge by her own actions
+and words.
+
+"Her bedroom candle was on the table behind me. She snatched it up and
+held it before my face, and looked at me as if I was some extraordinary
+object that she had never seen or heard of before! 'You are little
+better than a child,' she said; 'I have ten times your strength of
+will--what is there in you that I can't resist? Go away from me! Be
+on your guard against me! I am false; I am suspicious; I am cruel. You
+simpleton, have you no instincts to protect you? Is there nothing in you
+that shrinks from me?'
+
+"She put down the candle, and burst into a wretched mocking laugh.
+'There she stands,' cried this strange creature, 'and looks at me with
+the eyes of a baby that sees something new! I can't frighten her. I
+can't disgust her. What does it mean?' She dropped into a chair; her
+voice sank almost to a whisper--I should have thought she was afraid of
+me, if such a thing had been possible. 'What do you know of me, that I
+don't know of myself?' she asked.
+
+"It was quite beyond me to understand what she meant. I took a chair,
+and sat down by her. 'I only know what you said to me yesterday,' I
+answered.
+
+"'What did I say?'
+
+"'You told me you were miserable.'
+
+"'I told you a lie! Believe what I have said to you to-day. In your own
+interests, believe it to be the truth!'
+
+"Nothing would induce me to believe it. 'No,' I said. 'You were
+miserable yesterday, and you are miserable to-day. _That_ is the truth!'
+
+"What put my next bold words into my head, I don't know. It doesn't
+matter; the thought was in me--and out it came.
+
+"'I think you have some burden on your mind,' I went on. 'If I can't
+relieve you of it, perhaps I can help you bear it. Come! tell me what
+it is.' I waited; but it was of no use--she never even looked at me.
+Because I am in love myself, do I think everybody else is like me?
+I thought she blushed. I don't know what else I thought. 'Are you in
+love?' I asked.
+
+"She jumped up from her chair, so suddenly and so violently that she
+threw it on the floor. Still, not a word passed her lips. I found
+courage enough to go on--but not courage enough to look at her.
+
+"'I love Ovid, and Ovid loves me,' I said. 'There is my consolation,
+whatever my troubles may be. Are you not so fortunate?' A dreadful
+expression of pain passed over her face. How could I see it, and not
+feel the wish to sympathise with her? I ran the risk, and said, 'Do you
+love somebody, who doesn't love you?'
+
+"She turned her back on me, and went to the toilet-table. I think she
+looked at herself in the glass. 'Well,' she said, speaking to me at
+last, 'what else?'
+
+"'Nothing else,' I answered--'except that I hope I have not offended
+you.'
+
+"She left the glass as suddenly as she had approached it, and took up
+the candle again. Once more she held it so that it lit my face.
+
+"'Guess who he is,' she said.
+
+"'How can I do that?' I asked.
+
+"She quietly put down the candle again. In some way, quite
+incomprehensible to myself, I seemed to have relieved her. She spoke to
+me in a changed voice, gently and sadly.
+
+"You are the best of good girls, and you mean kindly. It's of no
+use--you can do nothing. Forgive my insolence yesterday; I was mad with
+envy of your happy marriage engagement. You don't understand such a
+nature as mine. So much the better! ah, so much the better! Good-night!'
+
+"There was such hopeless submission, such patient suffering, in those
+words, that I could not find it in my heart to leave her. I thought of
+how I might have behaved, of the wild things I might have said, if Ovid
+had cared nothing for me. Had some cruel man forsaken her? That was
+_her_ secret. I asked myself what I could do to encourage her. Your last
+letter, with our old priest's enclosure, was in my pocket. I took it
+out.
+
+"'Would you mind reading a short letter,' I said, 'before we wish each
+other goodnight?' I held out the priest's letter.
+
+"She drew back with a dark look; she appeared to have some suspicion of
+it. 'Who is the writer?' she inquired sharply.
+
+"'A person who is a stranger to you.'
+
+"Her face cleared directly. She took the letter from me, and waited to
+hear what I had to say next. 'The person,' I told her, 'is a wise and
+good old man--the priest who married my father and mother, and baptised
+me. We all of us used to consult Father Patrizio, when we wanted advice.
+My nurse Teresa felt anxious about me in Ovid's absence; she spoke to
+him about my marriage engagement, and of my exile--forgive me for using
+the word!--in this house. He said he would consider, before he gave her
+his opinion. The next day, he sent her the letter which you have got in
+your hand.'
+
+"There, I came to a full stop; having something yet to say, but not
+knowing how to express myself with the necessary delicacy.
+
+"'Why do you wish me to read the letter?' she asked, quietly.
+
+"I think there is something in it which might--.'
+
+"There, like a fool, I came to another full stop. She was as patient as
+ever; she only made a little sign to me to go on.
+
+"'I think Father Patrizio's letter might put you in a better frame of
+mind,' I said; 'it might keep you from despising yourself.'
+
+"She went back to her chair, and read the letter. You have permitted
+me to keep the comforting words of the good Father, among my other
+treasures. I copy his letter for you in this place--so that you may read
+it again, and see what I had in my mind, and understand how it affected
+poor Miss Minerva.
+
+"'Teresa, my well-beloved friend,--I have considered the anxieties that
+trouble you, with this result: that I can do my best, conscientiously,
+to quiet your mind. I have had the experience of forty years in the
+duties of the priesthood. In that long time, the innermost secrets of
+thousands of men and women have been confided to me. From such means of
+observation, I have drawn many useful conclusions; and some of them may
+be also useful to you. I will put what I have to say, in the plainest
+and fewest words: consider them carefully, on your side. The growth of
+the better nature, in women, is perfected by one influence--and that
+influence is Love. Are you surprised that a priest should write in this
+way? Did you expect me to say, Religion? Love, my sister, _is_ Religion,
+in women. It opens their hearts to all that is good for them; and it
+acts independently of the conditions of human happiness. A miserable
+woman, tormented by hopeless love, is still the better and the nobler
+for that love; and a time will surely come when she will show it. You
+have fears for Carmina--cast away, poor soul, among strangers with hard
+hearts! I tell you to have no fears. She may suffer under trials; she
+may sink under trials. But the strength to rise again is in her--and
+that strength is Love.'
+
+"Having read our old friend's letter, Miss Minerva turned back, and read
+it again--and waited a little, repeating some part of it to herself.
+
+"'Does it encourage you?' I asked.
+
+"She handed the letter back to me. 'I have got one sentence in it by
+heart,' she said.
+
+"You will know what that sentence is, without my telling you. I felt
+so relieved, when I saw the change in her for the better--I was so
+inexpressibly happy in the conviction that we were as good friends again
+as ever--that I bent down to kiss her, on saying goodnight.
+
+"She put up her hand and stopped me. 'No,' she said, 'not till I have
+done something to deserve it. You are more in need of help than you
+think. Stay here a little longer; I have a word to say to you about your
+aunt.'
+
+"I returned to my chair, feeling a little startled. Her eyes rested on
+me absently--she was, as I imagined, considering with herself, before
+she spoke. I refrained from interrupting her thoughts. The night was
+still and dark. Not a sound reached our ears from without. In the house,
+the silence was softly broken by a rustling movement on the stairs. It
+came nearer. The door was opened suddenly. Mrs. Gallilee entered the
+room.
+
+"What folly possessed me? Why was I frightened? I really could not help
+it--I screamed. My aunt walked straight up to me, without taking the
+smallest notice of Miss Minerva. 'What are you doing here, when you
+ought to be in your bed?' she asked.
+
+"She spoke in such an imperative manner--with such authority and such
+contempt--that I looked at her in astonishment. Some suspicion seemed to
+be roused in her by finding me and Miss Minerva together.
+
+"No more gossip!' she called out sternly. 'Do you hear me? Go to bed!'
+
+"Was it not enough to rouse anybody? I felt my pride burning in my face.
+'Am I a child, or a servant?' I said. 'I shall go to bed early or late
+as I please.'
+
+"She took one step forward; she seized me by the arm, and forced me to
+my feet. Think of it, Teresa! In all my life I have never had a hand
+laid on me except in kindness. Who knows it better than you! I tried
+vainly to speak--I saw Miss Minerva rise to interfere--I heard her say,
+'Mrs. Gallilee, you forget yourself!' Somehow, I got out of the room. On
+the landing, a dreadful fit of trembling shook me from head to foot. I
+sank down on the stairs. At first, I thought I was going to faint. No;
+I shook and shivered, but I kept my senses. I could hear their voices in
+the room.
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee began. 'Did you tell me just now that I had forgotten
+myself?'
+
+"Miss Minerva answered, 'Certainly, madam. You _did_ forget yourself.'
+
+"The next words escaped me. After that, they grew louder; and I heard
+them again--my aunt first.
+
+"'I am dissatisfied with your manner to me, Miss Minerva. It has
+latterly altered very much for the worse.'
+
+"'In what respect, Mrs. Gallilee?'
+
+"'In this respect. Your way of speaking to me implies an assertion of
+equality--'
+
+"'Stop a minute, madam! I am not so rich as you are. But I am at a
+loss to know in what other way I am not your equal. Did you assert
+your superiority--may I ask--when you came into my room without first
+knocking at the door?'
+
+"'Miss Minerva! Do you wish to remain in my service?'
+
+"'Say employment, Mrs. Gallilee--if you please. I am quite indifferent
+in the matter. I am equally ready, at your entire convenience, to stay
+or to go.'
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee's voice sounded nearer, as if she was approaching the
+door. 'I think we arranged,' she said, 'that there was to be a month's
+notice on either side, when I first engaged you?'
+
+"'Yes--at my suggestion.'
+
+"'Take your month's notice, if you please.'
+
+"'Dating from to-morrow?'
+
+"'Of course!'
+
+"My aunt came out, and found me on the stairs. I tried to rise. It was
+not to be done. My head turned giddy. She must have seen that I was
+quite prostrate--and yet she took no notice of the state I was in.
+Cruel, cruel creature! she accused me of listening.
+
+"'Can't you see that the poor girl is ill?'
+
+"It was Miss Minerva's voice. I looked round at her, feeling fainter and
+fainter. She stooped; I felt her strong sinewy arms round me; she
+lifted me gently. 'I'll take care of you,' she whispered--and carried me
+downstairs to my room, as easily as if I had been a child.
+
+"I must rest, Teresa. The remembrance of that dreadful night brings it
+all back again. Don't be anxious about me, my old dear! You shall hear
+more to-morrow."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+On the next day events happened, the influence of which upon Carmina's
+excitable nature urged her to complete her unfinished letter, without
+taking the rest that she needed. Once more--and, as the result proved,
+for the last time--she wrote to her faithful old friend in these words:
+
+
+"Don't ask me to tell you how the night passed! Miss Minerva was the
+first person who came to me in the morning.
+
+"She had barely said a few kind words, when Maria interrupted us,
+reminding her governess of the morning's lessons. 'Mrs. Gallilee has
+sent her,' Miss Minerva whispered; 'I will return to you in the hour
+before the children's dinner.'
+
+"The next person who appeared was, as we had both anticipated, Mrs.
+Gallilee herself.
+
+"She brought me a cup of tea; and the first words she spoke were words
+of apology for her conduct on the previous night. Her excuse was
+that she had been 'harassed by anxieties which completely upset her.'
+And--can you believe it?--she implored me not to mention 'the little
+misunderstanding between us when I next wrote to her son!' Is this woman
+made of iron and stone, instead of flesh and blood? Does she really
+think me such a wretch as to cause Ovid, under any provocation, a
+moment's anxiety while he is away? The fewest words that would satisfy
+her, and so send her out of my room, were the only words I said.
+
+"After this, an agreeable surprise was in store for me. The familiar
+voice of good Mr. Gallilee applied for admission--through the keyhole!
+
+"'Are you asleep, my dear? May I come in?' His kind, fat old face peeped
+round the door when I said Yes--and reminded me of Zo, at dinner,
+when she asks for more pudding, and doesn't think she will get it. Mr.
+Gallilee had something to ask for, and some doubt of getting it, which
+accounted for the resemblance. 'I've taken the liberty, Carmina, of
+sending for our doctor. You're a delicate plant, my dear--' (Here,
+his face disappeared and he spoke to somebody outside)--'You think
+so yourself, don't you, Mr. Null? And you have a family of daughters,
+haven't you?' (His face appeared again; more like Zo than ever.) 'Do
+please see him, my child; I'm not easy about you. I was on the stairs
+last night--nobody ever notices me, do they, Mr. Null?--and I saw Miss
+Minerva--good creature, and, Lord, how strong!--carrying you to your
+bed. Mr. Null's waiting outside. Don't distress me by saying No!'
+
+"Is there anybody cruel enough to distress Mr. Gallilee? The doctor came
+in--looking like a clergyman; dressed all in black, with a beautiful
+frill to his shirt, and a spotless white cravat. He stared hard at me;
+he produced a little glass-tube; he gave it a shake, and put it under
+my arm; he took it away again, and consulted it; he said, 'Aha!' he
+approved of my tongue; he disliked my pulse; he gave his opinion at
+last. 'Perfect quiet. I must see Mrs. Gallilee.' And there was an end of
+it.
+
+"Mr. Gallilee observed the medical proceedings with awe. 'Mr. Null is a
+wonderful man,' he whispered, before he followed the doctor out. Ill and
+wretched as I was, this little interruption amused me. I wonder why I
+write about it here? There are serious things waiting to be told--am I
+weakly putting them off?
+
+"Miss Minerva came back to me as she had promised. 'It is well,' she
+said gravely, 'that the doctor has been to see you.'
+
+"I asked if the doctor thought me very ill.
+
+"He thinks you have narrowly escaped a nervous fever; and he has given
+some positive orders. One of them is that your slightest wishes are to
+be humoured. If he had not said that, Mrs. Gallilee would have prevented
+me from seeing you. She has been obliged to give way; and she hates
+me--almost as bitterly, Carmina, as she hates you.'
+
+"This called to my mind the interruption of the previous night, when
+Miss Minerva had something important to tell me. When I asked what it
+was, she shook her head, and said painful subjects of conversation were
+not fit subjects in my present state.
+
+"Need I add that I insisted on hearing what she had to say? Oh, how
+completely my poor father must have been deceived, when he made his
+horrible sister my guardian! If I had not fortunately offended the
+music-master, she would have used Mr. Le Frank as a means of making Ovid
+jealous, and of sowing the seeds of dissension between us. Having failed
+so far, she is (as Miss Minerva thinks) at a loss to discover any other
+means of gaining her wicked ends. Her rage at finding herself baffled
+seems to account for her furious conduct, when she discovered me in Miss
+Minerva's room.
+
+"You will ask, as I did, what has she to gain by this wicked plotting
+and contriving, with its shocking accompaniments of malice and anger?
+
+"Miss Minerva answered, 'I still believe that money is the motive. Her
+son is mistaken about her; her friends are mistaken; they think she is
+fond of money--the truer conclusion is, she is short of money. There is
+the secret of the hard bargains she drives, and the mercenary opinions
+she holds. I don't doubt that her income would be enough for most other
+women in her position. It is not enough for a woman who is jealous of
+her rich sister's place in the world. Wait a little, and you will see
+that I am not talking at random. You were present at the grand party she
+gave some week's since?'
+
+"'I wish I had stayed in my own room,' I said. 'Mrs. Gallilee was
+offended with me for not admiring her scientific friends. With one
+or two exceptions, they talked of nothing but themselves and their
+discoveries--and, oh, dear, how ugly they were!'
+
+"'Never mind that now, Carmina. Did you notice the profusion of
+splendid flowers, in the hall and on the staircase, as well as in the
+reception-rooms?'
+
+"'Yes.'
+
+"'Did you observe--no, you are a young girl--did you hear any of the
+gentlemen, in the supper-room, expressing their admiration of the
+luxuries provided for the guests, the exquisite French cookery and the
+delicious wine? Why was all the money which these things cost spent in
+one evening? Because Lady Northlake's parties must be matched by Mrs.
+Gallilee's parties. Lady Northlake lives in a fashionable neighbourhood
+in London, and has splendid carriages and horses. This is a fashionable
+neighbourhood. Judge what this house costs, and the carriages and
+horses, when I tell you that the rent of the stables alone is over a
+hundred pounds a year. Lady Northlake has a superb place in Scotland.
+Mrs. Gallilee is not able to rival her sister in that respect--but she
+has her marine villa in the Isle of Wight. When Mr. Gallilee said you
+should have some sailing this autumn, did you think he meant that
+he would hire a boat? He referred to the yacht, which is part of the
+establishment at the sea-side. Lady Northlake goes yachting with her
+husband; and Mrs. Gallilee goes yachting with her husband. Do you know
+what it costs, when the first milliner in Paris supplies English ladies
+with dresses? That milliner's lowest charge for a dress which Mrs.
+Gallilee would despise--ordinary material, my dear, and imitation
+lace--is forty pounds. Think a little--and even your inexperience
+will see that the mistress of this house is spending more than she can
+afford, and is likely (unless she has resources that we know nothing
+about) to be, sooner or later, in serious need of money.'
+
+"This was a new revelation to me, and it altered my opinion of course.
+But I still failed to see what Mrs. Gallilee's extravagances had to
+do with her wicked resolution to prevent Ovid from marrying me. Miss
+Minerva's only answer to this was to tell me to write to Mr. Mool, while
+I had the chance, and ask for a copy of my father's Will. 'I will take
+the letter to him,' she said, 'and bring the reply myself. It will save
+time, if it does nothing else.' The letter was written in a minute. Just
+as she took it from me, the parlour-maid announced that the early dinner
+was ready.
+
+"Two hours later, the reply was in my hands. The old father had taken
+Maria and Zo for their walk; and Miss Minerva had left the house by
+herself--sending word to Mrs. Gallilee that she was obliged to go out on
+business of her own.
+
+"'Did Mrs. Gallilee see you come in?' I asked.
+
+"'Yes. She was watching for me, no doubt.'
+
+"Did she see you go upstairs to my room?'
+
+"'Yes.'
+
+"'And said nothing?'
+
+"'Nothing.'
+
+"We looked at each other; both of us feeling the same doubt of how the
+day would end. Miss Minerva pointed impatiently to the lawyer's reply. I
+opened it.
+
+"Mr. Mool's letter was very kind, but quite incomprehensible in the
+latter part of it. After referring me to his private residence, in case
+I wished to consult him personally later in the day, he mentioned some
+proceeding, called 'proving the Will,' and some strange place called
+'Doctors' Commons.' However, there was the copy of the Will, and that
+was all we wanted.
+
+"I began reading it. How I pitied the unfortunate men who have to learn
+the law! My dear Teresa, I might as well have tried to read an unknown
+tongue. The strange words, the perpetual repetitions, the absence of
+stops, utterly bewildered me. I handed the copy to Miss Minerva. Instead
+of beginning on the first page, as I had done, she turned to the last.
+With what breathless interest I watched her face! First, I saw that she
+understood what she was reading. Then, after a while, she turned pale.
+And then, she lifted her eyes to me. 'Don't be frightened,' she said.
+
+"But I was frightened. My ignorant imagination pictured some dreadful
+unknown power given to Mrs. Gallilee by the Will. 'What can my aunt do
+to me?' I asked.
+
+"Miss Minerva composed me--without concealing the truth. 'In her
+position, Carmina, and with her intensely cold and selfish nature, there
+is no fear of her attempting to reach her ends by violent means.
+Your happiness may be in danger--and that prospect, God knows, is bad
+enough.'
+
+"When she talked of my happiness, I naturally thought of Ovid. I asked
+if there was anything about him in the Will.
+
+"It was no doubt a stupid thing to say at such a time; and it seemed to
+annoy her. 'You are the only person concerned,' she answered sharply.
+'It is Mrs. Gallilee's interest that you shall never be her son's wife,
+or any man's wife. If she can have her way, you will live and die an
+unmarried woman.'
+
+"This did me good: it made me angry. I began to feel like myself again.
+I said, 'Please let me hear the rest of it.'
+
+"Miss Minerva first patiently explained to me what she had read in
+the Will. She then returned to the subject of my aunt's extravagance;
+speaking from experience of what had happened in her own family. 'If
+Mrs. Gallilee borrows money,' she said, 'her husband will, in all
+probability, have to repay the loan. And, if borrowings go on in that
+way, Maria and Zoe will be left wretchedly provided for, in comparison
+with Lady Northlake's daughters. A fine large fortune would wonderfully
+improve these doubtful prospects--can you guess, Carmina, where it is
+to come from?' I could easily guess, now I understood the Will. My good
+Teresa, if I die without leaving children, the fine large fortune comes
+from Me.
+
+"You see it all now--don't you? After I had thanked Miss Minerva, turned
+away my head on the pillow overpowered by disgust.
+
+"The clock in the hall struck the hour of the children's tea. Miss
+Minerva would be wanted immediately. At parting, she kissed me. 'There
+is the kiss that you meant to give me last night,' she said. 'Don't
+despair of yourself. I am to be in the house for a month longer; and I
+am a match for Mrs. Gallilee. We will say no more now. Compose yourself,
+and try to sleep.'
+
+"She went away to her duties. Sleep was out of the question. My
+attention wandered when I tried to read. Doing nothing meant, in other
+words, thinking of what had happened. If you had come into my room, I
+should have told you all about it. The next best thing was to talk to
+you in this way. You don't know what a relief it has been to me to write
+these lines."
+
+
+"The night has come, and Mrs. Gallilee's cruelty has at last proved too
+much even for my endurance.
+
+"Try not to be surprised; try not to be alarmed. If my mind to-morrow is
+the same as my mind to-night, I shall attempt to make my escape. I shall
+take refuge with Lady Northlake.
+
+"Oh, if I could go to Ovid! But he is travelling in the deserts of
+Canada. Until his return to the coast, I can only write to him to the
+care of his bankers at Quebec. I should not know where to find him, when
+I arrived; and what a dreadful meeting--if I did find him--to be obliged
+to acknowledge that it is his mother who has driven me away! There will
+be nothing to alarm him, if I go to his mother's sister. If you could
+see Lady Northlake, you would feel as sure as I do that she will take my
+part.
+
+"After writing to you, I must have fallen asleep. It was quite dark,
+when I was awakened by the striking of a match in my room. I looked
+round, expecting to see Miss Minerva. The person lighting my candle was
+Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+"She poured out the composing medicine which Mr. Null had ordered for
+me. I took it in silence. She sat down by the bedside.
+
+"'My child,' she began, 'we are friends again now. You bear no malice, I
+am sure.'
+
+"Distrust still kept me silent. I remembered that she had watched for
+Miss Minerva's return, and that she had seen Miss Minerva go up to my
+room. The idea that she meant to be revenged on us both for having our
+secrets, and keeping them from her knowledge, took complete possession
+of my mind.
+
+"'Are you feeling better?' she asked.
+
+"'Yes.'
+
+"'Is there anything I can get for you?'
+
+"'Not now--thank you.'
+
+"'Would you like to see Mr. Null again, before to-morrow?'
+
+"'Oh, no!'
+
+"These were ungraciously short replies--but it cost me an effort
+to speak to her at all. She showed no signs of taking offence; she
+proceeded as smoothly as ever.
+
+"My dear Carmina, I have my faults of temper; and, with such pursuits as
+mine, I am not perhaps a sympathetic companion for a young girl. But
+I hope you believe that it is my duty and my pleasure to be a second
+mother to you?'
+
+"Yes; she did really say that! Whether I was only angry, or whether I
+was getting hysterical, I don't know. I began to feel an oppression in
+my breathing that almost choked me. There are two windows in my room,
+and one of them only was open. I was obliged to ask her to open the
+other.
+
+"She did it; she came back, and fanned me. I submitted as long as I
+could--and then I begged her not to trouble herself any longer. She put
+down the fan, and went on with what she had to say.
+
+"'I wish to speak to you about Miss Minerva. You are aware that I gave
+her notice, last night, to leave her situation. For your sake, I regret
+that I did not take this step before you came to England.'
+
+"My confidence in myself returned when I heard Miss Minerva spoken of in
+this way. I said at once that I considered her to be one of my best and
+truest friends.
+
+"'My dear child, that is exactly what I lament! This person has
+insinuated herself into your confidence--and she is utterly unworthy of
+it.'
+
+"Could I let those abominable words pass in silence? 'Mrs. Gallilee!' I
+said, 'you are cruelly wronging a woman whom I love and respect!'
+
+"'Mrs. Gallilee?' she repeated. 'Do I owe it to Miss Minerva that you
+have left off calling me Aunt? Your obstinacy, Carmina, leaves me no
+alternative but to speak out. If I had done my duty, I ought to have
+said long since, what I am going to say now. You are putting your trust
+in the bitterest enemy you have; an enemy who secretly hates you with
+the unforgiving hatred of a rival!'
+
+"Look back at my letter, describing what passed between Miss Minerva and
+me, when I went to her room; and you will know what I felt on hearing
+her spoken of as 'a rival.' My sense of justice refused to believe it.
+But, oh, my dear old nurse, there was some deeper sense in me that said,
+as if in words, It is true!
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee went on, without mercy.
+
+"'I know her thoroughly; I have looked into her false heart. Nobody has
+discovered her but me. Charge her with it, if you like; and let her deny
+it if she dare. Miss Minerva is secretly in love with my son.'
+
+"She got up. Her object was gained: she was even with me, and with the
+woman who had befriended me, at last.
+
+"'Lie down in your bed again,' she said, 'and think over what I have
+told you. In your own interests, think over it well.'
+
+"I was left alone.
+
+"Shall I tell you what saved me from sinking under the shock?
+Ovid--thousands and thousands of miles away--Ovid saved me.
+
+"I love him with all my heart and soul; and I do firmly believe that
+I know him better than I know myself. If his mother had betrayed Miss
+Minerva to him, as she has betrayed her to me, that unhappy woman would
+have had his truest pity. I am as certain of this, as I am that I see
+the moon, while I write, shining on my bed. Ovid would have pitied her.
+And I pitied her.
+
+"I wrote the lines that follow, and sent them to her by the maid. In the
+fear that she might mistake my motives, and think me angry and
+jealous, I addressed her with my former familiarity by her christian
+name:--"'Last night, Frances, I ventured to ask if you loved some one
+who did not love you. And you answered by saying to me, Guess who he is.
+My aunt has just told me that he is her son. Has she spoken the truth?'
+
+"I am now waiting to receive Miss Minerva's reply.
+
+"For the first time since I have been in the house, my door is locked. I
+cannot, and will not, see Mrs. Gallilee again. All her former cruelties
+are, as I feel it, nothing to the cruelty of her coming here when I am
+ill, and saying to me what she has said.
+
+"The weary time passes, and still there is no reply. Is Frances angry?
+or is she hesitating how to answer me--personally or by writing? No! she
+has too much delicacy of feeling to answer in her own person.
+
+"I have only done her justice. The maid has just asked me to open the
+door. I have got my answer. Read it."
+
+
+"'Mrs. Gallilee has spoken the truth.
+
+"'How I can have betrayed myself so that she has discovered my miserable
+secret is more than I can tell I will not own it to her or to any living
+creature but yourself. Undeserving as I am, I know that I can trust you.
+
+"It is needless to dwell at any length on this confession. Many things
+in my conduct, which must have perplexed you, will explain themselves
+flow. There has been, however, one concealment on my part, which it is
+due to you that I should acknowledge.
+
+"'If Mrs. Gallilee had taken me into her confidence, I confess that my
+jealousy would have degraded me into becoming her accomplice. As things
+were, I was too angry and too cunning to let her make use of me without
+trusting me.
+
+"'There are other acts of deceit which I ought to acknowledge--if I
+could summon composure enough to write about them. Better to say at
+once--I am not worthy of your pardon, not worthy even of your pity.
+
+"'With the same sincerity, I warn you that the wickedness in me, on
+which Mrs. Gallilee calculated, may be in me still. The influence of
+your higher and better nature--helped perhaps by that other influence
+of which the old priest spoke in his letter--has opened my heart to
+tenderness and penitence of which I never believed myself capable: has
+brought the burning tears into my eyes which make it a hard task to
+write to you. All this I know, and yet I dare not believe in myself.
+It is useless to deny it, Carmina--I love him. Even now, when you have
+found me out, I love him. Don't trust me. Oh, God, what torture it is to
+write it--but I do write it, I _will_ write it--don't trust me!
+
+"'One thing I may say for myself. I know the utter hopelessness of that
+love which I have acknowledged. I know that he returns your love, and
+will never return mine. So let it be.
+
+"'I am not young; I have no right to comfort myself with hopes that I
+know to be vain. If one of us is to suffer, let it be that one who is
+used to suffering. I have never been the darling of my parents, like
+you; I have not been used at home to the kindness and the love that
+you remember. A life without sweetness and joy has well fitted me for a
+loveless future. And, besides, you are worthy of him, and I am not. Mrs.
+Gallilee is wrong, Carmina, if she thinks I am your rival. I am not your
+rival; I never can be your rival. Believe nothing else, but, for God's
+sake, believe that!
+
+"'I have no more to say--at least no more that I can remember now.
+Perhaps, you shrink from remaining in the same house with me? Let me
+know it, and I shall be ready--I might almost say, glad--to go.'"
+
+
+"Have you read her letter, Teresa? Am I wrong in feeling that this poor
+wounded heart has surely some claim on me? If I _am_ wrong, oh, what am
+I to do? what am I to do?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+The last lines addressed by Carmina to her old nurse were completed on
+the seventeenth of August, and were posted that night.
+
+The day that followed was memorable to Carmina, and memorable to Mrs.
+Gallilee. Doctor Benjulia had his reasons also for remembering the
+eighteenth of August.
+
+Still in search of a means to undermine the confidence which united Ovid
+and Carmina, and still calling on her invention in vain, Mrs. Gallilee
+had passed a sleepless night. Her maid, entering the room at the usual
+hour, was ordered to leave her in bed, and not to return until the bell
+rang. On ordinary occasions, Mrs. Gallilee was up in time to receive the
+letters arriving by the first delivery; the correspondence of the other
+members of the household being sorted by her own hands, before it was
+distributed by the servant. On this particular morning (after sleeping
+a little through sheer exhaustion), she entered the empty breakfast-room
+two hours later than usual. The letters waiting for her were addressed
+only to herself. She rang for the maid.
+
+"Any other letters this morning?" she asked.
+
+"Two, for my master."
+
+"No more than that!"
+
+"Nothing more, ma'am--except a telegram for Miss Carmina."
+
+"When did it come?"
+
+"Soon after the letters."
+
+"Have you given it to her?"
+
+"Being a telegram, ma'am, I thought I ought to take it to Miss Carmina
+at once."
+
+"Quite right. You can go."
+
+A telegram for Carmina? Was there some private correspondence going on?
+And were the interests involved too important to wait for the ordinary
+means of communication by post? Considering these questions, Mrs.
+Gallilee poured out a cup of tea and looked over her letters.
+
+Only one of them especially attracted her notice in her present frame of
+mind. The writer was Benjulia. He dispensed as usual with the customary
+forms of address.
+
+"I have had a letter about Ovid, from a friend of mine in Canada.
+There is an allusion to him of the complimentary sort, which I don't
+altogether understand. I want to ask you about it--but I can't spare the
+time to go a-visiting. So much the better for me--I hate conversation,
+and I like work. You have got your carriage--and your fine friends
+are out of town. If you want a drive, come to me, and bring your last
+letters from Ovid with you."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee decided on considering this characteristic proposal later
+in the day. Her first and foremost interest took her upstairs to her
+niece's room.
+
+Carmina had left her bed. Robed in her white dressing-gown, she lay on
+the sofa in the sitting-room. When her aunt came in, she started and
+shuddered Those signs of nervous aversion escaped the notice of Mrs.
+Gallilee. Her attention had been at once attracted by a travelling bag,
+opened as if in preparation for packing. The telegram lay on Carmina's
+lap. The significant connection between those two objects asserted
+itself plainly. But it was exactly the opposite of the connection
+suspected by Mrs. Gallilee. The telegram had prevented Carmina from
+leaving the house.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee paved the way for the necessary investigation, by making
+a few common-place inquiries. How had Carmina passed the night? Had the
+maid taken care of her at breakfast-time? Was there anything that her
+aunt could do for her? Carmina replied with a reluctance which she was
+unable to conceal. Mrs. Gallilee passed over the cold reception accorded
+to her without remark, and pointed with a bland smile to the telegram.
+
+"No bad news, I hope?"
+
+Carmina handed the telegram silently to her aunt. The change of
+circumstances which the arrival of the message had produced, made
+concealment superfluous. Mrs. Gallilee opened the telegram, keeping her
+suspicions in reserve. It had been sent from Rome by the old foreign
+woman, named "Teresa," and it contained these words:
+
+"My husband died this morning. Expect me in London from day to day."
+
+"Why is this person coming to London?" Mrs. Gallilee inquired.
+
+Stung by the insolent composure of that question, Carmina answered
+sharply, "Her name is on the telegram; you ought to know!"
+
+"Indeed?" said Mrs. Gallilee. "Perhaps, she likes London?"
+
+"She hates London! You have had her in the house; you have seen us
+together. Now she has lost her husband, do you think she can live apart
+from the one person in the world whom she loves best?"
+
+"My dear, these matters of mere sentiment escape my notice," Mrs.
+Gallilee rejoined. "It's an expensive journey from Italy to England.
+What was her husband?"
+
+"Her husband was foreman in a manufactory till his health failed him."
+
+"And then," Mrs. Gallilee concluded, "the money failed him, of course.
+What did he manufacture?"
+
+"Artists' colours."
+
+"Oh! an artists' colourman? Not a very lucrative business, I should
+think. Has his widow any resources of her own?"
+
+"My purse is hers!"
+
+"Very generous, I am sure! Even the humblest lodgings are dear in this
+neighbourhood. However--with your assistance--your old servant may be
+able to live somewhere near you."
+
+Having settled the question of Teresa's life in London in this way,
+Mrs. Gallilee returned to the prime object of her suspicion--she took
+possession of the travelling bag.
+
+Carmina looked at her with the submission of utter bewilderment. Teresa
+had been the companion of her life; Teresa had been received as her
+attendant, when she was first established under her aunt's roof. She had
+assumed that her nurse would become a member of the household again, as
+a matter of course. With Teresa to encourage her, she had summoned the
+resolution to live with Ovid's mother, until Ovid came back. And now she
+had been informed, in words too plain to be mistaken, that Teresa
+must find a home for herself when she returned to London! Surprise,
+disappointment, indignation held Carmina speechless.
+
+"This thing," Mrs. Gallilee proceeded, holding up the bag, "will only be
+in your way here. I will have it put with our own bags and boxes, in
+the lumber-room. And, by-the-bye, I fancy you don't quite understand
+(naturally enough, at your age) our relative positions in this house.
+My child, the authority of your late father is the authority which
+your guardian holds over you. I hope never to be obliged to exercise
+it--especially, if you will be good enough to remember two things. I
+expect you to consult me in your choice of companions; and to wait for
+my approval before you make arrangements which--well! let us say, which
+require the bag to be removed from the lumber-room."
+
+Without waiting for a reply, she turned to the door. After opening it,
+she paused--and looked back into the room.
+
+"Have you thought of what I told you, last night?" she asked.
+
+Sorely as they had been tried, Carmina's energies rallied at this. "I
+have done my best to forget it!" she answered.
+
+"At Miss Minerva's request?"
+
+Carmina took no notice of the question.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee persisted. "Have you had any communication with that
+person?"
+
+There was still no reply. Preserving her temper, Mrs. Gallilee stepped
+out on the landing, and called to Miss Minerva. The governess answered
+from the upper floor.
+
+"Please come down here," said Mrs. Galilee.
+
+Miss Minerva obeyed. Her face was paler than usual; her eyes had lost
+something of their piercing brightness. She stopped outside Carmina's
+door. Mrs. Gallilee requested her to enter the room.
+
+After an instant--only an instant--of hesitation, Miss Minerva crossed
+the threshold. She cast one quick glance at Carmina, and lowered her
+eyes before the look could be returned. Mrs. Gallilee discovered no mute
+signs of an understanding between them. She turned to the governess.
+
+"Have you been here already this morning?" she inquired.
+
+"No."
+
+"Is there some coolness between you and my niece?"
+
+"None, madam, that I know of."
+
+"Then, why don't you speak to her when you come into the room?"
+
+"Miss Carmina has been ill. I see her resting on the sofa--and I am
+unwilling to disturb her."
+
+"Not even by saying good-morning?"
+
+"Not even that!"
+
+"You are exceedingly careful, Miss Minerva."
+
+"I have had some experience of sick people, and I have learnt to be
+careful. May I ask if you have any particular reason for calling me
+downstairs?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee prepared to put her niece and her governess to the final
+test.
+
+"I wish you to suspend the children's lesson for an hour or two," she
+answered.
+
+"Certainly. Shall I tell them?"
+
+"No; I will tell them myself."
+
+"What do you wish me to do?" said Miss Minerva.
+
+"I wish you to remain here with my niece."
+
+If Mrs. Gallilee, after answering in those terms, had looked at
+her niece, instead of looking at her governess, she would have seen
+Carmina--distrustful of her own self-control--move on the sofa so as to
+turn her face to the wall. As it was, Miss Minerva's attitude and look
+silently claimed some explanation.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee addressed her in a whisper. "Let me say a word to you at
+the door."
+
+Miss Minerva followed her to the landing outside. Carmina turned again,
+listening anxiously.
+
+"I am not at all satisfied with her looks, this morning," Mrs. Gallilee
+proceeded; "and I don't think it right she should be left alone. My
+household duties must be attended to. Will you take my place at the
+sofa, until Mr. Null comes?" (_"Now,"_ she thought, "if there is
+jealousy between them, I shall see it!")
+
+She saw nothing: the governess quietly bowed to her, and went back
+to Carmina. She heard nothing: although the half-closed door gave
+her opportunities for listening. Ignorant, she had entered the room.
+Ignorant, she left it.
+
+Carmina lay still and silent. With noiseless step, Miss Minerva
+approached the sofa, and stood by it, waiting. Neither of them lifted
+her eyes, the one to the other. The woman suffered her torture in
+secret. The girl's sweet eyes filled slowly with tears. One by one the
+minutes of the morning passed--not many in number, before there was a
+change. In silence, Carmina held out her hand. In silence, Miss Minerva
+took it and kissed it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee saw her housekeeper as usual, and gave her orders for the
+day. "If there is anything forgotten," she said, "I must leave it to
+you. For the next hour or two, don't let me be disturbed."
+
+Some of her letters of the morning were still unread, others required
+immediate acknowledgment. She was not as ready for her duties as usual.
+For once, the most unendurably industrious of women was idle, and sat
+thinking.
+
+Even her unimaginative nature began to tremble on the verge of
+superstition. Twice, had the subtle force of circumstances defeated her,
+in the attempt to meddle with the contemplated marriage of her son. By
+means of the music-master, she had planned to give Ovid jealous reasons
+for doubting Carmina--and she had failed. By means of the governess, she
+had planned to give Carmina jealous reasons for doubting Ovid--and she
+had failed. When some people talked of Fatality, were they quite such
+fools as she had hitherto supposed them to be? It would be a waste of
+time to inquire. What next step could she take?
+
+Urged by the intolerable sense of defeat to find reasons for still
+looking hopefully to the future, the learned Mrs. Gallilee lowered
+herself to the intellectual level of the most ignorant servant in the
+house. The modern Muse of Science unconsciously opened her mind to the
+vulgar belief in luck. She said to herself, as her kitchen-maid might
+have said, We will see what comes of it, the third time!
+
+Benjulia's letter was among the other letters waiting on the table. She
+took it up, and read it again.
+
+In her present frame of mind, to find her thoughts occupied by
+the doctor, was to be reminded of Ovid's strange allusion to his
+professional colleague, on the day of his departure. Speaking of
+Carmina, he had referred to one person whom he did not wish her to see
+in his absence; and that person, he had himself admitted to be Benjulia.
+He had been asked to state his objection to the doctor--and how had he
+replied? He had said, "I don't think Benjulia a fit person to be in the
+company of a young girl."
+
+Why?
+
+There are many men of mature age, who are not fit persons to be in the
+company of young girls--but they are either men who despise, or men who
+admire, young girls. Benjulia belonged neither to the one nor to the
+other of these two classes. Girls were objects of absolute indifference
+to him--with the one exception of Zo, aged ten. Never yet, after meeting
+him in society hundreds of times, had Mrs. Gallilee seen him talk to
+young ladies or even notice young ladies. Ovid's alleged reason for
+objecting to Benjulia stood palpably revealed as a clumsy excuse.
+
+In the present posture of events, to arrive at that conclusion was
+enough for Mrs. Gallilee. Without stopping to pursue the idea, she rang
+the bell, and ordered her carriage to be ready that afternoon, at three
+o'clock.
+
+Doubtful, and more than doubtful, though it might be, the bare prospect
+of finding herself possessed, before the day was out, of a means of
+action capable of being used against Carmina, raised Mrs. Gallilee's
+spirits. She was ready at last to attend to her correspondence.
+
+One of the letters was from her sister in Scotland. Among other
+subjects, it referred to Carmina.
+
+"Why won't you let that sweet girl come and stay with us?" Lady
+Northlake asked. "My daughters are longing for such a companion; and
+both my sons are ready to envy Ovid the moment they see her. Tell my
+nephew, when you next write, that I thoroughly understand his falling in
+love with that gentle pretty creature at first sight."
+
+Carmina's illness was the ready excuse which presented itself in Mrs.
+Gallilee's reply. With or without an excuse, Lady Northlake was to be
+resolutely prevented from taking a foremost place in her niece's heart,
+and encouraging the idea of her niece's marriage. Mrs. Gallilee felt
+almost pious enough to thank Heaven that her sister's palace in the
+Highlands was at one end of Great Britain, and her own marine villa at
+the other!
+
+The marine villa reminded her of the family migration to the sea-side.
+
+When would it be desirable to leave London? Not until her mind was
+relieved of the heavier anxieties that now weighed on it. Not while
+events might happen--in connection with the threatening creditors or the
+contemplated marriage--which would baffle her latest calculations, and
+make her presence in London a matter of serious importance to her own
+interests. Miss Minerva, again, was a new obstacle in the way. To take
+her to the Isle of Wight was not to be thought of for a moment.
+To dismiss her at once, by paying the month's salary, might be the
+preferable course to pursue--but for two objections. In the first place
+(if the friendly understanding between them really continued) Carmina
+might communicate with the discarded governess in secret. In the second
+place, to pay Miss Minerva's salary before she had earned it, was
+a concession from which Mrs. Gallilee's spite, and Mrs. Gallilee's
+principles of paltry economy, recoiled in disgust. No! the waiting
+policy in London, under whatever aspect it might be viewed, was, for the
+present, the one policy to pursue.
+
+She returned to the demands of her correspondence. Just as she had taken
+up her pen, the sanctuary of the boudoir was violated by the appearance
+of a servant.
+
+"What is it now? Didn't the housekeeper tell you that I am not to be
+disturbed?"
+
+"I beg your pardon, ma'am. My master--"
+
+"What does your master want?"
+
+"He wishes to see you, ma'am."
+
+This was a circumstance entirely without parallel in the domestic
+history of the house. In sheer astonishment, Mrs. Gallilee pushed away
+her letters, and said "Show him in."
+
+When the boys of fifty years since were naughty, the schoolmaster of the
+period was not accustomed to punish them by appealing to their sense
+of honour. If a boy wanted a flogging, in those days, the educational
+system seized a cane, or a birch-rod, and gave it to him. Mr. Gallilee
+entered his wife's room, with the feelings which had once animated
+him, on entering the schoolmaster's study to be caned. When he said
+"Good-morning, my dear!" his face presented the expression of fifty
+years since, when he had said, "Please, sir, let me off this time!"
+
+"Now," said Mrs. Gallilee, "what do you want?"
+
+"Only a little word. How well you're looking, my dear!"
+
+After a sleepless night, followed by her defeat in Carmina's room,
+Mrs. Gallilee looked, and knew that she looked, ugly and old. And her
+wretched husband had reminded her of it. "Go on!" she answered sternly.
+
+Mr. Gallilee moistened his dry lips. "I think I'll take a chair, if
+you will allow me," he said. Having taken his chair (at a respectful
+distance from his wife), he looked all round the room with the air of
+a visitor who had never seen it before. "How very pretty!" he remarked
+softly. "Such taste in colour. I think the carpet was your own design,
+wasn't it? How chaste!"
+
+_"Will_ you come to the point, Mr. Gallilee?"
+
+"With pleasure, my dear--with pleasure. I'm afraid I smell of tobacco?"
+
+"I don't care if you do!"
+
+This was such an agreeable surprise to Mr. Gallilee, that he got on his
+legs again to enjoy it standing up. "How kind! Really now, how kind!" He
+approached Mrs. Gallilee confidentially. "And do you know, my dear, it
+was one of the most remarkable cigars I ever smoked." Mrs. Gallilee laid
+down her pen, and eyed him with an annihilating frown. In the extremity
+of his confusion Mr. Gallilee ventured nearer. He felt the sinister
+fascination of the serpent in the expression of those awful eyebrows.
+"How well you are looking! How amazingly well you are looking this
+morning!" He leered at his learned wife, and patted her shoulder!
+
+For the moment, Mrs. Gallilee was petrified. At his time of life, was
+this fat and feeble creature approaching her with conjugal endearments?
+At that early hour of the day, had his guilty lips tasted his favourite
+champagne, foaming in his well-beloved silver mug, over his much-admired
+lump of ice? And was _this_ the result?
+
+"Mr. Gallilee!"
+
+"Yes, my dear?"
+
+"Sit down!"
+
+Mr. Gallilee sat down.
+
+"Have you been to the club?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee got up again.
+
+"Sit down!"
+
+Mr. Gallilee sat down. "I was about to say, my dear, that I'll show you
+over the club with the greatest pleasure--if that's what you mean."
+
+"If you are not a downright idiot," said Mrs. Gallilee, "understand
+this! Either say what you have to say, or--" she lifted her hand, and
+let it down on the writing-table with a slap that made the pens ring in
+the inkstand--"or, leave the room!"
+
+Mr. Gallilee lifted his hand, and searched in the breast-pocket of his
+coat. He pulled out his cigar-case, and put it back in a hurry. He tried
+again, and produced a letter. He looked piteously round the room, in
+sore need of somebody whom he might appeal to, and ended in appealing to
+himself. "What sort of temper will she be in?" he whispered.
+
+"What have you got there?" Mrs. Gallilee asked sharply. "One of the
+letters you had this morning?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee looked at her with admiration. "Wonderful woman!" he said.
+"Nothing escapes her! Allow me, my dear."
+
+He rose and presented the letter, as if he was presenting a petition.
+Mrs. Gallilee snatched it out of his hand. Mr. Gallilee went softly back
+to his chair, and breathed a devout ejaculation. "Oh, Lord!"
+
+It was a letter from one of the tradespeople, whom Mrs. Gallilee had
+attempted to pacify with a payment "on account." The tradesman felt
+compelled, in justice to himself, to appeal to Mr. Gallilee, as master
+of the house (!). It was impossible for him (he submitted with the
+greatest respect) to accept a payment, which did not amount to one-third
+of the sum owing to him for more than a twelvemonth. "Wretch!" cried
+Mrs. Gallilee. "I'll settle his bill, and never employ him again!" She
+opened her cheque-book, and dipped her pen in the ink. A faint voice
+meekly protested. Mr. Gallilee was on his legs again. Mr. Gallilee said.
+"Please don't!"
+
+His incredible rashness silenced his wife. There he stood; his
+round eyes staring at the cheque-book, his fat cheeks quivering with
+excitement. "You mustn't do it," he said, with a first and last outburst
+of courage. "Give me a minute, my dear--oh, good gracious, give me a
+minute!"
+
+He searched in his pocket again, and produced another letter. His
+eyes wandered towards the door; drops of perspiration oozed out on his
+forehead. He laid the second letter on the table; he looked at his wife,
+and--ran out of the room.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee opened the second letter. Another dissatisfied tradesman?
+No: creditors far more formidable than the grocer and the butcher.
+An official letter from the bankers, informing Mr. Gallilee that "the
+account was overdrawn."
+
+She seized her pass-book, and her paper of calculations. Never yet had
+her rigid arithmetic committed an error. Column by column she revised
+her figures--and made the humiliating discovery of her first mistake.
+She had drawn out all, and more than all, the money deposited in the
+bank; and the next half-yearly payment of income was not due until
+Christmas.
+
+There was but one thing to be done--to go at once to the bank. If Ovid
+had not been in the wilds of Canada, Mrs. Gallilee would have made her
+confession to him without hesitation. As it was, the servant called a
+cab, and she made her confession to the bankers.
+
+The matter was soon settled to her satisfaction. It rested (exactly as
+Miss Minerva had anticipated) with Mr. Gallilee. In the house, he might
+abdicate his authority to his heart's content. Out of the house, in
+matters of business, he was master still. His "investments" represented
+excellent "security;" he had only to say how much he wanted to borrow,
+and to sign certain papers--and the thing was done.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee went home again, with her pecuniary anxieties at rest for
+the time. The carriage was waiting for her at the door.
+
+Should she fulfil her intention of visiting Benjulia? She was not a
+person who readily changed her mind--and, besides, after the troubles
+of the morning, the drive into the country would be a welcome relief.
+Hearing that Mr. Gallilee was still at home, she looked in at the
+smoking-room. Unerring instinct told her where to find her husband,
+under present circumstances. There he was, enjoying his cigar in
+comfort, with his coat off and his feet on a chair. She opened the door.
+"I want you, this evening," she said--and shut the door again; leaving
+Mr. Gallilee suffocated by a mouthful of his own smoke.
+
+Before getting into the carriage, she only waited to restore her face
+with a flush of health (from Paris), modified by a sprinkling of pallor
+(from London). Benjulia's humour was essentially an uncertain humour. It
+might be necessary to fascinate the doctor.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+The complimentary allusion to Ovid, which Benjulia had not been able
+to understand, was contained in a letter from Mr. Morphew, and was
+expressed in these words:--"Let me sincerely thank you for making us
+acquainted with Mr. Ovid Vere. Now that he has left us, we really feel
+as if we had said good-bye to an old friend. I don't know when I have
+met with such a perfectly unselfish man--and I say this, speaking from
+experience of him. In my unavoidable absence, he volunteered to attend a
+serious case of illness, accompanied by shocking circumstances--and
+this at a time when, as you know, his own broken health forbids him to
+undertake any professional duty. While he could preserve the patient's
+life--and he did wonders, in this way--he was every day at the bedside,
+taxing his strength in the service of a perfect stranger. I fancy I see
+you (with your impatience of letter-writing at any length) looking to
+the end. Don't be alarmed. I am writing to your brother Lemuel by this
+mail, and I have little time to spare."
+
+Was this "serious case of illness"--described as being "accompanied by
+shocking circumstances"--a case of disease of the brain?
+
+There was the question, proposed by Benjulia's inveterate suspicion of
+Ovid! The bare doubt cost him the loss of a day's work. He reviled poor
+Mr. Morphew as "a born idiot" for not having plainly stated what the
+patient's malady was, instead of wasting paper on smooth sentences,
+encumbered by long words. If Ovid had alluded to his Canadian patient in
+his letters to his mother, his customary preciseness of language might
+be trusted to relieve Benjulia's suspense. With that purpose in view,
+the doctor had written to Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Before he laid down his pen, he looked once more at Mr. Morphew's
+letter, and paused thoughtfully over one line: "I am writing to your
+brother Lemuel by this mail."
+
+The information of which he was in search might be in _that_ letter.
+If Mrs. Gallilee's correspondence with her son failed to enlighten him,
+here was another chance of making the desired discovery. Surely the wise
+course to take would be to write to Lemuel as well.
+
+His one motive for hesitating was dislike of his younger
+brother--dislike so inveterate that he even recoiled from communicating
+with Lemuel through the post.
+
+There had never been any sympathy between them; but indifference had
+only matured into downright enmity, on the doctor's part, a year since.
+Accident (the result of his own absence of mind, while he was perplexed
+by an unsuccessful experiment) had placed Lemuel in possession of his
+hideous secret. The one person in the world who knew how he was really
+occupied in the laboratory, was his brother.
+
+Here was the true motive of the bitterly contemptuous tone in which
+Benjulia had spoken to Ovid of his nearest relation. Lemuel's character
+was certainly deserving of severe judgment, in some of its aspects. In
+his hours of employment (as clerk in the office of a London publisher)
+he steadily and punctually performed the duties entrusted to him. In his
+hours of freedom, his sensual instincts got the better of him; and his
+jealous wife had her reasons for complaint. Among his friends, he was
+the subject of a wide diversity of opinion. Some of them agreed with his
+brother in thinking him little better than a fool. Others suspected
+him of possessing natural abilities, but of being too lazy, perhaps too
+cunning, to exert them. In the office he allowed himself to be called
+"a mere machine"--and escaped the overwork which fell to the share of
+quicker men. When his wife and her relations declared him to be a mere
+animal, he never contradicted them--and so gained the reputation of a
+person on whom reprimand was thrown away. Under the protection of this
+unenviable character, he sometimes said severe things with an air
+of perfect simplicity. When the furious doctor discovered him in the
+laboratory, and said, "I'll be the death of you, if you tell any living
+creature what I am doing!"--Lemuel answered, with a stare of stupid
+astonishment, "Make your mind easy; I should be ashamed to mention it."
+
+Further reflection decided Benjulia on writing. Even when he had a
+favour to ask, he was unable to address Lemuel with common politeness.
+
+"I hear that Morphew has written to you by the last mail. I want to see
+the letter." So much he wrote, and no more. What was barely enough for
+the purpose, was enough for the doctor, when he addressed his brother.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+Between one and two o'clock, the next afternoon, Benjulia (at work in
+his laboratory) heard the bell which announced the arrival of a visitor
+at the house. No matter what the circumstances might be, the servants
+were forbidden to disturb him at his studies in any other way.
+
+Very unwillingly he obeyed the call, locking the door behind him. At
+that hour it was luncheon-time in well-regulated households, and it was
+in the last degree unlikely that Mrs. Gallilee could be the visitor.
+Getting within view of the front of the house, he saw a man standing on
+the doorstep. Advancing a little nearer, he recognised Lemuel.
+
+"Hullo!" cried the elder brother.
+
+"Hullo!" answered the younger, like an echo.
+
+They stood looking at each other with the suspicious curiosity of two
+strange cats. Between Nathan Benjulia, the famous doctor, and Lemuel
+Benjulia, the publisher's clerk, there was just family resemblance
+enough to suggest that they were relations. The younger brother was only
+a little over the ordinary height; he was rather fat than thin; he
+wore a moustache and whiskers; he dressed smartly--and his prevailing
+expression announced that he was thoroughly well satisfied with himself.
+But he inherited Benjulia's gipsy complexion; and, in form and colour,
+he had Benjulia's eyes.
+
+"How-d'ye-do, Nathan?" he said.
+
+"What the devil brings you here?" was the answer.
+
+Lemuel passed over his brother's rudeness without notice. His mouth
+curled up at the corners with a mischievous smile.
+
+"I thought you wished to see my letter," he said.
+
+"Why couldn't you send it by post?"
+
+"My wife wished me to take the opportunity of calling on you."
+
+"That's a lie," said Benjulia quietly. "Try another excuse. Or do a new
+thing. For once, speak the truth."
+
+Without waiting to hear the truth, he led the way into the room in
+which he had received Ovid. Lemuel followed, still showing no outward
+appearance of resentment.
+
+"How did you get away from your office?" Benjulia inquired.
+
+"It's easy to get a holiday at this time of year. Business is slack, old
+boy--"
+
+"Stop! I don't allow you to speak to me in that way."
+
+"No offence, brother Nathan!"
+
+"Brother Lemuel, I never allow a fool to offend me. I put him in his
+place--that's all."
+
+The distant barking of a dog became audible from the lane by which the
+house was approached. The sound seemed to annoy Benjulia. "What's that?"
+he asked.
+
+Lemuel saw his way to making some return for his brother's reception of
+him.
+
+"It's my dog," he said; "and it's lucky for you that I have left him in
+the cab."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well, he's as sweet-tempered a dog as ever lived. But he has one
+fault. He doesn't take kindly to scientific gentlemen in your line of
+business." Lemuel paused, and pointed to his brother's hands. "If he
+smelt that, he might try his teeth at vivisecting You."
+
+The spots of blood which Ovid had once seen on Benjulia's stick, were on
+his hands now. With unruffled composure he looked at the horrid stains,
+silently telling their tale of torture.
+
+"What's the use of washing my hands," he answered, "when I am going back
+to my work?"
+
+He wiped his finger and thumb on the tail of his coat. "Now," he
+resumed, "if you have got your letter with you, let me look at it."
+
+Lemuel produced the letter. "There are some bits in it," he explained,
+"which you had better not see. If you want the truth--that's the reason
+I brought it myself. Read the first page-and then I'll tell you where to
+skip."
+
+So far, there was no allusion to Ovid. Benjulia turned to the second
+page--and Lemuel pointed to the middle of it. "Read as far as that," he
+went on, "and then skip till you come to the last bit at the end."
+
+On the last page, Ovid's name appeared. He was mentioned, as a
+"delightful person, introduced by your brother,"--and with that the
+letter ended. In the first bitterness of his disappointment, Benjulia
+conceived an angry suspicion of those portions of the letter which he
+had been requested to pass over unread.
+
+"What has Morphew got to say to you that I mustn't read?" he asked.
+
+"Suppose you tell me first, what you want to find in the letter," Lemuel
+rejoined. "Morphew is a doctor like you. Is it anything medical?"
+
+Benjulia answered this in the easiest way--he nodded his head.
+
+"Is it Vivisection?" Lemuel inquired slyly.
+
+Benjulia at once handed the letter back, and pointed to the door. His
+momentary interest in the suppressed passages was at an end. "That will
+do," he answered. "Take yourself and your letter away."
+
+"Ah," said Lemuel, "I'm glad you don't want to look at it again!" He
+put the letter away, and buttoned his coat, and tapped his pocket
+significantly. "You have got a nasty temper, Nathan--and there are
+things here that might try it."
+
+In the case of any other man, Benjulia would have seen that the one
+object of these prudent remarks was to irritate him. Misled by his
+profound conviction of his brother's stupidity, he now thought it
+possible that the concealed portions of the letter might be worth
+notice. He stopped Lemuel at the door. "I've changed my mind," he said;
+"I want to look at the letter again."
+
+"You had better not," Lemuel persisted. "Morphew's going to write a book
+against you--and he asks me to get it published at our place. I'm on
+his side, you know; I shall do my best to help him; I can lay my hand on
+literary fellows who will lick his style into shape--it will be an awful
+exposure!" Benjulia still held out his hand. With over-acted reluctance,
+Lemuel unbuttoned his coat. The distant dog barked again as he gave
+the letter back. "Please excuse my dear old dog," he said with maudlin
+tenderness; "the poor dumb animal seems to know that I'm taking his side
+in the controversy. _Bow-wow_ means, in his language, Fie upon the cruel
+hands that bore holes in our head and use saws on our backs. Ah, Nathan,
+if you have got any dogs in that horrid place of yours, pat them and
+give them their dinner! You never heard me talk like this before--did
+you? I'm a new man since I joined the Society for suppressing you. Oh,
+if I only had the gift of writing!"
+
+The effect of this experiment on his brother's temper, failed to fulfil
+Lemuel's expectations. The doctor's curiosity was roused on the doctor's
+own subject of inquiry.
+
+"You're quite right about one thing," said Benjulia gravely; "I
+never heard you talk in this way before. You suggest some interesting
+considerations, of the medical sort. Come to the light." He led Lemuel
+to the window--looked at him with the closest attention--and carefully
+consulted his pulse. Lemuel smiled. "I'm not joking," said Benjulia
+sternly. "Tell me this. Have you had headaches lately? Do you find your
+memory failing you?"
+
+As he put those questions, he thought to himself--seriously thought--"Is
+this fellow's brain softening? I wish I had him on my table!"
+
+Lemuel persisted in presenting himself under a sentimental aspect.
+He had not forgiven his elder brother's rudeness yet--and he knew, by
+experience, the one weakness in Benjulia's character which, with his
+small resources, it was possible to attack.
+
+"Thank you for your kind inquiries," he replied. "Never mind my head, so
+long as my heart's in the right place. I don't pretend to be clever--but
+I've got my feelings; and I could put some awkward questions on what you
+call Medical Research, if I had Morphew to help me."
+
+"I'll help you," said Benjulia--interested in developing the state of
+his brother's brain.
+
+"I don't believe you," said Lemuel--interested in developing the state
+of his brother's temper.
+
+"Try me, Lemuel."
+
+"All right, Nathan."
+
+The two brothers returned to their chairs; reduced for once to the same
+moral level.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+"Now," said Benjulia, "what is it to be? The favourite public bugbear?
+Vivisection?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very well. What can I do for you?"
+
+"Tell me first," said Lemuel, "what is Law?"
+
+"Nobody knows."
+
+"Well, then, what _ought_ it to be?"
+
+"Justice, I suppose."
+
+"Let me wait a bit, Nathan, and get that into my mind."
+
+Benjulia waited with exemplary patience.
+
+"Now about yourself," Lemuel continued. "You won't be offended--will
+you? Should I be right, if I called you a dissector of living
+creatures?"
+
+Benjulia was reminded of the day when he had discovered his brother in
+the laboratory. His dark complexion deepened in hue. His cold gray eyes
+seemed to promise a coming outbreak. Lemuel went on.
+
+"Does the Law forbid you to make your experiments on a man?" he asked.
+
+"Of course it does!"
+
+"Why doesn't the Law forbid you to make your experiments on a dog?"
+
+Benjulia's face cleared again. The one penetrable point in his ironclad
+nature had not been reached yet. That apparently childish question about
+the dog appeared, not only to have interested him, but to have taken
+him by surprise. His attention wandered away from his brother. His clear
+intellect put Lemuel's objection in closer logical form, and asked if
+there was any answer to it, thus:
+
+The Law which forbids you to dissect a living man, allows you to dissect
+a living dog. Why?
+
+There was positively no answer to this.
+
+Suppose he said, Because a dog is an animal? Could he, as a
+physiologist, deny that a man is an animal too?
+
+Suppose he said, Because a dog is the inferior creature in intellect?
+The obvious answer to this would be, But the lower order of savage,
+or the lower order of lunatic, compared with the dog, is the inferior
+creature in intellect; and, in these cases, the dog has, on your own
+showing, the better right to protection of the two.
+
+Suppose he said, Because a man is a creature with a soul, and a dog is
+a creature without a soul? This would be simply inviting another
+unanswerable question: How do you know?
+
+Honestly accepting the dilemma which thus presented itself, the
+conclusion that followed seemed to be beyond dispute.
+
+If the Law, in the matter of Vivisection, asserts the principle of
+interference, the Law has barred its right to place arbitrary limits
+on its own action. If it protects any living creatures, it is bound, in
+reason and in justice, to protect all.
+
+"Well," said Lemuel, "am I to have an answer?"
+
+"I'm not a lawyer."
+
+With this convenient reply, Benjulia opened Mr. Morphew's letter, and
+read the forbidden part of it which began on the second page. There
+he found the very questions with which his brother had puzzled
+him--followed by the conclusion at which he had himself arrived!
+
+"You interpreted the language of your dog just now," he said quietly to
+Lemuel; "and I naturally supposed your brain might be softening. Such
+as it is, I perceive that your memory is in working order. Accept my
+excuses for feeling your pulse. You have ceased to be an object of
+interest to me."
+
+He returned to his reading. Lemuel watched him--still confidently
+waiting for results.
+
+The letter proceeded in these terms:
+
+"Your employer may perhaps be inclined to publish my work, if I can
+satisfy him that it will address itself to the general reader.
+
+"We all know what are the false pretences, under which English
+physiologists practice their cruelties. I want to expose those false
+pretences in the simplest and plainest way, by appealing to my own
+experience as an ordinary working member of the medical profession.
+
+"Take the pretence of increasing our knowledge of the curative action
+of poisons, by trying them on animals. The very poisons, the action of
+which dogs and cats have been needlessly tortured to demonstrate, I have
+successfully used on my human patients in the practice of a lifetime.
+
+"I should also like to ask what proof there is that the effect of a
+poison on an animal may be trusted to inform us, with certainty, of the
+effect of the same poison on a man. To quote two instances only which
+justify doubt--and to take birds this time, by way of a change--a pigeon
+will swallow opium enough to kill a man, and will not be in the least
+affected by it; and parsley, which is an innocent herb in the stomach of
+a human being, is deadly poison to a parrot.
+
+"I should deal in the same way, with the other pretence, of improving
+our practice of surgery by experiment on living animals.
+
+"Not long since, I saw the diseased leg of a dog cut off at the hip
+joint. When the limb was removed, not a single vessel bled. Try the
+same operation on a man--and twelve or fifteen vessels must be tied as a
+matter of absolute necessity.
+
+"Again. We are told by a great authority that the baking of dogs in
+ovens has led to new discoveries in treating fever. I have always
+supposed that the heat, in fever, is not a cause of disease, but a
+consequence. However, let that be, and let us still stick to experience.
+Has this infernal cruelty produced results which help us to cure scarlet
+fever? Our bedside practice tells us that scarlet fever runs it course
+as it always did. I can multiply such examples as these by hundreds when
+I write my book.
+
+"Briefly stated, you now have the method by which I propose to drag the
+scientific English Savage from his shelter behind the medical interests
+of humanity, and to show him in his true character,--as plainly as the
+scientific Foreign Savage shows himself of his own accord. _He_ doesn't
+shrink behind false pretences. _He_ doesn't add cant to cruelty. _He_
+boldly proclaims the truth:--I do it, because I like it!"
+
+Benjulia rose, and threw the letter on the floor.
+
+_"I_ proclaim the truth," he said; _"I_ do it because I like it. There
+are some few Englishmen who treat ignorant public opinion with the
+contempt that it deserves--and I am one of them." He pointed scornfully
+to the letter. "That wordy old fool is right about the false pretences.
+Publish his book, and I'll buy a copy of it."
+
+"That's odd," said Lemuel.
+
+"What's odd?"
+
+"Well, Nathan, I'm only a fool--but if you talk in that way of false
+pretences and public opinion, why do you tell everybody that your horrid
+cutting and carving is harmless chemistry? And why were you in such a
+rage when I got into your workshop, and found you out? Answer me that!"
+
+"Let me congratulate you first," said Benjulia. "It isn't every fool who
+knows that he _is_ a fool. Now you shall have your answer. Before the
+end of the year, all the world will be welcome to come into my workshop,
+and see me at the employment of my life. Brother Lemuel, when you stole
+your way through my unlocked door, you found me travelling on the road
+to the grandest medical discovery of this century. You stupid ass,
+do you think I cared about what _you_ could find out? I am in such
+perpetual terror of being forestalled by my colleagues, that I am not
+master of myself, even when such eyes as yours look at my work. In a
+month or two more--perhaps in a week or two--I shall have solved the
+grand problem. I labour at it all day. I think of it, I dream of it,
+all night. It will kill me. Strong as I am, it will kill me. What do
+you say? Am I working myself into my grave, in the medical interests of
+humanity? _That_ for humanity! I am working for my own satisfaction--for
+my own pride--for my own unutterable pleasure in beating other men--for
+the fame that will keep my name living hundreds of years hence.
+Humanity! I say with my foreign brethren--Knowledge for its own sake,
+is the one god I worship. Knowledge is its own justification and its
+own reward. The roaring mob follows us with its cry of Cruelty. We pity
+their ignorance. Knowledge sanctifies cruelty. The old anatomist stole
+dead bodies for Knowledge. In that sacred cause, if I could steal a
+living man without being found out, I would tie him on my table, and
+grasp my grand discovery in days, instead of months. Where are you
+going? What? You're afraid to be in the same room with me? A man who can
+talk as I do, is a man who would stick at nothing? Is that the light in
+which you lower order of creatures look at us? Look a little higher--and
+you will see that a man who talks as I do is a man set above you by
+Knowledge. Exert yourself, and try to understand me. Have I no virtues,
+even from your point of view? Am I not a good citizen? Don't I pay my
+debts? Don't I serve my friends? You miserable creature, you have had
+my money when you wanted it! Look at that letter on the floor. The man
+mentioned in it is one of those colleagues whom I distrust. I did
+my duty by him for all that. I gave him the information he wanted; I
+introduced him to a friend in a land of strangers. Have I no feeling, as
+you call it? My last experiments on a monkey horrified me. His cries of
+suffering, his gestures of entreaty, were like the cries and gestures of
+a child. I would have given the world to put him out of his misery. But
+I went on. In the glorious cause I went on. My hands turned cold--my
+heart ached--I thought of a child I sometimes play with--I suffered--I
+resisted--I went on. All for Knowledge! all for Knowledge!"
+
+His brother's presence was forgotten. His dark face turned livid; his
+gigantic frame shuddered; his breath came and went in deep sobbing
+gasps--it was terrible to see him and hear him.
+
+Lemuel slunk out of the room. The jackal had roused the lion; the
+mean spirit of mischief in him had not bargained for this. "I begin to
+believe in the devil," he said to himself when he got to the house door.
+
+As he descended the steps, a carriage appeared in the lane. A footman
+opened the gate of the enclosure. The carriage approached the house,
+with a lady in it.
+
+Lemuel ran back to his brother. "Here's a lady coming!" he said. "You're
+in a nice state to see her! Pull yourself together, Nathan--and, damn
+it, wash your hands!"
+
+He took Benjulia's arm, and led him upstairs.
+
+When Lemuel returned to the hall, Mrs. Gallilee was ascending the
+house-steps. He bowed profoundly, in homage to the well-preserved
+remains of a fine woman. "My brother will be with you directly, ma'am.
+Pray allow me to give you a chair."
+
+His hat was in his hand. Mrs. Gallilee's knowledge of the world easily
+set him down at his true value. She got rid of him with her best grace.
+"Pray don't let me detain you, sir; I will wait with pleasure."
+
+If she had been twenty years younger the hint might have been thrown
+away. As it was, Lemuel retired.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+An unusually long day's work at the office had fatigued good Mr. Mool.
+He pushed aside his papers, and let his weary eyes rest on a glass vase
+full of flowers on the table--a present from a grateful client. As a
+man, he enjoyed the lovely colours of the nosegay. As a botanist, he
+lamented the act which had cut the flowers from their parent stems, and
+doomed them to a premature death. "I should not have had the heart to do
+it myself," he thought; "but tastes differ."
+
+The office boy came into the room, with a visiting card in his hand.
+
+"I'm going home to dinner," said Mr. Mool. "The person must call
+to-morrow."
+
+The boy laid the card on the table. The person was Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee, at seven o'clock in the evening! Mrs. Gallilee, without a
+previous appointment by letter! Mr. Mool trembled under the
+apprehension of some serious family emergency, in imminent need of legal
+interference. He submitted as a matter of course. "Show the lady in."
+
+Before a word had passed between them, the lawyer's mind was relieved.
+Mrs. Gallilee shone on him with her sweetest smiles; pressed his hand
+with her friendliest warmth; admired the nosegay with her readiest
+enthusiasm. "Quite perfect," she said--"especially the Pansy. The round
+flat edge, Mr. Mool; the upper petals perfectly uniform--there is a
+flower that defies criticism! I long to dissect it."
+
+Mr. Mool politely resigned the Pansy to dissection (murderous
+mutilation, he would have called it, in the case of one of his own
+flowers), and waited to hear what his learned client might have to say
+to him.
+
+"I am going to surprise you," Mrs. Gallilee announced. "No--to shock
+you. No--even that is not strong enough. Let me say, to horrify you."
+
+Mr. Mool's anxieties returned, complicated by confusion. The behaviour
+of Mrs. Gallilee exhibited the most unaccountable contrast to her
+language. She showed no sign of those strong emotions to which she
+had alluded. "How am I to put it?" she went on, with a transparent
+affectation of embarrassment. "Shall I call it a disgrace to our
+family?" Mr. Mool started. Mrs. Gallilee entreated him to compose
+himself; she approached the inevitable disclosure by degrees. "I think,"
+she said, "you have met Doctor Benjulia at my house?"
+
+"I have had that honour, Mrs. Gallilee. Not a very sociable person--if I
+may venture to say so."
+
+"Downright rude, Mr. Mool, on some occasions. But that doesn't matter
+now. I have just been visiting the doctor."
+
+Was this visit connected with the "disgrace to the family?" Mr. Mool
+ventured to put a question.
+
+"Doctor Benjulia is not related to you, ma'am--is he?"
+
+"Not the least in the world. Please don't interrupt me again. I am, so
+to speak, laying a train of circumstances before you; and I might leave
+one of them out. When Doctor Benjulia was a young man--I am returning
+to my train of circumstances, Mr. Mool--he was at Rome, pursuing his
+professional studies. I have all this, mind, straight from the doctor
+himself. At Rome, he became acquainted with my late brother, after
+the period of his unfortunate marriage. Stop! I have failed to put it
+strongly enough again. I ought to have said, his disgraceful marriage."
+
+"Really, Mrs. Gallilee--"
+
+"Mr. Mool!"
+
+"I beg your pardon, ma'am."
+
+"Don't mention it. The next circumstance is ready in my mind. One of the
+doctor's fellow-students (described as being personally an irresistible
+man) was possessed of abilities which even attracted our unsociable
+Benjulia. They became friends. At the time of which I am now speaking,
+my brother's disgusting wife--oh, but I repeat it, Mr. Mool! I say
+again, his disgusting wife--was the mother of a female child."
+
+"Your niece, Mrs. Gallilee."
+
+"No!"
+
+"Not Miss Carmina?"
+
+"Miss Carmina is no more my niece than she is your niece. Carry your
+mind back to what I have just said. I mentioned a medical student who
+was an irresistible man. Miss Carmina's father was that man."
+
+Mr. Mool's astonishment and indignation would have instantly expressed
+themselves, if he had not been a lawyer. As it was, his professional
+experience warned him of the imprudence of speaking too soon.
+
+Mrs. Galilee's exultation forced its way outwards. Her eyes glittered;
+her voice rose. "The law, Mr. Mool! what does the law say?" she broke
+out. "Is my brother's Will no better than waste-paper? Is the money
+divided among his only near relations? Tell me! tell me!"
+
+Mr. Mool suddenly plunged his face into his vase of flowers. Did he feel
+that the air of the office wanted purifying? or was he conscious that
+his face might betray him unless he hid it? Mrs. Galilee was at no
+loss to set her own clever interpretation on her lawyer's extraordinary
+proceeding.
+
+"Take your time," she said with the most patronising kindness. "I know
+your sensitive nature; I know what I felt myself when this dreadful
+discovery burst upon me. If you remember, I said I should horrify you.
+Take your time, my dear sir--pray take your time."
+
+To be encouraged in this way--as if he was the emotional client, and
+Mrs. Gallilee the impassive lawyer--was more than even Mr. Mool could
+endure. Shy men are, in the innermost depths of their nature, proud
+men: the lawyer had his professional pride. He came out of his flowery
+retreat, with a steady countenance. For the first time in his life, he
+was not afraid of Mrs. Galilee.
+
+"Before we enter on the legal aspect of the case--" he began.
+
+"The shocking case," Mrs. Gallilee interposed, in the interests of
+Virtue.
+
+Under any other circumstances Mr. Mool would have accepted the
+correction. He actually took no notice of it now! "There is one point,"
+he proceeded, "on which I must beg you to enlighten me."
+
+"By all means! I am ready to go into any details, no matter how
+disgusting they may be."
+
+Mr. Mool thought of certain "ladies" (objects of perfectly needless
+respect among men) who, being requested to leave the Court, at
+unmentionable Trials, persist in keeping their places. It was a relief
+to him to feel--if his next questions did nothing else--that they would
+disappoint Mrs. Galilee.
+
+"Am I right in supposing that you believe what you have told me?" he
+resumed.
+
+"Most assuredly!"
+
+"Is Doctor Benjulia the only person who has spoken to you on the
+subject?"
+
+"The only person."
+
+"His information being derived from his friend--the fellow-student whom
+you mentioned just now?"
+
+"In other words," Mrs. Gallilee answered viciously, "the father of the
+wretched girl who has been foisted on my care."
+
+If Mr. Mool's courage had been in danger of failing him, he would have
+found it again now His regard for Carmina, his respect for the memory
+of her mother, had been wounded to the quick. Strong on his own legal
+ground, he proceeded as if he was examining a witness in a police court.
+
+"I suppose the doctor had some reason for believing what his friend told
+him?"
+
+"Ample reason! Vice and poverty generally go together--_this_ man was
+poor. He showed Doctor Benjulia money received from his mistress--her
+husband's money, it is needless to say."
+
+"Her motive might be innocent, Mrs. Gallilee. Had the man any letters of
+hers to show?"
+
+"Letters? From a woman in her position? It's notorious, Mr. Mool, that
+Italian models don't know how to read or write."
+
+"May I ask if there are any further proofs?"
+
+"You have had proofs enough."
+
+"With all possible respect, ma'am, I deny that."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee had not been asked to enter into disgusting details. Mrs.
+Gallilee had been contradicted by her obedient humble servant of other
+days. She thought it high time to bring the examination to an end.
+
+"If you are determined to believe in the woman's innocence," she said,
+"without knowing any of the circumstances--"
+
+Mr. Mool went on from bad to worse: he interrupted her now.
+
+"Excuse me, Mrs. Gallilee, I think you have forgotten that one of my
+autumn holidays, many years since, was spent in Italy. I was in Rome,
+like Doctor Benjulia, after your brother's marriage. His wife was, to my
+certain knowledge, received in society. Her reputation was unblemished;
+and her husband was devoted to her."
+
+"In plain English," said Mrs. Gallilee, "my brother was a poor weak
+creature--and his wife, when you knew her, had not been found out."
+
+"That is just the difficulty I feel," Mr. Mool rejoined. "How is it that
+she is only found out now? Years have passed since she died. More years
+have passed since this attack on her character reached Doctor Benjulia's
+knowledge. He is an old friend of yours. Why has he only told you of it
+to-day? I hope I don't offend you by asking these questions?"
+
+"Oh, dear, no! your questions are so easily answered. I never encouraged
+the doctor to speak of my brother and his wife. The subject was too
+distasteful to me--and I don't doubt that Doctor Benjulia felt about it
+as I did."
+
+"Until to-day," the lawyer remarked; "Doctor Benjulia appears to have
+been quite ready to mention the subject to-day."
+
+"Under special circumstances, Mr. Mool. Perhaps, you will not allow that
+special circumstances make any difference?"
+
+On the contrary, Mr. Mool made every allowance. At the same time, he
+waited to hear what the circumstances might be.
+
+But Mrs. Galilee had her reasons for keeping silence. It was impossible
+to mention Benjulia's reception of her without inflicting a wound on her
+self-esteem. To begin with, he had kept the door of the room open, and
+had remained standing. "Have you got Ovid's letters? Leave them here;
+I'm not fit to look at them now." Those were his first words. There was
+nothing in the letters which a friend might not read: she accordingly
+consented to leave them. The doctor had expressed his sense of
+obligation by bidding her get into her carriage again, and go. "I have
+been put in a passion; I have made a fool of myself; I haven't a nerve
+in my body that isn't quivering with rage. Go! go! go!" There was his
+explanation. Impenetrably obstinate, Mrs. Galilee faced him--standing
+between the doctor and the door--without shrinking. She had not driven
+all the way to Benjulia's house to be sent back again without gaining
+her object: she had her questions to put to him, and she persisted in
+pressing them as only a woman can. He was left--with the education of
+a gentleman against him--between the two vulgar alternatives of turning
+her out by main force, or of yielding, and getting rid of her decently
+in that way. At any other time, he would have flatly refused to lower
+himself to the level of a scandal-mongering woman, by entering on the
+subject. In his present mood, if pacifying Mrs. Galilee, and ridding
+himself of Mrs. Gallilee, meant one and the same thing, he was ready,
+recklessly ready, to let her have her own way. She heard the infamous
+story, which she had repeated to her lawyer; and she had Lemuel
+Benjulia's visit, and Mr. Morphew's contemplated attack on Vivisection,
+to thank for getting her information.
+
+Mr. Mool waited, and waited in vain. He reminded his client of what she
+had just said.
+
+"You mentioned certain circumstances. May I know what they are?" he
+asked.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee rose, before she replied.
+
+"Your time is valuable, and my time is valuable," she said. "We shall
+not convince each other by prolonging our conversation. I came here, Mr.
+Mool, to ask you a question about the law. Permit me to remind you that
+I have not had my answer yet. My own impression is that the girl now
+in my house, not being my brother's child, has no claim on my brother's
+property? Tell me in two words, if you please--am I right or wrong?"
+
+"I can do it in one word, Mrs. Gallilee. Wrong."
+
+"What!"
+
+Mr. Mool entered on the necessary explanation, triumphing in the reply
+that he had just made. "It's the smartest thing," he thought, "I ever
+said in my life."
+
+"While husbands and wives live together," he continued, "the Law holds
+that all children, born in wedlock, are the husband's children. Even if
+Miss Carmina's mother had not been as good and innocent a woman as ever
+drew the breath of life--"
+
+"That will do, Mr. Mool. You really mean to say that this girl's
+interest in my brother's Will--"
+
+"Remains quite unaffected, ma'am, by all that you have told me."
+
+"And I am still obliged to keep her under my care?"
+
+"Or," Mr. Mool answered, "to resign the office of guardian, in favour of
+Lady Northlake--appointed to act, in your place."
+
+"I won't trouble you any further, sir. Good-evening!"
+
+She turned to leave the office. Mr. Mool actually tried to stop her.
+
+"One word more, Mrs. Galilee."
+
+"No; we have said enough already."
+
+Mr. Mool's audacity arrived at its climax. He put his hand on the lock
+of the office door, and held it shut.
+
+"The young lady, Mrs. Gallilee! I am sure you will never breathe a word
+of this to the pretty gentle, young lady? Even if it was true; and, as
+God is my witness, I am sure it's false--"
+
+"Good-evening, Mr. Mool!"
+
+He opened the door, and let her go; her looks and tones told him that
+remonstrance was worse than useless. From year's end to year's end,
+this modest and amiable man had never been heard to swear. He swore now.
+"Damn Doctor Benjulia!" he burst out, in the solitude of his office. His
+dinner was waiting for him at home. Instead of putting on his hat, he
+went back to his writing-table. His thoughts projected themselves into
+the future--and discovered possibilities from which they recoiled. He
+took up his pen, and began a letter. "To John Gallilee, Esquire: Dear
+Sir,--Circumstances have occurred, which I am not at liberty to mention,
+but which make it necessary for me, in justice to my own views and
+feelings, to withdraw from the position of legal adviser to yourself and
+family." He paused and considered with himself. "No," he decided; "I
+may be of some use to that poor child, while I am the family lawyer." He
+tore up his unfinished letter.
+
+When Mr. Mool got home that night, it was noticed that he had a poor
+appetite for his dinner. On the other hand, he drank more wine than
+usual.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+"I don't know what is the matter with me. Sometimes I think I am going
+to be really ill."
+
+It was the day after Mrs. Gallilee's interview with her lawyer--and this
+was Carmina's answer, when the governess entered her room, after the
+lessons of the morning, and asked if she felt better.
+
+"Are you still taking medicine?" Miss Minerva inquired.
+
+"Yes. Mr. Null says it's a tonic, and it's sure to do me good. It
+doesn't seem to have begun yet. I feel so dreadfully weak, Frances. The
+least thing makes me cry; and I put off doing what I ought to do, and
+want to do, without knowing why. You remember what I told you about
+Teresa? She may be with us in a few days more, for all I know to the
+contrary. I must find a nice lodging for her, poor dear--and here I am,
+thinking about it instead of doing it."
+
+"Let me do it," Miss Minerva suggested.
+
+Carmina's sad face brightened. "That's kind indeed!" she said.
+
+"Nonsense! I shall take the children out, after dinner to-day. Looking
+over lodgings will be an amusement to me and to them."
+
+"Where is Zo? Why haven't you brought her with you?"
+
+"She is having her music lesson--and I must go back to keep her in
+order. About the lodging? A sitting-room and bedroom will be enough,
+I suppose? In this neighbourhood, I am afraid the terms will be rather
+high."
+
+"Oh, never mind that! Let us have clean airy rooms--and a kind landlady.
+Teresa mustn't know it, if the terms are high."
+
+"Will she allow you to pay her expenses?"
+
+"Ah, _you_ put it delicately! My aunt seemed to doubt if Teresa had any
+money of her own. I forgot, at the time, that my father had left her a
+little income. She told me so herself, and wondered, poor dear, how she
+was to spend it all. She mustn't be allowed to spend it all. We will
+tell her that the terms are half what they may really be--and I will pay
+the other half. Isn't it cruel of my aunt not to let my old nurse live
+in the same house with me?"
+
+At that moment, a message arrived from one of the persons of whom she
+was speaking. Mrs. Gallilee wished to see Miss Carmina immediately.
+
+"My dear," said Miss Minerva, when the servant had withdrawn, "why do
+you tremble so?"
+
+"There's something in me, Frances, that shudders at my aunt, ever
+since--"
+
+She stopped.
+
+Miss Minerva understood that sudden pause--the undesigned allusion
+to Carmina's guiltless knowledge of her feeling towards Ovid. By
+unexpressed consent, on either side, they still preserved their former
+relations as if Mrs. Gallilee had not spoken. Miss Minerva looked at
+Carmina sadly and kindly. "Good-bye for the present!" she said--and went
+upstairs again to the schoolroom.
+
+In the hall, Carmina found the servant waiting for her. He opened the
+library door. The learned lady was at her studies.
+
+"I have been speaking to Mr. Null about you," said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+On the previous evening, Carmina had kept her room. She had breakfasted
+in bed--and she now saw her aunt for the first time, since Mrs. Gallilee
+had left the house on her visit to Benjulia. The girl was instantly
+conscious of a change--to be felt rather than to be realised--a subtle
+change in her aunt's way of looking at her and speaking to her. Her
+heart beat fast. She took the nearest chair in silence.
+
+"The doctor," Mrs. Gallilee proceeded, "thinks it of importance to your
+health to be as much as possible in the air. He wishes you to drive
+out every day, while the fine weather lasts. I have ordered the open
+carriage to be ready, after luncheon. Other engagements will prevent me
+from accompanying you. You will be under the care of my maid, and you
+will be out for two hours. Mr. Null hopes you will gain strength. Is
+there anything you want?"
+
+"Nothing--thank you."
+
+"Perhaps you wish for a new dress?"
+
+"Oh, no!"
+
+"You have no complaint to make of the servants?"
+
+"The servants are always kind to me."
+
+"I needn't detain you any longer--I have a person coming to speak to
+me."
+
+Carmina had entered the room in doubt and fear. She left it with
+strangely-mingled feelings of perplexity and relief. Her sense of a
+mysterious change in her aunt had strengthened with every word that Mrs.
+Gallilee had said to her. She had heard of reformatory institutions, and
+of discreet persons called matrons who managed them. In her imaginary
+picture of such places, Mrs. Gallilee's tone and manner realised, in the
+strangest way, her idea of a matron speaking to a penitent.
+
+As she crossed the hall, her thoughts took a new direction. Some
+indefinable distrust of the coming time got possession of her. An ugly
+model of the Colosseum, in cork, stood on the hall table. She looked
+at it absently. "I hope Teresa will come soon," she thought--and turned
+away to the stairs.
+
+She ascended slowly; her head drooping, her mind still preoccupied.
+Arrived at the first landing, a sound of footsteps disturbed her. She
+looked up--and found herself face to face with Mr. Le Frank, leaving the
+schoolroom after his music lesson. At that sudden discovery, a cry of
+alarm escaped her--the common little scream of a startled woman. Mr. Le
+Frank made an elaborately formal bow: he apologised with sternly stupid
+emphasis. "I _beg_ your pardon."
+
+Moved by a natural impulse, penitently conscious of those few foolish
+words of hers which he had so unfortunately overheard, the poor girl
+made an effort to conciliate him. "I have very few friends, Mr. Le
+Frank," she said timidly. "May I still consider you as one of them? Will
+you forgive and forget? Will you shake hands?"
+
+Mr. Le Frank made another magnificent bow. He was proud of his voice. In
+his most resonant and mellifluous tones, he said, "You do me honour--"
+and took the offered hand, and lifted it grandly, and touched it with
+his lips.
+
+She held by the baluster with her free hand, and controlled the
+sickening sensation which that momentary contact with him produced.
+He might have detected the outward signs of the struggle, but for an
+interruption which preserved her from discovery. Mrs. Gallilee was
+standing at the open library door. Mrs. Gallilee said, "I am waiting for
+you, Mr. Le Frank."
+
+Carmina hurried up the stairs, pursued already by a sense of her own
+imprudence. In her first confusion and dismay, but one clear idea
+presented itself. "Oh!" she said, "have I made another mistake?"
+
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Gallilee had received her music-master with the nearest
+approach to an indulgent welcome, of which a hardened nature is capable.
+
+"Take the easy chair, Mr. Le Frank. You are not afraid of the open
+window?"
+
+"Oh, dear no! I like it." He rapidly unrolled some leaves of music
+which he had brought downstairs. "With regard to the song that I had the
+honour of mentioning--"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee pointed to the table. "Put the song there for the present.
+I have a word to say first. How came you to frighten my niece? I heard
+something like a scream, and naturally looked out. She was making an
+apology; she asked you to forgive and forget. What does all this mean?"
+
+Mr. Le Frank exhausted his ingenuity in efforts of polite evasion
+without the slightest success. From first to last (if the expression
+may be permitted) Mrs. Gallilee had him under her thumb. He was not
+released, until he had literally reported Carmina's opinion of him as
+a man and a musician, and had exactly described the circumstances under
+which he had heard it. Mrs. Gallilee listened with an interest, which
+(under less embarrassing circumstances) would have even satisfied Mrs.
+Le Frank's vanity.
+
+She was not for a moment deceived by the clumsy affectation of good
+humour with which he told his story. Her penetration discovered the
+vindictive feeling towards Carmina, which offered him, in case of
+necessity, as an instrument ready made to her hand. By fine degrees, she
+presented herself in the new character of a sympathising friend.
+
+"I know now, Mr. Le Frank, why you declined to be my niece's
+music-master. Allow me to apologise for having ignorantly placed you
+in a false position. I appreciate the delicacy of your conduct--I
+understand, and admire you."
+
+Mr. Le Frank's florid cheeks turned redder still. His cold blood began
+to simmer, heated by an all-pervading glow of flattered self-esteem.
+
+"My niece's motives for concealment are plain enough," Mrs. Gallilee
+proceeded. "Let me hope that she was ashamed to confess the total want
+of taste, delicacy, and good manners which has so justly offended you.
+Miss Minerva, however, has no excuse for keeping me in the dark. Her
+conduct, in this matter, offers, I regret to say, one more instance of
+her habitual neglect of the duties which attach to her position in my
+house. There seems to be some private understanding between my governess
+and my niece, of which I highly disapprove. However, the subject is too
+distasteful to dwell on. You were speaking of your song--the last effort
+of your genius, I think?"
+
+His "genius"! The inner glow in Mr. Le Frank grew warmer and warmer.
+"I asked for the honour of an interview," he explained, "to make a
+request." He took up his leaves of music. "This is my last, and, I hope,
+my best effort at composition. May I dedicate it--?"
+
+"To me!" Mrs. Gallilee exclaimed with a burst of enthusiasm.
+
+Mr. Le Frank felt the compliment. He bowed gratefully.
+
+"Need I say how gladly I accept the honour?" With this gracious answer
+Mrs. Gallilee rose.
+
+Was the change of position a hint, suggesting that Mr. Le Frank might
+leave her to her studies, now that his object was gained? Or was it an
+act of homage offered by Science to Art? Mr. Le Frank was incapable
+of placing an unfavourable interpretation on any position which a
+woman--and such a woman--could assume in his presence. He felt the
+compliment again. "The first copy published shall be sent to you," he
+said--and snatched up his hat, eager to set the printers at work.
+
+"And five-and-twenty copies more, for which I subscribe," cried his
+munificent patroness, cordially shaking hands with him.
+
+Mr. Le Frank attempted to express his sense of obligation. Generous Mrs.
+Gallilee refused to hear him. He took his leave; he got as far as the
+hall; and then he was called back--softly, confidentially called back to
+the library.
+
+"A thought has just struck me," said Mrs. Gallilee. "Please shut the
+door for a moment. About that meeting between you and my niece? Perhaps,
+I am taking a morbid view?"
+
+She paused. Mr. Le Frank waited with breathless interest.
+
+"Or is there something out of the common way, in that apology of hers?"
+Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. "Have you any idea what the motive might be?"
+
+Mr. Le Frank's ready suspicion was instantly aroused. "Not the least
+idea," he answered. "Can you tell me?"
+
+"I am as completely puzzled as you are," Mrs. Gallilee rejoined.
+
+Mr. Le Frank considered. His suspicions made an imaginative effort,
+assisted by his vanity. "After my refusal to teach her," he suggested,
+"that proposal to shake hands may have a meaning--" There, his invention
+failed him. He stopped, and shook his head ominously.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's object being attained, she made no attempt to help
+him. "Perhaps, time will show," she answered discreetly. "Good-bye
+again--with best wishes for the success of the song."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+The solitude of her own room was no welcome refuge to Carmina, in her
+present state of mind. She went on to the schoolroom.
+
+Miss Minerva was alone. The two girls, in obedience to domestic
+regulations, were making their midday toilet before dinner. Carmina
+described her interview with Mrs. Gallilee, and her meeting with Mr. Le
+Frank. "Don't scold me," she said; "I make no excuse for my folly."
+
+"If Mr. Le Frank had left the house, after you spoke to him," Miss
+Minerva answered, "I should not have felt the anxiety which troubles me
+now. I don't like his going to Mrs. Gallilee afterwards--especially when
+you tell me of that change in her manner towards you. Yours is a vivid
+imagination, Carmina. Are you sure that it has not been playing you any
+tricks?"
+
+"Perfectly sure."
+
+Miss Minerva was not quite satisfied. "Will you help me to feel as
+certain about it as you do?" she asked. "Mrs. Gallilee generally looks
+in for a few minutes, while the children are at dinner. Stay here, and
+say something to her in my presence. I want to judge for myself."
+
+The girls came in. Maria's perfect toilet, reflected Maria's perfect
+character. She performed the duties of politeness with her usual happy
+choice of words. "Dear Carmina, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again
+in our schoolroom. We are naturally anxious about your health. This
+lovely weather is no doubt in your favour; and papa thinks Mr. Null
+a remarkably clever man." Zo stood by frowning, while these smooth
+conventionalities trickled over her sister's lips. Carmina asked what
+was the matter. Zo looked gloomily at the dog on the rug. "I wish I was
+Tinker," she said. Maria smiled sweetly. "Dear Zoe, what a very strange
+wish! What would you do, if you were Tinker?" The dog, hearing his name,
+rose and shook himself. Zo pointed to him, with an appearance of the
+deepest interest. _"He_ hasn't got to brush his hair, before he goes
+out for a walk; _his_ nails don't took black when they're dirty. And, I
+say!" (she whispered the next words in Carmina's ear) _"he_ hasn't got a
+governess."
+
+The dinner made its appearance; and Mrs. Gallilee followed the dinner.
+Maria said grace. Zo, always ravenous at meals, forgot to say Amen.
+Carmina, standing behind her chair, prompted her. Zo said "Amen; oh,
+bother!" the first word at the top of her voice, and the last two in a
+whisper. Mrs. Gallilee looked at Carmina as she might have looked at
+an obtrusive person who had stepped in from the street. "You had better
+dress before luncheon," she suggested, "or you will keep the carriage
+waiting." Hearing this, Zo laid down her knife and fork, and looked over
+her shoulder. "Ask if I may go with you," she said. Carmina made the
+request. "No," Mrs. Gallilee answered, "the children must walk. My maid
+will accompany you." Carmina glanced at Miss Minerva on leaving the
+room. The governess replied by a look. She too had seen the change in
+Mrs. Gallilee's manner, and was at a loss to understand it.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's maid Marceline belonged to a quick-tempered race: she
+was a Jersey woman. It is not easy to say which of the two felt most
+oppressed by their enforced companionship in the carriage.
+
+The maid was perhaps the most to be pitied. Secretly drawn towards
+Carmina like the other servants in the house, she was forced by her
+mistress's private instruction, to play the part of a spy. "If the young
+lady changes the route which the coachman has my orders to take, or if
+she communicates with any person while your are out, you are to
+report it to me." Mrs. Gallilee had not forgotten the discovery of the
+travelling bag; and Mr. Mool's exposition of the law had informed her,
+that the superintendence of Carmina was as much a matter of serious
+pecuniary interest as ever.
+
+But recent events had, in one respect at least, improved the prospect.
+
+If Ovid (as his mother actually ventured to hope!) broke off his
+engagement, when he heard the scandalous story of Carmina's birth,
+there was surely a chance that she, like other girls of her sensitive
+temperament, might feel the calamity that had fallen on her so acutely
+as to condemn herself to a single life. Misled, partly by the hope of
+relief from her own vile anxieties; partly by the heartless incapability
+of appreciating generous feeling in others, developed by the pursuits
+of her later life, Mrs. Gallilee seriously contemplated her son's future
+decision as a matter of reasonable doubt.
+
+In the meanwhile, this detestable child of adultery--this living
+obstacle in the way of the magnificent prospects which otherwise awaited
+Maria and Zoe, to say nothing of their mother--must remain in the
+house, submitted to her guardian's authority, watched by her guardian's
+vigilance. The hateful creature was still entitled to medical attendance
+when she was ill, and must still be supplied with every remedy that the
+doctor's ingenuity could suggest. A liberal allowance was paid for the
+care of her; and the trustees were bound to interfere if it was not
+fairly earned.
+
+Looking after the carriage as it drove away--Marceline on the front
+seat presenting the picture of discomfort; and Carmina opposite to
+her, unendurably pretty and interesting, with the last new poem on
+her lap--Mrs. Gallilee's reflections took their own bitter course.
+"Accidents happen to other carriages, with other girls in them. Not to
+my carriage, with that girl in it! Nothing will frighten _my_ horses
+to-day; and, fat as he is, _my_ coachman will not have a fit on the
+box!"
+
+It was only too true. At the appointed hour the carriage appeared
+again--and (to complete the disappointment) Marceline had no report to
+make.
+
+Miss Minerva had not forgotten her promise. When she returned from
+her walk with the children, the rooms had been taken. Teresa's London
+lodging was within five minutes' walk of the house.
+
+That evening, Carmina sent a telegram to Rome, on the chance that the
+nurse might not yet have begun her journey. The message (deferring other
+explanations until they met) merely informed her that her rooms were
+ready, adding the address and the landlady's name. Guessing in the
+dark, Carmina and the governess had ignorantly attributed the sinister
+alteration in Mrs. Gallilee's manner to the prospect of Teresa's
+unwelcome return. "While you have the means in your power," Miss Minerva
+advised, "it may be as well to let your old friend know that there is a
+home for her when she reaches London."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+The weather, to Carmina's infinite relief, changed for the worse the
+next day. Incessant rain made it impossible to send her out in the
+carriage again.
+
+But it was an eventful day, nevertheless. On that rainy afternoon, Mr.
+Gallilee asserted himself as a free agent, in the terrible presence of
+his wife!
+
+"It's an uncommonly dull day, my dear," he began. This passed without
+notice, which was a great encouragement to go on. "If you will allows
+me to say so, Carmina wants a little amusement." Mrs. Gallilee looked up
+from her book. Fearing that he might stop altogether if he took his
+time as usual, Mr. Gallilee proceeded in a hurry. "There's an afternoon
+performance of conjuring tricks; and, do you know, I really think
+I might take Carmina to see it. We shall be delighted if you will
+accompany us, my dear; and they do say--perhaps you have heard of it
+yourself?--that there's a good deal of science in this exhibition." His
+eyes rolled in uneasy expectation, as he waited to hear what his wife
+might decide. She waved her hand contemptuously in the direction of the
+door. Mr. Gallilee retired with the alacrity of a young man. "Now we
+shall enjoy ourselves!" he thought as he went up to Carmina's room.
+
+They were just leaving the house, when the music-master arrived at the
+door to give his lesson.
+
+Mr. Gallilee immediately put his head out of the cab window. "We are
+going to see the conjuring!" he shouted cheerfully. "Carmina! don't you
+see Mr. Le Frank? He is bowing to you. Do you like conjuring, Mr.
+Le Frank? Don't tell the children where we are going! They would be
+disappointed, poor things--but they must have their lessons, mustn't
+they? Good-bye! I say! stop a minute. If you ever want your umbrella
+mended, I know a man who will do it cheap and well. Nasty day, isn't it?
+Go on! go on!"
+
+The general opinion which ranks vanity among the lighter failings of
+humanity, commits a serious mistake. Vanity wants nothing but the
+motive power to develop into absolute wickedness. Vanity can be savagely
+suspicious and diabolically cruel. What are the two typical names which
+stand revealed in history as the names of the two vainest men that ever
+lived? Nero and Robespierre.
+
+In his obscure sphere, and within his restricted means, the vanity of
+Mrs. Gallilee's music-master had developed its inherent qualities, under
+her cunning and guarded instigation. Once set in action, his suspicion
+of Carmina passed beyond all limits. There could be no reason but a bad
+reason for that barefaced attempt to entrap him into a reconciliation.
+Every evil motive which it was possible to attribute to a girl of her
+age, no matter how monstrously improbable it might be, occurred to him
+when he recalled her words, her look, and her manner at their meeting
+on the stairs. His paltry little mind, at other times preoccupied in
+contemplating himself and his abilities, was now so completely absorbed
+in imagining every variety of conspiracy against his social and
+professional position, that he was not even capable of giving his
+customary lesson to two children. Before the appointed hour had expired,
+Miss Minerva remarked that his mind did not appear to be at ease, and
+suggested that he had better renew the lesson on the next day. After a
+futile attempt to assume an appearance of tranquillity--he thanked her
+and took his leave.
+
+On his way downstairs, he found the door of Carmina's room left half
+open.
+
+She was absent with Mr. Gallilee. Miss Minerva remained upstairs with
+the children. Mrs. Gallilee was engaged in scientific research. At that
+hour of the afternoon, there were no duties which called the servants to
+the upper part of the house. He listened--he hesitated--he went into the
+room.
+
+It was possible that she might keep a journal: it was certain that she
+wrote and received letters. If he could only find her desk unlocked and
+her drawers open, the inmost secrets of her life would be at his mercy.
+
+He tried her desk; he tried the cupboard under the bookcase. They were
+both locked. The cabinet between the windows and the drawer of the table
+were left unguarded. No discovery rewarded the careful search that he
+pursued in these two repositories. He opened the books that she had left
+on the table, and shook them. No forgotten letter, no private memorandum
+(used as marks) dropped out. He looked all round him; he peeped into the
+bedroom; he listened, to make sure that nobody was outside; he entered
+the bedroom, and examined the toilet-table, and opened the doors of the
+wardrobe--and still the search was fruitless, persevere as he might.
+
+Returning to the sitting-room, he shook his fist at the writing-desk.
+"You wouldn't be locked," he thought, "unless you had some shameful
+secrets to keep! _I_ shall have other opportunities; and _she_ may not
+always remember to turn the key." He stole quietly down the stairs, and
+met no one on his way out.
+
+The bad weather continued on the next day. The object of Mr. Le Frank's
+suspicion remained in the house--and the second opportunity failed to
+offer itself as yet.
+
+The visit to the exhibition of conjuring had done Carmina harm instead
+of good. Her head ached, in the close atmosphere--she was too fatigued
+to be able to stay in the room until the performance came to an end.
+Poor Mr. Gallilee retired in disgrace to the shelter of his club. At
+dinner, even his perfect temper failed him for the moment. He found
+fault with the champagne--and then apologised to the waiter. "I'm sorry
+I was a little hard on you just now. The fact is, I'm out of sorts--you
+have felt in that way yourself, haven't you? The wine's first-rate; and,
+really the weather is so discouraging, I think I'll try another pint."
+
+But Carmina's buoyant heart defied the languor of illness and the
+gloomy day. The post had brought her a letter from Ovid--enclosing a
+photograph, taken at Montreal, which presented him in his travelling
+costume.
+
+He wrote in a tone of cheerfulness, which revived Carmina's sinking
+courage, and renewed for a time at least the happiness of other
+days. The air of the plains of Canada he declared to be literally
+intoxicating. Every hour seemed to be giving him back the vital energy
+that he had lost in his London life. He slept on the ground, in the
+open air, more soundly than he had ever slept in a bed. But one anxiety
+troubled his mind. In the roving life which he now enjoyed, it was
+impossible that his letters could follow him--and yet, every day that
+passed made him more unreasonably eager to hear that Carmina was not
+weary of waiting for him, and that all was well at home.
+
+"And how have these vain aspirations of mine ended?"--the letter went
+on. "They have ended, my darling, in a journey for one of my guides--an
+Indian, whose fidelity I have put to the proof, and whose zeal I have
+stimulated by a promise of reward.
+
+"The Indian takes these lines to be posted at Quebec. He is also
+provided with an order, authorising my bankers to trust him with the
+letters that are waiting for me. I begin a canoe voyage to-morrow; and,
+after due consultation with the crew, we have arranged a date and a
+place at which my messenger will find me on his return. Shall I confess
+my own amiable weakness? or do you know me well enough already to
+suspect the truth? My love, I am sorely tempted to be false to my plans
+and arrangements to go back with the Indian to Quebec--and to take a
+berth in the first steamer that returns to England.
+
+"Don't suppose that I am troubled by any misgivings about what is going
+on in my absence! It is one of the good signs of my returning health
+that I take the brightest view of our present lives, and of our lives
+to come. I feel tempted to go back, for the same reason that makes me
+anxious for letters. I want to hear from you, because I love you--I want
+to return at once, because I love you. There is longing, unutterable
+longing, in my heart. No doubts, my sweet one, and no fears!
+
+"But I was a doctor, before I became a lover. My medical knowledge tells
+me that this is an opportunity of thoroughly fortifying my constitution,
+and (with God's blessing) of securing to myself reserves of health and
+strength which will take us together happily on the way to old age. Dear
+love, you must be my wife--not my nurse! There is the thought that gives
+me self-denial enough to let the Indian go away by himself."
+
+Carmina answered this letter as soon as she had read it.
+
+Before the mail could carry her reply to its destination, she well knew
+that the Indian messenger would be on the way back to his master. But
+Ovid had made her so happy that she felt the impulse to write to him at
+once, as she might have felt the impulse to answer him at once if he had
+been present and speaking to her. When the pages were filled, and the
+letter had been closed and addressed, the effort produced its depressing
+effect on her spirits.
+
+There now appeared to her a certain wisdom in the loving rapidity of her
+reply.
+
+Even in the fullness of her joy, she was conscious of an underlying
+distrust of herself. Although he refused to admit it, Mr. Null had
+betrayed a want of faith in the remedy from which he had anticipated
+such speedy results, by writing another prescription. He had also added
+a glass to the daily allowance of wine, which he had thought sufficient
+thus far. Without despairing of herself, Carmina felt that she had done
+wisely in writing her answer, while she was still well enough to rival
+the cheerful tone of Ovid's letter.
+
+She laid down to rest on the sofa, with the photograph in her hand. No
+sense of loneliness oppressed her now; the portrait was the best of
+all companions. Outside, the heavy rain pattered; in the room, the busy
+clock ticked. She listened lazily, and looked at her lover, and kissed
+the faithful image of him--peacefully happy.
+
+The opening of the door was the first little event that disturbed
+her. Zo peeped in. Her face was red, her hair was tousled, her fingers
+presented inky signs of a recent writing lesson.
+
+"I'm in a rage," she announced; "and so is the Other One."
+
+Carmina called her to the sofa, and tried to find out who this second
+angry person might be. "Oh, you know!" Zo answered doggedly. "She rapped
+my knuckles. I call her a Beast."
+
+"Hush! you mustn't talk in that way."
+
+"She'll be here directly," Zo proceeded. "You look out! She'd rap _your_
+knuckles--only you're too big. If it wasn't raining, I'd run away."
+Carmina assumed an air of severity, and entered a serious protest
+adapted to her young friend's intelligence. She might as well have
+spoken in a foreign language. Zo had another reason to give, besides the
+rap on the knuckles, for running away.
+
+"I say!" she resumed--"you know the boy?"
+
+"What boy, dear?"
+
+"He comes round sometimes. He's got a hurdy-gurdy. He's got a monkey. He
+grins. He says, _Aha--gimmee--haypenny._ I mean to go to that boy!"
+
+As a confession of Zo's first love, this was irresistible. Carmina burst
+out laughing. Zo indignantly claimed a hearing. "I haven't done yet!"
+she burst out. "The boy dances. Like this." She cocked her head, and
+slapped her thigh, and imitated the boy. "And sometimes he sings!" she
+cried with another outburst of admiration.
+
+_"Yah-yah-yah-bellah-vitah-yah!_ That's Italian, Carmina." The door
+opened again while the performer was in full vigour--and Miss Minerva
+appeared.
+
+When she entered the room, Carmina at once saw that Zo had correctly
+observed her governess. Miss Minerva's heavy eyebrows lowered; her lips
+were pale; her head was held angrily erect, "Carmina!" she said sharply,
+"you shouldn't encourage that child." She turned round, in search of the
+truant pupil. Incurably stupid at her lessons, Zo's mind had its gleams
+of intelligence, in a state of liberty. One of those gleams had shone
+propitiously, and had lighted her out of the room.
+
+Miss Minerva took a chair: she dropped into it like a person worn out
+with fatigue. Carmina spoke to her gently. Words of sympathy were thrown
+away on that self-tormenting nature.
+
+"No; I'm not ill," she said. "A night without sleep; a perverse child to
+teach in the morning; and a detestable temper at all times--that's
+what is the matter with me." She looked at Carmina. "You seem to be
+wonderfully better to-day. Has stupid Mr. Null really done you some good
+at last?" She noticed the open writing-desk, and discovered the letter.
+"Or is it good news?"
+
+"I have heard from Ovid," Carmina answered. The photograph was still in
+her hand; but her inbred delicacy of feeling kept the portrait hidden.
+
+The governess's sallow complexion turned little by little to a dull
+greyish white. Her hands, loosely clasped in her lap, tightened when she
+heard Ovid's name. That slight movement over, she stirred no more. After
+waiting a little, Carmina ventured to speak. "Frances," she said, "you
+have not shaken hands with me yet." Miss Minerva slowly looked up,
+keeping her hands still clasped on her lap.
+
+"When is he coming back?" she asked. It was said quietly.
+
+Carmina quietly replied, "Not yet--I am sorry to say."
+
+"I am sorry too."
+
+"It's good of you, Frances, to say that."
+
+"No: it's not good of me. I'm thinking of myself--not of you." She
+suddenly lowered her tone. "I wish you were married to him," she said.
+
+There was a pause. Miss Minerva was the first to speak again.
+
+"Do you understand me?" she asked.
+
+"Perhaps you will help me to understand," Carmina answered.
+
+"If you were married to him, even my restless spirit might be at peace.
+The struggle would be over."
+
+She left her chair, and walked restlessly up and down the room. The
+passionate emotion which she had resolutely suppressed began to get
+beyond her control.
+
+"I was thinking about you last night," she abruptly resumed. "You are a
+gentle little creature--but I have seen you show some spirit, when your
+aunt's cold-blooded insolence roused you. Do you know what I would do,
+if I were in your place? _I_ wouldn't wait tamely till he came back to
+me--I would go to him. Carmina! Carmina! leave this horrible house!" She
+stopped, close by the sofa. "Let me look at you. Ha! I believe you have
+thought of it yourself?"
+
+"I have thought of it."
+
+"What did I say? You poor little prisoner, you _have_ the right spirit
+in you! I wish I could give you some of my strength." The half-mocking
+tone in which she spoke, suddenly failed her. Her piercing eyes grew
+dim; the hard lines in her face softened. She dropped on her knees, and
+wound her lithe arms round Carmina, and kissed her. "You sweet child!"
+she said--and burst passionately into tears.
+
+Even then, the woman's fiercely self-dependent nature asserted itself.
+She pushed Carmina back on the sofa. "Don't look at me! don't speak to
+me!" she gasped. "Leave me to get over it."
+
+She stifled the sobs that broke from her. Still on her knees, she looked
+up, shuddering. A ghastly smile distorted her lips. "Ah, what fools we
+are!" she said. "Where is that lavender water, my dear--your favourite
+remedy for a burning head?" She found the bottle before Carmina could
+help her, and soaked her handkerchief in the lavender water, and tied it
+round her head. "Yes," she went on, as if they had been gossiping on the
+most commonplace subjects, "I think you're right: this is the best of
+all perfumes." She looked at the clock. "The children's dinner will be
+ready in ten minutes. I must, and will, say what I have to say to
+you. It may be the last poor return I can make, Carmina, for all your
+kindness."
+
+She returned to her chair.
+
+"I can't help it if I frighten you," she resumed; "I must tell you
+plainly that I don't like the prospect. In the first place, the sooner
+we two are parted--oh, only for a while!--the better for you. After
+what I went through, last night--no, I am not going to enter into any
+particulars; I am only going to repeat, what I have said already--don't
+trust me. I mean it, Carmina! Your generous nature shall not mislead
+you, if _I_ can help it. When you are a happy married woman--when _he_
+is farther removed from me than he is even now--remember your ugly,
+ill-tempered friend, and let me come to you. Enough of this! I have
+other misgivings that are waiting to be confessed. You know that old
+nurse of yours intimately--while I only speak from a day or two's
+experience of her. To my judgment, she is a woman whose fondness for you
+might be turned into a tigerish fondness, on very small provocation. You
+write to her constantly. Does she know what you have suffered? Have you
+told her the truth?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Without reserve?"
+
+"Entirely without reserve."
+
+"When that old woman comes to London, Carmina--and sees you, and sees
+Mrs. Gallilee--don't you think the consequences may be serious? and your
+position between them something (if you were ten times stronger than you
+are) that no fortitude can endure?"
+
+Carmina started up on the sofa. She was not able to speak. Miss Minerva
+gave her time to recover herself--after another look at the clock.
+
+"I am not alarming you for nothing," she proceeded; "I have something
+hopeful to propose. Your friend Teresa has energies--wild energies. Make
+a good use of them. She will do anything you ask or her. Take her with
+you to Canada!"
+
+"Oh, Frances!"
+
+Miss Minerva pointed to the letter on the desk. "Does he tell you when
+he will be back?"
+
+"No. He feels the importance of completely restoring his health--he is
+going farther and farther away--he has sent to Quebec for his letters."
+
+"Then there is no fear of your crossing each other on the voyage. Go to
+Quebec, and wait for him there."
+
+"I should frighten him."
+
+"Not you!"
+
+"What can I say to him?"
+
+"What you _must_ say, if you are weak enough to wait for him here. Do
+you think his mother will consider his feelings, when he comes back to
+marry you? I tell you again I am not talking at random. I have thought
+it all out: I know how you can make your escape, and defy pursuit. You
+have plenty of money; you have Teresa to take care of you. Go! For your
+own sake, for his sake, go!"
+
+The clock struck the hour. She rose and removed the handkerchief from
+her head. "Hush!" she said, "Do I hear the rustling of a dress on the
+landing below?" She snatched up a bottle of Mr. Null's medicine--as
+a reason for being in the room. The sound of the rustling dress came
+nearer and nearer. Mrs. Gallilee (on her way to the schoolroom dinner)
+opened the door. She instantly understood the purpose which the bottle
+was intended to answer.
+
+"It is my business to give Carmina her medicine," she said. "Your
+business is at the schoolroom table."
+
+She took possession of the bottle, and advanced to Carmina. There were
+two looking-glasses in the room. One, in the usual position, over the
+fireplace; the other opposite, on the wall behind the sofa. Turning
+back, before she left the room, Miss Minerva saw Mrs. Gallilee's face,
+when she and Carmina looked at each other, reflected in the glass.
+
+The girls were waiting for their dinner. Maria received the unpunctual
+governess with her ready smile, and her appropriate speech. "Dear Miss
+Minerva, we were really almost getting alarmed about you. Pardon me
+for noticing it, you look--" She caught the eye of the governess, and
+stopped confusedly.
+
+"Well?" said Miss Minerva. "How do I look?"
+
+Maria still hesitated. Zo spoke out as usual. "You look as if somebody
+had frightened you."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+After two days of rain, the weather cleared again.
+
+It was a calm, sunshiny Sunday morning. The flat country round
+Benjulia's house wore its brightest aspect on that clear autumn day.
+Even the doctor's gloomy domestic establishment reflected in some degree
+the change for the better. When he rose that morning, Benjulia
+presented himself to his household in a character which they were
+little accustomed to see--the character of a good-humoured master. He
+astonished his silent servant by attempting to whistle a tune. "If you
+ever looked cheerful in your life," he said to the man, "look cheerful
+now. I'm going to take a holiday!"
+
+After working incessantly--never leaving his laboratory; eating at his
+dreadful table; snatching an hour's rest occasionally on the floor--he
+had completed a series of experiments, with results on which he could
+absolutely rely. He had advanced by one step nearer towards solving
+that occult problem in brain disease, which had thus far baffled the
+investigations of medical men throughout the civilised world. If his
+present rate of progress continued, the lapse of another month might
+add his name to the names that remain immortal among physicians, in the
+Annals of Discovery.
+
+So completely had his labours absorbed his mind that he only remembered
+the letters which Mrs. Gallilee had left with him, when he finished
+his breakfast on Sunday morning. Upon examination, there appeared no
+allusion in Ovid's correspondence to the mysterious case of illness
+which he had attended at Montreal. The one method now left, by which
+Benjulia could relieve the doubt that still troubled him, was to
+communicate directly with his friend in Canada. He decided to celebrate
+his holiday by taking a walk; his destination being the central
+telegraph office in London.
+
+But, before he left the house, his domestic duties claimed attention. He
+issued his orders to the cook.
+
+At three o'clock he would return to dinner. That day was to witness the
+celebration of his first regular meat for forty-eight hours past; and
+he expected the strictest punctuality. The cook--lately engaged--was a
+vigourous little woman, with fiery hair and a high colour. She, like the
+man-servant, felt the genial influence of her master's amiability. He
+looked at her, for the first time since she had entered the house. A
+twinkling light showed itself furtively in his dreary gray eyes: he took
+a dusty old hand-screen from the sideboard, and made her a present of
+it! "There," he said with his dry humour, "don't spoil your complexion
+before the kitchen fire." The cook possessed a sanguine temperament, and
+a taste to be honoured and encouraged--the taste for reading novels. She
+put her own romantic construction on the extraordinary compliment which
+the doctor's jesting humour had paid to her. As he walked out, grimly
+smiling and thumping his big stick on the floor, a new idea illuminated
+her mind. Her master admired her; her master was no ordinary man--it
+might end in his marrying her.
+
+On his way to the telegraph office, Benjulia left Ovid's letters at Mrs.
+Gallilee's house.
+
+If he had personally returned them, he would have found the learned
+lady in no very gracious humour. On the previous day she had discovered
+Carmina and Miss Minerva engaged in a private conference--without having
+been able even to guess what the subject under discussion between them
+might be. They were again together that morning. Maria and Zo had
+gone to church with their father; Miss Minerva was kept at home by a
+headache. At that hour, and under those circumstances, there was no
+plausible pretence which would justify Mrs. Gallilee's interference.
+She seriously contemplated the sacrifice of a month's salary, and the
+dismissal of her governess without notice.
+
+When the footman opened the door, Benjulia handed in the packet of
+letters. After his latest experience of Mrs. Gallilee, he had no
+intention of returning her visit. He walked away without uttering a
+word.
+
+The cable took his message to Mr. Morphew in these terms:--"Ovid's
+patient at Montreal. Was the complaint brain disease? Yes or no." Having
+made arrangements for the forwarding of the reply from his club, he set
+forth on the walk back to his house.
+
+At five minutes to three, he was at home again. As the clock struck the
+hour, he rang the bell. The man-servant appeared, without the dinner.
+Benjulia's astonishing amiability--on his holiday--was even equal to
+this demand on its resources.
+
+"I ordered roast mutton at three," he said, with terrifying
+tranquillity. "Where is it?"
+
+"The dinner will be ready in ten minutes, sir."
+
+"Why is it not ready now?"
+
+"The cook hopes you will excuse her, sir. She is a little behindhand
+to-day."
+
+"What has hindered her, if you please?"
+
+The silent servant--on all other occasions the most impenetrable of
+human beings--began to tremble. The doctor had, literally, kicked a man
+out of the house who had tried to look through the laboratory skylight.
+He had turned away a female servant at half an hour's notice, for
+forgetting to shut the door, a second time in one day. But what were
+these highhanded proceedings, compared with the awful composure which,
+being kept waiting for dinner, only asked what had hindered the cook,
+and put the question politely, by saying, "if you please"?
+
+"Perhaps you were making love to her?" the doctor suggested, as gently
+as ever.
+
+This outrageous insinuation stung the silent servant into speech. "I'm
+incapable of the action, sir!" he answered indignantly; "the woman was
+reading a story."
+
+Benjulia bent his head, as if in acknowledgment of a highly satisfactory
+explanation. "Oh? reading a story? People who read stories are said to
+have excitable brains. Should you call the cook excitable?"
+
+"I should, sir! Most cooks are excitable. They say it's the kitchen
+fire."
+
+"Do they? You can go now. Don't hurry the cook--I'll wait."
+
+He waited, apparently following some new train of thought which highly
+diverted him. Ten minutes passed--then a quarter of an hour then another
+five minutes. When the servant returned with the dinner, the master's
+private reflections continued to amuse him: his thin lips were still
+widening grimly, distended by his formidable smile.
+
+On being carved, the mutton proved to be underdone. At other times, this
+was an unpardonable crime in Benjulia's domestic code of laws. All
+he said now was, "Take it away." He dined on potatoes, and bread and
+cheese. When he had done, he was rather more amiable than ever. He said,
+"Ask the cook to come and see me!"
+
+The cook presented herself, with one hand on her palpitating heart, and
+the other holding her handkerchief to her eyes.
+
+"What are you crying about?" Benjulia inquired; "I haven't scolded you,
+have I?" The cook began an apology; the doctor pointed to a chair. "Sit
+down, and recover yourself." The cook sat down, faintly smiling through
+her tears. This otherwise incomprehensible reception of a person who had
+kept the dinner waiting twenty minutes, and who had not done the mutton
+properly even then (taken in connection with the master's complimentary
+inquiries, reported downstairs by the footman), could bear but one
+interpretation. It wasn't every woman who had her beautiful hair, and
+her rosy complexion. Why had she not thought of going upstairs first,
+just to see whether she looked her best in the glass? Would he begin by
+making a confession? or would he begin by kissing her?
+
+He began by lighting his pipe. For a while he smoked placidly with his
+eye on the cook. "I hear you have been reading a story," he resumed.
+"What is the name of it?"
+
+"'Pamela; or Virtue Rewarded,' sir."
+
+Benjulia went on with his smoking. The cook, thus far demure and
+downcast, lifted her eyes experimentally. He was still looking at her.
+Did he want encouragement? The cook cautiously offered a little literary
+information,
+
+"The author's name is on the book, sir. Name of Richardson."
+
+The information was graciously received, "Yes; I've heard of the name,
+and heard of the book. Is it interesting?"
+
+"Oh, sir, it's a beautiful story! My only excuse for being late with the
+dinner--"
+
+"Who's Pamela?"
+
+"A young person in service, sir. I'm sure I wish I was more like her! I
+felt quite broken-hearted when you sent the mutton down again; and you
+so kind as to overlook the error in the roasting--"
+
+Benjulia stopped the apology once more. He pursued his own ends with a
+penitent cook, just as he pursued his own ends with a vivisected animal.
+Nothing moved him out of his appointed course, in the one or in the
+other. He returned to Pamela.
+
+"And what becomes of her at the end of the story?" he asked.
+
+The cook simpered. "It's Pamela who is the virtuous young person, sir.
+And so the story comes true--Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded."
+
+"Who rewards her?"
+
+Was there ever anything so lucky as this? Pamela's situation was fast
+becoming the cook's situation. The bosom of the vigourous little woman
+began to show signs of tender agitation--distributed over a large
+surface. She rolled her eyes amorously. Benjulia puffed out another
+mouthful of smoke. "Well," he repeated, "who rewards Pamela?"
+
+"Her master, sir."
+
+"What does he do?"
+
+The cook's eyes sank modestly to her lap. The cook's complexion became
+brighter than ever.
+
+"Her master marries her, sir."
+
+"Oh?"
+
+That was all he said. He was not astonished, or confused, or
+encouraged--he simply intimated that he now knew how Pamela's master had
+rewarded Pamela. And, more dispiriting still, he took the opportunity of
+knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and filled it, and lit it again.
+If the cook had been one of the few miserable wretches who never read
+novels, she might have felt her fondly founded hopes already sinking
+from under her. As it was, Richardson sustained her faith in herself;
+Richardson reminded her that Pamela's master had hesitated, and that
+Pamela's Virtue had not earned its reward on easy terms. She stole
+another look at the doctor. The eloquence of women's eyes, so widely
+and justly celebrated in poetry and prose, now spoke in the cook's
+eyes. They said, "Marry me, dear sir, and you shall never have underdone
+mutton again." The hearts of other savages have been known to soften
+under sufficient influences--why should the scientific savage, under
+similar pressure, not melt a little too? The doctor took up the talk
+again: he made a kind allusion to the cook's family circumstances.
+
+"When you first came here, I think you told me you had no relations?"
+
+"I am an orphan, sir."
+
+"And you had been some time out of a situation, when I engaged you?"
+
+"Yes, sir; my poor little savings were nearly at an end!" Could he
+resist that pathetic picture of the orphan's little savings--framed, as
+it were, in a delicately-designed reference to her fellow-servant in the
+story? "I was as poor as Pamela," she suggested softly.
+
+"And as virtuous," Benjulia added.
+
+The cook's eloquent eyes said, "Thank you, sir."
+
+He laid down his pipe. That was a good sign, surely? He drew his chair
+nearer to her. Better and better! His arm was long enough, in the new
+position, to reach her waist. Her waist was ready for him.
+
+"You have nothing in particular to do, this afternoon; and I have
+nothing particular to do." He delivered himself of this assertion rather
+abruptly. At the same time, it was one of those promising statements
+which pave the way for anything. He might say, "Having nothing
+particular to do to-day--why shouldn't we make love?" Or he might say,
+"Having nothing particular to do to-morrow--why shouldn't we get the
+marriage license?" Would he put it in that way? No: he made a proposal
+of quite another kind. He said, "You seem to be fond of stories. Suppose
+I tell you a story?"
+
+Perhaps, there was some hidden meaning in this. There was unquestionably
+a sudden alteration in his look and manner; the cook asked herself what
+it meant.
+
+If she had seen the doctor at his secret work in the laboratory, the
+change in him might have put her on her guard. He was now looking
+(experimentally) at the inferior creature seated before him in the
+chair, as he looked (experimentally) at the other inferior creatures
+stretched under him on the table.
+
+His story began in the innocent, old-fashioned way.
+
+"Once upon a time, there was a master and there was a maid. We will call
+the master by the first letter of the alphabet--Mr. A. And we will call
+the maid by the second letter--Miss B."
+
+The cook drew a long breath of relief. There _was_ a hidden meaning in
+the doctor's story. The unfortunate woman thought to herself, "I have
+not only got fine hair and a beautiful complexion; I am clever as well!"
+On her rare evenings of liberty, she sometimes gratified another highly
+creditable taste, besides the taste for reading novels. She was an eager
+play-goer. That notable figure in the drama--the man who tells his own
+story, under pretence of telling the story of another person--was no
+unfamiliar figure in her stage experience. Her encouraging smile made
+its modest appearance once more. In the very beginning of her master's
+story, she saw already the happy end.
+
+"We all of us have our troubles in life," Benjulia went on; "and Miss B.
+had her troubles. For a long time, she was out of a situation; and
+she had no kind parents to help her. Miss B. was an orphan. Her little
+savings were almost gone."
+
+It was too distressing. The cook took out her handkerchief, and pitied
+Miss B. with all her heart.
+
+The doctor proceeded.
+
+"But virtue, as we know when we read 'Pamela,' is sure of its reward.
+Circumstances occurred in the household of Mr. A. which made it
+necessary for him to engage a cook. He discovered an advertisement in a
+newspaper, which informed him that Miss B. was in search of a situation.
+Mr. A. found her to be a young and charming woman. Mr. A. engaged her."
+At that critical part of the story, Benjulia paused. "And what did Mr.
+A. do next?" he asked.
+
+The cook could restrain herself no longer. She jumped out of her chair,
+and threw her arms round the doctor's neck.
+
+Benjulia went on with his story as if nothing had happened.
+
+"And what did Mr. A. do next?" he repeated. "He put his hand in his
+pocket--he gave Miss B. a month's wages--and he turned her out of the
+house. You impudent hussy, you have delayed my dinner, spoilt my mutton,
+and hugged me round the neck! There is your money. Go."
+
+With glaring eyes and gaping mouth, the cook stood looking at him, like
+a woman struck to stone. In a moment more, the rage burst out of her
+in a furious scream. She turned to the table, and snatched up a knife.
+Benjulia wrenched it from her hand, and dropped back into his chair
+completely overpowered by the success of his little joke. He did what
+he had never done within the memory of his oldest friend--he burst
+out laughing. "This _has_ been a holiday!" he said. "Why haven't I got
+somebody with me to enjoy it?"
+
+At that laugh, at those words, the cook's fury in its fiercest heat
+became frozen by terror. There was something superhuman in the doctor's
+diabolical joy. Even _he_ felt the wild horror in the woman's eyes as
+they rested on him.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" he asked. She muttered and mumbled--and,
+shrinking away from him, crept towards the door. As she approached the
+window, a man outside passed by it on his way to the house. She pointed
+to him; and repeated Benjulia's own words:
+
+"Somebody to enjoy it with you," she said.
+
+She opened the dining-room door. The man-servant appeared in the hall,
+with a gentleman behind him.
+
+The gentleman was a scrupulously polite person. He looked with alarm at
+the ghastly face of the cook as she ran past him, making for the kitchen
+stairs. "I'm afraid I intrude on you at an unfortunate time," he said to
+Benjulia. "Pray excuse me; I will call again."
+
+"Come in, sir." The doctor spoke absently, looking towards the hall, and
+thinking of something else.
+
+The gentleman entered the room.
+
+"My name is Mool," he said. "I have had the honour of meeting you at one
+of Mrs. Gallilee's parties."
+
+"Very likely. I don't remember it myself. Take a seat."
+
+He was still thinking of something else. Modest Mr. Mool took a seat in
+confusion. The doctor crossed the room, and opened the door.
+
+"Excuse me for a minute," he said. "I will be back directly."
+
+He went to the top of the kitchen stairs, and called to the housemaid.
+"Is the cook down there?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"What is she doing?"
+
+"Crying her heart out."
+
+Benjulia turned away again with the air of a disappointed man. A violent
+moral shock sometimes has a serious effect on the brain--especially when
+it is the brain of an excitable woman. Always a physiologist, even
+in those rare moments when he was amusing himself, it had just struck
+Benjulia that the cook--after her outbreak of fury--might be a case
+worth studying. But, she had got relief in crying; her brain was safe;
+she had ceased to interest him. He returned to the dining-room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+"You look hot, sir; have a drink. Old English ale, out of the barrel."
+
+The tone was hearty. He poured out the sparkling ale into a big tumbler,
+with hospitable good-will. Mr. Mool was completely, and most agreeably,
+taken by surprise. He too was feeling the influence of the doctor's good
+humour--enriched in quality by pleasant remembrances of his interview
+with the cook.
+
+"I live in the suburbs, Doctor Benjulia, on this side of London," Mr.
+Mool explained; "and I have had a nice walk from my house to yours. If I
+have done wrong, sir, in visiting you on Sunday, I can only plead that I
+am engaged in business during the week--"
+
+"All right. One day's the same as another, provided you don't interrupt
+me. You don't interrupt me now. Do you smoke?"
+
+"No, thank you."
+
+"Do you mind my smoking?"
+
+"I like it, doctor."
+
+"Very amiable on your part, I'm sure. What did you say your name was?"
+
+"Mool."
+
+Benjulia looked at him suspiciously. Was he a physiologist, and a rival?
+"You're not a doctor--are you?" he said.
+
+"I am a lawyer."
+
+One of the few popular prejudices which Benjulia shared with his
+inferior fellow-creatures was the prejudice against lawyers. But for his
+angry recollection of the provocation successfully offered to him by his
+despicable brother, Mrs. Gallilee would never have found her way into
+his confidence. But for his hearty enjoyment of the mystification of
+the cook, Mr. Mool would have been requested to state the object of
+his visit in writing, and would have gone home again a baffled man. The
+doctor's holiday amiability had reached its full development indeed,
+when he allowed a strange lawyer to sit and talk with him!
+
+"Gentlemen of your profession," he muttered, "never pay visits to people
+whom they don't know, without having their own interests in view. Mr.
+Mool, you want something of me. What is it?"
+
+Mr. Mool's professional tact warned him to waste no time on prefatory
+phrases.
+
+"I venture on my present intrusion," he began, "in consequence of a
+statement recently made to me, in my office, by Mrs. Gallilee."
+
+"Stop!" cried Benjulia. "I don't like your beginning, I can tell you.
+Is it necessary to mention the name of that old--?" He used a word,
+described in dictionaries as having a twofold meaning. (First, "A female
+of the canine kind." Second, "A term of reproach for a woman.") It
+shocked Mr. Mool; and it is therefore unfit to be reported.
+
+"Really, Doctor Benjulia!"
+
+"Does that mean that you positively must talk about her?"
+
+Mr. Mool smiled. "Let us say that it may bear that meaning," he
+answered.
+
+"Go on, then--and get it over. She made a statement in your office. Out
+with it, my good fellow. Has it anything to do with me?"
+
+"I should not otherwise, Doctor Benjulia, have ventured to present
+myself at your house." With that necessary explanation, Mr. Mool related
+all that had passed between Mrs. Gallilee and himself.
+
+At the outset of the narrative, Benjulia angrily laid aside his pipe, on
+the point of interrupting the lawyer. He changed his mind; and, putting
+a strong constraint on himself, listened in silence. "I hope, sir," Mr.
+Mool concluded, "you will not take a hard view of my motive. It is only
+the truth to say that I am interested in Miss Carmina's welfare. I felt
+the sincerest respect and affection for her parents. You knew them too.
+They were good people. On reflection you must surely regret it, if you
+have carelessly repeated a false report? Won't you help me to clear the
+poor mother's memory of this horrid stain?"
+
+Benjulia smoked in silence. Had that simple and touching appeal found
+its way to him? He began very strangely, when he consented at last to
+open his lips.
+
+"You're what they call, a middle-aged man," he said. "I suppose you have
+had some experience of women?"
+
+Mr. Mool blushed. "I am a married man, sir," he replied gravely.
+
+"Very well; that's experience--of one kind. When a man's out of temper,
+and a woman wants something of him, do you know how cleverly she can
+take advantage of her privileges to aggravate him, till there's nothing
+he won't do to get her to leave him in peace? That's how I came to tell
+Mrs. Gallilee, what she told you."
+
+He waited a little, and comforted himself with his pipe.
+
+"Mind this," he resumed, "I don't profess to feel any interest in the
+girl; and I never cared two straws about her parents. At the same time,
+if you can turn to good account what I am going to say next--do it, and
+welcome. This scandal began in the bragging of a fellow-student of mine
+at Rome. He was angry with me, and angry with another man, for laughing
+at him when he declared himself to be Mrs. Robert Graywell's lover: and
+he laid us a wager that we should see the woman alone in his room, that
+night. We were hidden behind a curtain, and we did see her in his room.
+I paid the money I had lost, and left Rome soon afterwards. The other
+man refused to pay."
+
+"On what ground?" Mr. Mool eagerly asked.
+
+"On the ground that she wore a thick veil, and never showed her face."
+
+"An unanswerable objection, Doctor Benjulia!"
+
+"Perhaps it might be. I didn't think so myself. Two hours before, Mrs.
+Robert Graywell and I had met in the street. She had on a dress of a
+remarkable colour in those days--a sort of sea-green. And a bonnet to
+match, which everybody stared at, because it was not half the size of
+the big bonnets then in fashion. There was no mistaking the strange
+dress or the tall figure, when I saw her again in the student's room. So
+I paid the bet."
+
+"Do you remember the name of the man who refused to pay?"
+
+"His name was Egisto Baccani."
+
+"Have you heard anything of him since?"
+
+"Yes. He got into some political scrape, and took refuge, like the
+rest of them, in England; and got his living, like the rest of them, by
+teaching languages. He sent me his prospectus--that's how I came to know
+about it."
+
+"Have you got the prospectus?"
+
+"Torn up, long ago."
+
+Mr. Mool wrote down the name in his pocket-book. "There is nothing more
+you can tell me?" he said.
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Accept my best thanks, doctor. Good-day!"
+
+"If you find Baccani let me know. Another drop of ale? Are you likely to
+see Mrs. Gallilee soon?"
+
+"Yes--if I find Baccani."
+
+"Do you ever play with children?"
+
+"I have five of my own to play with," Mr. Mool answered.
+
+"Very well. Ask for the youngest child when you go to Mrs. Gallilee's.
+We call her Zo. Put your finger on her spine--here, just below the
+neck. Press on the place--so. And, when she wriggles, say, With the big
+doctor's love."
+
+Getting back to his own house, Mr. Mool was surprised to find an open
+carriage at the garden gate. A smartly-dressed woman, on the front seat,
+surveyed him with an uneasy look. "If you please, sir," she said, "would
+you kindly tell Miss Carmina that we really mustn't wait any longer?"
+
+The woman's uneasiness was reflected in Mr. Mool's face. A visit from
+Carmina, at his private residence, could have no ordinary motive. The
+fear instantly occurred to him that Mrs. Gallilee might have spoken to
+her of her mother.
+
+Before he opened the drawing-room door, this alarm passed away. He heard
+Carmina talking with his wife and daughters.
+
+"May I say one little word to you, Mr. Mool?"
+
+He took her into his study. She was shy and confused, but certainly
+neither angry nor distressed.
+
+"My aunt sends me out every day, when it's fine, for a drive," she said.
+"As the carriage passed close by, I thought I might ask you a question."
+
+"Certainly, my dear! As many questions as you please."
+
+"It's about the law. My aunt says she has the authority over me now,
+which my dear father had while he was living. Is that true?"
+
+"Quite true."
+
+"For how long is she my guardian?"
+
+"Until you are twenty-one years old."
+
+The faint colour faded from Carmina's face. "More than three years
+perhaps to suffer!" she said sadly.
+
+"To suffer? What do you mean, my dear?"
+
+She turned paler still, and made no reply. "I want to ask one thing
+more?" she resumed, in sinking tones. "Would my aunt still be my
+guardian--supposing I was married?"
+
+Mr. Mool answered this, with his eyes fixed on her in grave scrutiny.
+
+"In that case, your husband is the only person who has any authority
+over you. These are rather strange questions, Carmina. Won't you take me
+into your confidence?"
+
+In sudden agitation she seized his hand and kissed it. "I must go!" she
+said. "I have kept the carriage waiting too long already."
+
+She ran out, without once looking back.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's maid looked at her watch, when the carriage left Mr.
+Mool's house. "We shall be nearly an hour late, before we get home," she
+said.
+
+"It's my fault, Marceline. Tell your mistress the truth, if she
+questions you. I shall not think the worse of you for obeying your
+orders."
+
+"I'd rather lose my place, Miss, than get you into trouble."
+
+The woman spoke truly, Carmina's sweet temper had made her position not
+only endurable, but delightful: she had been treated like a companion
+and a friend. But for that circumstance--so keenly had Marceline felt
+the degradation of being employed as a spy--she would undoubtedly have
+quitted Mrs. Gallilee's service.
+
+On the way home, instead of talking pleasantly as usual, Carmina was
+silent and sad. Had this change in her spirits been caused by the visit
+to Mr. Mool? It was even so. The lawyer had innocently decided her on
+taking the desperate course which Miss Minerva had proposed.
+
+If Mrs. Gallilee's assertion of her absolute right of authority,
+as guardian, had been declared by Mr. Mool to be incorrect, Carmina
+(hopefully forgetful of her aunt's temper) had thought of a compromise.
+
+She would have consented to remain at Mrs. Gallilee's disposal until
+Ovid returned, on condition of being allowed, when Teresa arrived in
+London, to live in retirement with her old nurse. This change of abode
+would prevent any collision between Mrs. Gallilee and Teresa, and would
+make Carmina's life as peaceful, and even as happy, as she could wish.
+
+But now that the lawyer had confirmed her aunt's statement of the
+position in which they stood towards one another, instant flight to
+Ovid's love and protection seemed to be the one choice left--unless
+Carmina could resign herself to a life of merciless persecution and
+perpetual suspense.
+
+The arrangements for the flight were already complete.
+
+That momentary view of Mrs. Gallilee's face, reflected in the glass, had
+confirmed Miss Minerva's resolution to interfere. Closeted with Carmina
+on the Sunday morning, she had proposed a scheme of escape, which would
+even set Mrs. Gallilee's vigilance and cunning at defiance. No pecuniary
+obstacle stood in the way. The first quarterly payment of Carmina's
+allowance of five hundred a year had been already made, by Mool's
+advice. Enough was left--even without the assistance which the nurse's
+resources would render--to purchase the necessary outfit, and to take
+the two women to Quebec. On the day after Teresa's arrival (at an hour
+of the morning while the servants were still in bed) Carmina and her
+companion could escape from the house on foot--and not leave a trace
+behind them.
+
+Meanwhile, Fortune befriended Mrs. Gallilee's maid. No questions were
+put to her; no notice even was taken of the late return.
+
+Five minutes before the carriage drew up at the house, a learned female
+friend from the country called, by appointment, on Mrs. Gallilee. On the
+coming Tuesday afternoon, an event of the deepest scientific interest
+was to take place. A new Professor had undertaken to deliver himself,
+by means of a lecture, of subversive opinions on "Matter." A general
+discussion was to follow; and in that discussion (upon certain
+conditions) Mrs. Gallilee herself proposed to take part.
+
+"If the Professor attempts to account for the mutual action of separate
+atoms," she said, "I defy him to do it, without assuming the existence
+of a continuous material medium in space. And this point of view being
+accepted--follow me here! what is the result? In plain words," cried
+Mrs. Gallilee, rising excitedly to her feet, "we dispense with the idea
+of atoms!"
+
+The friend looked infinitely relieved by the prospect of dispensing with
+atoms.
+
+"Now observe!" Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. "In connection with this part
+of the subject, I shall wait to see if the Professor adopts Thomson's
+theory. You are acquainted with Thomson's theory? No? Let me put it
+briefly. Mere heterogeneity, together with gravitation, is sufficient
+to explain all the apparently discordant laws of molecular action. You
+understand? Very well. If the Professor passes over Thomson, _then,_ I
+rise in the body of the Hall, and take my stand--follow me again!--on
+these grounds."
+
+While Mrs. Gallilee's grounds were being laid out for the benefit of
+her friend, the coachman took the carriage back to the stables; the
+maid went downstairs to tea; and Carmina joined Miss Minerva in the
+schoolroom--all three being protected from discovery, by Mrs. Gallilee's
+rehearsal of her performance in the Comedy of Atoms.
+
+The Monday morning brought with it news from Rome--serious news which
+confirmed Miss Minerva's misgivings.
+
+Carmina received a letter, bearing the Italian postmark, but not
+addressed to her in Teresa's handwriting. She looked to the signature
+before she began to read. Her correspondent was the old priest--Father
+Patrizio. He wrote in these words:
+
+
+"My dear child,--Our good Teresa leaves us to-day, on her journey to
+London. She has impatiently submitted to the legal ceremonies, rendered
+necessary by her husband having died without making a will. He hardly
+left anything in the way of money, after payment of his burial expenses,
+and his few little debts. What is of far greater importance--he lived,
+and died, a good Christian. I was with him in his last moments. Offer
+your prayers, my dear, for the repose of his soul.
+
+"Teresa left me, declaring her purpose of travelling night and day, so
+as to reach you the sooner.
+
+"In her headlong haste, she has not even waited to look over her
+husband's papers; but has taken the case containing them to England--to
+be examined at leisure, in your beloved company. Strong as this good
+creature is, I believe she will be obliged to rest on the road for a
+night at least. Calculating on this, I assume that my letter will get
+to you first. I have something to say about your old nurse, which it is
+well that you should know.
+
+"Do not for a moment suppose that I blame you for having told Teresa of
+the unfriendly reception, which you appear to have met with from your
+aunt and guardian. Who should you confide in--if not in the excellent
+woman who has filled the place of a mother to you? Besides, from your
+earliest years, have I not always instilled into you the reverence of
+truth? You have told the truth in your letters. My child, I commend you,
+and feel for you.
+
+"But the impression produced on Teresa is not what you or I could wish.
+It is one of her merits, that she loves you with the truest devotion; it
+is one of her defects, that she is fierce and obstinate in resentment.
+Your aunt has become an object of absolute hatred to her. I have
+combated successfully, as I hope and believe--this unchristian state of
+feeling.
+
+"She is now beyond the reach of my influence. My purpose in writing is
+to beg you to continue the good work that I have begun. Compose this
+impetuous nature; restrain this fiery spirit. Your gentle influence,
+Carmina, has a power of its own over those who love you--and who loves
+you like Teresa?--of which perhaps you are not yourself aware. Use your
+power discreetly; and, with the blessing of God and his Saints, I have
+no fear of the result.
+
+"Write to me, my child, when Teresa arrives--and let me hear that you
+are happier, and better in health. Tell me also, whether there is any
+speedy prospect of your marriage. If I may presume to judge from the
+little I know, your dearest earthly interests depend on the removal
+of obstacles to this salutary change in your life. I send you my good
+wishes, and my blessing. If a poor old priest like me can be of any
+service, do not forget.
+
+"FATHER PATRIZIO."
+
+
+Any lingering hesitation that Carmina might still have felt, was at an
+end when she read this letter. Good Father Patrizio, like good Mr. Mool,
+had innocently urged her to set her guardian's authority at defiance.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+
+When the morning lessons were over, Carmina showed the priest's letter
+to Miss Minerva. The governess read it, and handed it back in silence.
+
+"Have you nothing to say?" Carmina asked.
+
+"Nothing. You know my opinion already. That letter says what I have
+said--with greater authority."
+
+"It has determined me to follow your advice, Frances."
+
+"Then it has done well."
+
+"And you see," Carmina continued, "that Father Patrizio speaks of
+obstacles in the way of my marriage. Teresa has evidently shown him
+my letters. Do you think he fears, as I do, that my aunt may find some
+means of separating us, even when Ovid comes back?"
+
+"Very likely."
+
+She spoke in faint weary tones--listlessly leaning back in her chair.
+Carmina asked if she had passed another sleepless night.
+
+"Yes," she said, "another bad night, and the usual martyrdom in teaching
+the children. I don't know which disgusts me most--Zoe's impudent
+stupidity, or Maria's unendurable humbug."
+
+She had never yet spoken of Maria in this way. Even her voice seemed to
+be changed. Instead of betraying the usual angry abruptness, her tones
+coldly indicated impenetrable contempt. In the silence that ensued, she
+looked up, and saw Carmina's eyes resting on her anxiously and kindly.
+
+"Any other human being but you," she said, "would find me disagreeable
+and rude--and would be quite right, too. I haven't asked after your
+health. You look paler than usual. Have you, too, had a bad night?"
+
+"I fell asleep towards the morning. And--oh, I had such a delightful
+dream! I could almost wish that I had never awakened from it."
+
+"Who did you dream of?" She put the question mechanically--frowning,
+as if at some repellent thought suggested to her by what she had just
+heard.
+
+"I dreamed of my mother," Carmina answered.
+
+Miss Minerva raised herself at once in the chair. Whatever that passing
+impression might have been, she was free from it now. There was some
+little life again in her eyes; some little spirit in her voice. "Take me
+out of myself," she said; "tell me your dream."
+
+"It is nothing very remarkable, Frances. We all of us sometimes see our
+dear lost ones in sleep. I saw my mother again, as I used to see her
+in the nursery at bedtime--tall and beautiful, with her long dark hair
+failing over her white dressing-gown to the waist. She stooped over me,
+and kissed me; and she looked surprised. She said, 'My little angel, why
+are you here in a strange house? I have come to take you back to your
+own cot, by my bedside.' I wasn't surprised or frightened; I put my arms
+round her neck; and we floated away together through the cool starry
+night; and we were at home again. I saw my cot, with its pretty white
+curtains and pink ribbons. I heard my mother tell me an English fairy
+story, out of a book which my father had given to her--and her kind
+voice grew fainter and fainter, while I grew more and more sleepy--and
+it ended softly, just as it used to end in the happy old days. And I
+woke, crying. Do you ever dream of your mother now?"
+
+"I? God forbid!"
+
+"Oh, Frances, what a dreadful thing to say!"
+
+"Is it? It was the thought in me, when you spoke. And with good reason,
+too. I was the last of a large family--the ugly one; the ill-tempered
+one; the encumbrance that made it harder than ever to find money enough
+to pay the household expenses. My father swore at my mother for being my
+mother. She reviled him just as bitterly in return; and vented the rest
+of her ill-temper on my wretched little body, with no sparing hand.
+Bedtime was her time for beating me. Talk of your mother--not of mine!
+You were very young, were you not, when she died?"
+
+"Too young to feel my misfortune--but old enough to remember the
+sweetest woman that ever lived. Let me show you my father's portrait of
+her again. Doesn't that face tell you what an angel she was? There was
+some charm in her that all children felt. I can just remember some of my
+playfellows who used to come to our garden. Other good mothers were with
+us--but the children all crowded round _my_ mother. They would have her
+in all their games; they fought for places on her lap when she told them
+stories; some of them cried, and some of them screamed, when it was time
+to take them away from her. Oh, why do we live! why do we die! I have
+bitter thoughts sometimes, Frances, like you. I have read in poetry that
+death is a fearful thing. To me, death is a cruel thing,--and it has
+never seemed so cruel as in these later days, since I have known Ovid.
+If my mother had but lived till now, what happiness would have been
+added to my life and to hers! How Ovid would have loved her--how she
+would have loved Ovid!"
+
+Miss Minerva listened in silence. It was the silence of true interest
+and sympathy, while Carmina was speaking of her mother. When her lover's
+name became mingled with the remembrances of her childhood--the change
+came. Once more, the tell-tale lines began to harden in the governess's
+face. She lay back again in her chair. Her fingers irritably platted and
+unplatted the edge of her black apron.
+
+Carmina was too deeply absorbed in her thoughts, too eagerly bent on
+giving them expression, to notice these warning signs.
+
+"I have all my mother's letters to my father," she went on, "when he was
+away from her on his sketching excursions, You have still a little time
+to spare--I should so like to read some of them to you. I was reading
+one, last night--which perhaps accounts for my dream? It is on a subject
+that interests everybody. In my father's absence, a very dear friend of
+his met with a misfortune; and my mother had to prepare his wife to hear
+the bad news--oh, that reminds me! There is something I want to say to
+you first."
+
+"About yourself?" Miss Minerva asked.
+
+"About Ovid. I want your advice."
+
+Miss Minerva was silent. Carmina went on. "It's about writing to Ovid,"
+she explained.
+
+"Write, of course!"
+
+The reply was suddenly and sharply given. "Surely, I have not offended
+you?" Carmina said.
+
+"Nonsense! Let me hear your mother's letter."
+
+"Yes--but I want you to hear the circumstances first."
+
+"You have mentioned them already."
+
+"No! no! I mean the circumstances, in my case." She drew her chair
+closer to Miss Minerva. "I want to whisper--for fear of somebody passing
+on the stairs. The more I think of it, the more I feel that I ought to
+prepare Ovid for seeing me, before I make my escape. You said when we
+talked of it--"
+
+"Never mind what I said."
+
+"Oh, but I do mind! You said I could go to Ovid's bankers at Quebec,
+and then write when I knew where he was. I have been thinking over
+it since--and I see a serious risk. He might return from his inland
+journey, on the very day that I get there; he might even meet me in the
+street. In his delicate health--I daren't think of what the consequences
+of such a surprise might be! And then there is the dreadful necessity
+of telling him, that his mother has driven me into taking this
+desperate step. In my place, wouldn't you feel that you could do it more
+delicately in writing?"
+
+"I dare say!"
+
+"I might write to-morrow, for instance. To-morrow is one of the American
+mail days. My letter would get to Canada (remembering the roundabout way
+by which Teresa and I are to travel, for fear of discovery), days and
+days before we could arrive. I should shut myself up in an hotel at
+Quebec; and Teresa could go every day to the bank, to hear if Ovid was
+likely to send for his letters, or likely to call soon and ask for them.
+Then he would be prepared. Then, when we meet--!"
+
+The governess left her chair, and pointed to the clock.
+
+Carmina looked at her--and rose in alarm. "Are you in pain?" she asked.
+
+"Yes--neuralgia, I think. I have the remedy in my room. Don't keep me,
+my dear. Mrs. Gallilee mustn't find me here again."
+
+The paroxysm of pain which Carmina had noticed, passed over her face
+once more. She subdued it, and left the room. The pain mastered her
+again; a low cry broke from her when she closed the door. Carmina ran
+out: "Frances! what is it?" Frances looked over her shoulder, while she
+slowly ascended the stairs. "Never mind!" she said gently. "I have got
+my remedy."
+
+Carmina advanced a step to follow her, and drew back.
+
+Was that expression of suffering really caused by pain of the body? or
+was it attributable to anything that she had rashly said? She tried to
+recall what had passed between Frances and herself. The effort wearied
+her. Her thoughts turned self-reproachfully to Ovid. If _he_ had been
+speaking to a friend whose secret sorrow was known to him, would he have
+mentioned the name of the woman whom they both loved? She looked at his
+portrait, and reviled herself as a selfish insensible wretch. "Will Ovid
+improve me?" she wondered. "Shall I be a little worthier of him, when I
+am his wife?"
+
+Luncheon time came; and Mrs. Gallilee sent word that they were not to
+wait for her.
+
+"She's studying," said Mr. Gallilee, with awe-struck looks. "She's going
+to make a speech at the Discussion to-morrow. The man who gives the
+lecture is the man she's going to pitch into. I don't know him; but how
+do you feel about it yourself, Carmina?--I wouldn't stand in his shoes
+for any sum of money you could offer me. Poor devil! I beg your pardon,
+my dear; let me give you a wing of the fowl. Boiled fowl--eh? and
+tongue--ha? Do you know the story of the foreigner? He dined out fifteen
+times with his English friends. And there was boiled fowl and tongue at
+every dinner. The fifteenth time, the foreigner couldn't stand it any
+longer. He slapped his forehead, and he said, 'Ah, merciful Heaven, cock
+and bacon again!' You won't mention it, will you?--and perhaps you think
+as I do?--I'm sick of cock and bacon, myself."
+
+Mr. Null's medical orders still prescribed fresh air. The carriage
+came to the door at the regular hour; and Mr. Gallilee, with equal
+regularity, withdrew to his club.
+
+Carmina was too uneasy to leave the house, without seeing Miss Minerva
+first. She went up to the schoolroom.
+
+There was no sound of voices, when she opened the door. Miss Minerva was
+writing, and silence had been proclaimed. The girls were ready dressed
+for their walk. Industrious Maria had her book. Idle Zo, perched on a
+high chair, sat kicking her legs. "If you say a word," she whispered, as
+Carmina passed her, "you'll be called an Imp, and stuck up on a chair. I
+shall go to the boy."
+
+"Are you better, Frances?"
+
+"Much better, my dear."
+
+Her face denied it; the look of suffering was there still. She tore up
+the letter which she had been writing, and threw the fragments into the
+waste-paper basket.
+
+"That's the second letter you've torn up," Zo remarked.
+
+"Say a word more--and you shall have bread and water for tea!" Miss
+Minerva was not free from irritation, although she might be free from
+pain. Even Zo noticed how angry the governess was.
+
+"I wish you could drive with me in the carriage," said Carmina. "The air
+would do you so much good."
+
+"Impossible! But you may soothe my irritable nerves in another way, if
+you like."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Relieve me of these girls. Take them out with you. Do you mind?"
+
+Zo instantly jumped off her chair; and even Maria looked up from her
+book.
+
+"I will take them with pleasure. Must we ask my aunt's permission?"
+
+"We will dispense with your aunt's permission. She is shut up in her
+study--and we are all forbidden to disturb her. I will take it on
+myself." She turned to the girls with another outbreak of irritability.
+"Be off!"
+
+Maria rose with dignity, and made one of her successful exits. "I am
+sorry, dear Miss Minerva, if _I_ have done anything to make you angry."
+She pointed the emphasis on "I," by a side-look at her sister. Zo
+bounced out of the room, and performed the Italian boy's dance on
+the landing. "For shame!" said Maria. Zo burst into singing. _"Yah
+yah-yah-bellah-vitah-yah!_ Jolly! jolly! jolly!--we are going out for a
+drive!"
+
+Carmina waited, to say a friendly word, before she followed the girls.
+
+"You didn't think me neglectful, Frances, when I let you go upstairs by
+yourself!" Miss Minerva answered sadly and kindly. "The best thing you
+could do was to leave me by myself."
+
+Carmina's mind was still not quite at ease. "Yes--but you were in pain,"
+she said.
+
+"You curious child! I am not in pain now."
+
+"Will you make me comfortable, Frances? Give me a kiss."
+
+"Two, my dear--if you like."
+
+She kissed Carmina on one cheek and on the other. "Now leave me to
+write," she said.
+
+Carmina left her.
+
+The drive ought to have been a pleasant one, with Zo in the carriage.
+To Marceline, it was a time of the heartiest enjoyment. Maria herself
+condescended to smile, now and then. There was only one dull person
+among them. "Miss Carmina was but poor company," the maid remarked when
+they got back.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee herself received them in the hall.
+
+"You will never take the children out again without my leave," she said
+to Carmina. "The person who is really responsible for what you have
+done, will mislead you no more." With those words she entered the
+library, and closed the door.
+
+Maria and Zo, at the sight of their mother, had taken flight. Carmina
+stood alone in the hall. Mrs. Gallilee had turned her cold. After
+awhile, she followed the children as far as her own room. There, her
+resolution failed her. She called faintly upstairs--"Frances!" There was
+no answering voice. She went into her room. A small paper packet was on
+the table; sealed, and addressed to herself. She tore it open. A ring
+with a spinel ruby in it dropped out: she recognised the stone--it was
+Miss Minerva's ring.
+
+Some blotted lines were traced on the paper inside.
+
+"I have tried to pour out my heart to you in writing--and I have torn
+up the letters. The fewest words are the best. Look back at my
+confession--and you will know why I have left you. You shall hear from
+me, when I am more worthy of you than I am now. In the meantime, wear my
+ring. It will tell you how mean I once was. F. M."
+
+Carmina looked at the ring. She remembered that Frances had tried to
+make her accept it as security, in return for the loan of thirty pounds.
+
+She referred to the confession. Two passages in it were underlined:
+"The wickedness in me, on which Mrs. Gallilee calculated, may be in me
+still." And, again: "Even now, when you have found me out, I love him.
+Don't trust me."
+
+Never had Carmina trusted her more faithfully than at that bitter
+moment!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+
+The ordinary aspect of the schoolroom was seen no more.
+
+Installed in a position of temporary authority, the parlour-maid sat
+silently at her needlework. Maria stood by the window, in the new
+character of an idle girl--with her handkerchief in her hand, and her
+everlasting book dropped unnoticed on the floor. Zo lay flat on her
+back, on the hearth-rug, hugging the dog in her arms. At intervals, she
+rolled herself over slowly from side to side, and stared at the
+ceiling with wondering eyes. Miss Minerva's departure had struck the
+parlour-maid dumb, and had demoralized the pupils.
+
+Maria broke the silence at last. "I wonder where Carmina is?" she said.
+
+"In her room, most likely," the parlour-maid suggested.
+
+"Had I better go and see after her?"
+
+The cautious parlour-maid declined to offer advice. Maria's
+well-balanced mind was so completely unhinged, that she looked with
+languid curiosity at her sister. Zo still stared at the ceiling, and
+still rolled slowly from one side to the other. The dog on her breast,
+lulled by the regular motion, slept profoundly--not even troubled by a
+dream of fleas!
+
+While Maria was still considering what it might be best to do, Carmina
+entered the room. She looked, as the servant afterwards described it,
+"like a person who had lost her way." Maria exhibited the feeling of the
+schoolroom, by raising her handkerchief in solemn silence to her eyes.
+Without taking notice of this demonstration, Carmina approached the
+parlour-maid, and said, "Did you see Miss Minerva before she went away?"
+
+"I took her message, Miss."
+
+"What message?"
+
+"The message, saying she wished to see my mistress for a few minutes."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, Miss, I was told to show the governess into the library. She went
+down with her bonnet on, ready dressed to go out. Before she had
+been five minutes with my mistress she came out again, and rang the
+hall-bell, and spoke to Joseph. 'My boxes are packed and directed,' she
+says; 'I will send for them in an hour's time. Good day, Joseph.' And
+she stepped into the street, as quietly as if she was going out shopping
+round the corner."
+
+"Have the boxes been sent for?"
+
+"Yes, Miss."
+
+Carmina lifted her head, and spoke in steadier tones.
+
+"Where have they been taken to?"
+
+"To the flower-shop at the back--to be kept till called for."
+
+"No other address?"
+
+"None."
+
+The last faint hope of tracing Frances was at an end. Carmina turned
+wearily to leave the room. Zo called to her from the hearth-rug. Always
+kind to the child, she retraced her steps. "What is it?" she asked.
+
+Zo got on her legs before she spoke, like a member of parliament. "I've
+been thinking about that governess," she announced. "Didn't I once tell
+you I was going to run away? And wasn't it because of Her? Hush! Here's
+the part of it I can't make out--She's run away from Me. I don't bear
+malice; I'm only glad in myself. No more dirty nails. No more bread and
+water for tea. That's all. Good morning." Zo laid herself down again on
+the rug; and the dog laid himself down again on Zo.
+
+Carmina returned to her room--to reflect on what she had heard from the
+parlour-maid.
+
+It was now plain that Mrs. Gallilee had not been allowed the opportunity
+of dismissing her governess at a moment's notice: Miss Minerva's sudden
+departure was unquestionably due to Miss Minerva herself.
+
+Thus far, Carmina was able to think clearly--and no farther. The
+confused sense of helpless distress which she had felt, after reading
+the few farewell words that Frances had addressed to her, still
+oppressed her mind. There were moments when she vaguely understood, and
+bitterly lamented, the motives which had animated her unhappy friend.
+Other moments followed, when she impulsively resented the act which had
+thrown her on her own resources, at the very time when she had most need
+of the encouragement that could be afforded by the sympathy of a
+firmer nature than her own. She began to doubt the steadiness of her
+resolution--without Frances to take leave of her, on the morning of the
+escape. For the first time, she was now tortured by distrust of Ovid's
+reception of her; by dread of his possible disapproval of her boldness;
+by morbid suspicion even of his taking his mother's part. Bewildered and
+reckless, she threw herself on the sofa--her heart embittered against
+Frances--indifferent whether she lived or died.
+
+At dinner-time she sent a message, begging to be excused from appearing
+at the table. Mrs. Gallilee at once presented herself, harder and colder
+than ever, to inspect the invalid. Perceiving no immediate necessity for
+summoning Mr. Null, she said, "Ring, if you want anything," and left the
+room.
+
+Mr. Gallilee followed, after an interval, with a little surreptitious
+offering of wine (hidden under his coat); and with a selection of tarts
+crammed into his pocket.
+
+"Smuggled goods, my dear," he whispered, "picked up when nobody happened
+to be looking my way. When we are miserable--has the idea ever occurred
+to you?--it's a sign from kind Providence that we are intended to eat
+and drink. The sherry's old, and the pastry melts in your mouth. Shall
+I stay with you? You would rather not? Just my feeling! Remarkable
+similarity in our opinions--don't you think so yourself? I'm sorry for
+poor Miss Minerva. Suppose you go to bed?"
+
+Carmina was in no mood to profit by this excellent advice.
+
+She was still walking restlessly up and down her room, when the time
+came for shutting up the house. With the sound of closing locks and
+bolts, there was suddenly mingled a sharp ring at the bell; followed
+by another unexpected event. Mr. Gallilee paid her a second visit--in a
+state of transformation. His fat face was flushed: he positively
+looked as if he was capable of feeling strong emotion, unconnected with
+champagne and the club! He presented a telegram to Carmina--and, when he
+spoke, there were thrills of agitation in the tones of his piping voice.
+
+"My dear, something very unpleasant has happened. I met Joseph taking
+this to my wife. Highly improper, in my opinion,--what do you say
+yourself?--to take it to Mrs. Gallilee, when it's addressed to you. It
+was no mistake; he was so impudent as to say he had his orders. I have
+reproved Joseph." Mr. Gallilee looked astonished at himself, when he
+made this latter statement--then relapsed into his customary sweetness
+of temper. "No bad news?" he asked anxiously, when Carmina opened the
+telegram.
+
+"Good news! the best of good news!" she answered impetuously.
+
+Mr. Gallilee looked as happy as if the welcome telegram had been
+addressed to himself. On his way out of the room, he underwent another
+relapse. The footman's audacious breach of trust began to trouble him
+once more: this time in its relation to Mrs. Gallilee. The serious
+part of it was, that the man had acted under his mistress's orders. Mr.
+Gallilee said--he actually said, without appealing to anybody--"If this
+happens again, I shall be obliged to speak to my wife."
+
+The telegram was from Teresa. It had been despatched from Paris that
+evening; and the message was thus expressed:
+
+"Too tired to get on to England by to-night's mail. Shall leave by the
+early train to-morrow morning, and be with you by six o'clock."
+
+Carmina's mind was exactly in the state to feel unmingled relief, at the
+prospect of seeing the dear old friend of her happiest days. She laid
+her head on the pillow that night, without a thought of what might
+follow the event of Teresa's return.
+
+VOLUME THREE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII.
+
+The next day--the important Tuesday of the lecture on Matter; the
+delightful Tuesday of Teresa's arrival--brought with it special demands
+on Carmina's pen.
+
+Her first letter was addressed to Frances. It was frankly and earnestly
+written; entreating Miss Minerva to appoint a place at which they might
+meet, and assuring her, in the most affectionate terms, that she was
+still loved, trusted, and admired by her faithful friend. Helped by her
+steadier flow of spirits, Carmina could now see all that was worthiest
+of sympathy and admiration, all that claimed loving submission and
+allowance from herself, in the sacrifice to which Miss Minerva had
+submitted. How bravely the poor governess had controlled the jealous
+misery that tortured her! How nobly she had pronounced Carmina's
+friendship for Carmina's sake!
+
+Later in the day, Marceline took the letter to the flower shop, and
+placed it herself under the cord of one of the boxes still waiting to be
+claimed.
+
+The second letter filled many pages, and occupied the remainder of the
+morning.
+
+With the utmost delicacy, but with perfect truthfulness at the same
+time, Carmina revealed to her betrothed husband the serious reasons
+which had forced her to withdraw herself from his mother's care. Bound
+to speak at last in her own defence, she felt that concealments and
+compromises would be alike unworthy of Ovid and of herself. What she
+had already written to Teresa, she now wrote again--with but one
+modification. She expressed herself forbearingly towards Ovid's mother.
+The closing words of the letter were worthy of Carmina's gentle, just,
+and generous nature.
+
+"You will perhaps say, Why do I only hear now of all that you have
+suffered? My love, I have longed to tell you of it! I have even taken
+up my pen to begin. But I thought of you, and put it down again. How
+selfish, how cruel, to hinder your recovery by causing you sorrow and
+suspense to bring you back perhaps to England before your health was
+restored! I don't regret the effort that it has cost me to keep silence.
+My only sorrow in writing to you is, that I must speak of your mother in
+terms which may lower her in her son's estimation."
+
+Joseph brought the luncheon up to Carmina's room.
+
+The mistress was still at her studies; the master had gone to his club.
+As for the girls, their only teacher for the present was the teacher
+of music. When the ordeal of the lecture and the discussion had been
+passed, Mrs. Gallilee threatened to take Miss Minerva's place herself,
+until a new governess could be found. For once, Maria and Zo showed a
+sisterly similarity in their feelings. It was hard to say which of the
+two looked forward to her learned mother's instruction with the greatest
+terror.
+
+Carmina heard the pupils at the piano, while she was eating her
+luncheon. The profanation of music ceased, when she went into the
+bedroom to get ready for her daily drive.
+
+She took her letter, duly closed and stamped, downstairs with her--to
+be sent to the post with the other letters of the day, placed in the
+hall-basket. In the weakened state of her nerves, the effort that she
+had made in writing to Ovid had shaken her. Her heart beat uneasily; her
+knees trembled, as she descended the stairs.
+
+Arrived in sight of the hall, she discovered a man walking slowly to and
+fro. He turned towards her as she advanced, and disclosed the detestable
+face of Mr. Le Frank.
+
+The music-master's last reserves of patience had come to an end. Watch
+for them as he might, no opportunities had presented themselves of
+renewing his investigation in Carmina's room. In the interval that had
+passed, his hungry suspicion of her had been left to feed on itself.
+The motives for that incomprehensible attempt to make a friend of
+him remained hidden in as thick a darkness as ever. Victim of adverse
+circumstances, he had determined (with the greatest reluctance) to take
+the straightforward course. Instead of secretly getting his information
+from Carmina's journals and letters, he was now reduced to openly
+applying for enlightenment to Carmina herself.
+
+Occupying, for the time being, the position of an honourable man, he
+presented himself at cruel disadvantage. He was not master of his own
+glorious voice; he was without the self-possession indispensable to the
+perfect performance of his magnificent bow. "I have waited to have a
+word with you," he began abruptly, "before you go out for your drive."
+
+Already unnerved, even before she had seen him--painfully conscious that
+she had committed a serious error, on the last occasion when they had
+met, in speaking at all--Carmina neither answered him nor looked at him.
+She bent her head confusedly, and advanced a little nearer to the house
+door.
+
+He at once moved so as to place himself in her way.
+
+"I must request you to call to mind what passed between us," he resumed,
+"when we met by accident some little time since."
+
+He had speculated on frightening her. His insolence stirred her spirit
+into asserting itself. "Let me by, if you please," she said; "the
+carriage is waiting for me."
+
+"The carriage can wait a little longer," he answered coarsely. "On the
+occasion to which I have referred, you were so good as to make advances,
+to which I cannot consider myself as having any claim. Perhaps you will
+favour me by stating your motives?"
+
+"I don't understand you, sir."
+
+"Oh, yes--you do!"
+
+She stepped back, and laid her hand on the bell which rang below stairs,
+in the pantry. "Must I ring?" she said.
+
+It was plain that she would do it, if he moved a step nearer to her.
+He drew aside--with a look which made her tremble. On passing the hall
+table, she placed her letter in the post-basket. His eye followed it, as
+it left her hand: he became suddenly penitent and polite. "I am sorry if
+I have alarmed you," he said, and opened the house-door for her--without
+showing himself to Marceline and the coachman outside.
+
+The carriage having been driven away, he softly closed the door again,
+and returned to the hall-table. He looked into the post-basket.
+
+Was there any danger of discovery by the servants? The footman was
+absent, attending his mistress on her way to the lecture. None of the
+female servants were on the stairs. He took up Carmina's letter, and
+looked at the address: _To Ovid Vere, Esq._
+
+His eyes twinkled furtively; his excellent memory for injuries reminded
+him that Ovid Vere had formerly endeavoured (without even caring
+to conceal it) to prevent Mrs. Gallilee from engaging him as her
+music-master. By subtle links of its own forging, his vindictive nature
+now connected his hatred of the person to whom the letter was addressed,
+with his interest in stealing the letter itself for the possible
+discovery of Carmina's secrets. The clock told him that there was plenty
+of time to open the envelope, and (if the contents proved to be of no
+importance) to close it again, and take it himself to the post. After
+a last look round, he withdrew undiscovered, with the letter in his
+pocket.
+
+On its way back to the house, the carriage was passed by a cab, with a
+man in it, driven at such a furious rate that there was a narrow escape
+of collision. The maid screamed; Carmina turned pale; the coachman
+wondered why the man in the cab was in such a hurry. The man was Mr.
+Mool's head clerk, charged with news for Doctor Benjulia.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+The mind of the clerk's master had been troubled by serious doubts,
+after Carmina left his house on Sunday.
+
+Her agitated manner, her strange questions, and her abrupt
+departure, all suggested to Mr. Mool's mind some rash project in
+contemplation--perhaps even the plan of an elopement. To most other
+men, the obvious course to take would have been to communicate with Mrs.
+Gallilee. But the lawyer preserved a vivid remembrance of the interview
+which had taken place at his office. The detestable pleasure which Mrs.
+Gallilee had betrayed in profaning the memory of Carmina's mother, had
+so shocked and disgusted him, that he recoiled from the idea of holding
+any further intercourse with her, no matter how pressing the emergency
+might be. It was possible, after what had passed, that Carmina might
+feel the propriety of making some explanation by letter. He decided to
+wait until the next morning, on the chance of hearing from her.
+
+On the Monday, no letter arrived.
+
+Proceeding to the office, Mr. Mool found, in his
+business-correspondence, enough to occupy every moment of his time. He
+had purposed writing to Carmina, but the idea was now inevitably pressed
+out of his mind. It was only at the close of the day's work that he had
+leisure to think of a matter of greater importance--that is to say,
+of the necessity of discovering Benjulia's friend of other days, the
+Italian teacher Baccani. He left instructions with one of his clerks to
+make inquiries, the next morning, at the shops of foreign booksellers.
+There, and there only, the question might be answered, whether Baccani
+was still living, and living in London.
+
+The inquiries proved successful. On Tuesday afternoon, Baccani's address
+was in Mr. Mool's hands.
+
+Busy as he still was, the lawyer set aside his own affairs, in deference
+to the sacred duty of defending the memory of the dead, and to the
+pressing necessity of silencing Mrs. Gallilee's cruel and slanderous
+tongue. Arrived at Baccani's lodgings, he was informed that the
+language-master had gone to his dinner at a neighbouring restaurant. Mr.
+Mool waited at the lodgings, and sent a note to Baccani. In ten minutes
+more he found himself in the presence of an elderly man, of ascetic
+appearance; whose looks and tones showed him to be apt to take offence
+on small provocation, and more than half ready to suspect an eminent
+solicitor of being a spy.
+
+But Mr. Mool's experience was equal to the call on it. Having fully
+explained the object that he had in view, he left the apology for his
+intrusion to be inferred, and concluded by appealing, in his own modest
+way, to the sympathy of an honourable man.
+
+Silently forming his opinion of the lawyer, while he listened, Baccani
+expressed the conclusion at which he had arrived, in these terms:
+
+"My experience of mankind, sir, has been a bitterly bad one. You have
+improved my opinion of human nature since you entered this room. That is
+not a little thing to say, at my age and in my circumstances."
+
+He bowed gravely, and turned to his bed. From under it, he pulled out
+a clumsy tin box. Having opened the rusty lock with some difficulty,
+he produced a ragged pocket-book, and picked out from it a paper which
+looked like an old letter.
+
+"There," he said, handing the paper to Mr. Mool, "is the statement which
+vindicates this lady's reputation. Before you open the manuscript I must
+tell you how I came by it."
+
+He appeared to feel such embarrassment in approaching the subject, that
+Mr. Mool interposed. "I am already acquainted," he said, "with some of
+the circumstances to which you are about to allude. I happen to know of
+the wager in which the calumny originated, and of the manner in which
+that wager was decided. The events which followed are the only events
+that I need trouble you to describe."
+
+Baccani's grateful sense of relief avowed itself without reserve.
+"I feel your kindness," he said, "almost as keenly as I feel my own
+disgraceful conduct, in permitting a woman's reputation to be made the
+subject of a wager. From whom did you obtain your information?"
+
+"From the person who mentioned your name to me--Doctor Benjulia."
+
+Baccani lifted his hand with a gesture of angry protest.
+
+"Don't speak of him again in my presence!" he burst out. "That man
+has insulted me. When I took refuge from political persecution in this
+country, I sent him my prospectus. From my own humble position as a
+teacher of languages, I looked up without envy to his celebrity among
+doctors; I thought I might remind him, not unfavourably, of our early
+friendship--I, who had done him a hundred kindnesses in those past
+days. He has never taken the slightest notice of me; he has not even
+acknowledged the receipt of my prospectus. Despicable wretch! Let me
+hear no more of him."
+
+"Pray forgive me if I refer to him again--for the last time," Mr. Mool
+pleaded. "Did your acquaintance with him continue, after the question of
+the wager had been settled?"
+
+"No, sir!" Baccani answered sternly. "When I was at leisure to go to the
+club at which we were accustomed to meet, he had left Rome. From that
+time to this--I rejoice to say it--I have never set eyes on him."
+
+The obstacles which had prevented the refutation of the calumny from
+reaching Benjulia were now revealed. Mr. Mool had only to hear, next,
+how that refutation had been obtained. A polite hint sufficed to remind
+Baccani of the explanation that he had promised.
+
+"I am naturally suspicious," he began abruptly; "and I doubted the woman
+when I found that she kept her veil down. Besides, it was not in my
+way of thinking to believe that an estimable married lady could have
+compromised herself with a scoundrel, who had boasted that she was his
+mistress. I waited in the street, until the woman came out. I followed
+her, and saw her meet a man. The two went together to a theatre. I
+took my place near them. She lifted her veil as a matter of course. My
+suspicion of foul play was instantly confirmed. When the performance was
+over, I traced her back to Mr. Robert Graywell's house. He and his wife
+were both absent at a party. I was too indignant to wait till they
+came back. Under the threat of charging the wretch with stealing her
+mistress's clothes, I extorted from her the signed confession which you
+have in your hand. She was under notice to leave her place for insolent
+behaviour. The personation which had been intended to deceive me, was
+an act of revenge; planned between herself and the blackguard who had
+employed her to make his lie look like truth. A more shameless creature
+I never met with. She said to me, 'I am as tall as my mistress, and
+a better figure; and I've often worn her fine clothes on holiday
+occasions.' In your country Mr. Mool, such women--so I am told--are
+ducked in a pond. There is one thing more to add, before you read the
+confession. Mrs. Robert Graywell did imprudently send the man some
+money--in answer to a begging letter artfully enough written to excite
+her pity. A second application was refused by her husband. What followed
+on that, you know already."
+
+Having read the confession, Mr. Mool was permitted to take a copy, and
+to make any use of it which he might think desirable. His one remaining
+anxiety was to hear what had become of the person who had planned the
+deception. "Surely," he said, "that villain has not escaped punishment?"
+
+Baccani answered this in his own bitter way.
+
+"My dear sir, how can you ask such a simple question? That sort of
+man always escapes punishment. In the last extreme of poverty his luck
+provides him with somebody to cheat. Common respect for Mrs. Robert
+Graywell closed my lips; and I was the only person acquainted with
+the circumstances. I wrote to our club declaring the fellow to be a
+cheat--and leaving it to be inferred that he cheated at cards. He
+knew better than to insist on my explaining myself--he resigned, and
+disappeared. I dare say he is living still--living in clover on some
+unfortunate woman. The beautiful and the good die untimely deaths. _He,_
+and his kind, last and live."
+
+Mr. Mool had neither time nor inclination to plead in favour of the more
+hopeful view, which believes in the agreeable fiction called "Poetical
+justice." He tried to express his sense of obligation at parting.
+Baccani refused to listen.
+
+"The obligation is all on my side," he said. "As I have already
+told you, your visit has added a bright day to my calendar. In our
+pilgrimage, my friend, through this world of rogues and fools, we
+may never meet again. Let us remember gratefully that we _have_ met.
+Farewell."
+
+So they parted.
+
+Returning to his office, Mr. Mool attached to the copy of the confession
+a brief statement of the circumstances under which the Italian had
+become possessed of it. He then added these lines, addressed to
+Benjulia:--_"You_ set the false report afloat. I leave it to your sense
+of duty, to decide whether you ought not to go at once to Mrs. Gallilee,
+and tell her that the slander which you repeated is now proved to be a
+lie. If you don't agree with me, I must go to Mrs. Gallilee myself. In
+that case please return, by the bearer, the papers which are enclosed."
+
+The clerk instructed to deliver these documents, within the shortest
+possible space of time, found Mr. Mool waiting at the office, on his
+return. He answered his master's inquiries by producing Benjulia's
+reply.
+
+The doctor's amiable humour was still in the ascendant. His success in
+torturing his unfortunate cook had been followed by the receipt of
+a telegram from his friend at Montreal, containing this satisfactory
+answer to his question:--"Not brain disease." With his mind now set
+completely at rest, his instincts as a gentleman were at full liberty
+to control him. "I entirely agree with you," he wrote to Mr. Mool. "I go
+back with your clerk; the cab will drop me at Mrs. Gallilee's house."
+
+Mr. Mool turned to the clerk.
+
+"Did you wait to hear if Mrs. Gallilee was at home?" he asked.
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee was absent, sir--attending a lecture."
+
+"What did Doctor Benjulia do?"
+
+"Went into the house, to wait her return."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's page (attending to the house-door, in the footman's
+absence) had just shown Benjulia into the library, when there was
+another ring at the bell. The new visitor was Mr. Le Frank. He appeared
+to be in a hurry. Without any preliminary questions, he said, "Take my
+card to Mrs. Gallilee."
+
+"My mistress is out, sir."
+
+The music-master looked impatiently at the hall-clock. The hall-clock
+answered him by striking the half hour after five.
+
+"Do you expect Mrs. Gallilee back soon?"
+
+"We don't know, sir. The footman had his orders to be in waiting with
+the carriage, at five."
+
+After a moment of irritable reflection, Mr. Le Frank took a letter from
+his pocket. "Say that I have an appointment, and am not able to wait.
+Give Mrs. Gallilee that letter the moment she comes in." With those
+directions he left the house.
+
+The page looked at the letter. It was sealed; and, over the address, two
+underlined words were written:--"Private. Immediate." Mindful of visits
+from tradespeople, anxious to see his mistress, and provided beforehand
+with letters to be delivered immediately, the boy took a pecuniary view
+of Mr. Le Frank's errand at the house. "Another of them," he thought,
+"wanting his money."
+
+As he placed the letter on the hall-table, the library door opened, and
+Benjulia appeared--weary already of waiting, without occupation, for
+Mrs. Gallilee's return.
+
+"Is smoking allowed in the library?" he asked.
+
+The page looked up at the giant towering over him, with the envious
+admiration of a short boy. He replied with a discretion beyond his
+years: "Would you please step into the smoking-room, sir?"
+
+"Anybody there?"
+
+"My master, sir."
+
+Benjulia at once declined the invitation to the smoking-room. "Anybody
+else at home?" he inquired.
+
+Miss Carmina was upstairs--the page answered. "And I think," he added,
+"Mr. Null is with her."
+
+"Who's Mr. Null?"
+
+"The doctor, sir."
+
+Benjulia declined to disturb the doctor. He tried a third, and last
+question.
+
+"Where's Zo?"
+
+"Here!" cried a shrill voice from the upper regions. "Who are You?"
+
+To the page's astonishment, the giant gentleman with the resonant bass
+voice answered this quite gravely. "I'm Benjulia," he said.
+
+"Come up!" cried Zo.
+
+Benjulia ascended the stairs.
+
+"Stop!" shouted the voice from above.
+
+Benjulia stopped.
+
+"Have you got your big stick?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Bring it up with you." Benjulia retraced his steps into the hall.
+The page respectfully handed him his stick. Zo became impatient. "Look
+sharp!" she called out.
+
+Benjulia obediently quickened his pace. Zo left the schoolroom (in spite
+of the faintly-heard protest of the maid in charge) to receive him
+on the stairs. They met on the landing, outside Carmina's room. Zo
+possessed herself of the bamboo cane, and led the way in. "Carmina!
+here's the big stick, I told you about," she announced.
+
+"Whose stick, dear?"
+
+Zo returned to the landing. "Come in, Benjulia," she said--and seized
+him by the coat-tails. Mr. Null rose instinctively. Was this his
+celebrated colleague?
+
+With some reluctance, Carmina appeared at the door; thinking of the
+day when Ovid had fainted, and when the great man had treated her so
+harshly. In fear of more rudeness, she unwillingly asked him to come in.
+
+Still immovable on the landing, he looked at her in silence.
+
+The serious question occurred to him which had formerly presented itself
+to Mr. Mool. Had Mrs. Gallilee repeated, in Carmina's presence, the lie
+which slandered her mother's memory--the lie which he was then in the
+house to expose?
+
+Watching Benjulia respectfully, Mr. Null saw, in that grave scrutiny, an
+opportunity of presenting himself under a favourable light. He waved his
+hand persuasively towards Carmina. "Some nervous prostration, sir, in
+my interesting patient, as you no doubt perceive," he began. "Not such
+rapid progress towards recovery as I had hoped. I think of recommending
+the air of the seaside." Benjulia's dreary eyes turned on him slowly,
+and estimated his mental calibre at its exact value, in a moment. Mr.
+Null felt that look in the very marrow of his bones. He bowed with
+servile submission, and took his leave.
+
+In the meantime, Benjulia had satisfied himself that the embarrassment
+in Carmina's manner was merely attributable to shyness. She was now no
+longer an object even of momentary interest to him. He was ready to
+play with Zo--but not on condition of amusing himself with the child, in
+Carmina's presence. "I am waiting till Mrs. Gallilee returns," he said
+to her in his quietly indifferent way. "If you will excuse me, I'll go
+downstairs again; I won't intrude."
+
+Her pale face flushed as she listened to him. Innocently supposing that
+she had made her little offer of hospitality in too cold a manner, she
+looked at Benjulia with a timid and troubled smile. "Pray wait here
+till my aunt comes back," she said. "Zo will amuse you, I'm sure." Zo
+seconded the invitation by hiding the stick, and laying hold again on
+her big friend's coattails.
+
+He let the child drag him into the room, without noticing her. The
+silent questioning of his eyes had been again directed to Carmina, at
+the moment when she smiled.
+
+His long and terrible experience made its own merciless discoveries,
+in the nervous movement of her eyelids and her lips. The poor girl,
+pleasing herself with the idea of having produced the right impression
+on him at last, had only succeeded in becoming an object of medical
+inquiry, pursued in secret. When he companionably took a chair by her
+side, and let Zo climb on his knee, he was privately regretting his cold
+reception of Mr. Null. Under certain conditions of nervous excitement,
+Carmina might furnish an interesting case. "If I had been commonly
+civil to that fawning idiot," he thought, "I might have been called into
+consultation."
+
+They were all three seated--but there was no talk. Zo set the example.
+
+"You haven't tickled me yet," she said. "Show Carmina how you do it."
+
+He gravely operated on the back of Zo's neck; and his patient
+acknowledged the process with a wriggle and a scream. The performance
+being so far at an end, Zo called to the dog, and issued her orders once
+more.
+
+"Now make Tinker kick his leg!"
+
+Benjulia obeyed once again. The young tyrant was not satisfied yet.
+
+"Now tickle Carmina!" she said.
+
+He heard this without laughing: his fleshless lips never relaxed into
+a smile. To Carmina's unutterable embarrassment, he looked at her, when
+she laughed, with steadier attention than ever. Those coldly-inquiring
+eyes exercised some inscrutable influence over her. Now they made her
+angry; and now they frightened her. The silence that had fallen on them
+again, became an unendurable infliction. She burst into talk; she was
+loud and familiar--ashamed of her own boldness, and quite unable to
+control it. "You are very fond of Zo!" she said suddenly.
+
+It was a perfectly commonplace remark--and yet, it seemed to perplex
+him.
+
+"Am I?" he answered.
+
+She went on. Against her own will, she persisted in speaking to him.
+"And I'm sure Zo is fond of you."
+
+He looked at Zo. "Are you fond of me?" he asked.
+
+Zo, staring hard at him, got off his knee; retired to a little distance
+to think; and stood staring at him again.
+
+He quietly repeated the question. Zo answered this time--as she had
+formerly answered Teresa in the Gardens. "I don't know."
+
+He turned again to Carmina, in a slow, puzzled way. "I don't know
+either," he said.
+
+Hearing the big man own that he was no wiser than herself, Zo returned
+to him--without, however, getting on his knee again. She clasped
+her chubby hands under the inspiration of a new idea. "Let's play at
+something," she said to Benjulia. "Do you know any games?"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"Didn't you know any games, when you were only as big as me?"
+
+"I have forgotten them."
+
+"Haven't you got children?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Haven't you got a wife?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Haven't you got a friend?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, you _are_ a miserable chap!"
+
+Thanks to Zo, Carmina's sense of nervous oppression burst its way
+into relief. She laughed loudly and wildly--she was on the verge
+of hysterics, when Benjulia's eyes, silently questioning her again,
+controlled her at the critical moment. Her laughter died away. But the
+exciting influence still possessed her; still forced her into the other
+alternative of saying something--she neither knew nor cared what.
+
+"I couldn't live such a lonely life as yours," she said to him--so
+loudly and so confidently that even Zo noticed it.
+
+"I couldn't live such a life either," he admitted, "but for one thing."
+
+"And what is that?"
+
+"Why are you so loud?" Zo interposed. "Do you think he's deaf?"
+
+Benjulia made a sign, commanding the child to be silent--without turning
+towards her. He answered Carmina as if there had been no interruption.
+
+"My medical studies," he said, "reconcile me to my life."
+
+"Suppose you got tired of your studies?" she asked.
+
+"I should never get tired of them."
+
+"Suppose you couldn't study any more?"
+
+"In that case I shouldn't live any more."
+
+"Do you mean that it would kill you to leave off?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then what do you mean?"
+
+He laid his great soft fingers on her pulse. She shrank from his touch;
+he deliberately held her by the arm. "You're getting excited," he said.
+"Never mind what I mean."
+
+Zo, left unnoticed and not liking it, saw a chance of asserting herself.
+"I know why Carmina's excited," she said. "The old woman's coming at six
+o'clock."
+
+He paid no attention to the child; he persisted in keeping watch on
+Carmina. "Who is the woman?" he asked.
+
+"The most lovable woman in the world," she cried; "my dear old nurse!"
+She started up from the sofa, and pointed with theatrical exaggeration
+of gesture to the clock on the mantelpiece. "Look! it's only ten minutes
+to six. In ten minutes, I shall have my arms round Teresa's neck.
+Don't look at me in that way! It's your fault if I'm excited. It's your
+dreadful eyes that do it. Come here, Zo! I want to give you a kiss." She
+seized on Zo with a roughness that startled the child, and looked wildly
+at Benjulia. "Ha! you don't understand loving and kissing, do you?
+What's the use of speaking to _you_ about my old nurse?"
+
+He pointed imperatively to the sofa. "Sit down again."
+
+She obeyed him--but he had not quite composed her yet. Her eyes
+sparkled; she went on talking. "Ah, you're a hard man! a miserable man!
+a man that will end badly! You never loved anybody. You don't know what
+love is."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+That icy question cooled her in an instant: her head sank on her bosom:
+she suddenly became indifferent to persons and things about her. "When
+will Teresa come?" she whispered to herself. "Oh, when will Teresa
+come!"
+
+Any other man, whether he really felt for her or not, would, as a mere
+matter of instinct, have said a kind word to her at that moment. Not the
+vestige of a change appeared in Benjulia's impenetrable composure. She
+might have been a man--or a baby--or the picture of a girl instead of
+the girl herself, so far as he was concerned. He quietly returned to his
+question.
+
+"Well," he resumed--"and what is love?"
+
+Not a word, not a movement escaped her.
+
+"I want to know," he persisted, waiting for what might happen.
+
+Nothing happened. He was not perplexed by the sudden change. "This is
+the reaction," he thought. "We shall see what comes of it." He looked
+about him. A bottle of water stood on one of the tables. "Likely to be
+useful," he concluded, "in case she feels faint."
+
+Zo had been listening; Zo saw her way to getting noticed again. Not
+quite sure of herself this time, she appealed to Carmina. "Didn't he
+say, just now, he wanted to know?"
+
+Carmina neither heard nor heeded her. Zo tried Benjulia next. "Shall
+I tell you what we do in the schoolroom, when we want to know?" His
+attention, like Carmina's attention, seemed to be far away from her. Zo
+impatiently reminded him of her presence--she laid her hand on his knee.
+
+It was only the hand of a child--an idle, quaint, perverse child--but
+it touched, ignorantly touched, the one tender place in his nature,
+unprofaned by the infernal cruelties which made his life acceptable to
+him; the one tender place, hidden so deep from the man himself, that
+even his far-reaching intellect groped in vain to find it out.
+There, nevertheless, was the feeling which drew him to Zo, contending
+successfully with his medical interest in a case of nervous derangement.
+That unintelligible sympathy with a child looked dimly out of his eyes,
+spoke faintly in his voice, when he replied to her. "Well," he said,
+"what do you do in the schoolroom?"
+
+"We look in the dictionary," Zo answered. "Carmina's got a dictionary.
+I'll get it."
+
+She climbed on a chair, and found the book, and laid it on Benjulia's
+lap. "I don't so much mind trying to spell a word," she explained. "What
+I hate is being asked what it means. Miss Minerva won't let me off. She
+says, Look. _I_ won't let _you_ off. I'm Miss Minerva and you're Zo.
+Look!"
+
+He humoured her silently and mechanically--just as he had humoured her
+in the matter of the stick, and in the matter of the tickling. Having
+opened the dictionary, he looked again at Carmina. She had not moved;
+she seemed to be weary enough to fall asleep. The reaction--nothing
+but the reaction. It might last for hours, or it might be at an end in
+another minute. An interesting temperament, whichever way it ended. He
+opened the dictionary.
+
+"Love?" he muttered grimly to himself. "It seems I'm an object of
+compassion, because I know nothing about love. Well, what does the book
+say about it?"
+
+He found the word, and ran his finger down the paragraphs of explanation
+which followed. "Seven meanings to Love," he remarked. "First: An
+affection of the mind excited by beauty and worth of any kind, or by the
+qualities of an object which communicate pleasure. Second: Courtship.
+Third: Patriotism, as the love of country. Fourth: Benevolence. Fifth:
+The object beloved. Sixth: A word of endearment. Seventh: Cupid, the god
+of love."
+
+He paused, and reflected a little. Zo, hearing nothing to amuse her,
+strayed away to the window, and looked out. He glanced at Carmina.
+
+"Which of those meanings makes the pleasure of her life?" he wondered.
+"Which of them might have made the pleasure of mine?" He closed the
+dictionary in contempt. "The very man whose business is to explain it,
+tries seven different ways, and doesn't explain it after all. And yet,
+there is such a thing." He reached that conclusion unwillingly and
+angrily. For the first time, a doubt about himself forced its way into
+his mind. Might he have looked higher than his torture-table and his
+knife? Had he gained from his life all that his life might have given to
+him?
+
+Left by herself, Zo began to grow tired of it. She tried to get Carmina
+for a companion. "Come and look out of window," she said.
+
+Carmina gently refused: she was unwilling to be disturbed. Since she had
+spoken to Benjulia, her thoughts had been dwelling restfully on Ovid. In
+another day she might be on her way to him. When would Teresa come?
+
+Benjulia was too preoccupied to notice her. The weak doubt that had got
+the better of his strong reason, still held him in thrall. "Love!"
+he broke out, in the bitterness of his heart. "It isn't a question of
+sentiment: it's a question of use. Who is the better for love?"
+
+She heard the last words, and answered him. "Everybody is the better
+for it." She looked at him with sorrowful eyes, and laid her hand on his
+arm. "Everybody," she added, "but you."
+
+He smiled scornfully. "Everybody is the better for it," he repeated.
+"And who knows what it is?"
+
+She drew away her hand, and looked towards the heavenly tranquillity of
+the evening sky.
+
+"Who knows what it is?" he reiterated.
+
+"God," she said.
+
+Benjulia was silent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV.
+
+The clock on the mantelpiece struck six. Zo, turning suddenly from the
+window, ran to the sofa. "Here's the carriage!" she cried.
+
+"Teresa!" Carmina exclaimed.
+
+Zo crossed the room, on tiptoe, to the door of the bed-chamber. "It's
+mamma," she said. "Don't tell! I'm going to hide."
+
+"Why, dear?"
+
+The answer to this was given mysteriously in a whisper. "She said I
+wasn't to come to you. She's a quick one on her legs--she might catch me
+on the stairs." With that explanation, Zo slipped into the bedroom, and
+held the door ajar.
+
+The minutes passed--and Mrs. Gallilee failed to justify the opinion
+expressed by her daughter. Not a sound was audible on the stairs. Not a
+word more was uttered in the room. Benjulia had taken the child's place
+at the window. He sat there thinking. Carmina had suggested to him some
+new ideas, relating to the intricate connection between human faith
+and human happiness. Slowly, slowly, the clock recorded the lapse of
+minutes. Carmina's nervous anxiety began to forecast disaster to the
+absent nurse. She took Teresa's telegram from her pocket, and consulted
+it again. There was no mistake; six o'clock was the time named for the
+traveller's arrival--and it was close on ten minutes past the hour.
+In her ignorance of railway arrangements, she took it for granted that
+trains were punctual. But her reading had told her that trains were
+subject to accident. "I suppose delays occur," she said to Benjulia,
+"without danger to the passengers?"
+
+Before he could answer--Mrs. Gallilee suddenly entered the room.
+
+She had opened the door so softly, that she took them both by surprise.
+To Carmina's excited imagination, she glided into their presence like
+a ghost. Her look and manner showed serious agitation, desperately
+suppressed. In certain places, the paint and powder on her face had
+cracked, and revealed the furrows and wrinkles beneath. Her hard eyes
+glittered; her laboured breathing was audible.
+
+Indifferent to all demonstrations of emotion which did not
+scientifically concern him, Benjulia quietly rose and advanced towards
+her. She seemed to be unconscious of his presence. He spoke--allowing
+her to ignore him without troubling himself to notice her temper. "When
+you are able to attend to me, I want to speak to you. Shall I wait
+downstairs?" He took his hat and stick--to leave the room; looked at
+Carmina as he passed her; and at once went back to his place at the
+window. Her aunt's silent and sinister entrance had frightened her.
+Benjulia waited, in the interests of physiology, to see how the new
+nervous excitement would end.
+
+Thus far, Mrs. Gallilee had kept one of her hands hidden behind her. She
+advanced close to Carmina, and allowed her hand to be seen. It held an
+open letter. She shook the letter in her niece's face.
+
+In the position which Mrs. Gallilee now occupied, Carmina was hidden,
+for the moment, from Benjulia's view. Biding his time at the window, he
+looked out.
+
+A cab, with luggage on it, had just drawn up at the house.
+
+Was this the old nurse who had been expected to arrive at six o'clock?
+
+The footman came out to open the cab-door. He was followed by Mr.
+Gallilee, eager to help the person inside to alight. The traveller
+proved to be a grey-headed woman, shabbily dressed. Mr. Gallilee
+cordially shook hands with her--patted her on the shoulder--gave her his
+arm--led her into the house. The cab with the luggage on it remained
+at the door. The nurse had evidently not reached the end of her journey
+yet.
+
+Carmina shrank back on the sofa, when the leaves of the letter touched
+her face. Mrs. Gallilee's first words were now spoken, in a whisper. The
+inner fury of her anger, struggling for a vent, began to get the better
+of her--she gasped for breath and speech.
+
+"Do you know this letter?" she said.
+
+Carmina looked at the writing. It was the letter to Ovid, which she had
+placed in the post-basket that afternoon; the letter which declared that
+she could no longer endure his mother's cold-blooded cruelty, and that
+she only waited Teresa's arrival to join him at Quebec.
+
+After one dreadful moment of confusion, her mind realised the outrage
+implied in the stealing and reading of her letter.
+
+In the earlier time of Carmina's sojourn in the house, Mrs. Gallilee had
+accused her of deliberate deceit. She had instantly resented the insult
+by leaving the room. The same spirit in her--the finely-strung
+spirit that vibrates unfelt in gentle natures, while they live in
+peace--steadied those quivering nerves, roused that failing courage. She
+met the furious eyes fixed on her, without shrinking; she spoke gravely
+and firmly. "The letter is mine," she said. "How did you come by it?"
+
+"How dare you ask me?"
+
+"How dare _you_ steal my letter?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee tore open the fastening of her dress at the throat, to get
+breath. "You impudent bastard!" she burst out, in a frenzy of rage.
+
+Waiting patiently at the window, Benjulia heard her. "Hold your damned
+tongue!" he cried. "She's your niece."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee turned on him: her fury broke into a screaming laugh. "My
+niece?" she repeated. "You lie--and you know it! She's the child of an
+adulteress! She's the child of her mother's lover!"
+
+The door opened as those horrible words passed her lips. The nurse and
+her husband entered the room.
+
+She was in no position to see them: she was incapable of hearing them.
+The demon in her urged her on: she attempted to reiterate the detestable
+falsehood. Her first word died away in silence. The lean brown fingers
+of the Italian woman had her by the throat--held her as the claws of
+a tigress might have held her. Her eyes rolled in the mute agony of an
+appeal for help. In vain! in vain! Not a cry, not a sound, had drawn
+attention to the attack. Her husband's eyes were fixed, horror-struck,
+on the victim of her rage. Benjulia had crossed the room to the sofa,
+when Carmina heard the words spoken of her mother. From that moment, he
+was watching the case. Mr. Gallilee alone looked round--when the nurse
+tightened her hold in a last merciless grasp; dashed the insensible
+woman on the floor; and, turning back, fell on her knees at her
+darling's feet.
+
+She looked up in Carmina's face.
+
+A ghastly stare, through half-closed eyes, showed death in life, blankly
+returning her look. The shock had struck Carmina with a stony calm. She
+had not started, she had not swooned. Rigid, immovable, there she sat;
+voiceless and tearless; insensible even to touch; her arms hanging down;
+her clenched hands resting on either side of her.
+
+Teresa grovelled and groaned at her feet. Those ferocious hands that had
+laid the slanderer prostrate on the floor, feebly beat her bosom and
+her gray head. "Oh, Saints beloved of God! Oh, blessed Virgin, mother of
+Christ, spare my child, my sweet child!" She rose in wild despair--she
+seized Benjulia, and madly shook him. "Who are you? How dare you touch
+her? Give her to me, or I'll be the death of you. Oh, my Carmina, is it
+sleep that holds you? Wake! wake! wake!"
+
+"Listen to me," said Benjulia, sternly.
+
+She dropped on the sofa by Carmina's side, and lifted one of the cold
+clenched hands to her lips. The tears fell slowly over her haggard face.
+"I am very fond of her, sir," she said humbly. "I'm only an old woman.
+See what a dreadful welcome my child gives to me. It's hard on an old
+woman--hard on an old woman!"
+
+His self-possession was not disturbed--even by this.
+
+"Do you know what I am?" he asked. "I am a doctor. Leave her to me."
+
+"He's a doctor. That's good. A doctor's good. Yes, yes. Does the old
+man know this doctor--the kind old man?" She looked vacantly for Mr.
+Gallilee. He was bending over his wife, sprinkling water on her deathly
+face.
+
+Teresa got on her feet, and pointed to Mrs. Gallilee. "The breath of
+that She-Devil poisons the air," she said. "I must take my child out of
+it. To my place, sir, if you please. Only to my place."
+
+She attempted to lift Carmina from the sofa--and drew back, breathlessly
+watching her. Her rigid face faintly relaxed; her eyelids closed, and
+quivered.
+
+Mr. Gallilee looked up from his wife. "Will one of you help me?" he
+asked. His tone struck Benjulia. It was the hushed tone of sorrow--no
+more.
+
+"I'll see to it directly." With that reply, Benjulia turned to Teresa.
+"Where is your place?" he said. "Far or near?"
+
+"The message," she answered confusedly. "The message says." She signed
+to him to look in her hand-bag--dropped on the floor.
+
+He found Carmina's telegram, containing the address of the lodgings. The
+house was close by. After some consideration, he sent the nurse into the
+bedroom, with instructions to bring him the blankets off the bed. In the
+minute that followed, he examined Mrs. Gallilee. "There's nothing to be
+frightened about. Let her maid attend to her."
+
+Mr. Gallilee again surprised Benjulia. He turned from his wife, and
+looked at Carmina. "For God's sake, don't leave her here!" he broke out.
+"After what she has heard, this house is no place for her. Give her to
+the old nurse!"
+
+Benjulia only answered, as he had answered already--"I'll see to it."
+Mr. Gallilee persisted. "Is there any risk in moving her?" he asked.
+
+"It's the least of two risks. No more questions! Look to your wife."
+
+Mr. Gallilee obeyed in silence.
+
+When he lifted his head again, and rose to ring the bell for the maid,
+the room was silent and lonely. A little pale frightened face peeped out
+through the bedroom door. Zo ventured in. Her father caught her in his
+arms, and kissed her as he had never kissed her yet. His eyes were wet
+with tears. Zo noticed that he never said a word about mamma. The child
+saw the change in her father, as Benjulia had seen it. She shared one
+human feeling with her big friend--she, too, was surprised.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI.
+
+THE first signs of reviving life had begun to appear, when Marceline
+answered the bell. In a few minutes more, it was possible to raise
+Mrs. Gallilee and to place her on the sofa. Having so far assisted the
+servant, Mr. Gallilee took Zo by the hand, and drew back. Daunted by the
+terrible scene which she had witnessed from her hiding-place, the child
+stood by her father's side in silence. The two waited together, watching
+Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+She looked wildly round the room. Discovering that she was alone
+with the members of her family, she became composed: her mind slowly
+recovered its balance. Her first thought was for herself.
+
+"Has that woman disfigured me?" she said to the maid.
+
+Knowing nothing of what had happened, Marceline was at a loss to
+understand her. "Bring me a glass," she said. The maid found a
+hand-glass in the bedroom, and presented it to her. She looked at
+herself--and drew a long breath of relief. That first anxiety at an end,
+she spoke to her husband.
+
+"Where is Carmina?"
+
+"Out of the house--thank God!"
+
+The answer seemed to bewilder her: she appealed to Marceline.
+
+"Did he say, thank God?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am."
+
+"Can _you_ tell me nothing? Who knows where Carmina has gone?"
+
+"Joseph knows, ma'am. He heard Dr. Benjulia give the address to the
+cabman." With that answer, she turned anxiously to her master. "Is Miss
+Carmina seriously ill, sir?"
+
+Her mistress spoke again, before Mr. Gallilee could reply. "Marceline!
+send Joseph up here."
+
+"No," said Mr. Gallilee.
+
+His wife eyed him with astonishment. "Why not?" she asked.
+
+He said quietly, "I forbid it."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee addressed herself to the maid. "Go to my room, and bring
+me another bonnet and a veil. Stop!" She tried to rise, and sank back.
+"I must have something to strengthen me. Get the sal volatile."
+
+Marceline left the room. Mr. Gallilee followed her as far as the
+door--still leading his little daughter.
+
+"Go back, my dear, to your sister in the schoolroom," he said. "I am
+distressed, Zo; be a good girl, and you will console me. Say the same to
+Maria. It will be dull for you, I am afraid. Be patient, my child, and
+try to bear it for a while."
+
+"May I whisper something?" said Zo. "Will Carmina die?"
+
+"God forbid!"
+
+"Will they bring her back here?"
+
+In her eagerness, the child spoke above a whisper. Mrs. Gallilee heard
+the question, and answered it.
+
+"They will bring Carmina back," she said, "the moment I can get out."
+
+Zo looked at her father. "Do _you_ say that?" she asked.
+
+He shook his head gravely, and told her again to go to the schoolroom.
+On the first landing she stopped, and looked back. "I'll be good, papa,"
+she said--and went on up the stairs.
+
+Having reached the schoolroom, she became the object of many
+questions--not one of which she answered. Followed by the dog, she sat
+down in a corner. "What are you thinking about?" her sister inquired.
+This time she was willing to reply. "I'm thinking about Carmina."
+
+Mr. Gallilee closed the door when Zo left him. He took a chair, without
+speaking to his wife or looking at her.
+
+"What are you here for?" she asked.
+
+"I must wait," he said.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"To see what you do."
+
+Marceline returned, and administered a dose of sal volatile.
+Strengthened by the stimulant, Mrs. Gallilee was able to rise. "My head
+is giddy," she said, as she took the maid's arm; "but I think I can get
+downstairs with your help."
+
+Mr. Gallilee silently followed them out.
+
+At the head of the stairs the giddiness increased. Firm as her
+resolution might be, it gave way before the bodily injury which Mrs.
+Gallilee had received. Her husband's help was again needed to take her
+to her bedroom. She stopped them at the ante-chamber; still obstinately
+bent on following her own designs. "I shall be better directly," she
+said; "put me on the sofa." Marceline relieved her of her bonnet and
+veil, and asked respectfully if there was any other service required.
+She looked defiantly at her husband, and reiterated the order--"Send for
+Joseph." Intelligent resolution is sometimes shaken; the inert obstinacy
+of a weak creature, man or animal, is immovable. Mr. Gallilee dismissed
+the maid with these words: "You needn't wait, my good girl--I'll speak
+to Joseph myself, downstairs."
+
+His wife heard him with amazement and contempt. "Are you in your right
+senses?" she asked.
+
+He paused on his way out. "You were always hard and headstrong," he
+said sadly; "I knew that. A cleverer man than I am might--I suppose it's
+possible--a clear-headed man might have found out how wicked you are."
+She lay, thinking; indifferent to anything he could say to her. "Are you
+not ashamed?" he asked wonderingly. "And not even sorry?" She paid no
+heed to him. He left her.
+
+Descending to the hall, he was met by Joseph. "Doctor Benjulia has come
+back, sir. He wishes to see you."
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+"In the library."
+
+"Wait, Joseph; I have something to say to you. If your mistress asks
+where they have taken Miss Carmina, you mustn't--this is my order,
+Joseph--you mustn't tell her. If you have mentioned it to any of the
+other servants--it's quite likely they may have asked you, isn't it?" he
+said, falling into his old habit for a moment. "If you have mentioned
+it to the others," he resumed, _"they_ mustn't tell her. That's all, my
+good man; that's all."
+
+To his own surprise, Joseph found himself regarding his master with a
+feeling of respect. Mr. Gallilee entered the library.
+
+"How is she?" he asked, eager for news of Carmina.
+
+"The worse for being moved," Benjulia replied. "What about your wife?"
+
+Answering that question, Mr. Gallilee mentioned the precautions that he
+had taken to keep the secret of Teresa's address.
+
+"You need be under no anxiety about that," said Benjulia. "I have left
+orders that Mrs. Gallilee is not to be admitted. There is a serious
+necessity for keeping her out. In these cases of partial catalepsy,
+there is no saying when the change may come. When it does come, I won't
+answer for her niece's reason, if those two see each other again. Send
+for you own medical man. The girl is his patient, and he is the person
+on whom the responsibility rests. Let the servant take my card to him
+directly. We can meet in consultation at the house."
+
+He wrote a line on one of his visiting cards. It was at once sent to Mr.
+Null.
+
+"There's another matter to be settled before I go," Benjulia proceeded.
+"Here are some papers, which I have received from your lawyer, Mr. Moot.
+They relate to a slander, which your wife unfortunately repeated--"
+
+Mr. Gallilee got up from his chair. "Don't take my mind back to
+that--pray don't!" he pleaded earnestly. "I can't bear it, Doctor
+Benjulia--I can't bear it! Please to excuse my rudeness: it isn't
+intentional--I don't know myself what's the matter with me. I've always
+led a quiet life, sir; I'm not fit for such things as these. Don't
+suppose I speak selfishly. I'll do what I can, if you will kindly spare
+me."
+
+He might as well have appealed to the sympathy of the table at which
+they were sitting. Benjulia was absolutely incapable of understanding
+the state of mind which those words revealed.
+
+"Can you take these papers to your wife?" he asked. "I called here this
+evening--being the person to blame--to set the matter right. As it is,
+I leave her to make the discovery for herself. I desire to hold no more
+communication with your wife. Have you anything to say to me before I
+go?"
+
+"Only one thing. Is there any harm in my calling at the house, to ask
+how poor Carmina goes on?"
+
+"Ask as often as you like--provided Mrs. Gallilee doesn't accompany
+you. If she's obstinate, it may not be amiss to give your wife a word of
+warning. In my opinion, the old nurse is not likely to let her off, next
+time, with her life. I've had a little talk with that curious foreign
+savage. I said, 'You have committed, what we consider in England, a
+murderous assault. If Mrs. Gallilee doesn't mind the public exposure,
+you may find yourself in a prison.' She snapped her fingers in my face.
+'Suppose I find myself with the hangman's rope round my neck,' she said,
+'what do I care, so long as Carmina is safe from her aunt?' After
+that pretty answer, she sat down by her girl's bedside, and burst out
+crying."
+
+Mr. Gallilee listened absently: his mind still dwelt on Carmina.
+
+"I meant well," he said, "when I asked you to take her out of this
+house. It's no wonder if _I_ was wrong. What I am too stupid to
+understand is--why _you_ allowed her to be moved."
+
+Benjulia listened with a grim smile; Mr. Gallilee's presumption amused
+him.
+
+"I wonder whether there was any room left for memory, when nature
+furnished your narrow little head," he answered pleasantly. "Didn't
+I say that moving her was the least of two risks? And haven't I just
+warned you of what might have happened, if we had left your wife and her
+niece together in the same house? When I do a thing at my time of life,
+Mr. Gallilee--don't think me conceited--I know why I do it."
+
+While he was speaking of himself in these terms, he might have said
+something more. He might have added, that his dread of the loss of
+Carmina's reason really meant his dread of a commonplace termination to
+an exceptionally interesting case. He might also have acknowledged, that
+he was not yielding obedience to the rules of professional etiquette,
+in confiding the patient to her regular medical attendant, but following
+the selfish suggestions of his own critical judgment.
+
+His experience, brief as it had been, had satisfied him that stupid Mr.
+Null's course of action could be trusted to let the instructive progress
+of the malady proceed. Mr. Null would treat the symptoms in perfect
+good faith--without a suspicion of the nervous hysteria which, in such a
+constitution as Carmina's, threatened to establish itself, in course
+of time, as the hidden cause. These motives--not only excused, but even
+ennobled, by their scientific connection with the interests of Medical
+Research--he might have avowed, under more favourable circumstances.
+While his grand discovery was still barely within reach, Doctor Benjulia
+stood committed to a system of diplomatic reserve, which even included
+simple Mr. Gallilee.
+
+He took his hat and stick, and walked out into the hall. "Can I be of
+further use?" he asked carelessly. "You will hear about the patient from
+Mr. Null."
+
+"You won't desert Carmina?" said Mr. Gallilee. "You will see her
+yourself, from time to time--won't you?"
+
+"Don't be afraid; I'll look after her." He spoke sincerely in saying
+this. Carmina's case had already suggested new ideas. Even the civilised
+savage of modern physiology (where his own interests are concerned) is
+not absolutely insensible to a feeling of gratitude.
+
+Mr. Gallilee opened the door for him.
+
+"By the-bye," he added, as he stepped out, "what's become of Zo?"
+
+"She's upstairs, in the schoolroom."
+
+He made one of his dreary jokes. "Tell her, when she wants to be tickled
+again, to let me know. Good-evening!"
+
+Mr. Gallilee returned to the upper part of the house, with the papers
+left by Benjulia in his hand. Arriving at the dressing-room door, he
+hesitated. The papers were enclosed in a sealed envelope, addressed
+to his wife. Secured in this way from inquisitive eyes, there was no
+necessity for personally presenting them. He went on to the schoolroom,
+and beckoned to the parlour-maid to come out, and speak to him.
+
+Having instructed her to deliver the papers--telling her mistress that
+they had been left at the house by Doctor Benjulia--he dismissed the
+woman from duty. "You needn't return," he said; "I'll look after the
+children myself."
+
+Maria was busy with her book; and even idle Zo was employed!
+
+She was writing at her own inky desk; and she looked up in confusion,
+when her father appeared. Unsuspicious Mr. Gallilee took if for granted
+that his favourite daughter was employed on a writing lesson--following
+Maria's industrious example for once. "Good children!" he said, looking
+affectionately from one to the other. "I won't disturb you; go on." He
+took a chair, satisfied--comforted, even--to be in the same room with
+the girls.
+
+If he had placed himself nearer to the desk, he might have seen that Zo
+had been thinking of Carmina to some purpose.
+
+What could she do to make her friend and playfellow well and happy
+again? There was the question which Zo asked herself, after having seen
+Carmina carried insensible out of the room.
+
+Possessed of that wonderful capacity for minute observation of the
+elder persons about them, which is one among the many baffling mysteries
+presented by the minds of children, Zo had long since discovered that
+the member of the household, preferred to all others by Carmina, was the
+good brother who had gone away and left them. In his absence, she was
+always talking of him--and Zo had seen her kiss his photograph before
+she put it back in the case.
+
+Dwelling on these recollections, the child's slowly-working mental
+process arrived more easily than usual at the right conclusion. The way
+to make Carmina well and happy again, was to bring Ovid back. One of the
+two envelopes which he had directed for her still remained--waiting for
+the letter which might say to him, "Come home!"
+
+Zo determined to write that letter--and to do it at once.
+
+She might have confided this design to her father (the one person
+besides Carmina who neither scolded her nor laughed at her) if Mr.
+Gallilee had distinguished himself by his masterful position in the
+house. But she had seen him, as everybody else had seen him, "afraid
+of mamma." The doubt whether he might not "tell mamma," decided her on
+keeping her secret. As the event proved, the one person who informed
+Ovid of the terrible necessity that existed for his return, was the
+little sister whom it had been his last kind effort to console when he
+left England.
+
+When Mr. Gallilee entered the room, Zo had just reached the end of
+her letter. Her system of composition excluded capitals and stops; and
+reduced all the words in the English language, by a simple process of
+abridgment, to words of one syllable.
+
+
+_"dear ov you come back car is ill she wants you be quick be quick don't
+say I writ this miss min is gone I hate books I like you zo."_
+
+
+With the pen still in her hand, the wary writer looked round at her
+father. She had her directed envelope (sadly crumpled) in her pocket;
+but she was afraid to take it out. "Maria," she thought, "would know
+what to do in my place. Horrid Maria!"
+
+Fortune, using the affairs of the household as an instrument, befriended
+Zo. In a minute more her opportunity arrived. The parlour-maid
+unexpectedly returned. She addressed Mr. Gallilee with the air
+of mystery in which English servants, in possession of a message,
+especially delight. "If you please, sir, Joseph wishes to speak to you."
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+"Outside, sir."
+
+"Tell him to come in."
+
+Thanks to the etiquette of the servants' hall--which did not permit
+Joseph to present himself, voluntarily, in the regions above
+the drawing-room, without being first represented by an
+ambassadress--attention was now diverted from the children. Zo folded
+her letter, enclosed it in the envelope, and hid it in her pocket.
+
+Joseph appeared. "I beg your pardon, sir, I don't quite know whether I
+ought to disturb my mistress. Mr. Le Frank has called, and asked if he
+can see her."
+
+Mr. Gallilee consulted the parlour-maid. "Was your mistress asleep when
+I sent you to her?"
+
+"No, sir. She told me to bring her a cup of tea."
+
+On those rare former occasions, when Mrs. Gallilee had been ill, her
+attentive husband never left it to the servants to consult her wishes.
+That time had gone by for ever.
+
+"Tell your mistress, Joseph, that Mr. Le Frank is here."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII.
+
+The slander on which Mrs. Gallilee had reckoned, as a means of
+separating Ovid and Carmina, was now a slander refuted by unanswerable
+proof. And the man whose exertions had achieved this result, was her
+own lawyer--the agent whom she had designed to employ, in asserting that
+claim of the guardian over the ward which Teresa had defied.
+
+As a necessary consequence, the relations between Mr. Mool and herself
+were already at an end.
+
+There she lay helpless--her authority set at naught; her person outraged
+by a brutal attack--there she lay, urged to action by every reason that
+a resolute woman could have for asserting her power, and avenging her
+wrong--without a creature to take her part, without an accomplice to
+serve her purpose.
+
+She got on her feet, with the resolution of despair. Her heart sank--the
+room whirled round her--she dropped back on the sofa. In a recumbent
+position, the giddiness subsided. She could ring the hand-bell on the
+table at her side. "Send instantly for Mr. Null," she said to the maid.
+"If he is out, let the messenger follow him, wherever he may be."
+
+The messenger came back with a note. Mr. Null would call on Mrs.
+Gallilee as soon as possible. He was then engaged in attendance on Miss
+Carmina.
+
+At that discovery, Mrs. Gallilee's last reserves of independent
+resolution gave way. The services of her own medical attendant were
+only at her disposal, when Carmina had done with him! At the top of his
+letter the address, which she had thus far tried vainly to discover,
+stared her in the face: the house was within five minutes' walk--and
+she was not even able to cross the room! For the first time in her life,
+Mrs. Gallilee's imperious spirit acknowledged defeat. For the first time
+in her life, she asked herself the despicable question: Who can I find
+to help me?
+
+Someone knocked at the door.
+
+"Who is it?" she cried.
+
+Joseph's voice answered her. "Mr. Le Frank has called, ma'am--and wishes
+to know if you can see him."
+
+She never stopped to think. She never even sent for the maid to see to
+her personal appearance. The horror of her own helplessness drove her
+on. Here was the man, whose timely betrayal of Carmina had stopped
+her on her way to Ovid, in the nick of time! Here was the self-devoted
+instrument, waiting to be employed.
+
+"I'll see Mr. Le Frank," she said. "Show him up."
+
+The music-master looked round the obscurely lit room, and bowed to the
+recumbent figure on the sofa.
+
+"I fear I disturb you, madam, at an inconvenient time."
+
+"I am suffering from illness, Mr. Le Frank; but I am able to receive
+you--as you see."
+
+She stopped there. Now, when she saw him, and heard him, some perverse
+hesitation in her began to doubt him. Now, when it was too late, she
+weakly tried to put herself on her guard. What a decay of energy (she
+felt it herself) in the ready and resolute woman, equal to any emergency
+at other times! "To what am I to attribute the favour of your visit?"
+she resumed.
+
+Even her voice failed her: it faltered in spite of her efforts to steady
+it. Mr. Le Frank's vanity drew its own encouraging conclusion from this
+one circumstance.
+
+"I am anxious to know how I stand in your estimation," he replied.
+"Early this evening, I left a few lines here, enclosing a letter--with
+my compliments. Have you received the letter?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Have you read it?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee hesitated. Mr. Le Frank smiled.
+
+"I won't trouble you, madam, for any more direct reply," he said; "I
+will speak plainly. Be so good as to tell me plainly, on your side,
+which I am--a man who has disgraced himself by stealing a letter? or a
+man who has distinguished himself by doing you a service?"
+
+An unpleasant alternative, neatly defined! To disavow Mr. Le Frank or to
+use Mr. Le Frank--there was the case for Mrs. Gallilee's consideration.
+She was incapable of pronouncing judgment; the mere effort of decision,
+after what she had suffered, fatigued and irritated her. "I can't deny,"
+she said, with weary resignation, "that you have done me a service."
+
+He rose, and made a generous return for the confidence that had been
+placed in him--he repeated his magnificent bow, and sat down again.
+
+"Our position towards each other seems too plain to be mistaken," he
+proceeded. "Your niece's letter--perfectly useless for the purpose with
+which I opened it--offers me a means of being even with Miss Carmina,
+and a chance of being useful to You. Shall I begin by keeping an eye on
+the young lady?"
+
+"Is that said, Mr. Le Frank, out of devotion to me?"
+
+"My devotion to you might wear out," he answered audaciously. "You may
+trust my feeling towards your niece to last--I never forget an injury.
+Is it indiscreet to inquire how you mean to keep Miss Carmina from
+joining her lover in Quebec? Does a guardian's authority extend to
+locking her up in her room?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee felt the underlying familiarity in these
+questions--elaborately concealed as it was under an assumption of
+respect.
+
+"My niece is no longer in my house," she answered coldly.
+
+"Gone!" cried Mr. Le Frank.
+
+She corrected the expression. "Removed," she said, and dropped the
+subject there.
+
+Mr. Le Frank took the subject up again. "Removed, I presume, under the
+care of her nurse?" he rejoined.
+
+The nurse? What did he know about the nurse? "May I ask--?" Mrs.
+Gallilee began.
+
+He smiled indulgently, and stopped her there. "You are not quite
+yourself to-night," he said. "Permit me to remind you that your niece's
+letter to Mr. Ovid Vere is explicit, and that I took the liberty of
+reading it before I left it at your house."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee listened in silence, conscious that she had committed
+another error. She had carefully excluded from her confidence a man
+who was already in possession of her secrets! Mr. Le Frank's courteous
+sympathy forbade him to take advantage of the position of superiority
+which he now held.
+
+"I will do myself the honour of calling again," he said, "when you are
+better able to place the right estimate on my humble offers of service.
+I wouldn't fatigue you, Mrs. Gallilee, for the world! At the same time,
+permit me to put one last question which ought not to be delayed. When
+Miss Carmina left you, did she take away her writing-desk and her keys?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Allow me to suggest that she may send for them at any moment."
+
+Before it was possible to ask for an explanation, Joseph presented
+himself again. Mr. Null was waiting downstairs. Mrs. Gallilee arranged
+that he should be admitted when she rang her bell. Mr. Le Frank
+approached the sofa, when they were alone, and returned to his
+suggestion in a whisper.
+
+"Surely, you see the importance of using your niece's keys?" he resumed.
+"We don't know what correspondence may have been going on, in which
+the nurse and the governess have been concerned. After we have already
+intercepted a letter, hesitation is absurd! You are not equal to the
+effort yourself. I know the room. Don't be afraid of discovery; I have a
+naturally soft footfall--and my excuse is ready, if somebody else has a
+soft footfall too. Leave it to me."
+
+He lit a candle as he spoke. But for that allusion to the nurse, Mrs.
+Gallilee might have ordered him to blow it out again. Eager for any
+discovery which might, by the barest possibility, place Teresa at her
+mercy, she silently submitted to Mr. Le Frank. "I'll call to-morrow," he
+said--and slipped out of the room.
+
+When Mr. Null was announced, Mrs. Gallilee pushed up the shade over
+the globe of the lamp. Her medical attendant's face might be worth
+observing, under a clear light.
+
+His timid look, his confused manner, when he made the conventional
+apologies, told her at once that Teresa had spoken, and that he knew
+what had happened. Even he had never before been so soothing and so
+attentive. But he forgot, or he was afraid, to consult appearances
+by asking what was the matter, before he felt the pulse, and took the
+temperature, and wrote his prescription. Not a word was uttered by
+Mrs. Gallilee, until the medical formalities came to an end. "Is there
+anything more that I can do?" he asked.
+
+"You can tell me," she said, "when I shall be well again."
+
+Mr. Null was polite; Mr. Null was sympathetic. Mrs. Gallilee might
+be herself again in a day or two--or Mrs. Gallilee might be unhappily
+confined to her room for some little time. He had hope in his
+prescription, and hope in perfect quiet and repose--he would suggest the
+propriety of going to bed at once, and would not fail to call early the
+next morning.
+
+"Sit down again," said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Mr. Null turned pale. He foresaw what was coming.
+
+"You have been in attendance on Miss Carmina. I wish to know what her
+illness is."
+
+Mr. Null began to prevaricate at the outset. "The case causes us serious
+anxiety. The complications are formidable. Doctor Benjulia himself--"
+
+"In plain words, Mr. Null, can she be moved?"
+
+This produced a definite answer. "Quite impossible."
+
+She only ventured to put her next question after waiting a little to
+control herself.
+
+"Is that foreign woman, the nurse--the only nurse--in attendance?"
+
+"Don't speak of her, Mrs. Gallilee! A dreadful woman; coarse, furious, a
+perfect savage. When I suggested a second nurse--"
+
+"I understand. You asked just now if you could do anything for me. You
+can do me a great service--you can recommend me a trustworthy lawyer."
+
+Mr. Null was surprised. As the old medical attendant of the family, he
+was not unacquainted with the legal adviser. He mentioned Mr. Mool's
+name.
+
+"Mr. Mool has forfeited my confidence," Mrs. Gallilee announced. "Can
+you, or can you not, recommend a lawyer?"
+
+"Oh, certainly! My own lawyer."
+
+"You will find writing materials on the table behind me. I won't keep
+you more than five minutes. I want you to write from my dictation."
+
+"My dear lady, in your present condition--"
+
+"Do as I tell you! My head is quiet while I lie down. Even a woman in
+my condition can say what she means to do. I shall not close my eyes
+tonight, unless I can feel that I have put that wretch in her right
+place. Who are your lawyers?"
+
+Mr. Null mentioned the names, and took up his pen.
+
+"Introduce me in the customary form," Mrs. Gallilee proceeded; "and then
+refer the lawyers to my brother's Will. Is it done?"
+
+In due time it was done.
+
+"Tell them next, how my niece has been taken away from me, and where she
+has been taken to."
+
+To the best of his ability, Mr. Null complied.
+
+"Now," said Mrs. Gallilee, "write what I mean to do!"
+
+The prospect of being revenged on Teresa revived her. For the moment, at
+least, she almost looked like herself again.
+
+Mr. Null turned over to a new leaf, with a hand that trembled a little.
+The dictating voice pronounced these words:
+
+"I forbid the woman Teresa to act in the capacity of nurse to Miss
+Carmina, and even to enter the room in which that young lady is now
+lying ill. I further warn this person, that my niece will be restored to
+my care, the moment her medical attendants allow her to be removed.
+And I desire my legal advisers to assert my authority, as guardian,
+to-morrow morning."
+
+Mr. Null finished his task in silent dismay. He took out his
+handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
+
+"Is there any very terrible effort required in saying those few
+words--even to a shattered creature like me?" Mrs. Gallilee asked
+bitterly. "Let me hear that the lawyers have got their instructions,
+when you come to-morrow; and give me the name and address of a nurse
+whom you can thoroughly recommend. Good-night!"
+
+At last, Mr. Null got away. As he softly closed the dressing-room door,
+the serious question still dwelt on his mind: What would Teresa do?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII.
+
+Even in the welcome retirement of the school-room, Mr. Gallilee's mind
+was not at ease. He was troubled by a question entirely new to him--the
+question of himself, in the character of husband and father.
+
+Accustomed through long years of conjugal association to look up to his
+wife as a superior creature, he was now conscious that her place in his
+estimation had been lost, beyond recovery. If he considered next what
+ought to be done with Maria and Zo, he only renewed his perplexity
+and distress. To leave them (as he had hitherto left them) absolutely
+submitted to their mother's authority, was to resign his children to the
+influence of a woman, who had ceased to be the object of his confidence
+and respect. He pondered over it in the schoolroom; he pondered over it
+when he went to bed. On the next morning, he arrived at a conclusion in
+the nature of a compromise. He decided on applying to his good friend,
+Mr. Mool, for a word of advice.
+
+His first proceeding was to call at Teresa's lodgings, in the hope of
+hearing better news of Carmina.
+
+The melancholy report of her was expressed in two words: No change. He
+was so distressed that he asked to see the landlady; and tried, in his
+own helpless kindhearted way, to get a little hopeful information by
+asking questions--useless questions, repeated over and over again in
+futile changes of words. The landlady was patient: she respected the
+undisguised grief of the gentle modest old man; but she held to the
+hard truth. The one possible answer was the answer which her servant had
+already given. When she followed him out, to open the door, Mr. Gallilee
+requested permission to wait a moment in the hall. "If you will allow
+me, ma'am, I'll wipe my eyes before I go into the street."
+
+Arriving at the office without an appointment, he found the lawyer
+engaged. A clerk presented to him a slip of paper, with a line written
+by Mr. Mool: "Is it anything of importance?" Simple Mr. Gallilee
+wrote back: "Oh, dear, no; it's only me! I'll call again." Besides
+his critical judgment in the matter of champagne, this excellent man
+possessed another accomplishment--a beautiful handwriting. Mr. Mool,
+discovering a crooked line and some ill-formed letters in the reply,
+drew his own conclusions. He sent word to his old friend to wait.
+
+In ten minutes more they were together, and the lawyer was informed of
+the events that had followed the visit of Benjulia to Fairfield Gardens,
+on the previous day.
+
+For a while, the two men sat silently meditating--daunted by the
+prospect before them. When the time came for speaking, they exercised an
+influence over each other, of which both were alike unconscious. Out
+of their common horror of Mrs. Gallilee's conduct, and their common
+interest in Carmina, they innocently achieved between them the creation
+of one resolute man.
+
+"My dear Gallilee, this is a very serious thing."
+
+"My dear Mool, I feel it so--or I shouldn't have disturbed you."
+
+"Don't talk of disturbing me! I see so many complications ahead of us, I
+hardly know where to begin."
+
+"Just my case! It's a comfort to me that you feel it as I do."
+
+Mr. Mool rose and tried walking up and down his room, as a means of
+stimulating his ingenuity.
+
+"There's this poor young lady," he resumed. "If she gets better--"
+
+"Don't put it in that way!" Mr. Gallilee interposed. "It sounds as if
+you doubted her ever getting well--you see it yourself in that light,
+don't you? Be a little more positive, Mool, in mercy to me."
+
+"By all means," Mr. Mool agreed. "Let us say, _when_ she gets better.
+But the difficulty meets us, all the same. If Mrs. Gallilee claims her
+right, what are we to do?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee rose in his turn, and took a walk up and down the room.
+That well-meant experiment only left him feebler than ever.
+
+"What possessed her brother to make her Carmina's guardian?" he
+asked--with the nearest approach to irritability of which he was
+capable.
+
+The lawyer was busy with his own thoughts. He only enlightened Mr.
+Gallilee after the question had been repeated.
+
+"I had the sincerest regard for Mr. Robert Graywell," he said. "A
+better husband and father--and don't let me forget it, a more
+charming artist--never lived. But," said Mr. Mool, with the air of one
+strong-minded man appealing to another: "weak, sadly weak. If you will
+allow me to say so, your wife's self-asserting way--well, it was
+so unlike her brother's way, that it had its effect on him! If Lady
+Northlake had been a little less quiet and retiring, the matter might
+have ended in a very different manner. As it was (I don't wish to put
+the case offensively) Mrs. Gallilee imposed on him--and there she is, in
+authority, under the Will. Let that be. We must protect this poor girl.
+We must act!" cried Mr. Mool with a burst of energy.
+
+"We must act!" Mr. Gallilee repeated--and feebly clenched his fist, and
+softly struck the table.
+
+"I think I have an idea," the lawyer proceeded; "suggested by something
+said to me by Miss Carmina herself. May I ask if you are in her
+confidence?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee's face brightened at this. "Certainly," he answered. "I
+always kiss her when we say good-night, and kiss her again when we say
+good-morning."
+
+This proof of his friend's claims as Carmina's chosen adviser, seemed
+rather to surprise Mr. Mool. "Did she ever hint at an idea of hastening
+her marriage?" he inquired.
+
+Plainly as the question was put, it thoroughly puzzled Mr. Gallilee. His
+honest face answered for him--he was _not_ in Carmina's confidence. Mr.
+Mool returned to his idea.
+
+"The one thing we can do," he said, "is to hasten Mr. Ovid's return.
+There is the only course to take--as I see it."
+
+"Let's do it at once!" cried Mr. Gallilee.
+
+"But tell me," Mr. Mool insisted, greedy for encouragement--"does my
+suggestion relieve your mind?"
+
+"It's the first happy moment I've had to-day!" Mr. Gallilee's weak voice
+piped high: he was getting firmer and firmer with every word he uttered.
+
+One of them produced a telegraph-form; the other seized a pen. "Shall we
+send the message in your name?" Mr. Mool asked.
+
+If Mr. Gallilee had possessed a hundred names he would have sent them
+(and paid for them) all. "John Gallilee, 14 Fairfield Gardens, London,
+To--" There the pen stopped. Ovid was still in the wilds of Canada. The
+one way of communicating with him was through the medium of the bankers
+at Quebec, To the bankers, accordingly, the message was sent. "Please
+telegraph Mr. Ovid Vere's address, the moment you know it."
+
+When the telegram had been sent to the office, an interval of inaction
+followed. Mr. Gallilee's fortitude suffered a relapse. "It's a long time
+to wait," he said.
+
+His friend agreed with him. Morally speaking, Mr. Mool's strength lay
+in points of law. No point of law appeared to be involved in the present
+conference: he shared Mr. Gallilee's depression of spirits. "We
+are quite helpless," he remarked, "till Mr. Ovid comes back. In
+the interval, I see no choice for Miss Carmina but to submit to her
+guardian; unless--" He looked hard at Mr. Gallilee, before he finished
+his sentence. "Unless," he resumed, "you can get over your present
+feeling about your wife."
+
+"Get over it?" Mr. Gallilee repeated.
+
+"It seems quite impossible now, I dare say," the worthy lawyer admitted.
+"A very painful impression has been produced on you. Naturally!
+naturally! But the force of habit--a married life of many years--your
+own kind feeling--"
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Gallilee, bewildered, impatient, almost
+angry.
+
+"A little persuasion on your part, my good friend--at the interesting
+moment of reconciliation--might be followed by excellent results. Mrs.
+Gallilee might not object to waive her claims, until time has softened
+existing asperities. Surely, a compromise is possible, if you could only
+prevail on yourself to forgive your wife."
+
+"Forgive her? I should be only too glad to forgive her!" cried Mr.
+Gallilee, bursting into violent agitation. "How am I to do it? Good God!
+Mool, how am I to do it? _You_ didn't hear those infamous words. _You_
+didn't see that dreadful death-struck look of the poor girl. I declare
+to you I turn cold when I think of my wife! I can't go to her when I
+ought to go--I send the servants into her room. My children, too--my
+dear good children--it's enough to break one's heart--think of their
+being brought up by a mother who could say what she said, and do--What
+will they see, I ask you what will they see, if she gets Carmina back in
+the house, and treats that sweet young creature as she _will_ treat her?
+There were times last night, when I thought of going away for ever--Lord
+knows where--and taking the girls with me. What am I talking about? I
+had something to say, and I don't know what it is; I don't know my
+own self! There, there; I'll keep quiet. It's my poor stupid head, I
+suppose--hot, Mool, burning hot. Let's be reasonable. Yes, yes, yes;
+let's be reasonable. You're a lawyer. I said to myself, when I came
+here, 'I want Mool's advice.' Be a dear good fellow--set my mind at
+ease. Oh, my friend, my old friend, what can I do for my children?"
+
+Amazed and distressed--utterly at a loss how to interfere to any
+good purpose--Mr. Mool recovered his presence of mind, the moment Mr.
+Gallilee appealed to him in his legal capacity. "Don't distress yourself
+about your children," he said kindly. "Thank God, we stand on firm
+ground, there."
+
+"Do you mean it, Mool?"
+
+"I mean it. Where your daughters are concerned, the authority is yours.
+Be firm, Gallilee! be firm!"
+
+"I will! You set me the example--don't you? _You're_ firm--eh?"
+
+"Firm as a rock. I agree with you. For the present at least, the
+children must be removed."
+
+"At once, Mool!"
+
+"At once!" the lawyer repeated.
+
+They had wrought each other up to the right pitch of resolution, by this
+time. They were almost loud enough for the clerks to hear them in the
+office.
+
+"No matter what my wife may say!" Mr. Gallilee stipulated.
+
+"No matter what she may say," Mr. Mool rejoined, "the father is master."
+
+"And _you_ know the law."
+
+"And I know the law. You have only to assert yourself."
+
+"And _you_ have only to back me."
+
+"For your children's sake, Gallilee!"
+
+"Under my lawyer's advice, Mool!"
+
+The one resolute Man was produced at last--without a flaw in him
+anywhere. They were both exhausted by the effort. Mr. Mool suggested a
+glass of wine.
+
+Mr. Gallilee ventured on a hint. "You don't happen to have a drop of
+champagne handy?" he said.
+
+The lawyer rang for his housekeeper. In five minutes, they were pledging
+each other in foaming tumblers. In five minutes more, they plunged back
+into business. The question of the best place to which the children
+could be removed, was easily settled. Mr. Mool offered his own house;
+acknowledging modestly that it had perhaps one drawback--it was within
+easy reach of Mrs. Gallilee. The statement of this objection stimulated
+his friend's memory. Lady Northlake was in Scotland. Lady Northlake had
+invited Maria and Zo, over and over again, to pass the autumn with their
+cousins; but Mrs. Gallilee's jealousy had always contrived to find some
+plausible reason for refusal. "Write at once," Mr. Mool advised. "You
+may do it in two lines. Your wife is ill; Miss Carmina is ill; you are
+not able to leave London--and the children are pining for fresh air." In
+this sense, Mr. Gallilee wrote. He insisted on having the letter sent to
+the post immediately. "I know it's long before post-time," he explained.
+"But I want to compose my mind."
+
+The lawyer paused, with his glass of wine at his lips. "I say! You're
+not hesitating already?"
+
+"No more than you are," Mr. Gallilee answered.
+
+"You will really send the girls away?"
+
+"The girls shall go, on the day when Lady Northlake invites them."
+
+"I'll make a note of that," said Mr. Mool.
+
+He made the note; and they rose to say good-bye. Faithful Mr. Gallilee
+still thought of Carmina. "Do consider it again!" he said at parting.
+"Are you sure the law won't help her?"
+
+"I might look at her father's Will," Mr. Mool replied.
+
+Mr. Gallilee saw the hopeful side of this suggestion, in the brightest
+colours. "Why didn't you think of it before?" he asked.
+
+Mr. Mool gently remonstrated. "Don't forget how many things I have on
+my mind," he said. "It only occurs to me now that the Will may give us
+a remedy--if there is any _open_ opposition to the ward's marriage
+engagement, on the guardian's part."
+
+There he stopped; knowing Mrs. Gallilee's methods of opposition too
+well to reckon hopefully on such a result as this. But he was a merciful
+man--and he kept his misgivings to himself.
+
+On the way home, Mr. Gallilee encountered his wife's maid. Marceline was
+dropping a letter into the pillar-post-box at the corner of the Square;
+she changed colour, on seeing her master. "Corresponding with her
+sweetheart," Mr. Gallilee concluded.
+
+Entering the house with an unfinished cigar in his mouth, he made
+straight for the smoking-room--and passed his youngest daughter, below
+him, waiting out of sight on the kitchen stairs.
+
+"Have you done it?" Zo whispered, when Marceline returned by the
+servants' entrance.
+
+"It's safe in the post, dear. Now tell me what you saw yesterday, when
+you were hidden in Miss Carmina's bedroom."
+
+The tone in which she spoke implied a confidential agreement. With
+honourable promptitude Zo, perched on her friend's knee, exerted her
+memory, and rewarded Marceline for posting her letter to Ovid.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIX.
+
+It was past the middle of the day, before Mr. Le Frank paid his promised
+visit to Mrs. Gallilee. He entered the room with gloomy looks; and made
+his polite inquiries, as became a depressed musician, in the minor key.
+
+"I am sorry, madam, to find you still on the sofa. Is there no
+improvement in your health?"
+
+"None whatever."
+
+"Does your medical attendant give you any hope?"
+
+"He does what they all do--he preaches patience. No more of myself! You
+appear to be in depressed spirits."
+
+Mr. Le Frank admitted with a sigh that appearances had not
+misrepresented him. "I have been bitterly disappointed," he said. "My
+feelings as an artist are wounded to the quick. But why do I trouble you
+with my poor little personal affairs? I humbly beg your pardon."
+
+His eyes accompanied this modest apology with a look of uneasy
+anticipation: he evidently expected to be asked to explain himself.
+Events had followed her instructions to Mr. Null, which left Mrs.
+Gallilee in need of employing her music-master's services. She felt the
+necessity of exerting herself; and did it--with an effort.
+
+"You have no reason, I hope, to complain of your pupils?" she said.
+
+"At this time of year, madam, I have no pupils. They are all out of
+town."
+
+She was too deeply preoccupied by her own affairs to trouble herself any
+further. The direct way was the easy way. She said wearily, "Well, what
+is it?"
+
+He answered in plain terms, this time.
+
+"A bitter humiliation, Mrs. Gallilee! I have been made to regret that
+I asked you to honour me by accepting the dedication of my Song. The
+music-sellers, on whom the sale depends, have not taken a tenth part of
+the number of copies for which we expected them to subscribe. Has some
+extraordinary change come over the public taste? My composition has
+been carefully based on fashionable principles--that is to say, on the
+principles of the modern German school. As little tune as possible;
+and that little strictly confined to the accompaniment. And what is
+the result? Loss confronts me, instead of profit--my agreement makes
+me liable for half the expenses of publication. And, what is far more
+serious in my estimation, your honoured name is associated with a
+failure! Don't notice me--the artist nature--I shall be better in a
+minute." He took out a profusely-scented handkerchief, and buried his
+face in it with a groan.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's hard common sense understood the heart-broken composer
+to perfection.
+
+"Stupid of me not to have offered him money yesterday," she thought:
+"this waste of time need never have happened." She set her mistake right
+with admirable brevity and directness. "Don't distress yourself, Mr.
+Le Frank. Now my name is on it, the Song is mine. If your publisher's
+account is not satisfactory--be so good as to send it to _me."_ Mr. Le
+Frank dropped his dry handkerchief, and sprang theatrically to his feet.
+His indulgent patroness refused to hear him: to this admirable woman,
+the dignity of Art was a sacred thing. "Not a word more on that
+subject," she said. "Tell me how you prospered last night. Your
+investigations cannot have been interrupted, or I should have heard
+of it. Come to the result! Have you found anything of importance in my
+niece's room?"
+
+Mr. Le Frank had again been baffled, so far as the confirmation of
+his own suspicions was concerned. But the time was not favourable to a
+confession of personal disappointment. He understood the situation; and
+made himself the hero of it, in three words.
+
+"Judge for yourself," he said--and held out the letter of warning from
+Father Patrizio.
+
+In silence, Mrs. Gallilee read the words which declared her to be the
+object of Teresa's inveterate resentment, and which charged Carmina with
+the serious duty of keeping the peace.
+
+"Does it alarm you?" Mr. Le Frank asked.
+
+"I hardly know what I feel," she answered. "Give me time to think."
+
+Mr. Le Frank went back to his chair. He had reason to congratulate
+himself already: he had shifted to other shoulders the pecuniary
+responsibility involved in the failure of his Song. Observing Mrs.
+Gallilee, he began to see possibilities of a brighter prospect still.
+Thus far she had kept him at a certain distance. Was the change of
+mind coming, which would admit him to the position (with all its solid
+advantages) of a confidential friend?
+
+She suddenly took up Father Patrizio's letter, and showed it to him.
+
+"What impression does it produce on you," she asked, "knowing no more
+than you know now?"
+
+"The priest's cautious language, madam, speaks for itself. You have an
+enemy who will stick at nothing."
+
+She still hesitated to trust him.
+
+"You see me here," she went on, "confined to my room; likely, perhaps,
+to be in this helpless condition for some time to come. How would you
+protect yourself against that woman, in my place?"
+
+"I should wait."
+
+"For what purpose?"
+
+"If you will allow me to use the language of the card-table, I should
+wait till the woman shows her hand."
+
+"She _has_ shown it."
+
+"May I ask when?"
+
+"This morning."
+
+Mr. Le Frank said no more. If he was really wanted, Mrs. Gallilee
+had only to speak. After a last moment of hesitation, the pitiless
+necessities of her position decided her once more. "You see me too ill
+to move," she said; "the first thing to do, is to tell you why."
+
+She related the plain facts; without a word of comment, without a sign
+of emotion. But her husband's horror of her had left an impression,
+which neither pride nor contempt had been strong enough to resist. She
+allowed the music-master to infer, that contending claims to authority
+over Carmina had led to a quarrel which provoked the assault. The secret
+of the words that she had spoken, was the one secret that she kept from
+Mr. Le Frank.
+
+"While I was insensible," she proceeded, "my niece was taken away from
+me. She has been suffering from nervous illness; she was naturally
+terrified--and she is now at the nurse's lodgings, too ill to be moved.
+There you have the state of affairs, up to last night."
+
+"Some people might think," Mr. Le Frank remarked, "that the easiest way
+out of it, so far, would be to summon the nurse for the assault."
+
+"The easiest way compels me to face a public exposure," Mrs. Gallilee
+answered. "In my position that is impossible."
+
+Mr. Le Frank accepted this view of the case as a matter of course.
+"Under the circumstances," he said, "it's not easy to advise you. How
+can you make the woman submit to your authority, while you are lying
+here?"
+
+"My lawyers have made her submit this morning."
+
+In the extremity of his surprise, Mr. Le Frank forgot himself. "The
+devil they have!" he exclaimed.
+
+"They have forbidden her, in my name," Mrs. Gallilee continued, "to act
+as nurse to my niece. They have informed her that Miss Carmina will be
+restored to my care, the moment she can be moved. And they have sent me
+her unconditional submission in writing, signed by herself."
+
+She took it from the desk at her side, and read it to him, in these
+words:
+
+"I humbly ask pardon of Mrs. Gallilee for the violent and unlawful acts
+of which I have been guilty. I acknowledge, and submit to, her authority
+as guardian of Miss Carmina Graywell. And I appeal to her mercy (which I
+own I have not deserved) to spare me the misery of separation from Miss
+Carmina, on any conditions which it may be her good will and pleasure to
+impose."
+
+"Now," Mrs. Galilee concluded, "what do you say?"
+
+Speaking sincerely for once, Mr. Le Frank made a startling reply.
+
+"Submit on your side," he said. "Do what she asks of you. And when you
+are well enough to go to her lodgings, decline with thanks if she offers
+you anything to eat or drink."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee raised herself on the sofa. "Are you insulting me, sir,"
+she asked, "by making this serious emergency the subject of a joke?"
+
+"I never was more in earnest, madam, in my life."
+
+"You think--you really think--that she is capable of trying to poison
+me?"
+
+"Most assuredly I do."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee sank back on the pillow. Mr. Le Frank stated his reasons;
+checking them off, one by one, on his fingers.
+
+"Who is she?" he began. "She is an Italian woman of the lower orders.
+The virtues of the people among whom she had been born and bred, are not
+generally considered to include respect for the sanctity of human life.
+What do we know already that she has done? She has alarmed the priest,
+who keeps her conscience, and knows her well; and she has attacked you
+with such murderous ferocity that it is a wonder you have escaped
+with your life. What sort of message have you sent to her, after this
+experience of her temper? You have told the tigress that you have the
+power to separate her from her cub, and that you mean to use it. On
+those plain facts, as they stare us in the face, which is the soundest
+conclusion? To believe that she really submits--or to believe that she
+is only gaining time, and is capable (if she sees no other alternative)
+of trying to poison you?"
+
+"What would you advise me to do?" In those words Mrs. Gallilee--never
+before reduced to ask advice of anybody--owned that sound reasoning was
+not thrown away on her.
+
+Mr. Le Frank answered the demand made on him without hesitation.
+
+"The nurse has not signed that act of submission," he said, "without
+having her own private reasons for appearing to give way. Rely on it,
+she is prepared for you--and there is at least a chance that some proof
+of it may be found. Have all her movements privately watched--and search
+the room she lives in, as I searched Miss Carmina's room last night."
+
+"Well?" said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+"Well?" Mr. Le Frank repeated.
+
+She angrily gave way. "Say at once that you are the man to do it for
+me!" she answered. "And say next--if you can--how it is to be done."
+
+Mr. Le Frank's manner softened to an air of gentle gallantry.
+
+"Pray compose yourself!" he said. "I am so glad to be of service to you,
+and it is so easily done!"
+
+"Easily?"
+
+"Dear madam, quite easily. Isn't the house a lodging-house; and, at this
+time of year, have I anything to do?" He rose, and took his hat.
+
+"Surely, you see me in my new character now? A single gentleman wants
+a bedroom. His habits are quiet, and he gives excellent references. The
+address, Mrs. Gallilee--may I trouble you for the address?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER L.
+
+Towards seven o'clock on the evening of Thursday, Carmina recognised
+Teresa for the first time.
+
+Her half-closed eyes opened, as if from a long sleep: they rested on the
+old nurse without any appearance of surprise. "I am so glad to see you,
+my dear," she said faintly. "Are you very tired after you journey?" None
+of the inquiries which might have been anticipated followed those first
+words. Not the slightest allusion to Mrs. Gallilee escaped her; she
+expressed no anxiety about Miss Minerva; no sign of uneasiness
+at finding herself in a. strange room, disturbed her quiet face.
+Contentedly reposing, she looked at Teresa from time to time and said,
+"You will stay with me, won't you?" Now and then, she confessed that her
+head felt dull and heavy, and asked Teresa to take her hand. "I feel as
+if I was sinking away from you," she said; "keep hold of my hand and I
+shan't be afraid to go to sleep." The words were hardly spoken, before
+she sank into slumber. Occasionally, Teresa felt her hand tremble and
+kissed it. She seemed to be conscious of the kiss, without waking--she
+smiled in her sleep.
+
+But, when the first hours of the morning came, this state of passive
+repose was disturbed. A violent attack of sickness came on. It was
+repeated again and again. Teresa sent for Mr. Null. He did what he
+could to relieve the new symptom; and he despatched a messenger to his
+illustrious colleague.
+
+Benjulia lost no time in answering personally the appeal that had been
+made to him.
+
+Mr. Null said, "Serious derangement of the stomach, sir." Benjulia
+agreed with him. Mr. Null showed his prescription. Benjulia sanctioned
+the prescription. Mr. Null said, "Is there anything you wish to suggest,
+sir?" Benjulia had nothing to suggest.
+
+He waited, nevertheless, until Carmina was able to speak to him. Teresa
+and Mr. Null wondered what he would say to her. He only said, "Do
+you remember when you last saw me?" After a little consideration, she
+answered, "Yes, Zo was with us; Zo brought in your big stick; and we
+talked--" She tried to rouse her memory. "What did we talk about?"
+she asked. A momentary agitation brought a flush to her face. "I can't
+remember it," she said; "I can't remember when you went away: does it
+matter?" Benjulia replied, "Not the least in the world. Go to sleep."
+
+But he still remained in the room--watching her as she grew drowsy.
+"Great weakness," Mr. Null whispered. And Benjulia answered, "Yes; I'll
+call again."
+
+On his way out, he took Teresa aside.
+
+"No more questions," he said--"and don't help her memory if she asks
+you."
+
+"Will she remember, when she gets better?" Teresa inquired.
+
+"Impossible to say, yet. Wait and see."
+
+He left her in a hurry; his experiments were waiting for him. On the way
+home, his mind dwelt on Carmina's case. Some hidden process was at work
+there: give it time--and it would show itself. "I hope that ass won't
+want me," he said, thinking of his medical colleague, "for at least a
+week to come."
+
+The week passed--and the physiologist was not disturbed.
+
+During that interval, Mr. Null succeeded in partially overcoming the
+attacks of sickness: they were less violent, and they were succeeded by
+longer intervals of repose. In other respects, there seemed (as Teresa
+persisted in thinking) to be some little promise of improvement. A
+certain mental advance was unquestionably noticeable in Carmina. It
+first showed itself in an interesting way: she began to speak of Ovid.
+
+Her great anxiety was, that he should know nothing of her illness.
+She forbade Teresa to write to him; she sent messages to Mr. and Mrs.
+Gallilee, and even to Mr. Mool, entreating them to preserve silence.
+
+The nurse engaged to deliver the messages--and failed to keep her word.
+This breach of promise (as events had ordered it) proved to be harmless.
+Mrs. Gallilee had good reasons for not writing. Her husband and Mr.
+Mool had decided on sending their telegram to the bankers. As for
+Teresa herself, she had no desire to communicate with Ovid. His absence
+remained inexcusable, from her point of view. Well or ill, with or
+without reason, it was the nurse's opinion that he ought to have
+remained at home, in Carmina's interests. No other persons were in
+the least likely to write to Ovid--nobody thought of Zo as a
+correspondent--Carmina was pacified.
+
+Once or twice, at this later time, the languid efforts of her memory
+took a wider range.
+
+She wondered why Mrs. Gallilee never came near her; owning that her
+aunt's absence was a relief to her, but not feeling interest enough in
+the subject to ask for information. She also mentioned Miss Minerva. "Do
+you know where she has gone? Don't you think she ought to write to me?"
+Teresa offered to make inquiries. She turned her head wearily on the
+pillow, and said, "Never mind!" On another occasion, she asked for Zo,
+and said it would be pleasant if Mr. Gallilee would call and bring her
+with him. But she soon dropped the subject, not to return to it again.
+
+The only remembrance which seemed to dwell on her mind for more than
+a few minutes, was her remembrance of the last letter which she had
+written to Ovid.
+
+She pleased herself with imagining his surprise, when he received it;
+she grew impatient under her continued illness, because it delayed her
+in escaping to Canada; she talked to Teresa of the clever manner in
+which the flight had been planned--with this strange failure of memory,
+that she attributed the various arrangements for setting discovery at
+defiance, not to Miss Minerva, but to the nurse.
+
+Here, for the first time, her mind was approaching dangerous ground. The
+stealing of the letter, and the events that had followed it, stood next
+in the order of remembrance--if she was capable of a continued
+effort. Her weakness saved her. Beyond the writing of the letter, her
+recollections were unable to advance. Not the faintest allusion to any
+later circumstances escaped her. The poor stricken brain still sought
+its rest in frequent intervals of sleep. Sometimes, she drifted back
+into partial unconsciousness; sometimes, the attacks of sickness
+returned. Mr. Null set an excellent example of patience and resignation.
+He believed as devoutly as ever in his prescriptions; he placed the
+greatest reliance on time and care. The derangement of the stomach (as
+he called it) presented something positive and tangible to treat: he had
+got over the doubts and anxieties that troubled him, when Carmina
+was first removed to the lodgings. Looking confidently at the
+surface--without an idea of what was going on below it--he could tell
+Teresa, with a safe conscience, that he understood the case. He was
+always ready to comfort her, when her excitable Italian nature passed
+from the extreme of hope to the extreme of despair. "My good woman, we
+see our way now: it's a great point gained, I assure you, to see our
+way."
+
+"What do you mean by seeing your way?" said the downright nurse. "Tell
+me when Carmina will be well again."
+
+Mr. Null's medical knowledge was not yet equal to this demand on it.
+"The progress is slow," he admitted, "still Miss Carmina is getting on."
+
+"Is her aunt getting on?" Teresa asked abruptly. "When is Mistress
+Gallilee likely to come here?"
+
+"In a few days--" Mr. Null was about to add "I hope;" but he thought
+of what might happen when the two women met. As it was, Teresa's face
+showed signs of serious disturbance: her mind was plainly not prepared
+for this speedy prospect of a visit from Mrs. Gallilee. She took a
+letter out of her pocket.
+
+"I find a good deal of sly prudence in you," she said to Mr. Null.
+"You must have seen something, in your time, of the ways of deceitful
+Englishwomen. What does that palaver mean in plain words?" She handed
+the letter to him.
+
+With some reluctance he read it.
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee declines to contract any engagement with the person
+formerly employed as nurse, in the household of the late Mr. Robert
+Graywell. Mrs. Gallilee so far recognises the apology and submission
+offered to her, as to abstain from taking immediate proceedings. In
+arriving at this decision, she is also influenced by the necessity of
+sparing her niece any agitation which might interfere with the medical
+treatment. When the circumstances appear to require it, she will not
+hesitate to exert her authority."
+
+The handwriting told Mr. Null that this manifesto had not been written
+by Mrs. Gallilee herself. The person who had succeeded him, in the
+capacity of that lady's amanuensis, had been evidently capable of giving
+sound advice. Little did he suspect that this mysterious secretary was
+identical with an enterprising pianist, who had once prevailed on him to
+take a seat at a concert; price five shillings.
+
+"Well?" said Teresa.
+
+Mr. Null hesitated.
+
+The nurse stamped impatiently on the floor. "Tell me this! When she does
+come here, will she part me from Carmina? Is that what she means?"
+
+"Possibly," said prudent Mr. Null.
+
+Teresa pointed to the door. "Good-morning! I want nothing more of you.
+Oh, man, man, leave me by myself!"
+
+The moment she was alone, she fell on her knees. Fiercely whispering,
+she repeated over and over again the words of the Lord's Prayer: "'Lead
+us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.' Christ, hear me!
+Mother of Christ, hear me! Oh, Carmina! Carmina!"
+
+She rose and opened the door which communicated with the bedroom.
+Trembling pitiably, she looked for a while at Carmina, peacefully
+asleep--then turned away to a corner of the room, in which stood an old
+packing-case, fitted with a lock. She took it up; and, returning with it
+to the sitting-room, softly closed the bedroom door again.
+
+After some hesitation, she decided to open the case. In the terror and
+confusion that possessed her, she tried the wrong key. Setting this
+mistake right, she disclosed--strangely mingled with the lighter
+articles of her own dress--a heap of papers; some of them letters and
+bills; some of them faded instructions in writing for the preparation of
+artists' colours.
+
+She recoiled from the objects which her own act had disclosed. Why had
+she not taken Father Patrizio's advice? If she had only waited another
+day; if she had only sorted her husband's papers, before she threw the
+things that her trunk was too full to hold into that half-empty case,
+what torment might have been spared to her! Her eyes turned mournfully
+to the bedroom door. "Oh, my darling, I was in such a hurry to get to
+You!"
+
+At last, she controlled herself, and put her hand into the case.
+Searching it in one corner, she produced a little tin canister. A dirty
+label was pasted on the canister, bearing this quaint inscription in the
+Italian language:
+
+"If there is any of the powder we employ in making some of our prettiest
+colours, left in here, I request my good wife, or any other trustworthy
+person in her place, to put a seal on it, and take it directly to the
+manufactory, with the late foreman's best respects. It looks like nice
+sugar. Beware of looks--or you may taste poison."
+
+On the point of opening the canister she hesitated. Under some strange
+impulse, she did what a child might have done: she shook it, and
+listened.
+
+The rustle of the rising and falling powder--renewing her terror--seemed
+to exercise some irresistible fascination over her. "The devil's dance,"
+she said to herself, with a ghastly smile. "Softly up--and softly
+down--and tempting me to take off the cover all the time! Why don't I
+get rid of it?"
+
+That question set her thinking of Carmina's guardian.
+
+If Mr. Null was right, in a day or two Mrs. Gallilee might come to the
+house. After the lawyers had threatened Teresa with the prospect of
+separation from Carmina, she had opened the packing-case, for the first
+time since she had left Rome--intending to sort her husband's papers as
+a means of relief from her own thoughts. In this way, she had discovered
+the canister. The sight of the deadly powder had tempted her. There were
+the horrid means of setting Mrs. Gallilee's authority at defiance! Some
+women in her place, would use them. Though she was not looking into the
+canister now, she felt that thought stealing back into her mind. There
+was but one hope for her: she resolved to get rid of the poison.
+
+How?
+
+At that period of the year, there was no fire in the grate. Within
+the limits of the room, the means of certain destruction were slow
+to present themselves. Her own morbid horror of the canister made her
+suspicious of the curiosity of other people, who might see it in her
+hand if she showed herself on the stairs. But she was determined, if she
+lit a fire for the purpose, to find the way to her end. The firmness
+of her resolution expressed itself by locking the case again, without
+restoring the canister to its hiding-place.
+
+Providing herself next with a knife, she sat down in a corner--between
+the bedroom door on one side, and a cupboard in an angle of the wall on
+the other--and began the work of destruction by scraping off the paper
+label. The fragments might be burnt, and the powder (if she made a vow
+to the Virgin to do it) might be thrown into the fire next--and then the
+empty canister would be harmless.
+
+She had made but little progress in the work of scraping, when it
+occurred to her that the lighting of a fire, on that warm autumn day,
+might look suspicious if the landlady or Mr. Null happened to come in.
+It would be safer to wait till night-time, when everybody would be in
+bed.
+
+Arriving at this conclusion, she mechanically suspended the use of her
+knife.
+
+In the moment of silence that followed, she heard someone enter the
+bedroom by the door which opened on the stairs. Immediately afterwards,
+the person turned the handle of the second door at her side. She had
+barely time enough to open the cupboard, and hide the canister in
+it--when the landlady came in.
+
+Teresa looked at her wildly. The landlady looked at the cupboard: she
+was proud of her cupboard.
+
+"Plenty of room there," she said boastfully: "not another house in the
+neighbourhood could offer you such accommodation as that! Yes--the lock
+is out of order; I don't deny it. The last lodger's doings! She spoilt
+my tablecloth, and put the inkstand over it to hide the place. Beast!
+there's her character in one word. You didn't hear me knock at the
+bedroom door? I am so glad to see her sleeping nicely, poor dear! Her
+chicken broth is ready when she wakes. I'm late to-day in making my
+inquiries after our young lady. You see we have been hard at work
+upstairs, getting the bedroom ready for a new lodger. Such a contrast
+to the person who has just left. A perfect gentleman, this time--and
+so kind in waiting a week till I was able to accommodate him. My ground
+floor rooms were vacant, as you know--but he said the terms were too
+high for him. Oh, I didn't forget to mention that we had an invalid in
+the house! Quiet habits (I said) are indeed an essential qualification
+of any new inmate, at such a time as this. He understood. 'I've been an
+invalid myself' (he said); 'and the very reason I am leaving my present
+lodgings is that they are not quiet enough.' Isn't that just the sort of
+man we want? And, let me tell you, a handsome man too. With a drawback,
+I must own, in the shape of a bald head. But such a beard, and such a
+thrilling voice! Hush! Did I hear her calling?"
+
+At last, the landlady permitted other sounds to be audible, besides the
+sound of her own voice. It became possible to discover that Carmina was
+now awake. Teresa hurried into the bedroom.
+
+Left by herself in the sitting-room, the landlady--"purely out of
+curiosity," as she afterwards said, in conversation with her new
+lodger--opened the cupboard, and looked in.
+
+The canister stood straight before her, on an upper shelf. Did Miss
+Carmina's nurse take snuff? She examined the canister: there was a
+white powder inside. The mutilated label spoke in an unknown tongue. She
+wetted her finger and tasted the powder. The result was so disagreeable
+that she was obliged to use her handkerchief. She put the canister back,
+and closed the cupboard.
+
+"Medicine, undoubtedly," the landlady said to herself. "Why should she
+hurry to put it away, when I came in?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LI.
+
+In eight days from the date of his second interview with Mrs. Gallilee,
+Mr. Le Frank took possession of his new bedroom.
+
+He had arranged to report his proceedings in writing. In Teresa's state
+of mind, she would certainly distrust a fellow-lodger, discovered in
+personal communication with Mrs. Gallilee. Mr. Le Frank employed the
+first day after his arrival in collecting the materials for a report. In
+the evening, he wrote to Mrs. Gallilee--under cover to a friend, who was
+instructed to forward the letter.
+
+
+"Private and confidential. Dear Madam,--I have not wasted my time and my
+opportunities, as you will presently see.
+
+"My bedroom is immediately above the floor of the house which is
+occupied by Miss Carmina and her nurse. Having some little matters of
+my own to settle, I was late in taking possession of my room. Before the
+lights on the staircase were put out, I took the liberty of looking down
+at the next landing.
+
+"Do you remember, when you were a child learning to write, that one
+of the lines in your copy-books was, 'Virtue is its own reward'? This
+ridiculous assertion was actually verified in my case! Before I had been
+five minutes at my post, I saw the nurse open her door. She looked up
+the staircase (without discovering me, it is needless to say), and she
+looked down the staircase--and, seeing nobody about, returned to her
+rooms.
+
+"Waiting till I heard her lock the door, I stole downstairs, and
+listened outside.
+
+"One of my two fellow-lodgers (you know that I don't believe in Miss
+Carmina's illness) was lighting a fire--on such a warm autumn night,
+that the staircase window was left open! I am absolutely sure of what I
+say: I heard the crackle of burning wood--I smelt coal smoke.
+
+"The motive of this secret proceeding it seems impossible to guess at.
+If they were burning documents of a dangerous and compromising kind,
+a candle would have answered their purpose. If they wanted hot water,
+surely a tin kettle and a spirit lamp must have been at hand in an
+invalid's bedroom? Perhaps, your superior penetration may be able to
+read the riddle which baffles my ingenuity.
+
+"So much for the first night.
+
+"This afternoon, I had some talk with the landlady. My professional
+avocations having trained me in the art of making myself agreeable
+to the sex, I may say without vanity that I produced a favourable
+impression. In other words, I contrived to set my fair friend talking
+freely about the old nurse and the interesting invalid.
+
+"Out of the flow of words poured on me, one fact of very serious
+importance has risen to the surface. There is a suspicious canister in
+the nurse's possession. The landlady calls the powder inside, medicine.
+I say, poison.
+
+"Am I rushing at a fanciful conclusion? Please wait a little.
+
+"During the week of delay which elapsed, before the lodger in possession
+vacated my room, you kindly admitted me to an interview. I ventured
+to put some questions, relating to Teresa's life in Italy and to the
+persons with whom she associated. Do you remember telling me, when I
+asked what you knew of her husband, that he was foreman in a manufactory
+of artists' colours? and that you had your information from Miss Carmina
+herself, after she had shown you the telegram announcing his death?
+
+"A lady, possessed of your scientific knowledge, does not require to be
+told that poisons are employed in making artists' colours. Remember
+what the priest's letter says of Teresa's feeling towards you, and then
+say--Is it so very unlikely that she has brought with her to England
+one of the poisons used by her husband in his trade? and is it quite
+unreasonable to suppose (when she looks at her canister) that she may be
+thinking of you?
+
+"I may be right or I may be wrong. Thanks to the dilapidated condition
+of a lock, I can decide the question, at the first opportunity offered
+to me by the nurse's absence from the room.
+
+"My next report shall tell you that I have contrived to provide myself
+with a sample of the powder--leaving the canister undisturbed. The
+sample shall be tested by a chemist. If he pronounces it to be poison, I
+have a bold course of action to propose.
+
+"As soon as you are well enough to go to the house, give the nurse her
+chance of poisoning you.
+
+"Dear madam, don't be alarmed! I will accompany you; and I will answer
+for the result. We will pay our visit at tea-time. Let her offer you
+a cup--and let me (under pretence of handing it) get possession of the
+poisoned drink. Before she can cry Stop!--I shall be on my way to the
+chemist.
+
+"The penalty for attempted murder is penal servitude. If you still
+object to a public exposure, we have the chemist's report, together with
+your own evidence, ready for your son on his return. How will he feel
+about his marriage-engagement, when he finds that Miss Carmina's
+dearest friend and companion has tried--_perhaps, with her young lady's
+knowledge_--to poison his mother?
+
+"Before concluding, I may mention that I had a narrow escape, only two
+hours since, of being seen by Teresa on the stairs.
+
+"I was of course prepared for this sort of meeting, when I engaged my
+room; and I have therefore not been foolish enough to enter the house
+under an assumed name. On the contrary, I propose (in your interests)
+to establish a neighbourly acquaintance--with time to help me. But the
+matter of the poison admits of no delay. My chance of getting at it
+unobserved may be seriously compromised, if the nurse remembers that
+she first met with me in your house, and distrusts me accordingly. Your
+devoted servant, L. F."
+
+
+Having completed his letter, he rang for the maid, and gave it to her to
+post.
+
+On her way downstairs, she was stopped on the next landing by Mr. Null.
+He too had a letter ready: addressed to Doctor Benjulia. The fierce old
+nurse followed him out, and said, "Post it instantly!" The civil maid
+asked if Miss Carmina was better. "Worse!"--was all the rude foreigner
+said. She looked at poor Mr. Null, as if it was his fault.
+
+Left in the retirement of his room, Mr. Le Frank sat at the
+writing-table, frowning and biting his nails.
+
+Were these evidences of a troubled mind connected with the infamous
+proposal which he had addressed to Mrs. Gallilee? Nothing of the sort!
+Having sent away his letter, he was now at leisure to let his personal
+anxieties absorb him without restraint. He was thinking of Carmina.
+The oftener his efforts were baffled, the more resolute he became to
+discover the secret of her behaviour to him. For the hundredth time he
+said to himself, "Her devilish malice reviles me behind my back,
+and asks me before my face to shake hands and be friends." The more
+outrageously unreasonable his suspicions became, under the exasperating
+influence of suspense, the more inveterately his vindictive nature held
+to its delusion. After meeting her in the hall at Fairfield Gardens,
+he really believed Carmina's illness to have been assumed as a means of
+keeping out of his way. If a friend had said to him, "But what reason
+have you to think so?"--he would have smiled compassionately, and have
+given that friend up for a shallow-minded man.
+
+He stole out again, and listened, undetected, at their door. Carmina was
+speaking; but the words, in those faint tones, were inaudible. Teresa's
+stronger voice easily reached his ears. "My darling, talking is not good
+for you. I'll light the night-lamp--try to sleep."
+
+Hearing this, he went back to his bedroom to wait a little. Teresa's
+vigilance might relax if Carmina fell asleep. She might go downstairs
+for a gossip with the landlady.
+
+After smoking a cigar, he tried again. The lights on the staircase were
+now put out: it was eleven o'clock.
+
+She was not asleep: the nurse was reading to her from some devotional
+book. He gave it up, for that night. His head ached; the ferment of
+his own abominable thoughts had fevered him. A cowardly dread of the
+slightest signs of illness was one of his special weaknesses. The whole
+day, to-morrow, was before him. He felt his own pulse; and determined,
+in justice to himself, to go to bed.
+
+Ten minutes later, the landlady, on her way to bed, ascended the stairs.
+She too heard the voice, still reading aloud--and tapped softly at the
+door. Teresa opened it.
+
+"Is the poor thing not asleep yet?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Has she been disturbed in some way?"
+
+"Somebody has been walking about, overhead," Teresa answered.
+
+"That's the new lodger!" exclaimed the landlady. "I'll speak to Mr. Le
+Frank."
+
+On the point of closing the door, and saying good-night, Teresa stopped,
+and considered for a moment.
+
+"Is he your new lodger?" she said.
+
+"Yes. Do you know him?"
+
+"I saw him when I was last in England."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Nothing more," Teresa answered. "Good-night!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LII.
+
+Watching through the night by Carmina's bedside, Teresa found herself
+thinking of Mr. Le Frank. It was one way of getting through the weary
+time, to guess at the motive which had led him to become a lodger in the
+house.
+
+Common probabilities pointed to the inference that he might have reasons
+for changing his residence, which only concerned himself. But common
+probabilities--from Teresa's point of view--did not apply to Mr. Le
+Frank. On meeting him, at the time of her last visit to England, his
+personal appearance had produced such a disagreeable impression on her,
+that she had even told Carmina "the music-master looked like a rogue."
+With her former prejudice against him now revived, and with her serious
+present reasons for distrusting Mrs. Gallilee, she rejected the idea
+of his accidental presence under her landlady's roof. To her mind, the
+business of the new lodger in the house was, in all likelihood, the
+business of a spy.
+
+While Mr. Le Frank was warily laying his plans for the next day, he had
+himself become an object of suspicion to the very woman whose secrets he
+was plotting to surprise.
+
+This was the longest and saddest night which the faithful old nurse had
+passed at her darling's bedside.
+
+For the first time, Carmina was fretful, and hard to please: patient
+persuasion was needed to induce her to take her medicine. Even when she
+was thirsty, she had an irritable objection to being disturbed, if the
+lemonade was offered to her which she had relished at other times. Once
+or twice, when she drowsily stirred in her bed, she showed symptoms of
+delusion. The poor girl supposed it was the eve or her wedding-day, and
+eagerly asked what Teresa had done with her new dress. A little later,
+when she had perhaps been dreaming, she fancied that her mother was
+still alive, and repeated the long-forgotten talk of her childhood.
+"What have I said to distress you?" she asked wonderingly, when she
+found Teresa crying.
+
+Soon after sunrise, there came a long interval of repose.
+
+At the later time when Benjulia arrived, she was quiet and
+uncomplaining. The change for the worse which had induced Teresa to
+insist on sending for him, was perversely absent. Mr. Null expected to
+be roughly rebuked for having disturbed the great man by a false alarm.
+He attempted to explain: and Teresa attempted to explain. Benjulia
+paid not the slightest attention to either of them. He made no angry
+remarks--and he showed, in his own impenetrable way, as gratifying an
+interest in the case as ever.
+
+"Draw up the blind," he said; "I want to have a good look at her."
+
+Mr. Null waited respectfully, and imposed strict silence on Teresa,
+while the investigation was going on. It lasted so long that he ventured
+to say, "Do you see anything particular, sir?"
+
+Benjulia saw his doubts cleared up: time (as he had anticipated)
+had brought development with it, and had enabled him to arrive at a
+conclusion. The shock that had struck Carmina had produced complicated
+hysterical disturbance, which was now beginning to simulate paralysis.
+Benjulia's profound and practised observation detected a trifling
+inequality in the size of the pupils of the eyes, and a slightly unequal
+action on either side of the face--delicately presented in the eyelids,
+the nostrils, and the lips. Here was no common affection of the brain,
+which even Mr. Null could understand! Here, at last, was Benjulia's
+reward for sacrificing the precious hours which might otherwise have
+been employed in the laboratory! From that day, Carmina was destined to
+receive unknown honour: she was to take her place, along with the other
+animals, in his note-book of experiments.
+
+He turned quietly to Mr. Null, and finished the consultation in two
+words.
+
+"All right!"
+
+"Have you nothing to suggest, sir?" Mr. Null inquired.
+
+"Go on with the treatment--and draw down the blind, if she complains of
+the light. Good-day!"
+
+"Are you sure he's a great doctor?" said Teresa, when the door had
+closed on him.
+
+"The greatest we have!" cried Mr. Null with enthusiasm.
+
+"Is he a good man?"
+
+"Why do you ask?"
+
+"I want to know if we can trust him to tell us the truth?"
+
+"Not a doubt of it!" (Who could doubt it, indeed, after he had approved
+of Mr. Null's medical treatment?)
+
+"There's one thing you have forgotten," Teresa persisted. "You haven't
+asked him when Carmina can be moved."
+
+"My good woman, if I had put such a question, he would have set me down
+as a fool! Nobody can say when she will be well enough to be moved."
+
+He took his hat. The nurse followed him out.
+
+"Are you going to Mrs. Gallilee, sir?"
+
+"Not to-day."
+
+"Is she better?"
+
+"She is almost well again."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIII.
+
+Left alone, Teresa went into the sitting-room: she was afraid to show
+herself at the bedside.
+
+Mr. Null had destroyed the one hope which had supported her thus
+far--the hope of escaping from England with Carmina, before Mrs.
+Gallilee could interfere. Looking steadfastly at that inspiriting
+prospect, she had forced herself to sign the humble apology and
+submission which the lawyers had dictated. What was the prospect now?
+Heavily had the merciless hand of calamity fallen on that brave old
+soul--and, at last, it had beaten her down! While she stood at the
+window, mechanically looking out, the dreary view of the back street
+trembled and disappeared. Teresa was crying. Happily for herself, she
+was unable to control her own weakness; the tears lightened her heavy
+heart. She waited a little, in the fear that her eyes might betray her,
+before she returned to Carmina. In that interval, she heard the sound of
+a closing door, on the floor above.
+
+"The music-master!" she said to herself.
+
+In an instant, she was at the sitting-room door, looking through the
+keyhole. It was the one safe way of watching him--and that was enough
+for Teresa.
+
+His figure appeared suddenly within her narrow range of view--on the
+mat outside the door. If her distrust of him was without foundation,
+he would go on downstairs. No! He stopped on the mat to listen--he
+stooped--his eye would have been at the keyhole in another moment.
+
+She seized a chair, and moved it. The sound instantly drove him away. He
+went on, down the stairs.
+
+Teresa considered with herself what safest means of protection--and, if
+possible, of punishment as well--lay within her reach. How, and where,
+could the trap be set that might catch him?
+
+She was still puzzled by that question, when the landlady made her
+appearance--politely anxious to hear what the doctors thought of their
+patient. Satisfied so far, the wearisome woman had her apologies to make
+next, for not having yet cautioned Mr. Le Frank.
+
+"Thinking over it, since last night," she said confidentially, "I cannot
+imagine how you heard him walking overhead. He has such a soft step that
+he positively takes me by surprise when he comes into my room. He has
+gone out for an hour; and I have done him a little favour which I am
+not in the habit of conferring on ordinary lodgers--I have lent him my
+umbrella, as it threatens rain. In his absence, I will ask you to listen
+while I walk about in his room. One can't be too particular, when rest
+is of such importance to your young lady--and it has struck me as just
+possible, that the floor of his room may be in fault. My dear, the
+boards may creak! I'm a sad fidget, I know; but, if the carpenter can
+set things right--without any horrid hammering, of course!--the sooner
+he is sent for, the more relieved I shall feel."
+
+Through this harangue, the nurse had waited, with a patience far from
+characteristic of her, for an opportunity of saying a timely word. By
+some tortuous mental process, that she was quite unable to trace, the
+landlady's allusion to Mr. Le Frank had suggested the very idea of
+which, in her undisturbed solitude, she had been vainly in search.
+Never before, had the mistress of the house appeared to Teresa in such a
+favourable light.
+
+"You needn't trouble yourself, ma'am," she said, as soon as she could
+make herself heard; "it _was_ the creaking of the boards that told me
+somebody was moving overhead."
+
+"Then I'm not a fidget after all? Oh, how you relieve me! Whatever the
+servants may have to do, one of them shall be sent instantly to the
+carpenter. So glad to be of any service to that sweet young creature!"
+
+Teresa consulted her watch before she returned to the bedroom.
+
+The improvement in Carmina still continued: she was able to take some
+of the light nourishment that was waiting for her. As Benjulia had
+anticipated, she asked to have the blind lowered a little. Teresa drew
+it completely over the window: she had her own reasons for tempting
+Carmina to repose. In half an hour more, the weary girl was sleeping,
+and the nurse was at liberty to set her trap for Mr. Le Frank.
+
+Her first proceeding was to dip the end of a quill pen into her bottle
+of salad oil, and to lubricate the lock and key of the door that gave
+access to the bedroom from the stairs. Having satisfied herself that the
+key could now be used without making the slightest sound, she turned to
+the door of communication with the sitting-room next.
+
+This door was covered with green baize. It had handles but no lock; and
+it swung inwards, so as to allow the door of the cupboard (situated in
+the angle of the sitting-room wall) to open towards the bedroom freely.
+Teresa oiled the hinges, and the brass bolt and staple which protected
+the baize door on the side of the bedroom. That done, she looked again
+at her watch.
+
+Mr. Le Frank's absence was expected to last for an hour. In five minutes
+more, the hour would expire.
+
+After bolting the door of communication, she paused in the bedroom, and
+wafted a kiss to Carmina, still at rest. She left the room by the door
+which opened on the stairs, and locked it, taking away the key with her.
+
+Having gone down the first flight of stairs, she stopped and went back.
+The one unsecured door, was the door which led into the sitting-room
+from the staircase. She opened it and left it invitingly ajar. "Now,"
+she said to herself, "the trap will catch him!"
+
+The hall clock struck the hour when she entered the landlady's room.
+
+The woman of many words was at once charmed and annoyed. Charmed to
+hear that the dear invalid was resting, and to receive a visit from the
+nurse: annoyed by the absence of the carpenter, at work somewhere else
+for the whole of the day. "If my dear husband had been alive, we should
+have been independent of carpenters; he could turn his hand to anything.
+Now do sit down--I want you to taste some cherry brandy of my own
+making."
+
+As Teresa took a chair, Mr. Le Frank returned. The two secret
+adversaries met, face to face.
+
+"Surely I remember this lady?" he said.
+
+Teresa encountered him, on his own ground. She made her best curtsey,
+and reminded him of the circumstances under which they had formerly met.
+The hospitable landlady produced her cherry brandy. "We are going to
+have a nice little chat; do sit down, sir, and join us." Mr. Le Frank
+made his apologies. The umbrella which had been so kindly lent to him,
+had not protected his shoes; his feet were wet; and he was so sadly
+liable to take cold that he must beg permission to put on his dry things
+immediately.
+
+Having bowed himself out, he stopped in the passage, and, standing on
+tiptoe, peeped through a window in the wall, by which light was conveyed
+to the landlady's little room. The two women were comfortably seated
+together, with the cherry brandy and a plate of biscuits on a table
+between them. "In for a good long gossip," thought Mr. Le Frank. "Now is
+my time!"
+
+Not five minutes more had passed, before Teresa made an excuse for
+running upstairs again. She had forgotten to leave the bell rope, in
+case Carmina woke, within the reach of her hand. The excellent heart of
+the hostess made allowance for natural anxiety. "Do it, you good soul,"
+she said; "and come back directly!" Left by herself, she filled her
+glass again, and smiled. Sweetness of temper (encouraged by cherry
+brandy) can even smile at a glass--unless it happens to be empty.
+
+Approaching her own rooms, Teresa waited, and listened, before she
+showed herself. No sound reached her through the half open sitting-room
+door. She noiselessly entered the bedroom, and then locked the door
+again. Once more she listened; and once more there was nothing to be
+heard. Had he seen her on the stairs?
+
+As the doubt crossed her mind, she heard the boards creak on the floor
+above. Mr. Le Frank was in his room.
+
+Did this mean that her well-laid plan had failed? Or did it mean that he
+was really changing his shoes and stockings? The last inference was the
+right one.
+
+He had made no mere excuse downstairs. The serious interests that he
+had at stake, were not important enough to make him forget his precious
+health. His chest was delicate; a cold might settle on his lungs. The
+temptation of the half-open door had its due effect on this prudent man;
+but it failed to make him forget that his feet were wet.
+
+The boards creaked again; the door of his room was softly closed--then
+there was silence. Teresa only knew when he had entered the sitting-room
+by hearing him try the bolted baize door. After that, he must have
+stepped out again. He next tried the door of the bedchamber, from the
+stairs.
+
+There was a quiet interval once more. Teresa noiselessly drew back the
+bolt; and, opening the baize door by a mere hair's-breadth, admitted
+sound from the sitting-room. She now heard him turning the key in a
+chiffonier, which only contained tradesmen's circulars, receipted bills,
+and a few books.
+
+(Even with the canister in the cupboard, waiting to be opened, his
+uppermost idea was to discover Carmina's vindictive motive in Carmina's
+papers!)
+
+The contents of the chiffonier disappointed him--judging by the tone in
+which he muttered to himself. The next sound startled Teresa; it was a
+tap against the lintel of the door behind which she was standing. He had
+thrown open the cupboard.
+
+The rasping of the cover, as he took it off, told her that he was
+examining the canister. She had put it back on the shelf, a harmless
+thing now--the poison and the label having been both destroyed by fire.
+Nevertheless, his choosing the canister, from dozens of other
+things scattered invitingly about it, inspired her with a feeling of
+distrustful surprise. She was no longer content to find out what he was
+doing by means of her ears. Determined to see him, and to catch him in
+the fact, she pulled open the baize door--at the moment when he must
+have discovered that the canister was empty. A faint thump told her he
+had thrown it on the floor.
+
+The view of the sitting-room was still hidden from her. She had
+forgotten the cupboard door.
+
+Now that it was wide open, it covered the entrance to the bedroom, and
+completely screened them one from the other. For the moment she was
+startled, and hesitated whether to show herself or not. His voice
+stopped her.
+
+"Is there another canister?" he said to himself. "The dirty old savage
+may have hidden it--"
+
+Teresa heard no more. "The dirty old savage" was an insult not to be
+endured! She forgot her intention of stealing on him unobserved; she
+forgot her resolution to do nothing that could awaken Carmina. Her
+fierce temper urged her into furious action. With both hands outspread,
+she flew at the cupboard door, and banged it to in an instant.
+
+A shriek of agony rang through the house. The swiftly closing door had
+caught, and crushed, the fingers of Le Frank's right hand, at the moment
+when he was putting it into the cupboard again.
+
+Without stopping to help him, without even looking at him, she ran back
+to Carmina.
+
+The swinging baize door fell to, and closed of itself. No second cry
+was heard. Nothing happened to falsify her desperate assertion that the
+shriek was the delusion of a vivid dream. She took Carmina in her arms,
+and patted and fondled her like a child. "See, my darling, I'm with you
+as usual; and I have heard nothing. Don't, oh, don't tremble in that
+way! There--I'll wrap you up in my shawl, and read to you. No! let's
+talk of Ovid."
+
+Her efforts to compose Carmina were interrupted by a muffled sound of
+men's footsteps and women's voices in the next room.
+
+She hurriedly opened the door, and entreated them to whisper and be
+quiet. In the instant before she closed it again, she saw and heard.
+Le Frank lay in a swoon on the floor. The landlady was kneeling by him,
+looking at his injured hand; and the lodgers were saying, "Send him to
+the hospital."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIV.
+
+On Monday morning, the strain on Mrs. Gallilee's powers of patient
+endurance came to an end. With the help of Mr. Null's arm, she was
+able to get downstairs to the library. On Tuesday, there would be no
+objection to her going out for a drive. Mr. Null left her, restored to
+her equable flow of spirits. He had asked if she wished to have somebody
+to keep her company--and she had answered briskly, "Not on any account!
+I prefer being alone."
+
+On the morning of Saturday, she had received Mr. Le Frank's letter; but
+she had not then recovered sufficiently to be able to read it through.
+She could now take it up again, and get to the end.
+
+Other women might have been alarmed by the atrocious wickedness of the
+conspiracy which the music-master had planned. Mrs. Gallilee was only
+offended. That he should think her capable--in her social position--of
+favouring such a plot as he had suggested, was an insult which she
+was determined neither to forgive nor forget. Fortunately, she had not
+committed herself in writing; he could produce no proof of the relations
+that had existed between them. The first and best use to make of her
+recovery would be to dismiss him--after paying his expenses, privately
+and prudently, in money instead of by cheque.
+
+In the meantime, the man's insolence had left its revolting impression
+on her mind. The one way to remove it was to find some agreeable
+occupation for her thoughts.
+
+Look at your library table, learned lady, and take the appropriate means
+of relief that it offers. See the lively modern parasites that infest
+Science, eager to invite your attention to their little crawling selves.
+Follow scientific inquiry, rushing into print to proclaim its own
+importance, and to declare any human being, who ventures to doubt or
+differ, a fanatic or a fool. Respect the leaders of public opinion,
+writing notices of professors, who have made discoveries not yet tried
+by time, not yet universally accepted even by their brethren, in terms
+which would be exaggerated if they were applied to Newton or to Bacon.
+Submit to lectures and addresses by dozens which, if they prove nothing
+else, prove that what was scientific knowledge some years since; is
+scientific ignorance now--and that what is scientific knowledge now,
+may be scientific ignorance in some years more. Absorb your mind in
+controversies and discussions, in which Mr. Always Right and Mr. Never
+Wrong exhibit the natural tendency of man to believe in himself, in the
+most rampant stage of development that the world has yet seen. And when
+you have done all this, doubt not that you have made a good use of your
+time. You have discovered what the gentle wisdom of FARADAY saw and
+deplored, when he warned the science of his day in words which should
+live for ever: "The first and last step in the education of the judgment
+is--Humility." Having agreeably occupied her mind with subjects that
+were worthy of it, Mrs. Gallilee rose to seek a little physical relief
+by walking up and down the room.
+
+Passing and repassing the bookcases, she noticed a remote corner devoted
+to miscellaneous literature. A volume in faded binding of sky-blue, had
+been placed upside down. She looked at the book before she put it in
+its right position. The title was "Gallery of British Beauty." Among the
+illustrations--long since forgotten--appeared her own portrait, when she
+was a girl of Carmina's age.
+
+A faintly contemptuous smile parted her hard lips, provoked by the
+recollections of her youth.
+
+What a fool she had been, at that early period of her life! In those
+days, she had trembled with pleasure at the singing of a famous Italian
+tenor; she had flown into a passion when a new dress proved to be a
+misfit, on the evening of a ball; she had given money to beggars in the
+street; she had fallen in love with a poor young man, and had terrified
+her weak-minded hysterical mother, by threatening to commit suicide
+when the beloved object was forbidden the house. Comparing the girl of
+seventeen with the matured and cultivated woman of later years, what a
+matchless example Mrs. Gallilee presented of the healthy influence of
+education, directed to scientific pursuits! "Ah!" she thought, as she
+put the book back in its place, "my girls will have reason to thank me
+when they grow up; they have had a mother who has done her duty."
+
+She took a few more turns up and down the room. The sky had cleared
+again; a golden gleam of sunlight drew her to the window. The next
+moment she regretted even this concession to human weakness. A
+disagreeable association presented itself, and arrested the pleasant
+flow of her thoughts. Mr. Gallilee appeared on the door-step; leaving
+the house on foot, and carrying a large brown-paper parcel under his
+arm.
+
+With servants at his disposal, why was he carrying the parcel himself?
+The time had been, when Mrs. Gallilee would have tapped at the window,
+and would have insisted on his instantly returning and answering the
+question. But his conduct, since the catastrophe in Carmina's room,
+had produced a complete estrangement between the married pair. All his
+inquiries after his wife's health had been made by deputy. When he was
+not in the schoolroom with the children, he was at his club. Until he
+came to his senses, and made humble apology, no earthly consideration
+would induce Mrs. Gallilee to take the slightest notice of him.
+
+She returned to her reading.
+
+The footman came in, with two letters--one arriving by post; the other
+having been dropped into the box by private messenger. Communications
+of this latter sort proceeded, not unfrequently, from creditors. Mrs.
+Gallilee opened the stamped letter first.
+
+It contained nothing more important than a few lines from a daily
+governess, whom she had engaged until a successor to Miss Minerva could
+be found. In obedience to Mrs. Gallilee's instructions, the governess
+would begin her attendance at ten o'clock on the next morning.
+
+The second letter was of a very different kind. It related the disaster
+which had befallen Mr. Le Frank.
+
+Mr. Null was the writer. As Miss Carmina's medical attendant, it was
+his duty to inform her guardian that her health had been unfavourably
+affected by an alarm in the house. Having described the nature of the
+alarm, he proceeded in these words: "You will, I fear, lose the services
+of your present music-master. Inquiries made this morning at the
+hospital, and reported to me, appear to suggest serious results. The
+wounded man's constitution is in an unhealthy state; the surgeons are
+not sure of being able to save two of the fingers. I will do myself the
+honour of calling to-morrow before you go out for your drive."
+
+The impression produced by this intelligence on the lady to whom it was
+addressed, can only be reported in her own words. She--who knew, on the
+best scientific authority, that the world had created itself--completely
+lost her head, and actually said, "Thank God!"
+
+For weeks to come--perhaps for months if the surgeons' forebodings were
+fulfilled--Mrs. Gallilee had got rid of Mr. Le Frank. In that moment
+of infinite relief, if her husband had presented himself, it is even
+possible that he might have been forgiven.
+
+As it was, Mr. Gallilee returned late in the afternoon; entered his
+own domain of the smoking-room; and left the house again five minutes
+afterwards. Joseph officiously opened the door for him; and Joseph was
+surprised, precisely as his mistress had been surprised. Mr. Gallilee
+had a large brown paper parcel under his arm--the second which he
+had taken out of the house with his own hands! Moreover, he looked
+excessively confused when the footman discovered him. That night, he was
+late in returning from the club. Joseph (now on the watch) observed that
+he was not steady on his legs--and drew his own conclusions accordingly.
+
+Punctual to her time, on the next morning, the new governess arrived.
+Mrs. Gallilee received her, and sent for the children.
+
+The maid in charge of them appeared alone. She had no doubt that the
+young ladies would be back directly. The master had taken them out for a
+little walk, before they began their lessons. He had been informed
+that the lady who had been appointed to teach them would arrive at ten
+o'clock. And what had he said? He had said, "Very good."
+
+The half-hour struck--eleven o'clock struck--and neither the father nor
+the children returned. Ten minutes later, someone rang the door bell.
+The door being duly opened, nobody appeared on the house-step. Joseph
+looked into the letter-box, and found a note addressed to his mistress,
+in his master's handwriting. He immediately delivered it.
+
+Hitherto, Mrs. Gallilee had only been anxious. Joseph, waiting for
+events outside the door, heard the bell rung furiously; and found his
+mistress (as he forcibly described it) "like a woman gone distracted."
+Not without reason--to do her justice. Mr. Gallilee's method of
+relieving his wife's anxiety was remarkable by its brevity. In one
+sentence, he assured her that there was no need to feel alarmed. In
+another, he mentioned that he had taken the girls away with him for a
+change of air. And then he signed his initials--J. G.
+
+Every servant in the house was summoned to the library, when Mrs.
+Gallilee had in some degree recovered herself.
+
+One after another they were strictly examined; and one after another
+they had no evidence to give--excepting the maid who had been present
+when the master took the young ladies away. The little she had to tell,
+pointed to the inference that he had not admitted the girls to his
+confidence before they left the house. Maria had submitted, without
+appearing to be particularly pleased at the prospect of so early a walk.
+Zo (never ready to exert either her intelligence or her legs) had openly
+declared that she would rather stay at home. To this the master had
+answered, "Get your things on directly!"--and had said it so sharply
+that Miss Zoe stared at him in astonishment. Had they taken anything
+with them--a travelling bag for instance? They had taken nothing, except
+Mr. Gallilee's umbrella. Who had seen Mr. Gallilee last, on the previous
+night? Joseph had seen him last. The lower classes in England have one,
+and but one, true feeling of sympathy with the higher classes. The man
+above them appeals to their hearts, and merits their true service, when
+he is unsteady on his legs. Joseph nobly confined his evidence to what
+he had observed some hours previously: he mentioned the parcel. Mrs.
+Gallilee's keen perception, quickened by her own experience at the
+window, arrived at the truth. Those two bulky packages must have
+contained clothes--left, in anticipation of the journey, under the care
+of an accomplice. It was impossible that Mr. Gallilee could have got
+at the girls' dresses and linen, and have made the necessary selections
+from them, without a woman's assistance. The female servants were
+examined again. Each one of them positively asserted her innocence.
+Mrs. Gallilee threatened to send for the police. The indignant women all
+cried in chorus, "Search our boxes!" Mrs. Gallilee took a wiser course.
+She sent to the lawyers who had been recommended to her by Mr. Null.
+The messenger had just been despatched, when Mr. Null himself, in
+performance of yesterday's engagement, called at the house.
+
+He, too, was agitated. It was impossible that he could have heard what
+had happened. Was he the bearer of bad news? Mrs. Gallilee thought of
+Carmina first, and then of Mr. Le Frank.
+
+"Prepare for a surprise," Mr. Null began, "a joyful surprise, Mrs.
+Gallilee! I have received a telegram from your son."
+
+He handed it to her as he spoke.
+
+"September 6th. Arrived at Quebec, and received information of Carmina's
+illness. Shall catch the Boston steamer, and sail to-morrow for
+Liverpool. Break the news gently to C. For God's sake send telegram to
+meet me at Queenstown."
+
+It was then the 7th of September. If all went well, Ovid might be in
+London in ten days more.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LV.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee read the telegram--paused--and read it again. She let it
+drop on her lap; but her eyes still rested mechanically on the slip of
+paper. When she spoke, her voice startled Mr. Null. Usually loud and
+hard, her tones were strangely subdued. If his back had been turned
+towards her, he would hardly have known who was speaking to him.
+
+"I must ask you to make allowances for me," she began, abruptly; "I
+hardly know what to say. This surprise comes at a time when I am badly
+prepared for it. I am getting well; but, you see, I am not quite so
+strong as I was before that woman attacked me. My husband has gone
+away--I don't know where--and has taken my children with him. Read
+his note: but don't say anything. You must let me be quiet, or I can't
+think."
+
+She handed the letter to Mr. Null. He looked at her--read the few
+words submitted to him--and looked at her again. For once, his stock of
+conventional phrases failed him. Who could have anticipated such conduct
+on the part of her husband? Who could have supposed that she herself
+would have been affected in this way, by the return of her son?
+
+Mrs. Gallilee drew a long heavy breath. "I have got it now," she said.
+"My son is coming home in a hurry because of Carmina's illness. Has
+Carmina written to him?"
+
+Mr. Null was in his element again: this question appealed to his
+knowledge of his patient. "Impossible, Mrs. Gallilee--in her present
+state of health."
+
+"In her present state of health? I forgot that. There was something
+else. Oh, yes! Has Carmina seen the telegram?"
+
+Mr. Null explained. He had just come from Carmina. In his medical
+capacity, he had thought it judicious to try the moral effect on his
+patient of a first allusion to the good news. He had only ventured to
+say that Mr. Ovid's agents in Canada had heard from him on his travels,
+and had reason to believe that he would shortly return to Quebec. Upon
+the whole, the impression produced on the young lady--
+
+It was useless to go on. Mrs. Gallilee was pursuing her own thoughts,
+without even the pretence of listening to him.
+
+"I want to know who wrote to my son," she persisted. "Was it the nurse?"
+
+Mr. Null considered this to be in the last degree unlikely. The nurse's
+language showed a hostile feeling towards Mr. Ovid, in consequence of
+his absence.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee looked once more at the telegram. "Why," she asked, "does
+Ovid telegraph to You?"
+
+Mr. Null answered with his customary sense of what was due to himself.
+"As the medical attendant of the family, your son naturally supposed,
+madam, that Miss Carmina was under my care."
+
+The implied reproof produced no effect. "I wonder whether my son was
+afraid to trust us?" was all Mrs. Gallilee said. It was the chance guess
+of a wandering mind--but it had hit the truth. Kept in ignorance of
+Carmina's illness by the elder members of the family, at what other
+conclusion could Ovid arrive, with Zo's letter before him? After a
+momentary pause, Mrs. Gallilee went on. "I suppose I may keep the
+telegram?" she said.
+
+Prudent Mr. Null offered a copy--and made the copy, then and there.
+The original (he explained) was his authority for acting on Mr. Ovid's
+behalf, and he must therefore beg leave to keep it. Mrs. Gallilee
+permitted him to exchange the two papers. "Is there anything more?" she
+asked. "Your time is valuable of course. Don't let me detain you."
+
+"May I feel your pulse before I go?"
+
+She held out her arm to him in silence.
+
+The carriage came to the door while he was counting the beat of the
+pulse. She glanced at the window, and said, "Send it away." Mr. Null
+remonstrated. "My dear lady, the air will do you good." She answered
+obstinately and quietly, "No"--and once more became absorbed in thought.
+
+It had been her intention to combine her first day of carriage exercise
+with a visit to Teresa's lodgings, and a personal exertion of her
+authority. The news of Ovid's impending return made it a matter of
+serious importance to consider this resolution under a new light. She
+had now, not only to reckon with Teresa, but with her son. With this
+burden on her enfeebled mind--heavily laden by the sense of injury which
+her husband's flight had aroused--she had not even reserves enough of
+energy to spare for the trifling effort of dressing to go out. She broke
+into irritability, for the first time. "I am trying to find out who has
+written to my son. How can I do it when you are worrying me about the
+carriage? Have you ever held a full glass in your hand, and been afraid
+of letting it overflow? That's what I'm afraid of--in my mind--I don't
+mean that my mind is a glass--I mean--" Her forehead turned red. _"Will_
+you leave me?" she cried.
+
+He left her instantly.
+
+The change in her manner, the difficulty she found in expressing her
+thoughts, had even startled stupid Mr. Null. She had herself alluded
+to results of the murderous attack made on her by Teresa, which had not
+perhaps hitherto sufficiently impressed him. In the shock inflicted
+on the patient's body, had there been involved some subtly-working
+influence that had disturbed the steady balance of her mind? Pondering
+uneasily on that question, he spoke to Joseph in the hall.
+
+"Do you know about your master and the children?" he said.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"I wish you had told me of it, when you let me in."
+
+"Have I done any harm, sir?"
+
+"I don't know yet. If you want me, I shall be at home to dinner at
+seven."
+
+The next visitor was one of the partners in the legal firm, to which
+Mrs. Gallilee had applied for advice. After what Mr. Null had said,
+Joseph hesitated to conduct this gentleman into the presence of his
+mistress. He left the lawyer in the waiting-room, and took his card.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's attitude had not changed. She sat looking down at the
+copied telegram and the letter from her husband, lying together on her
+lap. Joseph was obliged to speak twice, before he could rouse her.
+
+"To-morrow," was all she said.
+
+"What time shall I say, ma'am?"
+
+She put her hand to her head--and broke into anger against Joseph.
+"Settle it yourself, you wretch!" Her head drooped again over the
+papers. Joseph returned to the lawyer. "My mistress is not very well,
+sir. She will be obliged if you will call to-morrow, at your own time."
+
+About an hour later, she rang her bell--rang it unintermittingly, until
+Joseph appeared. "I'm famished," she said. "Something to eat! I never
+was so hungry in my life. At once--I can't wait."
+
+The cook sent up a cold fowl, and a ham. Her eyes devoured the food,
+while the footman was carving it for her. Her bad temper seemed to have
+completely disappeared. She said, "What a delicious dinner! Just the
+very things I like." She lifted the first morsel to her mouth--and laid
+the fork down again with a weary sigh. "No: I can't eat; what has come
+to me?" With those words, she pushed her chair away from the table,
+and looked slowly all round her. "I want the telegram and the letter."
+Joseph found them. "Can you help me?" she said. "I am trying to find out
+who wrote my son. Say yes, or no, at once; I hate waiting."
+
+Joseph left her in her old posture, with her head down and the papers on
+her lap.
+
+The appearance of the uneaten dinner in the kitchen produced a
+discussion, followed by a quarrel.
+
+Joseph was of the opinion that the mistress had got more upon her mind
+than her mind could well bear. It was useless to send for Mr. Null; he
+had already mentioned that he would not be home until seven o'clock..
+There was no superior person in the house to consult. It was not for
+the servants to take responsibility on themselves. "Fetch the nearest
+doctor, and let _him_ be answerable, if anything serious happens." Such
+was Joseph's advice.
+
+The women (angrily remembering that Mrs. Gallilee had spoken of sending
+for the police) ridiculed the footman's cautious proposal--with one
+exception. When the others ironically asked him if he was not accustomed
+to the mistress's temper yet, Mrs. Gallilee's own maid (Marceline) said,
+"What do we know about it? Joseph is the only one of us who has seen
+her, since the morning."
+
+This perfectly sensible remark had the effect of a breath of wind on a
+smouldering fire. The female servants, all equally suspected of having
+assisted Mr. Gallilee in making up his parcels, were all equally assured
+that there was a traitress among them--and that Marceline was the
+woman. Hitherto suppressed, this feeling now openly found its way to
+expression. Marceline lost her temper; and betrayed herself as her
+master's guilty confederate.
+
+"I'm a mean mongrel--am I?" cried the angry maid, repeating the cook's
+allusion to her birthplace in the Channel Islands. "The mistress shall
+know, this minute, that I'm the woman who did it!"
+
+"Why didn't you say so before?" the cook retorted.
+
+"Because I promised my master not to tell on him, till he got to his
+journey's end."
+
+"Who'll lay a wager?" asked the cook. "I bet half-a-crown she changes
+her mind, before she gets to the top of the stairs."
+
+"Perhaps she thinks the mistress will forgive her," the parlour-maid
+suggested ironically.
+
+"Or perhaps," the housemaid added, "she means to give the mistress
+notice to leave."
+
+"That's exactly what I'm going to do!" said Marceline.
+
+The women all declined to believe her. She appealed to Joseph. "What
+did I tell you, when the mistress first sent me out in the carriage with
+poor Miss Carmina? Didn't I say that I was no spy, and that I wouldn't
+submit to be made one? I would have left the house--I would!--but for
+Miss Carmina's kindness. Any other young lady would have made me feel
+my mean position. _She_ treated me like a friend--and I don't forget it.
+I'll go straight from this place, and help to nurse her!"
+
+With that declaration, Marceline left the kitchen.
+
+Arrived at the library door, she paused. Not as the cook had suggested,
+to "change her mind;" but to consider beforehand how much she should
+confess to her mistress, and how much she should hold in reserve.
+
+Zo's narrative of what had happened, on the evening of Teresa's arrival,
+had produced its inevitable effect on the maid's mind. Strengthening,
+by the sympathy which it excited, her grateful attachment to Carmina,
+it had necessarily intensified her dislike of Mrs. Gallilee--and Mrs.
+Gallilee's innocent husband had profited by that circumstance!
+
+Unexpectedly tried by time, Mr. Gallilee's resolution to assert his
+paternal authority, in spite of his wife, had failed him. The same
+timidity which invents a lie in a hurry, can construct a stratagem at
+leisure. Marceline had discovered her master putting a plan of escape,
+devised by himself, to its first practical trial before the open
+wardrobe of his daughters--and had asked slyly if she could be of any
+use. Never remarkable for presence of mind in emergencies, Mr. Gallilee
+had helplessly admitted to his confidence the last person in the house,
+whom anyone else (in his position) would have trusted. "My good soul,
+I want to take the girls away quietly for change of air--you have got
+little secrets of your own, like me, haven't you?--and the fact is,
+I don't quite know how many petticoats--." There, he checked himself;
+conscious, when it was too late, that he was asking his wife's maid to
+help him in deceiving his wife. The ready Marceline helped him
+through the difficulty. "I understand, sir: my mistress's mind is much
+occupied--and you don't want to trouble her about this little journey."
+Mr. Gallilee, at a loss for any other answer, pulled out his purse.
+Marceline modestly drew back at the sight of it. "My mistress pays me,
+sir; I serve _you_ for nothing." In those words, she would have informed
+any other man of the place which Mrs. Gallilee held in her estimation.
+Her master simply considered her to be the most disinterested woman he
+had ever met with. If she lost her situation through helping him, he
+engaged to pay her wages until she found another place. The maid set his
+mind at rest on that subject. "A woman who understands hairdressing as I
+do, sir, can refer to other ladies besides Mrs. Gallilee, and can get a
+place whenever she wants one."
+
+Having decided on what she should confess, and on what she should
+conceal, Marceline knocked at the library door. Receiving no answer, she
+went in.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was leaning back in her chair: her hands hung down on
+either side of her; her eyes looked up drowsily at the ceiling. Prepared
+to see a person with an overburdened mind, the maid (without sympathy,
+to quicken her perceptions) saw nothing but a person on the point of
+taking a nap.
+
+"Can I speak a word, ma'am?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. "Is that my maid?"
+she asked.
+
+Treated--to all appearance--with marked contempt, Marceline no longer
+cared to assume the forms of respect either in language or manner. "I
+wish to give you notice to leave," she said abruptly; "I find I can't
+get on with my fellow-servants."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee slowly raised her head, and looked at her maid--and said
+nothing.
+
+"And while I'm about it," the angry woman proceeded, "I may as well own
+the truth. You suspect one of us of helping my master to take away the
+young ladies' things--I mean some few of their things. Well! you needn't
+blame innocent people. I'm the person."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee laid her head back again on the chair--and burst out
+laughing.
+
+For one moment, Marceline looked at her mistress in blank surprise.
+Then, the terrible truth burst on her. She ran into the hall, and called
+for Joseph.
+
+He hurried up the stairs. The instant he presented himself at the open
+door, Mrs. Gallilee rose to her feet. "My medical attendant," she said,
+with an assumption of dignity; "I must explain myself." She held up one
+hand, outstretched; and counted her fingers with the other. "First my
+husband. Then my son. Now my maid. One, two, three. Mr. Null, do you
+know the proverb? 'It's the last hair that breaks the camel's back.'"
+She suddenly dropped on her knees. "Will somebody pray for me?" she
+cried piteously. "I don't know how to pray for myself. Where is God?"
+
+Bareheaded as he was, Joseph ran out. The nearest doctor lived on the
+opposite side of the Square. He happened to be at home. When he reached
+the house, the women servants were holding their mistress down by main
+force.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVI.
+
+On the next day, Mr. Mool--returning from a legal consultation to an
+appointment at his office--found a gentleman, whom he knew by sight,
+walking up and down before his door; apparently bent on intercepting
+him. "Mr. Null, I believe?" he said, with his customary politeness.
+
+Mr. Null answered to his name, and asked for a moment of Mr. Mool's
+time. Mr. Mool looked grave, and said he was late for an appointment
+already. Mr. Null admitted that the clerks in the office had told him
+so, and said at last, what he ought to have said at first: "I am
+Mrs. Gallilee's medical attendant--there is serious necessity for
+communicating with her husband."
+
+Mr. Mool instantly led the way into the office.
+
+The chief clerk approached his employer, with some severity of manner.
+"The parties have been waiting, sir, for more than a quarter of an
+hour." Mr. Mool's attention wandered: he was thinking of Mrs. Gallilee.
+"Is she dying?" he asked. "She is out of her mind," Mr. Null answered.
+Those words petrified the lawyer: he looked helplessly at the
+clerk--who, in his turn, looked indignantly at the office clock.
+Mr. Mool recovered himself. "Say I am detained by a most distressing
+circumstance; I will call on the parties later in the day, at their
+own hour." Giving those directions to the clerk, he hurried Mr. Null
+upstairs into a private room. "Tell me about it; pray tell me about it.
+Stop! Perhaps, there is not time enough. What can I do?"
+
+Mr. Null put the question, which he ought to have asked when they met at
+the house door. "Can you tell me Mr. Gallilee's address?"
+
+"Certainly! Care of the Earl of Northlake--"
+
+"Will you please write it in my pocket-book? I am so upset by this
+dreadful affair that I can't trust my memory."
+
+Such a confession of helplessness as this, was all that was wanted to
+rouse Mr. Mool. He rejected the pocket-book, and wrote the address on a
+telegram. "Return directly: your wife is seriously ill." In five minutes
+more, the message was on its way to Scotland; and Mr. Null was at
+liberty to tell his melancholy story--if he could.
+
+With assistance from Mr. Mool, he got through it. "This morning," he
+proceeded, "I have had the two best opinions in London. Assuming that
+there is no hereditary taint, the doctors think favourably of Mrs.
+Gallilee's chances of recovery."
+
+"Is it violent madness?" Mr. Mool asked.
+
+Mr. Null admitted that two nurses were required. "The doctors don't look
+on her violence as a discouraging symptom," he said. "They are inclined
+to attribute it to the strength of her constitution. I felt it my duty
+to place my own knowledge of the case before them. Without mentioning
+painful family circumstances--"
+
+"I happen to be acquainted with the circumstances," Mr. Mool interposed.
+"Are they in any way connected with this dreadful state of things?"
+
+He put that question eagerly, as if he had some strong personal interest
+in hearing the reply.
+
+Mr. Null blundered on steadily with his story. "I thought it right (with
+all due reserve) to mention that Mrs. Gallilee had been subjected to--I
+won't trouble you with medical language--let us say, to a severe shock;
+involving mental disturbance as well as bodily injury, before her reason
+gave way."
+
+"And they considered that to be the cause--?"
+
+Mr. Null asserted his dignity. "The doctors agreed with Me, that it had
+shaken her power of self-control."
+
+"You relieve me, Mr. Null--you infinitely relieve me! If our way
+of removing the children had done the mischief, I should never have
+forgiven myself."
+
+He blushed, and said no more. Had Mr. Null noticed the slip of the
+tongue into which his agitation had betrayed him? Mr. Null did certainly
+look as if he was going to put a question. The lawyer desperately
+forestalled him.
+
+"May I ask how you came to apply to me for Mr. Gallilee's address? Did
+you think of it yourself?"
+
+Mr. Null had never had an idea of his own, from the day of his birth,
+downward. "A very intelligent man," he answered, "reminded me that you
+were an old friend of Mr. Gallilee. In short, it was Joseph--the footman
+at Fairfield Gardens."
+
+Joseph's good opinion was of no importance to Mr. Mool's professional
+interests. He could gratify Mr. Null's curiosity without fear of
+lowering himself in the estimation of a client.
+
+"I had better, perhaps, explain that chance allusion of mine to the
+children," he began. "My good friend, Mr. Gallilee, had his own reasons
+for removing his daughters from home for a time--reasons, I am bound to
+add, in which I concur. The children were to be placed under the care of
+their aunt, Lady Northlake. Unfortunately, her ladyship was away with my
+lord, cruising in their yacht. They were not able to receive Maria
+and Zoe at once. In the interval that elapsed--excuse my entering into
+particulars--our excellent friend had his own domestic reasons for
+arranging the--the sort of clandestine departure which did in fact
+take place. It was perhaps unwise on my part to consent--in short, I
+permitted some of the necessary clothing to be privately deposited here,
+and called for on the way to the station. Very unprofessional, I am
+aware. I did it for the best; and allowed my friendly feeling to mislead
+me. Can I be of any use? How is poor Miss Carmina? No better? Oh, dear!
+dear! Mr. Ovid will hear dreadful news, when he comes home. Can't we
+prepare him for it, in any way?"
+
+Mr. Null announced that a telegram would meet Ovid at Queenstown--with
+the air of a man who had removed every obstacle that could be suggested
+to him. The kind-hearted lawyer shook his head.
+
+"Is there no friend who can meet him there?" Mr. Mool suggested. "I
+have clients depending on me--cases, in which property is concerned,
+and reputation is at stake--or I would gladly go myself. You, with your
+patients, are as little at liberty as I am. Can't you think of some
+other friend?"
+
+Mr. Null could think of nobody, and had nothing to propose. Of the three
+weak men, now brought into association by the influence of domestic
+calamity, he was the feeblest, beyond all doubt. Mr. Mool had knowledge
+of law, and could on occasion be incited to energy. Mr. Gallilee
+had warm affections, which, being stimulated, could at least assert
+themselves. Mr. Null, professionally and personally, was incapable of
+stepping beyond his own narrow limits, under any provocation whatever.
+He submitted to the force of events as a cabbage-leaf submits to the
+teeth of a rabbit.
+
+After leaving the office, Carmina's medical attendant had his patient
+to see. Since the unfortunate alarm in the house, he had begun to feel
+doubtful and anxious about her again.
+
+In the sitting-room, he found Teresa and the landlady in consultation.
+In her own abrupt way, the nurse made him acquainted with the nature of
+the conference.
+
+"We have two worries to bother us," she said; "and the music-master is
+the worst of the two. There's a notion at the hospital (set agoing, I
+don't doubt, by the man himself), that I crushed his fingers on purpose.
+That's a lie! With the open cupboard door between us, how could I see
+him, or he see me? When I gave it a push-to, I no more knew where his
+hand was, than you do. If I meant anything, I meant to slap his face for
+prying about in my room. We've made out a writing between us, to show to
+the doctors. You shall have a copy, in case you're asked about it. Now
+for the other matter. You keep on telling me I shall fall ill myself, if
+I don't get a person to help me with Carmina. Make your mind easy--the
+person has come."
+
+"Where is she?"
+
+Teresa pointed to the bedroom.
+
+"Recommended by me?" Mr. Null inquired.
+
+"Recommended by herself. And we don't like her. That's the other worry."
+
+Mr. Null's dignity declined to attach any importance to the "other
+worry." "No nurse has any business here, without my sanction! I'll send
+her away directly."
+
+He pushed open the baize door. A lady was sitting by Carmina's bedside.
+Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking _that_ face. Mr. Null
+recognised--Miss Minerva.
+
+She rose, and bowed to him. He returned the bow stiffly. Nature's
+protecting care of fools supplies them with an instinct which distrusts
+ability. Mr. Null never liked Miss Minerva. At the same time, he was
+a little afraid of her. This was not the sort of nurse who could be
+ordered to retire at a moment's notice.
+
+"I have been waiting anxiously to see you," she said--and led the way
+to the farther end of the room. "Carmina terrifies me," she added in
+a whisper. "I have been here for an hour. When I entered the room her
+face, poor dear, seemed to come to life again; she was able to express
+her joy at seeing me. Even the jealous old nurse noticed the change for
+the better. Why didn't it last? Look at her--oh, look at her!"
+
+The melancholy relapse that had followed the short interval of
+excitement was visible to anyone now.
+
+There was the "simulated paralysis," showing itself plainly in every
+part of the face. She lay still as death, looking vacantly at the
+foot of the bed. Mr. Null was inclined to resent the interference of a
+meddling woman, in the discharge of his duty. He felt Carmina's pulse,
+in sulky silence. Her eyes never moved; her hand showed no consciousness
+of his touch. Teresa opened the door, and looked in--impatiently eager
+to see the intruding nurse sent away. Miss Minerva invited her to
+return to her place at the bedside. "I only ask to occupy it," she said
+considerately, "when you want rest." Teresa was ready with an ungracious
+reply, but found no opportunity of putting it into words. Miss Minerva
+turned quickly to Mr. Null. "I must ask you to let me say a few words
+more," she continued; "I will wait for you in the next room."
+
+Her resolute eyes rested on him with a look which said plainly, "I
+mean to be heard." He followed her into the sitting-room, and waited in
+sullen submission to hear what she had to say.
+
+"I must not trouble you by entering into my own affairs," she began. "I
+will only say that I have obtained an engagement much sooner than I had
+anticipated, and that the convenience of my employers made it necessary
+for me to meet them in Paris. I owed Carmina a letter; but I had reasons
+for not writing until I knew whether she had, or had not, left London.
+With that object, I called this morning at her aunt's house. You now see
+me here--after what I have heard from the servants. I make no comment,
+and I ask for no explanations. One thing only, I must know. Teresa
+refers me to you. Is Carmina attended by any other medical man?"
+
+Mr. Null answered stiffly, "I am in consultation with Doctor Benjulia;
+and I expect him to-day."
+
+The reply startled her. "Dr. Benjulia?" she repeated.
+
+"The greatest man we have!" Mr. Null asserted in his most positive
+manner.
+
+She silently determined to wait until Doctor Benjulia arrived.
+
+"What is the last news of Mr. Ovid?" she said to him, after an interval
+of consideration.
+
+He told her the news, in the fewest words possible. Even he observed
+that it seemed to excite her.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Null! who is to prepare him for what he will see in that room?
+Who is to tell him what he must hear of his mother?"
+
+There was a certain familiarity in the language of this appeal, which
+Mr. Null felt it necessary to discourage. "The matter is left in my
+hands," he announced. "I shall telegraph to him at Queenstown. When he
+comes home, he will find my prescriptions on the table. Being a
+medical man himself, my treatment of the case will tell Mr. Ovid Vere
+everything."
+
+The obstinate insensibility of his tone stopped her on the point of
+saying what Mr. Mool had said already. She, too, felt for Ovid, when
+she thought of the cruel brevity of a telegram. "At what date will the
+vessel reach Queenstown?" she asked.
+
+"By way of making sure," said Mr. Null, "I shall telegraph in a week's
+time."
+
+She troubled him with no more inquiries. He had purposely remained
+standing, in the expectation that she would take the hint, and go; and
+he now walked to the window, and looked out. She remained in her chair,
+thinking. In a few minutes more, there was a heavy step on the stairs.
+Benjulia had arrived.
+
+He looked hard at Miss Minerva, in unconcealed surprise at finding her
+in the house. She rose, and made an effort to propitiate him by shaking
+hands. "I am very anxious," she said gently, "to hear your opinion."
+
+"Your hand tells me that," he answered. "It's a cold hand, on a warm
+day. You're an excitable woman."
+
+He looked at Mr. Null, and led the way into the bedroom.
+
+Left by herself, Miss Minerva discovered writing materials (placed ready
+for Mr. Null's next prescription) on a side table. She made use of them
+at once to write to her employer. "A dear friend of mine is seriously
+ill, and in urgent need of all that my devotion can do for her. If you
+are willing to release me from my duties for a short time, your sympathy
+and indulgence will not be thrown away on an ungrateful woman. If
+you cannot do me this favour, I ask your pardon for putting you to
+inconvenience, and leave some other person, whose mind is at ease,
+to occupy the place which I am for the present unfit to fill." Having
+completed her letter in those terms, she waited Benjulia's return.
+
+There was sadness in her face, but no agitation, as she looked patiently
+towards the bedroom door. At last--in her inmost heart, she knew it--the
+victory over herself was a victory won. Carmina could trust her now; and
+Ovid himself should see it!
+
+Mr. Null returned to the sitting-room alone. Doctor Benjulia had no time
+to spare: he had left the bedroom by the other door.
+
+"I may say (as you seem anxious) that my colleague approves of a
+proposal, on my part, to slightly modify the last prescription. We
+recognise the new symptoms, without feeling alarm." Having issued this
+bulletin, Mr. Null sat down to make his feeble treatment of his patient
+feebler still.
+
+When he looked up again, the room was empty. Had she left the house?
+No: her travelling hat and her gloves were on the other table. Had she
+boldly confronted Teresa on her own ground?
+
+He took his modified prescription into the bedroom. There she was, and
+there sat the implacable nurse, already persuaded into listening to her!
+What conceivable subject could there be, which offered two such women
+neutral ground to meet on? Mr. Null left the house without the faintest
+suspicion that Carmina might be the subject.
+
+"May I try to rouse her?"
+
+Teresa answered by silently resigning her place at the bedside. Miss
+Minerva touched Carmina's hand, and spoke. "Have you heard the good
+news, dear? Ovid is coming back in little more than a week."
+
+Carmina looked--reluctantly looked--at her friend, and said, with an
+effort, "I am glad."
+
+"You will be better," Miss Minerva continued, "the moment you see him."
+
+Her face became faintly animated. "I shall be able to say good-bye," she
+answered.
+
+"Not good-bye, darling. He is returning to you after a long journey."
+
+"I am going, Frances, on a longer journey still." She closed her eyes,
+too weary or too indifferent to say more.
+
+Miss Minerva drew back, struggling against the tears that fell fast over
+her face. The jealous old nurse quietly moved nearer to her, and kissed
+her hand. "I've been a brute and a fool," said Teresa; "you're almost as
+fond of her as I am."
+
+A week later, Miss Minerva left London, to wait for Ovid at Queenstown.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVII.
+
+Mr. Mool was in attendance at Fairfield Gardens, when his old friend
+arrived from Scotland, to tell him what the cautiously expressed message
+in the telegram really meant.
+
+But one idea seemed to be impressed on Mr. Gallilee's mind--the idea of
+reconciliation. He insisted on seeing his wife. It was in vain to
+tell him that she was utterly incapable of reciprocating or even of
+understanding his wishes. Absolute resistance was the one alternative
+left--and it was followed by distressing results. The kind-hearted old
+man burst into a fit of crying, which even shook the resolution of the
+doctors. One of them went upstairs to warn the nurses. The other said,
+"Let him see her."
+
+The instant he showed himself in the room, Mrs. Gallilee recognised him
+with a shriek of fury. The nurses held her back--while Mr. Mool dragged
+him out again, and shut the door. The object of the doctors had been
+gained. His own eyes had convinced him of the terrible necessity of
+placing his wife under restraint. She was removed to a private asylum.
+
+Maria and Zo had been left in Scotland--as perfectly happy as girls
+could be, in the society of their cousins, and under the affectionate
+care of their aunt. Mr. Gallilee remained in London; but he was not left
+alone in the deserted house. The good lawyer had a spare room at
+his disposal; and Mrs. Mool and her daughters received him with true
+sympathy. Coming events helped to steady his mind. He was comforted
+in the anticipation of Ovid's return, and interested in hearing of the
+generous motive which had led Miss Minerva to meet his stepson.
+
+"I never agreed with the others when they used to abuse our governess,"
+he said. "She might have been quick-tempered, and she might have been
+ugly--I suppose I saw her in some other light myself." He had truly seen
+her under another light. In his simple affectionate nature, there had
+been instinctive recognition of that great heart.
+
+He was allowed to see Carmina, in the hope that pleasant associations
+connected with him might have a favourable influence. She smiled
+faintly, and gave him her hand when she saw him at the bedside--but that
+was all.
+
+Too deeply distressed to ask to see her again, he made his inquiries for
+the future at the door. Day after day, the answer was always the same.
+
+Before she left London, Miss Minerva had taken it on herself to engage
+the vacant rooms, on the ground floor of the lodging-house, for Ovid.
+She knew his heart, as she knew her own heart. Once under the same roof
+with Carmina, he would leave it no more--until life gave her back to
+him, or death took her away. Hearing of what had been done, Mr. Gallilee
+removed to Ovid's rooms the writing-desk and the books, the favourite
+music and the faded flowers, left by Carmina at Fairfield Gardens.
+"Anything that belongs to her," he thought, "will surely be welcome to
+the poor fellow when he comes back."
+
+On one afternoon--never afterwards to be forgotten--he had only begun
+to make his daily inquiry, when the door on the ground floor was opened,
+and Miss Minerva beckoned to him.
+
+Her face daunted Mr. Gallilee: he asked in a whisper, if Ovid had
+returned.
+
+She pointed upwards, and answered, "He is with her now."
+
+"How did he bear it?"
+
+"We don't know; we were afraid to follow him into the room."
+
+She turned towards the window as she spoke. Teresa was sitting
+there--vacantly looking out. Mr. Gallilee spoke to her kindly: she made
+no answer; she never even moved. "Worn out!" Miss Minerva whispered to
+him. "When she thinks of Carmina now, she thinks without hope."
+
+He shuddered. The expression of his own fear was in those words--and
+he shrank from it. Miss Minerva took his hand, and led him to a chair.
+"Ovid will know best," she reminded him; "let us wait for what Ovid will
+say."
+
+"Did you meet him on board the vessel?" Mr. Gallilee asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How did he look?"
+
+"So well and so strong that you would hardly have known him again--till
+he asked about Carmina. Then he turned pale. I knew that I must tell him
+the truth--but I was afraid to take it entirely on myself. Something Mr.
+Null said to me, before I left London, suggested that I might help Ovid
+to understand me if I took the prescriptions to Queenstown. I had not
+noticed that they were signed by Doctor Benjulia, as well as by Mr.
+Null. Don't ask me what effect the discovery had on him! I bore it at
+the time--I can't speak of it now."
+
+"You good creature! you dear good creature! Forgive me if I have
+distressed you; I didn't meant it."
+
+"You have not distressed me. Is there anything else I can tell you?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee hesitated. "There is one thing more," he said. "It isn't
+about Carmina this time--"
+
+He hesitated again. Miss Minerva understood. "Yes," she answered; "I
+spoke to Ovid of his mother. In mercy to himself and to me, he would
+hear no details. 'I know enough,' he said, 'if I know that she is the
+person to blame. I was prepared to hear it. My mother's silence could
+only be accounted for in one way, when I had read Zo's letter.'--Don't
+you know, Mr. Gallilee, that the child wrote to Ovid?"
+
+The surprise and delight of Zo's fond old father, when he heard the
+story of the letter, forced a smile from Miss Minerva, even at that
+time of doubt and sorrow. He declared that he would have returned to his
+daughter by the mail train of that night, but for two considerations. He
+must see his stepson before he went back to Scotland; and he must search
+all the toy-shops in London for the most magnificent present that could
+be offered to a young person of ten years old. "Tell Ovid, with my love,
+I'll call again to-morrow," he said, looking at his watch. "I have just
+time to write to Zo by to-day's post." He went to his club, for the
+first time since he had returned to London. Miss Minerva thought of
+bygone days, and wondered if he would enjoy his champagne.
+
+A little later Mr. Null called--anxious to know if Ovid had arrived.
+
+Other women, in the position of Miss Minerva and Teresa, might have
+hesitated to keep the patient's room closed to the doctor. These two
+were resolved. They refused to disturb Ovid, even by sending up a
+message. Mr. Null took offence. "Understand, both of you," he said,
+"when I call to-morrow morning, I shall insist on going upstairs--and if
+I find this incivility repeated, I shall throw up the case." He left the
+room, triumphing in his fool's paradise of aggressive self-conceit.
+
+They waited for some time longer--and still no message reached them from
+upstairs. "We may be wrong in staying here," Miss Minerva suggested; "he
+may want to be alone when he leaves her--let us go."
+
+She rose to return to the house of her new employers. They respected
+her, and felt for her: while Carmina's illness continued, she had the
+entire disposal of her time. The nurse accompanied her to the door;
+resigned to take refuge in the landlady's room. "I'm afraid to be by
+myself," Teresa said. "Even that woman's chatter is better for me than
+my own thoughts."
+
+Before parting for the night they waited in the hall, looking towards
+the stairs, and listening anxiously. Not a sound disturbed the
+melancholy silence.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVIII.
+
+Among many vain hopes, one hope had been realised: they had met again.
+
+In the darkened room, her weary eyes could hardly have seen the betrayal
+of what he suffered--even if she had looked up in his face. She was
+content to rest her head on his breast, and to feel his arm round her.
+"I am glad, dear," she said, "to have lived long enough for this."
+
+Those were her first words--after the first kiss. She had trembled and
+sighed, when he ran to her and bent over her: it was the one expression
+left of all her joy and all her love. But it passed away as other lesser
+agitations had passed away. One last reserve of energy obeyed the gentle
+persuasion of love. Silent towards all other friends, she was able to
+speak to Ovid.
+
+"You used to breathe so lightly," she said. "How is it that I hear you
+now. Oh, Ovid, don't cry! I couldn't bear that."
+
+He answered her quietly. "Don't be afraid, darling; I won't distress
+you."
+
+"And you will let me say, what I want to say?"
+
+"Oh, yes!"
+
+This satisfied her. "I may rest a little now," she said.
+
+He too was silent; held down by the heavy hand of despair.
+
+The time had been, in the days of his failing health, when the solemn
+shadows of evening falling over the fields--the soaring song of the lark
+in the bright heights of the midday sky--the dear lost remembrances that
+the divine touch of music finds again--brought tears into his eyes.
+They were dry eyes now! Those once tremulous nerves had gathered steady
+strength, on the broad prairies and in the roving life. Could trembling
+sorrow, seeking its way to the sources of tears, overbear the robust
+vitality that rioted in his blood, whether she lived or whether she
+died? In those deep breathings that had alarmed her, she had indeed
+heard the struggle of grief, vainly urging its way to expression against
+the masterful health and strength that set moral weakness at defiance.
+Nature had remade this man--and Nature never pities.
+
+It was an effort to her to collect her thoughts--but she did collect
+them. She was able to tell him what was in her mind.
+
+"Do you think, Ovid, your mother will care much what becomes of me, when
+I die?"
+
+He started at those dreadful words--so softly, so patiently spoken. "You
+will live," he said. "My Carmina, what am I here for but to bring you
+back to life?"
+
+She made no attempt to dispute with him. Quietly, persistently, she
+returned to the thought that was in her.
+
+"Say that I forgive your mother, Ovid--and that I only ask one thing in
+return. I ask her to leave me to you, when the end has come. My dear,
+there is a feeling in me that I can't get over. Don't let me be buried
+in a great place all crowded with the dead! I once saw a picture--it
+was at home in Italy, I think--an English picture of a quiet little
+churchyard in the country. The shadows of the trees rested on the lonely
+graves. And some great poet had written--oh, such beautiful words
+about it. _The red-breast loves to build and warble there, And little
+footsteps lightly print the ground._ Promise, Ovid, you will take me
+to some place, far from crowds and noise--where children may gather the
+flowers on my grave."
+
+He promised--and she thanked him, and rested again.
+
+"There was something else," she said, when the interval had passed. "My
+head is so sleepy. I wonder whether I can think of it?"
+
+After a while, she did think of it.
+
+"I want to make you a little farewell present. Will you undo my gold
+chain? Don't cry, Ovid! oh, don't cry!"
+
+He obeyed her. The gold chain held the two lockets--the treasured
+portraits of her father and her mother. "Wear them for my sake," she
+murmured. "Lift me up; I want to put them round your neck myself."
+She tried, vainly tried, to clasp the chain. Her head fell back on his
+breast. "Too sleepy," she said; "always too sleepy now! Say you love me,
+Ovid."
+
+He said it.
+
+"Kiss me, dear."
+
+He kissed her.
+
+"Now lay me down on the pillow. I'm not eighteen yet--and I feel as old
+as eighty! Rest; all I want is rest." Looking at him fondly, her eyes
+closed little by little--then softly opened again. "Don't wait in this
+dull room, darling; I will send for you, if I wake."
+
+It was the only wish of hers that he disobeyed. From time to time, his
+fingers touched her pulse, and felt its feeble beat. From time to time,
+he stooped and let the faint coming and going of her breath flutter
+on his cheek. The twilight fell, and darkness began to gather over the
+room. Still, he kept his place by her, like a man entranced.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIX.
+
+The first trivial sound that broke the spell, was the sound of a match
+struck in the next room.
+
+He rose, and groped his way to the door. Teresa had ventured upstairs,
+and had kindled a light. Some momentary doubt of him kept the nurse
+silent when he looked at her. He stammered, and stared about him
+confusedly, when he spoke.
+
+"Where--where--?" He seemed to have lost his hold on his thoughts--he
+gave it up, and tried again. "I want to be alone," he said; recovering,
+for the moment, some power of expressing himself.
+
+Teresa's first fear of him vanished. She took him by the hand like a
+child, and led him downstairs to his rooms. He stood silently watching
+her, while she lit the candles.
+
+"When Carmina sleeps now," he asked, "does it last long?"
+
+"Often for hours together," the nurse answered.
+
+He said no more; he seemed to have forgotten that there was another
+person in the room.
+
+She found courage in her pity for him. "Try to pray," she said, and left
+him.
+
+He fell on his knees; but still the words failed him. He tried to quiet
+his mind by holy thoughts. No! The dumb agony in him was powerless to
+find relief. Only the shadows of thoughts crossed his mind; his eyes
+ached with a burning heat. He began to be afraid of himself. The active
+habits of the life that he had left, drove him out, with the instincts
+of an animal, into space and air. Neither knowing nor caring in what
+direction he turned his steps, he walked on at the top of his speed. On
+and on, till the crowded houses began to grow more rare--till there were
+gaps of open ground, on either side of him--till the moon rose behind
+a plantation of trees, and bathed in its melancholy light a lonely high
+road. He followed the road till he was tired of it, and turned aside
+into a winding lane. The lights and shadows, alternating with each
+other, soothed and pleased him. He had got the relief in exercise that
+had been denied him while he was in repose. He could think again; he
+could feel the resolution stirring in him to save that dear one, or
+to die with her. Now at last, he was man enough to face the terrible
+necessity that confronted him, and fight the battle of Art and Love
+against Death. He stopped, and looked round; eager to return, and be
+ready for her waking. In that solitary place, there was no hope of
+finding a person to direct him. He turned, to go back to the high road.
+
+At that same moment, he became conscious of the odour of tobacco wafted
+towards him on the calm night air. Some one was smoking in the lane.
+
+He retraced his steps, until he reached a gate--with a barren field
+behind it. There was the man, whose tobacco smoke he had smelt, leaning
+on the gate, with his pipe in his mouth.
+
+The moonlight fell full on Ovid's face, as he approached to ask his way.
+The man suddenly stood up--stared at him--and said, "Hullo! is it you or
+your ghost?"
+
+His face was in shadow, but his voice answered for him. The man was
+Benjulia.
+
+"Have you come to see me?" he asked.
+
+"No."
+
+"Won't you shake hands?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What's wrong?"
+
+Ovid waited to answer until he had steadied his temper.
+
+"I have seen Carmina," he said.
+
+Benjulia went on with his smoking. "An interesting case, isn't it?" he
+remarked.
+
+"You were called into consultation by Mr. Null," Ovid continued; "and
+you approved of his ignorant treatment--you, who knew better."
+
+"I should think I did!" Benjulia rejoined.
+
+"You deliberately encouraged an incompetent man; you let that poor girl
+go on from bad to worse--for some vile end of your own."
+
+Benjulia good-naturedly corrected him. "No, no. For an excellent
+end--for knowledge."
+
+"If I fail to remedy the mischief, which is your doing, and yours
+alone--"
+
+Benjulia took his pipe out of his mouth. "How do you mean to cure her?"
+he eagerly interposed. "Have you got a new idea?"
+
+"If I fail," Ovid repeated, "her death lies at your door. You merciless
+villain--as certainly as that moon is now shining over us, your life
+shall answer for hers."
+
+Astonishment--immeasurable astonishment--sealed Benjulia's lips. He
+looked down the lane when Ovid left him, completely stupefied. The one
+imaginable way of accounting for such language as he had heard--spoken
+by a competent member of his own profession!--presented the old familiar
+alternative. "Drunk or mad?" he wondered while he lit his pipe again.
+Walking back to the house, his old distrust of Ovid troubled him once
+more. He decided to call at Teresa's lodgings in a day or two, and
+ascertain from the landlady (and the chemist) how Carmina was being
+cured.
+
+Returning to the high road, Ovid was passed by a tradesman, driving his
+cart towards London. The man civilly offered to take him as far as the
+nearest outlying cabstand.
+
+Neither the landlady nor Teresa had gone to their beds when he returned.
+Their account of Carmina, during his absence, contained nothing to alarm
+him. He bade them goodnight--eager to be left alone in his room.
+
+In the house and out of the house, there was now the perfect silence
+that helps a man to think. His mind was clear; his memory answered, when
+he called on it to review that part of his own medical practice which
+might help him, by experience, in his present need. But he shrank--with
+Carmina's life in his hands--from trusting wholly to himself. A higher
+authority than his was waiting to be consulted. He took from his
+portmanteau the manuscript presented to him by the poor wretch, whose
+last hours he had soothed in the garret at Montreal.
+
+The work opened with a declaration which gave it a special value, in
+Ovid's estimation.
+
+"If this imperfect record of experience is ever read by other eyes than
+mine, I wish to make one plain statement at the outset. The information
+which is presented in these pages is wholly derived from the results of
+bedside practice; pursued under miserable obstacles and interruptions,
+and spread over a period of many years. Whatever faults and failings
+I may have been guilty of as a man, I am innocent, in my professional
+capacity, of ever having perpetrated the useless and detestable
+cruelties which go by the name of Vivisection. Without entering into
+any of the disputes on either side, which this practice has provoked,
+I declare my conviction that no asserted usefulness in the end, can
+justify deliberate cruelty in the means. The man who seriously maintains
+that any pursuit in which he can engage is independent of moral
+restraint, is a man in a state of revolt against God. I refuse to hear
+him in his own defense, on that ground."
+
+Ovid turned next to the section of the work which was entitled "Brain
+Disease." The writer introduced his observations in these prefatory
+words:
+
+"A celebrated physiologist, plainly avowing the ignorance of doctors in
+the matter of the brain and its diseases, and alluding to appearances
+presented by post-mortem examination, concludes his confession thus: 'We
+cannot even be sure whether many of the changes discovered are the
+cause or the result of the disease, or whether the two are the conjoint
+results of a common cause.'
+
+"So this man writes, after experience in Vivisection.
+
+"Let my different experience be heard next. Not knowing into what hands
+this manuscript may fall, or what unexpected opportunities of usefulness
+it may encounter after my death, I purposely abstain from using
+technical language in the statement which I have now to make.
+
+"In medical investigations, as in all other forms of human inquiry, the
+result in view is not infrequently obtained by indirect and unexpected
+means. What I have to say here on the subject of brain disease, was
+first suggested by experience of two cases, which seemed in the last
+degree unlikely to help me. They were both cases of young women;
+each one having been hysterically affected by a serious moral shock;
+terminating, after a longer or shorter interval, in simulated paralysis.
+One of these cases I treated successfully. While I was still in
+attendance on the other, (pursuing the same course of treatment which
+events had already proved to be right), a fatal accident terminated my
+patient's life, and rendered a post-mortem examination necessary. From
+those starting points, I arrived--by devious ways which I am now to
+relate--at deductions and discoveries that threw a new light on the
+nature and treatment of brain disease."
+
+Hour by hour, Ovid studied the pages that followed, until his mind and
+the mind of the writer were one. He then returned to certain preliminary
+allusions to the medical treatment of the two girls--inexpressibly
+precious to him, in Carmina's present interests. The dawn of day found
+him prepared at all points, and only waiting until the lapse of the next
+few hours placed the means of action in his hands.
+
+But there was one anxiety still to be relieved, before he lay down to
+rest.
+
+He took off his shoes, and stole upstairs to Carmina's door. The
+faithful Teresa was astir, earnestly persuading her to take some
+nourishment. The little that he could hear of her voice, as she
+answered, made his heart ache--it was so faint and so low. Still she
+could speak; and still there was the old saying to remember, which has
+comforted so many and deceived so many: While there's life, there's
+hope.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LX.
+
+After a brief interview with his step-son, Mr. Gallilee returned to his
+daughters in Scotland.
+
+Touched by his fatherly interest in Carmina, Ovid engaged to keep him
+informed of her progress towards recovery. If the anticipation of
+saving her proved to be the sad delusion of love and hope, silence would
+signify what no words could say.
+
+In ten days' time, there was a happy end to suspense. The slow process
+of recovery might extend perhaps to the end of the year. But, if
+no accident happened, Ovid had the best reasons for believing that
+Carmina's life was safe.
+
+Freed from the terrible anxieties that had oppressed him, he was able to
+write again, a few days later, in a cheerful tone, and to occupy his
+pen at Mr. Gallilee's express request, with such an apparently trifling
+subject as the conduct of Mr. Null.
+
+"Your old medical adviser was quite right in informing you that I had
+relieved him from any further attendance on Carmina. But his
+lively imagination (or perhaps I ought to say, his sense of his own
+consequence) has misled you when he also declares that I purposely
+insulted him. I took the greatest pains not to wound his self-esteem. He
+left me in anger, nevertheless.
+
+"A day or two afterwards, I received a note from him; addressing me as
+'Sir,' and asking ironically if I had any objection to his looking at
+the copies of my prescriptions in the chemist's book. Though he was old
+enough to be my father (he remarked) it seemed that experience counted
+for nothing; he had still something to learn from his junior, in the
+treatment of disease--and so on.
+
+"At that miserable time of doubt and anxiety, I could only send a verbal
+reply, leaving him to do what he liked. Before I tell you of the use
+that he made of his liberty of action, I must confess something relating
+to the prescriptions themselves. Don't be afraid of long and learned
+words, and don't suppose that I am occupying your attention in this way,
+without a serious reason for it which you will presently understand.
+
+"A note in the manuscript--to my study of which, I owe, under God, the
+preservation of Carmina's life--warned me that chemists, in the writer's
+country, had either refused to make up certain prescriptions given in
+the work, or had taken the liberty of altering the new quantities and
+combinations of some of the drugs prescribed.
+
+"Precisely the same thing happened here, in the case of the first
+chemist to whom I sent. He refused to make up the medicine, unless I
+provided him with a signed statement taking the whole responsibility on
+myself.
+
+"Having ascertained the exact nature of his objection, I dismissed him
+without his guarantee, and employed another chemist; taking care (in
+the interests of my time and my temper) to write my more important
+prescriptions under reserve. That is to say, I followed the conventional
+rules, as to quantities and combinations, and made the necessary
+additions or changes from my own private stores when the medicine was
+sent home.
+
+"Poor foolish Mr. Null, finding nothing to astonish him in my course of
+medicine--as represented by the chemist--appears by his own confession,
+to have copied the prescriptions with a malicious object in view. 'I
+have sent them, (he informs me, in a second letter) to Doctor Benjulia;
+in order that he too may learn something in his profession from the
+master who has dispensed with our services.' This new effort of irony
+means that I stand self-condemned of vanity, in presuming to rely on my
+own commonplace resources--represented by the deceitful evidence of the
+chemist's book!
+
+"But I am grateful to Mr. Null, notwithstanding: he has done me a
+service, in meaning to do me an injury.
+
+"My imperfect prescriptions have quieted the mind of the man to whom he
+sent them. This wretch's distrust has long since falsely suspected me of
+some professional rivalry pursued in secret; the feeling showed itself
+again, when I met with him by accident on the night of my return to
+London. Since Mr. Null has communicated with him, the landlady is
+no longer insulted by his visits, and offended by his questions--all
+relating to the course of treatment which I was pursuing upstairs.
+
+"You now understand why I have ventured to trouble you on a purely
+professional topic. To turn to matters of more interest--our dear
+Carmina is well enough to remember you, and to send her love to you and
+the girls. But even this little effort is followed by fatigue.
+
+"I don't mean only fatigue of body: that is now a question of time and
+care. I mean fatigue of mind--expressing itself by defect of memory.
+
+"On the morning when the first positive change for the better appeared,
+I was at her bedside when she woke. She looked at me in amazement.
+'Why didn't you warn me of your sudden return?' she asked, 'I have only
+written to you to-day--to your bankers at Quebec! What does it mean?'
+
+"I did my best to soothe her, and succeeded. There is a complete lapse
+in her memory--I am only too sure of it! She has no recollection of
+anything that has happened since she wrote her last letter to me--a
+letter which must have been lost (perhaps intercepted?), or I should
+have received it before I left Quebec. This forgetfulness of the
+dreadful trials through which my poor darling has passed, is, in itself,
+a circumstance which we must all rejoice over for her sake. But I am
+discouraged by it, at the same time; fearing it may indicate some more
+serious injury than I have yet discovered.
+
+"Miss Minerva--what should I do without the help and sympathy of that
+best of true women?--Miss Minerva has cautiously tested her memory in
+other directions, with encouraging results, so far. But I shall not feel
+easy until I have tried further experiments, by means of some person
+who does not exercise a powerful influence over her, and whose memory is
+naturally occupied with what we older people call trifles.
+
+"When you all leave Scotland next month, bring Zo here with you. My dear
+little correspondent is just the sort of quaint child I want for the
+purpose. Kiss her for me till she is out of breath--and say that is what
+I mean to do when we meet."
+
+The return to London took place in the last week in October.
+
+Lord and Lady Northlake went to their town residence, taking Maria and
+Zo with them. There were associations connected with Fairfield Gardens,
+which made the prospect of living there--without even the society of his
+children--unendurable to Mr. Gallilee. Ovid's house, still waiting the
+return of its master, was open to his step-father. The poor man was only
+too glad (in his own simple language) "to keep the nest warm for his
+son."
+
+The latest inquiries made at the asylum were hopefully answered.
+Thus far, the measures taken to restore Mrs. Gallilee to herself had
+succeeded beyond expectation. But one unfavourable symptom remained.
+She was habitually silent. When she did speak, her mind seemed to be
+occupied with scientific subjects: she never mentioned her husband, or
+any other member of the family. Time and attention would remove this
+drawback. In two or three months more perhaps, if all went well, she
+might return to her family and her friends, as sane a woman as ever.
+
+Calling at Fairfield Gardens for any letters that might be waiting
+there, Mr. Gallilee received a circular in lithographed writing;
+accompanied by a roll of thick white paper. The signature revealed the
+familiar name of Mr. Le Frank.
+
+The circular set forth that the writer had won renown and a moderate
+income, as pianist and teacher of music. "A terrible accident, ladies
+and gentlemen, has injured my right hand, and has rendered amputation
+of two of my fingers necessary. Deprived for life of my professional
+resources, I have but one means of subsistence left--_viz:_---collecting
+subscriptions for a song of my own composition. N.B.--The mutilated
+musician leaves the question of terms in the hands of the art-loving
+public, and will do himself the honour of calling to-morrow."
+
+Good-natured Mr. Gallilee left a sovereign to be given to the victim
+of circumstances--and then set forth for Lord Northlake's house. He and
+Ovid had arranged that Zo was to be taken to see Carmina that day.
+
+On his way through the streets, he was met by Mr. Mool. The lawyer
+looked at the song under his friend's arm. "What's that you're taking
+such care of?" he asked. "It looks like music. A new piece for the young
+ladies--eh?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee explained. Mr. Mool struck his stick on the pavement, as
+the nearest available means of expressing indignation.
+
+"Never let another farthing of your money get into that rascal's pocket!
+It's no merit of his that the poor old Italian nurse has not made her
+appearance in the police reports."
+
+With this preface, Mr. Mool related the circumstances under which Mr.
+Le Frank had met with his accident. "His first proceeding when they
+discharged him from the hospital," continued the lawyer, "was to summon
+Teresa before a magistrate. Fortunately she showed the summons to me.
+I appeared for her, provided with a plan of the rooms which spoke for
+itself; and I put two questions to the complainant. What business had
+he in another person's room? and why was his hand in that other person's
+cupboard? The reporter kindly left the case unrecorded; and when the
+fellow ended by threatening the poor woman outside the court, we bound
+him over to keep the peace. I have my eye on him--and I'll catch him
+yet, under the Vagrant Act!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXI.
+
+Aided by time, care, and skill, Carmina had gained strength enough
+to pass some hours of the day in the sitting-room; reclining in
+an invalid-chair invented for her by Ovid. The welcome sight
+of Zo--brightened and developed by happy autumn days passed in
+Scotland--brought a deep flush to her face, and quickened the pulse
+which Ovid was touching, under pretence of holding her hand. These signs
+of excessive nervous sensibility warned him to limit the child's visit
+to a short space of time. Neither Miss Minerva nor Teresa were in the
+room: Carmina could have Zo all to herself.
+
+"Now, my dear," she said, in a kiss, "tell me about Scotland."
+
+"Scotland," Zo answered with dignity, "belongs to uncle Northlake. He
+pays for everything; and I'm Missus."
+
+"It's true," said Mr. Gallilee, bursting with pride. "My lord says it's
+no use having a will of your own where Zo is. When he introduces her to
+anybody on the estate, he says, 'Here's the Missus.'"
+
+Mr. Gallilee's youngest daughter listened critically to the parental
+testimony. "You see he knows," she said to Ovid. "There's nothing to
+laugh at."
+
+Carmina tried another question. "Did you think of me, dear, when you
+were far away?"
+
+"Think of you?" Zo repeated. "You're to sleep in my bedroom when we go
+back to Scotland--and I'm to be out of bed, and one of 'em, when you eat
+your first Scotch dinner. Shall I tell you what you'll see on the table?
+You'll see a big brown steaming bag in a dish--and you'll see me slit it
+with a knife--and the bag's fat inside will tumble out, all smoking hot
+and stinking. That's a Scotch dinner. Oh!" she cried, losing her dignity
+in the sudden interest of a new idea, "oh, Carmina, do you remember the
+Italian boy, and his song?"
+
+Here was one of those tests of her memory for trifles, applied with a
+child's happy abruptness, for which Ovid had been waiting. He listened
+eagerly. To his unutterable relief, Carmina laughed.
+
+"Of course I remember it!" she said. "Who could forget the boy who sings
+and grins and says _Gimmeehaypenny?"_
+
+"That's it!" cried Zo. "The boy's song was a good one in its way. I've
+learnt a better in Scotland. You've heard of Donald, haven't you?"
+
+"No."
+
+Zo turned indignantly to her father. "Why didn't you tell her of
+Donald?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee humbly admitted that he was in fault. Carmina asked who
+Donald was, and what he was like. Zo unconsciously tested her memory for
+the second time.
+
+"You know that day," she said, "when Joseph had an errand at the
+grocer's and I went along with him, and Miss Minerva said I was a vulgar
+child?"
+
+Carmina's memory recalled this new trifle, without an effort. "I know,"
+she answered; "you told me Joseph and the grocer weighed you in the
+great scales."
+
+Zo delighted Ovid by trying her again. "When they put me into the
+scales, Carmina, what did I weigh?"
+
+"Nearly four stone, dear."
+
+"Quite four stone. Donald weighs fourteen.' What do you think of that?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee once more offered his testimony. "The biggest Piper on my
+lord's estate," he began, "comes of a Highland family, and was removed
+to the Lowlands by my lord's father. A great player--"
+
+"And _my_ friend," Zo explained, stopping her father in full career. "He
+takes snuff out of a cow's horn. He shovels it up his fat nose with a
+spoon, like this. His nose wags. He says, 'Try my sneeshin.' Sneeshin's
+Scotch for snuff. He boos till he's nearly double when uncle Northlake
+speaks to him. Boos is Scotch for bows. He skirls on the pipes--skirls
+means screeches. When you first hear him, he'll make your stomach ache.
+You'll get used to that--and you'll find you like him. He wears a purse
+and a petticoat; he never had a pair of trousers on in his life; there's
+no pride about him. Say you're my friend and he'll let you smack his
+legs--"
+
+Here, Ovid was obliged to bring the biography of Donald to a close.
+Carmina's enjoyment of Zo was becoming too keen for her strength;
+her bursts of laughter grew louder and louder--the wholesome limit of
+excitement was being rapidly passed. "Tell us about your cousins," he
+said, by way of effecting a diversion.
+
+"The big ones?" Zo asked.
+
+"No; the little ones, like you."
+
+"Nice girls--they play at everything I tell 'em. Jolly boys--when they
+knock a girl down, they pick her up again, and clean her."
+
+Carmina was once more in danger of passing the limit. Ovid made another
+attempt to effect a diversion. Singing would be comparatively harmless
+in its effect--as he rashly supposed. "What's that song you learnt in
+Scotland?" he asked.
+
+"It's Donald's song," Zo replied. _"He_ taught me."
+
+At the sound of Donald's dreadful name, Ovid looked at his watch, and
+said there was no time for the song. Mr. Gallilee suddenly and seriously
+sided with his step-son. "How she got among the men after dinner," he
+said, "nobody knows. Lady Northlake has forbidden Donald to teach her
+any more songs; and I have requested him, as a favour to me, not to let
+her smack his legs. Come, my dear, it's time we were home again."
+
+Well intended by both gentlemen--but too late. Zo was ready for the
+performance; her hat was cocked on one side; her plump little arms were
+set akimbo; her round eyes opened and closed facetiously in winks worthy
+of a low comedian. "I'm Donald," she announced: and burst out with the
+song: _"We're gayly yet, we're gayly yet; We're not very fou, but we're
+gayly yet: Then sit ye awhile, and tipple a bit; For we're not very fou,
+but we're gayly yet."_ She snatched up Carmina's medicine glass, and
+waved it over her head with a Bacchanalian screech. "Fill a brimmer,
+Tammie! Here's to Redshanks!"
+
+"And pray who is Redshanks?" asked a lady, standing in the doorway. Zo
+turned round--and instantly collapsed. A terrible figure, associated
+with lessons and punishments, stood before her. The convivial friend
+of Donald, the established Missus of Lord Northlake, disappeared--and a
+polite pupil took their place. "If you please, Miss Minerva, Redshanks
+is nickname for a Highlander." Who would have recognised the singer of
+"We're gayly yet," in the subdued young person who made that reply?
+
+The door opened again. Another disastrous intrusion? Yes, another!
+Teresa appeared this time--caught Zo up in her arms--and gave the child
+a kiss that was heard all over the room. "Ah, mia Giocosa!" cried the
+old nurse--too happy to speak in any language but her own. "What does
+that mean?" Zo asked, settling her ruffled petticoats. "It means," said
+Teresa, who prided herself on her English, "Ah, my Jolly." This to a
+young lady who could slit a haggis! This to the only person in Scotland,
+privileged to smack Donald's legs! Zo turned to her father, and
+recovered her dignity. Maria herself could hardly have spoken with more
+severe propriety. "I wish to go home," said Zo.
+
+Ovid had only to look at Carmina, and to see the necessity of immediate
+compliance with his little sister's wishes. No more laughing, no more
+excitement, for that day. He led Zo out himself, and resigned her to her
+father at the door of his rooms on the ground floor.
+
+Cheered already by having got away from Miss Minerva and the nurse,
+Zo desired to know who lived downstairs; and, hearing that these were
+Ovid's rooms, insisted on seeing them. The three went in together.
+
+Ovid drew Mr. Gallilee into a corner. "I'm easier about Carmina now,"
+he said. "The failure of her memory doesn't extend backwards. It begins
+with the shock to her brain, on the day when Teresa removed her to this
+house--and it will end, I feel confident, with the end of her illness."
+
+Mr. Gallilee's attention suddenly wandered. "Zo!" he called out, "don't
+touch your brother's papers."
+
+The one object that had excited the child's curiosity was the
+writing-table. Dozens of sheets of paper were scattered over it,
+covered with writing, blotted and interlined. Some of these leaves had
+overflowed the table, and found a resting-place on the floor. Zo was
+amusing herself by picking them up. "Well!" she said, handing them
+obediently to Ovid, "I've had many a rap on the knuckles for writing not
+half as bad as yours."
+
+Hearing his daughter's remark, Mr. Gallilee became interested in looking
+at the fragments of manuscript. "What an awful mess!" he exclaimed. "May
+I try if I can read a bit?" Ovid smiled. "Try by all means; you will
+make one useful discovery at least--you will see that the most patient
+men on the face of the civilised earth are Printers!"
+
+Mr. Gallilee tried a page--and gave it up before he turned giddy. "Is it
+fair to ask what this is?"
+
+"Something easy to feel, and hard to express," Ovid answered. "These
+ill-written lines are my offering of gratitude to the memory of an
+unknown and unhappy man."
+
+"The man you told me of, who died at Montreal?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You never mentioned his name."
+
+"His last wishes forbade me to mention it to any living creature. God
+knows there were pitiable, most pitiable, reasons for his dying unknown!
+The stone over his grave only bears his initials, and the date of his
+death. But," said Ovid, kindling with enthusiasm, as he laid his hand on
+his manuscript, "the discoveries of this great physician shall benefit
+humanity! And my debt to him shall be acknowledged, with the admiration
+and the devotion that I truly feel!"
+
+"In a book?" asked Mr. Gallilee.
+
+"In a book that is now being printed. You will see it before the New
+Year."
+
+Finding nothing to amuse her in the sitting-room, Zo had tried the
+bedroom next. She now returned to Ovid, dragging after her a long white
+staff that looked like an Alpen-stock. "What's this?" she asked. "A
+broomstick?"
+
+"A specimen of rare Canadian wood, my dear. Would you like to have it?"
+
+Zo took the offer quite seriously. She looked with longing eyes at the
+specimen, three times as tall as herself--and shook her head. "I'm not
+big enough for it, yet," she said. "Look at it, papa! Benjulia's stick
+is nothing to this."
+
+That name--on the child's lips--had a sound revolting to Ovid. "Don't
+speak of him!" he said irritably.
+
+"Mustn't I speak of him," Zo asked, "when I want him to tickle me?" Ovid
+beckoned to her father. "Take her away now," he whispered--"and never
+let her see that man again."
+
+The warning was needless. The man's destiny had decreed that he and Zo
+were never more to meet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXII.
+
+Benjulia's servants had but a dull time of it, poor souls, in the lonely
+house. Towards the end of December, they subscribed among themselves to
+buy one of those wonderful Christmas Numbers--presenting year after year
+the same large-eyed ladies, long-legged lovers, corpulent children, snow
+landscapes, and gluttonous merry-makings--which have become a national
+institution: say, the pictorial plum puddings of the English nation.
+
+The servants had plenty of time to enjoy their genial newspaper, before
+the dining-room bell disturbed them.
+
+For some weeks past, the master had again begun to spend the whole of
+his time in the mysterious laboratory. On the rare occasions when he
+returned to the house, he was always out of temper. If the servants knew
+nothing else, they knew what these signs meant--the great man was harder
+at work than ever; and in spite of his industry, he was not getting on
+so well as usual.
+
+On this particular evening, the bell rang at the customary time--and the
+cook (successor to the unfortunate creature with pretensions to beauty
+and sentiment) hastened to get the dinner ready.
+
+The footman turned to the dresser, and took from it a little heap of
+newspapers; carefully counting them before he ventured to carry them
+upstairs. This was Doctor Benjulia's regular weekly supply of
+medical literature; and here, again, the mysterious man presented an
+incomprehensible problem to his fellow-creatures. He subscribed to
+every medical publication in England--and he never read one of them! The
+footman cut the leaves; and the master, with his forefinger to help
+him, ran his eye up and down the pages; apparently in search of some
+announcement that he never found--and, still more extraordinary, without
+showing the faintest sign of disappointment when he had done. Every
+week, he briskly shoved his unread periodicals into a huge basket, and
+sent them downstairs as waste paper.
+
+The footman took up the newspapers and the dinner together--and was
+received with frowns and curses. He was abused for everything that he
+did in his own department, and for everything that the cook had done
+besides. "Whatever the master's working at," he announced, on returning
+to the kitchen, "he's farther away from hitting the right nail on the
+head than ever. Upon my soul, I think I shall have to give warning!
+Let's relieve our minds. Where's the Christmas Number?"
+
+Half an hour later, the servants were startled by a tremendous bang of
+the house-door which shook the whole building. The footman ran upstairs:
+the dining-room was empty; the master's hat was not on its peg in the
+hall; and the medical newspapers were scattered about in the wildest
+confusion. Close to the fender lay a crumpled leaf, torn out. Its
+position suggested that it had narrowly missed being thrown into the
+fire. The footman smoothed it out, and looked at it.
+
+One side of the leaf contained a report of a lecture. This was dry
+reading. The footman tried the other side, and found a review of a new
+medical work.
+
+This would have been dull reading too, but for an extract from a
+Preface, stating how the book came to be published, and what wonderful
+discoveries, relating to peoples' brains, it contained. There were some
+curious things said here--especially about a melancholy deathbed at a
+place called Montreal--which made the Preface almost as interesting as a
+story. But what was there in this to hurry the master out of the house,
+as if the devil had been at his heels?
+
+Doctor Benjulia's nearest neighbour was a small farmer named Gregg. He
+was taking a nap that evening, when his wife bounced into the room, and
+said, "Here's the big doctor gone mad!" And there he was truly, at Mrs.
+Gregg's heels, clamouring to have the horse put to in the gig, and to be
+driven to London instantly. He said, "Pay yourself what you please"--and
+opened his pocket-book, full of bank-notes. Mr. Gregg said, "It seems,
+sir, this is a matter of life or death." Whereupon he looked at Mr.
+Gregg--and considered a little--and, becoming quiet on a sudden,
+answered, "Yes, it is."
+
+On the road to London, he never once spoke--except to himself--and then
+only from time to time.
+
+It seemed, judging by what fell from him now and then, that he was
+troubled about a man and a letter. He had suspected the man all along;
+but he had nevertheless given him the letter--and now it had ended in
+the letter turning out badly for Doctor Benjulia himself. Where he went
+to in London, it was not possible to say. Mr. Gregg's horse was not fast
+enough for him. As soon as he could find one, he took a cab.
+
+The shopman of Mr. Barrable, the famous publisher of medical works, had
+just put up the shutters, and was going downstairs to his tea, when he
+heard a knocking at the shop door. The person proved to be a very tall
+man, in a violent hurry to buy Mr. Ovid Vere's new book. He said, by
+way of apology, that he was in that line himself, and that his name was
+Benjulia. The shopman knew him by reputation, and sold him the book. He
+was in such a hurry to read it, that he actually began in the shop. It
+was necessary to tell him that business hours were over. Hearing this,
+he ran out, and told the cabman to drive as fast as possible to Pall
+Mall.
+
+The library waiter at Doctor Benjulia's Club found him in the library,
+busy with a book.
+
+He was quite alone; the members, at that hour of the evening, being
+generally at dinner, or in the smoking-room. The man whose business it
+was to attend to the fires, went in during the night, from time to
+time, and always found him in the same corner. It began to get late.
+He finished his reading; but it seemed to make no difference. There he
+sat--wide awake--holding his closed book on his knee, seemingly lost in
+his own thoughts. This went on till it was time to close the Club. They
+were obliged to disturb him. He said nothing; and went slowly down into
+the hall, leaving his book behind him. It was an awful night, raining
+and sleeting--but he took no notice of the weather. When they fetched a
+cab, the driver refused to take him to where he lived, on such a night
+as that. He only said, "Very well; go to the nearest hotel."
+
+The night porter at the hotel let in a tall gentleman, and showed him
+into one of the bedrooms kept ready for persons arriving late. Having
+no luggage, he paid the charges beforehand. About eight o'clock in the
+morning, he rang for the waiter--who observed that his bed had not been
+slept in. All he wanted for breakfast was the strongest coffee that
+could be made. It was not strong enough to please him when he tasted it;
+and he had some brandy put in. He paid, and was liberal to the waiter,
+and went away.
+
+The policeman on duty, that day, whose beat included the streets at
+the back of Fairfield Gardens, noticed in one of them, a tall gentleman
+walking backwards and forwards, and looking from time to time at one
+particular house. When he passed that way again, there was the gentleman
+still patrolling the street, and still looking towards the same house.
+The policeman waited a little, and watched. The place was a respectable
+lodging house, and the stranger was certainly a gentleman, though a
+queer one to look at. It was not the policeman's business to interfere
+on suspicion, except in the case of notoriously bad characters. So,
+though he did think it odd, he went on again.
+
+Between twelve and one o'clock in the afternoon, Ovid left his Lodgings,
+to go to the neighbouring livery stables, and choose an open carriage.
+The sun was shining, and the air was brisk and dry, after the stormy
+night. It was just the day when he might venture to take Carmina out for
+a drive.
+
+On his way down the street, he heard footsteps behind him, and felt
+himself touched on the shoulder. He turned--and discovered Benjulia.
+On the point of speaking resentfully, he restrained himself. There was
+something in the wretch's face that struck him with horror.
+
+Benjulia said, "I won't keep you long; I want to know one thing. Will
+she live or die?"
+
+"Her life is safe--I hope."
+
+"Through your new mode of treatment?"
+
+His eyes and his voice said more than his words. Ovid instantly knew
+that he had seen the book; and that the book had forestalled him in the
+discovery to which he had devoted his life. Was it possible to pity a
+man whose hardened nature never pitied others? All things are possible
+to a large heart. Ovid shrank from answering him.
+
+Benjulia spoke again.
+
+"When we met that night at my garden gate," he said, "you told me my
+life should answer for her life, if she died. My neglect has not killed
+her--and you have no need to keep your word. But I don't get off, Mr.
+Ovid Vere, without paying the penalty. You have taken something from me,
+which was dearer than life, I wished to tell you that--I have no more to
+say."
+
+Ovid silently offered his hand.
+
+Benjulia's head drooped in thought. The generous protest of the man whom
+he had injured, spoke in that outstretched hand. He looked at Ovid.
+
+"No!" he said--and walked away.
+
+Leaving the street, he went round to Fairfield Gardens, and rang the
+bell at Mr. Gallilee's door. The bell was answered by a polite old
+woman--a stranger to him among the servants.
+
+"Is Zo in the house?" he inquired.
+
+"Nobody's in the house, sir. It's to be let, if you please, as soon as
+the furniture can be moved."
+
+"Do you know where Zo is? I mean, Mr. Gallilee's youngest child."
+
+"I'm sorry to say, sir, I'm not acquainted with the family."
+
+He waited at the door, apparently hesitating what to do next. "I'll go
+upstairs," he said suddenly; "I want to look at the house. You needn't
+go with me; I know my way."
+
+"Thank you kindly, sir!"
+
+He went straight to the schoolroom.
+
+The repellent melancholy of an uninhabited place had fallen on it
+already. The plain furniture was not worth taking care of: it was
+battered and old, and left to dust and neglect. There were two common
+deal writing desks, formerly used by the two girls. One of them was
+covered with splashes of ink: varied here and there by barbarous
+caricatures of faces, in which dots and strokes represented eyes, noses,
+and mouths. He knew whose desk this was, and opened the cover of it.
+In the recess beneath were soiled tables of figures, torn maps, and
+dogs-eared writing books. The ragged paper cover of one of these last,
+bore on its inner side a grotesquely imperfect inscription:--_my cop
+book zo._ He tore off the cover, and put it in the breast pocket of his
+coat.
+
+"I should have liked to tickle her once more," he thought, as he went
+down stairs again. The polite old woman opened the door, curtsying
+deferentially. He gave her half a crown. "God bless you, sir!" she burst
+out, in a gush of gratitude.
+
+He checked himself, on the point of stepping into the street, and looked
+at her with some curiosity. "Do you believe in God?" he asked.
+
+The old woman was even capable of making a confession of faith politely.
+"Yes, sir," she said, "if you have no objection."
+
+He stepped into the street. "I wonder whether she is right?" he thought.
+"It doesn't matter; I shall soon know."
+
+The servants were honestly glad to see him, when he got home. They
+had taken it in turn to sit up through the night; knowing his regular
+habits, and feeling the dread that some accident had happened. Never
+before had they seen him so fatigued. He dropped helplessly into his
+chair; his gigantic body shook with shivering fits. The footman begged
+him to take some refreshment. "Brandy, and raw eggs," he said. These
+being brought to him, he told them to wait until he rang--and locked the
+door when they went out.
+
+After waiting until the short winter daylight was at an end, the footman
+ventured to knock, and ask if the master wanted lights. He replied that
+he had lit the candles for himself. No smell of tobacco smoke came from
+the room; and he had let the day pass without going to the laboratory.
+These were portentous signs. The footman said to his fellow servants,
+"There's something wrong." The women looked at each other in vague
+terror. One of them said, "Hadn't we better give notice to leave?" And
+the other whispered a question: "Do you think he's committed a crime?"
+
+Towards ten o'clock, the bell rang at last. Immediately afterwards they
+heard him calling to them from the hall. "I want you, all three, up
+here."
+
+They went up together--the two women anticipating a sight of horror, and
+keeping close to the footman.
+
+The master was walking quietly backwards and forwards in the room: the
+table had pen and ink on it, and was covered with writings. He spoke to
+them in his customary tones; there was not the slightest appearance of
+agitation in his manner.
+
+"I mean to leave this house, and go away," he began. "You are dismissed
+from my service, for that reason only. Take your written characters
+from the table; read them, and say if there is anything to complain of."
+There was nothing to complain of. On another part of the table there
+were three little heaps of money. "A month's wages for each of you," he
+explained, "in place of a month's warning. I wish you good luck." One
+of the women (the one who had suggested giving notice to leave) began to
+cry. He took no notice of this demonstration, and went on. "I want two
+of you to do me a favour before we part. You will please witness the
+signature of my Will." The sensitive servant drew back directly. "No!"
+she said, "I couldn't do it. I never heard the Death-Watch before in
+winter time--I heard it all last night."
+
+The other two witnessed the signature. They observed that the Will was
+a very short one. It was impossible not to notice the only legacy
+left; the words crossed the paper, just above the signatures, and only
+occupied two lines: "I leave to Zoe, youngest daughter of Mr. John
+Gallilee, of Fairfield Gardens, London, everything absolutely of which
+I die possessed." Excepting the formal introductory phrases, and the
+statement relating to the witnesses--both copied from a handy book of
+law, lying open on the table--this was the Will.
+
+The female servants were allowed to go downstairs; after having been
+informed that they were to leave the next morning. The footman was
+detained in the dining-room.
+
+"I am going to the laboratory," the master said; "and I want a few
+things carried to the door."
+
+The big basket for waste paper, three times filled with letters and
+manuscripts; the books; the medicine chest; and the stone jar of oil
+from the kitchen--these, the master and the man removed together;
+setting them down at the laboratory door. It was a still cold starlight
+winter's night. The intermittent shriek of a railway whistle in the
+distance, was the only sound that disturbed the quiet of the time.
+
+"Good night!" said the master.
+
+The man returned the salute, and walked back to the house, closing the
+front door. He was now more firmly persuaded than ever that something
+was wrong. In the hall, the women were waiting for him. "What does it
+mean?" they asked. "Keep quiet," he said; "I'm going to see."
+
+In another minute he was posted at the back of the house, behind the
+edge of the wall. Looking out from this place, he could see the light
+of the lamps in the laboratory streaming through the open door, and the
+dark figure of the master coming and going, as he removed the objects
+left outside into the building. Then the door was shut, and nothing was
+visible but the dim glow that found its way to the skylight, through the
+white blind inside.
+
+He boldly crossed the open space of ground, resolved to try what his
+ears might discover, now that his eyes were useless. He posted himself
+at the back of the laboratory, close to one of the side walls.
+
+Now and then, he heard--what had reached his ears when he had been
+listening on former occasions--the faint whining cries of animals. These
+were followed by new sounds. Three smothered shrieks, succeeding
+each other at irregular intervals, made his blood run cold. Had three
+death-strokes been dealt on some suffering creatures, with the same
+sudden and terrible certainty? Silence, horrible silence, was all that
+answered. In the distant railway there was an interval of peace.
+
+The door was opened again; the flood of light streamed out on the
+darkness. Suddenly the yellow glow was spotted by the black figures of
+small swiftly-running creatures--perhaps cats, perhaps rabbits--escaping
+from the laboratory. The tall form of the master followed slowly, and
+stood revealed watching the flight of the animals. In a moment more, the
+last of the liberated creatures came out--a large dog, limping as if one
+of its legs was injured. It stopped as it passed the master, and tried
+to fawn on him. He threatened it with his hand. "Be off with you, like
+the rest!" he said. The dog slowly crossed the flow of light, and was
+swallowed up in darkness.
+
+The last of them that could move was gone. The death shrieks of the
+others had told their fate.
+
+But still, there stood the master alone--a grand black figure, with
+its head turned up to the stars. The minutes followed one another: the
+servant waited, and watched him. The solitary man had a habit, well
+known to those about him, of speaking to himself; not a word escaped him
+now; his upturned head never moved; the bright wintry heaven held him
+spellbound.
+
+At last, the change came. Once more the silence was broken by the scream
+of the railway whistle.
+
+He started like a person suddenly roused from deep sleep, and went
+back into the laboratory. The last sound then followed--the locking and
+bolting of the door.
+
+The servant left his hiding-place: his master's secret, was no secret
+now. He hated himself for eating that master's bread, and earning that
+master's money. One of the ignorant masses, this man! Mere sentiment had
+a strange hold on his stupid mind; the remembrance of the poor wounded
+dog, companionable and forgiving under cruel injuries, cut into his
+heart like a knife. His thought at that moment, was an act of treason to
+the royalty of Knowledge,--"I wish to God I could lame _him,_ as he has
+lamed the dog!" Another fanatic! another fool! Oh, Science, be merciful
+to the fanatics, and the fools!
+
+When he got back to the house, the women were still on the look-out
+for him. "Don't speak to me now," he said. "Get to your beds. And, mind
+this--let's be off to-morrow morning before _he_ can see us."
+
+There was no sleep for him when he went to his own bed.
+
+The remembrance of the dog tormented him. The other lesser animals
+were active; capable of enjoying their liberty and finding shelter for
+themselves. Where had the maimed creature found a refuge, on that bitter
+night? Again, and again, and again, the question forced its way into his
+mind. He could endure it no longer. Cautiously and quickly--in dread
+of his extraordinary conduct being perhaps discovered by the women--he
+dressed himself, and opened the house door to look for the dog.
+
+Out of the darkness on the step, there rose something dark. He put out
+his hand. A persuasive tongue, gently licking it, pleaded for a word of
+welcome. The crippled animal could only have got to the door in one way;
+the gate which protected the house-enclosure must have been left open.
+First giving the dog a refuge in the kitchen, the footman--rigidly
+performing his last duties--went to close the gate.
+
+At his first step into the enclosure he stopped panic-stricken.
+
+The starlit sky over the laboratory was veiled in murky red. Roaring
+flame, and spouting showers of sparks, poured through the broken
+skylight. Voices from the farm raised the first cry--"Fire! fire!"
+
+At the inquest, the evidence suggested suspicion of incendiarism
+and suicide. The papers, the books, the oil betrayed themselves as
+combustible materials, carried into the place for a purpose. The
+medicine chest was known (by its use in cases of illness among the
+servants) to contain opium. Adjourned inquiry elicited that the
+laboratory was not insured, and that the deceased was in comfortable
+circumstances. Where were the motives? One intelligent man, who had
+drifted into the jury, was satisfied with the evidence. He held that the
+desperate wretch had some reason of his own for first poisoning himself,
+and then setting fire to the scene of his labours. Having a majority of
+eleven against him, the wise juryman consented to a merciful verdict
+of death by misadventure. The hideous remains of what had once been
+Benjulia, found Christian burial. His brethren of the torture-table,
+attended the funeral in large numbers. Vivisection had been beaten on
+its own field of discovery. They honoured the martyr who had fallen in
+their cause.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXIII.
+
+The life of the New Year was still only numbered by weeks, when a modest
+little marriage was celebrated--without the knowledge of the neighbours,
+without a crowd in the church, and even without a wedding-breakfast.
+
+Mr. Gallilee (honoured with the office of giving away the bride)
+drew Ovid into a corner before they left the house. "She still looks
+delicate, poor dear," he said. "Do you really consider her to be well
+again?"
+
+"As well as she will ever be," Ovid answered. "Before I returned to her,
+time had been lost which no skill and no devotion can regain. But the
+prospect has its bright side. Past events which might have cast their
+shadow over all her life to come, have left no trace in her memory. I
+will make her a happy woman. Leave the rest to me."
+
+Teresa and Mr. Mool were the witnesses; Maria and Zo were the
+bridesmaids: they had only waited to go to church, until one other
+eagerly expected person joined them. There was a general inquiry
+for Miss Minerva. Carmina astonished everybody, from the bride-groom
+downwards, by announcing that circumstances prevented her best and
+dearest friend from being present. She smiled and blushed as she took
+Ovid's arm. "When we are man and wife, and I am quite sure of you,"
+she whispered, "I will tell _you,_ what nobody else must know. In the
+meantime, darling, if you can give Frances the highest place in your
+estimation--next to me--you will only do justice to the noblest woman
+that ever lived."
+
+She had a little note hidden in her bosom, while she said those words.
+It was dated on the morning of her marriage: "When you return from the
+honeymoon, Carmina, I shall be the first friend who opens her arms and
+her heart to you. Forgive me if I am not with you to-day. We are all
+human, my dear--don't tell your husband."
+
+It was her last weakness. Carmina had no excuses to make for an absent
+guest, when the first christening was celebrated. On that occasion the
+happy young mother betrayed a conjugal secret to her dearest friend.
+It was at Ovid's suggestion that the infant daughter was called by Miss
+Minerva's christian name.
+
+But when the married pair went away to their happy new life, there was
+a little cloud of sadness, which vanished in sunshine--thanks to Zo.
+Polite Mr. Mool, bent on making himself agreeable to everybody, paid
+his court to Mr. Gallilee's youngest daughter. "And who do you mean to
+marry, my little Miss, when you grow up?" the lawyer asked with feeble
+drollery.
+
+Zo looked at him in grave surprise. "That's all settled," she said;
+"I've got a man waiting for me."
+
+"Oh, indeed! And who may he be?"
+
+"Donald!"
+
+"That's a very extraordinary child of yours," Mr. Mool said to his
+friend, as they walked away together.
+
+Mr. Gallilee absently agreed. "Has my message been given to my wife?" he
+asked.
+
+Mr. Mool sighed and shook his head. "Messages from her husband are as
+completely thrown away on her," he answered, "as if she was still in the
+asylum. In justice to yourself, consent to an amicable separation, and I
+will arrange it."
+
+"Have you seen her?"
+
+"I insisted on it, before I met her lawyers. She declares herself to be
+an infamously injured woman--and, upon my honour, she proves it, from
+her own point of view. 'My husband never came near me in my illness, and
+took my children away by stealth. My children were so perfectly ready
+to be removed from their mother, that neither of them had the decency to
+write me a letter. My niece contemplated shamelessly escaping to my
+son, and wrote him a letter vilifying his mother in the most abominable
+terms. And Ovid completes the round of ingratitude by marrying the girl
+who has behaved in this way.' I declare to you, Gallilee, that was how
+she put it! 'Am I to blame,' she said, 'for believing that story about
+my brother's wife? It's acknowledged that she gave the man money--the
+rest is a matter of opinion. Was I wrong to lose my temper, and say what
+I did say to this so-called niece of mine? Yes, I was wrong, there: it's
+the only case in which there is a fault to find with me. But had I no
+provocation? Have I not suffered? Don't try to look as if you pitied me.
+I stand in no need of pity. But I owe a duty to my own self-respect; and
+that duty compels me to speak plainly. I will have nothing more to do
+with the members of my heartless family. The rest of my life is devoted
+to intellectual society, and the ennobling pursuits of science. Let me
+hear no more, sir, of you or your employers.' She rose like a queen, and
+bowed me out of the room. I declare to you, my flesh creeps when I think
+of her."
+
+"If I leave her now," said Mr. Gallilee, "I leave her in debt."
+
+"Give me your word of honour not to mention what I am going to tell
+you," Mr. Mool rejoined. "If she needs money, the kindest man in the
+world has offered me a blank cheque to fill in for her--and his name is
+Ovid Vere."
+
+     * * * * *
+
+As the season advanced, two social entertainments which offered the
+most complete contrast to each other, were given in London on the same
+evening.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Ovid Vere had a little dinner party to celebrate their
+return. Teresa (advanced to the dignity of housekeeper) insisted on
+stuffing the tomatoes and cooking the macaroni with her own hand. The
+guests were Lord and Lady Northlake; Maria and Zo; Miss Minerva and Mr.
+Mool. Mr. Gallilee was present as one of the household. While he was in
+London, he and his children lived under Ovid's roof. When they went to
+Scotland, Mr. Gallilee had a cottage of his own (which he insisted on
+buying) in Lord Northlake's park. He and Zo drank too much champagne at
+dinner. The father made a speech; and the daughter sang, "We're gayly
+yet."
+
+In another quarter of London, there was a party which filled the street
+with carriages, and which was reported in the newspapers the next
+morning.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was At Home to Science. The Professors of the civilised
+universe rallied round their fair friend. France, Italy, and Germany
+bewildered the announcing servants with a perfect Babel of names--and
+Great Britain was grandly represented. Those three superhuman men, who
+had each had a peep behind the veil of creation, and discovered
+the mystery of life, attended the party and became centres of three
+circles--the circle that believed in "protoplasm," the circle that
+believed in "bioplasm," and the circle that believed in "atomized
+charges of electricity, conducted into the system by the oxygen of
+respiration." Lectures and demonstrations went on all through the
+evening, all over the magnificent room engaged for the occasion. In one
+corner, a fair philosopher in blue velvet and point lace, took the Sun
+in hand facetiously. "The sun's life, my friends, begins with a nebulous
+infancy and a gaseous childhood." In another corner, a gentleman of
+shy and retiring manners converted "radiant energy into sonorous
+vibrations"--themselves converted into sonorous poppings by waiters and
+champagne bottles at the supper table. In the centre of the room,
+the hostess solved the serious problem of diet; viewed as a method of
+assisting tadpoles to develop themselves into frogs--with such cheering
+results that these last lively beings joined the guests on the carpet,
+and gratified intelligent curiosity by explorations on the stairs.
+Within the space of one remarkable evening, three hundred illustrious
+people were charmed, surprised, instructed, and amused; and when Science
+went home, it left a conversazione (for once) with its stomach well
+filled. At two in the morning, Mrs. Gallilee sat down in the empty room,
+and said to the learned friend who lived with her,
+
+"At last, I'm a happy woman!"
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Heart and Science, by Wilkie Collins
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEART AND SCIENCE ***
+
+***** This file should be named 7892.txt or 7892.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        http://www.gutenberg.org/7/8/9/7892/
+
+Produced by James Rusk
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions 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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/7892.zip b/7892.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8b55f0d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/7892.zip
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..cc6323c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #7892 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7892)
diff --git a/old/heart10.txt b/old/heart10.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..aaccc4f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/heart10.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,15690 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Heart and Science, by Wilkie Collins
+#32 in our series by Wilkie Collins
+
+Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
+copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
+this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
+
+This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
+Gutenberg file.  Please do not remove it.  Do not change or edit the
+header without written permission.
+
+Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
+eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file.  Included is
+important information about your specific rights and restrictions in
+how the file may be used.  You can also find out about how to make a
+donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.
+
+
+**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
+
+**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
+
+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: Heart and Science
+       A Story of the Present Time
+
+Author: Wilkie Collins
+
+Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7892]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on May 31, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEART AND SCIENCE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by James Rusk
+
+
+
+
+HEART AND SCIENCE
+
+by Wilkie Collins
+
+
+Heart and Science: A Story of the Present Time
+
+TO
+
+SARONY
+
+(OF NEW YORK)
+
+ARTIST; PHOTOGRAPHER,
+
+AND
+
+GOOD FRIEND
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+TO READERS IN GENERAL
+
+I.
+
+You are the children of Old Mother England, on both sides of the
+Atlantic; you form the majority of buyers and borrowers of novels; and
+you judge of works of fiction by certain inbred preferences, which but
+slightly influence the other great public of readers on the continent
+of Europe.
+
+The two qualities in fiction which hold the highest rank in your
+estimation are: Character and Humour. Incident and dramatic situation
+only occupy the second place in your favour. A novel that tells no
+story, or that blunders perpetually in trying to tell a story--a novel
+so entirely devoid of all sense of the dramatic side of human life,
+that not even a theatrical thief can find anything in it to steal--will
+nevertheless be a work that wins (and keeps) your admiration, if it has
+Humour which dwells on your memory, and characters which enlarge the
+circle of your friends.
+
+I have myself always tried to combine the different merits of a good
+novel, in one and the same work; and I have never succeeded in keeping
+an equal balance. In the present story you will find the scales
+inclining, on the whole, in favour of character and Humour. This has
+not happened accidentally.
+
+Advancing years, and health that stands sadly in need of improvement,
+warn me--if I am to vary my way of work--that I may have little time to
+lose. Without waiting for future opportunities, I have kept your
+standard of merit more constantly before my mind, in writing this book,
+than on some former occasions.
+
+Still persisting in telling you a story--still refusing to get up in
+the pulpit and preach, or to invade the platform and lecture, or to
+take you by the buttonhole in confidence and make fun of my Art--it has
+been my chief effort to draw the characters with a vigour and breadth
+of treatment, derived from the nearest and truest view that I could get
+of the one model, Nature. Whether I shall at once succeed in adding to
+the circle of your friends in the world of fiction--or whether you will
+hurry through the narrative, and only discover on a later reading that
+it is the characters which have interested you in the story--remains to
+be seen. Either way, your sympathy will find me grateful; for, either
+way, my motive has been to please you.
+
+During its periodical publication correspondents, noting certain
+passages in "Heart and Science," inquired how I came to think of
+writing this book. The question may be readily answered in better words
+than mine. My book has been written in harmony with opinions which have
+an indisputable claim to respect. Let them speak for themselves.
+
+     SHAKESPEARE'S OPINION.--"It was always yet the trick of our
+English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common."
+_(King Henry IV., Part II.)_
+
+     WALTER SCOTT'S OPINION--"I am no great believer in the extreme
+degree of improvement to be derived from the advancement of Science;
+for every study of that nature tends, when pushed to a certain extent,
+to harden the heart." _(Letter to Miss Edgeworth.)_
+
+     FARADAY'S OPINION.--"The education of the judgment has for its
+first and its last step--Humility." _(Lecture on Mental Education, at
+the Royal Institution.)_
+
+Having given my reasons for writing the book, let me conclude by
+telling you what I have kept out of the book.
+
+It encourages me to think that we have many sympathies in common; and
+among them, that most of us have taken to our hearts domestic pets.
+Writing under this conviction, I have not forgotten my responsibility
+towards you, and towards my Art, in pleading the cause of the harmless
+and affectionate beings of God's creation. From first to last, you are
+purposely left in ignorance of the hideous secrets of Vivisection. The
+outside of the laboratory is a necessary object in my landscape--but I
+never once open the door and invite you to look in. I trace, in one of
+my characters, the result of the habitual practice of cruelty (no
+matter under what pretence) in fatally deteriorating the nature of
+man--and I leave the picture to speak for itself. My own personal
+feeling has throughout been held in check. Thankfully accepting the
+assistance rendered to me by Miss Frances Power Cobbe, by Mrs. H. M.
+Gordon, and by Surgeon-General Gordon, C.B., I have borne in mind (as
+they have borne in mind) the value of temperate advocacy to a good
+cause.
+
+With this, your servant withdraws, and leaves you to the story.
+
+II.
+
+TO READERS IN PARTICULAR.
+
+If you are numbered among those good friends of ours, who are
+especially capable of understanding us and sympathising with us, be
+pleased to accept the expression of our gratitude, and to pass over the
+lines that follow.
+
+But if you open our books with a mind soured by distrust; if you
+habitually anticipate inexcusable ignorance where the course of the
+story happens to turn on matters of fact; it is you, Sir or Madam, whom
+I now want.
+
+Not to dispute with you--far from it! I own with sorrow that your
+severity does occasionally encounter us on assailable ground. But there
+are exceptions, even to the stiffest rules. Some of us are not guilty
+of wilful carelessness: some of us apply to competent authority, when
+we write on subjects beyond the range of our own experience. Having
+thus far ventured to speak for my colleagues, you will conclude that I
+am paving the way for speaking next of myself. As our cousins in the
+United States say--that is so.
+
+In the following pages, there are allusions to medical practice at the
+bedside; leading in due course to physiological questions which connect
+themselves with the main interest of the novel. In traversing this
+delicate ground, you have not been forgotten. Before the manuscript
+went to the printer, it was submitted for correction to an eminent
+London surgeon, whose experience extends over a period of forty years.
+
+Again: a supposed discovery in connection with brain disease, which
+occupies a place of importance, is not (as you may suspect) the
+fantastic product of the author's imagination. Finding his materials
+everywhere, he has even contrived to make use of Professor
+Ferrier--writing on the "Localisation of Cerebral Disease," and closing
+a confession of the present result of post-mortem examination of brains
+in these words: "We cannot even be sure, whether many of the changes
+discovered are the cause or the result of the Disease, or whether the
+two are the conjoint results of a common cause." Plenty of elbow room
+here for the spirit of discovery.
+
+On becoming acquainted with "Mrs. Gallilee," you will find her
+talking--and you will sometimes even find the author talking--of
+scientific subjects in general. You will naturally conclude that it is
+"all gross caricature." No; it is all promiscuous reading. Let me spare
+you a long list of books consulted, and of newspapers and magazines
+mutilated for "cuttings"--and appeal to examples once more, and for the
+last time.
+
+When "Mrs. Gallilee" wonders whether "Carmina has ever heard of the
+Diathermancy of Ebonite," she is thinking of proceedings at a
+conversazione in honour of Professor Helmholtz (reported in the _Times_
+of April 12, 1881), at which "radiant energy" was indeed converted into
+"sonorous vibrations." Again: when she contemplates taking part in a
+discussion on Matter, she has been slily looking into Chambers's
+Encyclopaedia, and has there discovered the interesting conditions on
+which she can "dispense with the idea of atoms." Briefly, not a word of
+my own invention occurs, when Mrs. Gallilee turns the learned side of
+her character to your worships' view.
+
+I have now only to add that the story has been subjected to careful
+revision, and I hope to consequent improvement, in its present form of
+publication. Past experience has shown me that you have a sharp eye for
+slips of the pen, and that you thoroughly enjoy convicting a novelist,
+by post, of having made a mistake. Whatever pains I may have taken to
+disappoint you, it is quite likely that we may be again indebted to
+each other on this occasion. So, to our infinite relief on either side,
+we part friends after all.
+
+W. C.
+
+London: April 1883
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+The weary old nineteenth century had advanced into the last twenty
+years of its life.
+
+Towards two o'clock in the afternoon, Ovid Vere (of the Royal College
+of Surgeons) stood at the window of his consulting-room in London,
+looking out at the summer sunshine, and the quiet dusty street.
+
+He had received a warning, familiar to the busy men of our time--the
+warning from overwrought Nature, which counsels rest after excessive
+work. With a prosperous career before him, he had been compelled (at
+only thirty-one years of age) to ask a colleague to take charge of his
+practice, and to give the brain which he had cruelly wearied a rest of
+some months to come. On the next day he had arranged to embark for the
+Mediterranean in a friend's yacht.
+
+An active man, devoted heart and soul to his profession, is not a man
+who can learn the happy knack of being idle at a moment's notice. Ovid
+found the mere act of looking out of window, and wondering what he
+should do next, more than he had patience to endure.
+
+He turned to his study table. If he had possessed a wife to look after
+him, he would have been reminded that he and his study table had
+nothing in common, under present circumstances. Being deprived of
+conjugal superintendence, he broke though his own rules. His restless
+hand unlocked a drawer, and took out a manuscript work on medicine of
+his own writing. "Surely," he thought, "I may finish a chapter, before
+I go to sea to-morrow?"
+
+His head, steady enough while he was only looking out of window, began
+to swim before he had got to the bottom of a page. The last sentences
+of the unfinished chapter alluded to a matter of fact which he had not
+yet verified. In emergencies of any sort, he was a patient man and a
+man of resource. The necessary verification could be accomplished by a
+visit to the College of Surgeons, situated in the great square called
+Lincoln's Inn Fields. Here was a motive for a walk--with an occupation
+at the end of it, which only involved a question to a Curator, and an
+examination of a Specimen. He locked up his manuscript, and set forth
+for Lincoln's Inn Fields.
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+When two friends happen to meet in the street, do they ever look back
+along the procession of small circumstances which has led them both,
+from the starting-point of their own houses, to the same spot, at the
+same time? Not one man in ten thousand has probably ever thought of
+making such a fantastic inquiry as this. And consequently not one man
+in ten thousand, living in the midst of reality, has discovered that he
+is also living in the midst of romance.
+
+From the moment when the young surgeon closed the door of his house, he
+was walking blindfold on his way to a patient in the future who was
+personally still a stranger to him. He never reached the College of
+Surgeons. He never embarked on his friend's yacht.
+
+What were the obstacles which turned him aside from the course that he
+had in view? Nothing but a series of trivial circumstances, occurring
+in the experience of a man who goes out for a walk.
+
+He had only reached the next street, when the first of the
+circumstances presented itself in the shape of a friend's carriage,
+which drew up at his side. A bright benevolent face encircled by bushy
+white whiskers, looked out of the window, and a hearty voice asked him
+if he had completed his arrangements for a long holiday. Having replied
+to this, Ovid had a question to put, on his side.
+
+"How is our patient, Sir Richard?"
+
+"Out of danger."
+
+"And what do the other doctors say now?"
+
+Sir Richard laughed: "They say it's my luck."
+
+"Not convinced yet?"
+
+"Not in the least. Who has ever succeeded in convincing fools? Let's
+try another subject. Is your mother reconciled to your new plans?"
+
+"I can hardly tell you. My mother is in a state of indescribable
+agitation. Her brother's Will has been found in Italy. And his daughter
+may arrive in England at a moment's notice."
+
+"Unmarried?" Sir Richard asked slyly.
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Any money?"
+
+Ovid smiled--not cheerfully. "Do you think my poor mother would be in a
+state of indescribable agitation if there was _not_ money?"
+
+Sir Richard was one of those obsolete elderly persons who quote
+Shakespeare. "Ah, well," he said, "your mother is like Kent in King
+Lear--she's too old to learn. Is she as fond as ever of lace? and as
+keen as ever after a bargain?" He handed a card out of the carriage
+window. "I have just seen an old patient of mine," he resumed, "in whom
+I feel a friendly interest. She is retiring from business by my advice;
+and she asks me, of all the people in the world, to help her in getting
+rid of some wonderful 'remnants,' at 'an alarming sacrifice!' My kind
+regards to your mother--and there's a chance for her. One last word,
+Ovid. Don't be in too great a hurry to return to work; you have plenty
+of spare time before you. Look at my wise dog here, on the front seat,
+and learn from him to be idle and happy."
+
+The great physician had another companion, besides his dog. A friend,
+bound his way, had accepted a seat in the carriage. "Who is that
+handsome young man?" the friend asked as they drove away.
+
+"He is the only son of a relative of mine, dead many years since," Sir
+Richard replied. "Don't forget that you have seen him."
+
+"May I ask why?"
+
+"He has not yet reached the prime of life; and he is on the
+way--already far on the way--to be one of the foremost men of his time.
+With a private fortune, he has worked as few surgeons work who have
+their bread to get by their profession. The money comes from his late
+father. His mother has married again. The second husband is a lazy,
+harmless old fellow, named Gallilee; possessed of one small
+attraction--fifty thousand pounds, grubbed up in trade. There are two
+little daughters, by the second marriage. With such a stepfather as I
+have described, and, between ourselves, with a mother who has rather
+more than her fair share of the jealous, envious, and money-loving
+propensities of humanity, my friend Ovid is not diverted by family
+influences from the close pursuit of his profession. You will tell me,
+he may marry. Well! if he gets a good wife she will be a circumstance
+in his favour. But, so far as I know, he is not that sort of man.
+Cooler, a deal cooler, with women than I am--though I am old enough to
+be his father. Let us get back to his professional prospects. You heard
+him ask me about a patient?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very good. Death was knocking hard at that patient's door, when I
+called Ovid into consultation with myself and with two other doctors
+who differed with me. It was one of the very rare cases in which the
+old practice of bleeding was, to my mind, the only treatment to pursue.
+I never told him that this was the point in dispute between me and the
+other men--and they said nothing, on their side, at my express request.
+He took his time to examine and think; and he saw the chance of saving
+the patient by venturing on the use of the lancet as plainly as I
+did--with my forty years' experience to teach me! A young man with that
+capacity for discovering the remote cause of disease, and with that
+superiority to the trammels of routine in applying the treatment, has
+no common medical career before him. His holiday will set his health
+right in next to no time. I see nothing in his way, at present--not
+even a woman! But," said Sir Richard, with the explanatory wink of one
+eye peculiar (like quotation from Shakespeare) to persons of the
+obsolete old time, _"we_ know better than to forecast the weather if a
+petticoat influence appears on the horizon. One prediction, however, I
+do risk. If his mother buys any of that lace--I know who will get the
+best of the bargain!"
+
+The conditions under which the old doctor was willing to assume the
+character of a prophet never occurred. Ovid remembered that he was
+going away on a long voyage--and Ovid was a good son. He bought some of
+the lace, as a present to his mother at parting; and, most assuredly,
+he got the worst of the bargain.
+
+His shortest way back to the straight course, from which he had
+deviated in making his purchase, led him into a by-street, near the
+flower and fruit market of Covent Garden. Here he met with the second
+in number of the circumstances which attended his walk. He found
+himself encountered by an intolerably filthy smell.
+
+The market was not out of the direct way to Lincoln's Inn Fields. He
+fled from the smell to the flowery and fruity perfumes of Covent
+Garden, and completed the disinfecting process by means of a basket of
+strawberries.
+
+Why did a poor ragged little girl, carrying a big baby, look with such
+longing eyes at the delicious fruit, that, as a kind-hearted man, he
+had no alternative but to make her a present of the strawberries? Why
+did two dirty boyfriends of hers appear immediately afterwards with
+news of Punch in a neighbouring street, and lead the little girl away
+with them? Why did these two new circumstances inspire him with a fear
+that the boys might take the strawberries away from the poor child,
+burdened as she was with a baby almost as big as herself? When we
+suffer from overwrought nerves we are easily disturbed by small
+misgivings. The idle man of wearied mind followed the friends of the
+street drama to see what happened, forgetful of the College of
+Surgeons, and finding a new fund of amusement in himself.
+
+Arrived in the neighbouring street, he discovered that the Punch
+performance had come to an end--like some other dramatic performances
+of higher pretensions--for want of a paying audience. He waited at a
+certain distance, watching the children. His doubts had done them an
+injustice. The boys only said, "Give us a taste." And the liberal
+little girl rewarded their good conduct. An equitable and friendly
+division of the strawberries was made in a quiet corner.
+
+Where--always excepting the case of a miser or a millionaire--is the
+man to be found who could have returned to the pursuit of his own
+affairs, under these circumstances, without encouraging the practice of
+the social virtues by a present of a few pennies? Ovid was not that
+man.
+
+Putting back in his breast-pocket the bag in which he was accustomed to
+carry small coins for small charities, his hand touched something which
+felt like the envelope of a letter. He took it out--looked at it with
+an expression of annoyance and surprise--and once more turned aside
+from the direct way to Lincoln's Inn Fields.
+
+The envelope contained his last prescription. Having occasion to
+consult the "Pharmacopoeia," he had written it at home, and had
+promised to send it to the patient immediately. In the absorbing
+interest of making his preparations for leaving England, it had
+remained forgotten in his pocket for nearly two days. The one means of
+setting this unlucky error right, without further delay, was to deliver
+his prescription himself, and to break through his own rules for the
+second time by attending to a case of illness--purely as an act of
+atonement.
+
+The patient lived in a house nearly opposite to the British Museum. In
+this northward direction he now set his face.
+
+He made his apologies, and gave his advice--and, getting out again into
+the street, tried once more to shape his course for the College of
+Surgeons. Passing the walled garden of the British Museum, he looked
+towards it--and paused. What had stopped him, this time? Nothing but a
+tree, fluttering its bright leaves in the faint summer air.
+
+A marked change showed itself in his face.
+
+The moment before he had been passing in review the curious little
+interruptions which had attended his walk, and had wondered humorously
+what would happen next. Two women, meeting him, and seeing a smile on
+his lips, had said to each other, "There goes a happy man." If they had
+encountered him now, they might have reversed their opinion. They would
+have seen a man thinking of something once dear to him, in the far and
+unforgotten past.
+
+He crossed over the road to the side-street which faced the garden. His
+head drooped; he moved mechanically. Arrived in the street, he lifted
+his eyes, and stood (within nearer view of it) looking at the tree.
+
+Hundreds of miles away from London, under another tree of that gentle
+family, this man--so cold to women in after life--had made child-love,
+in the days of his boyhood, to a sweet little cousin long since
+numbered with the dead. The present time, with its interests and
+anxieties, passed away like the passing of a dream. Little by little,
+as the minutes followed each other, his sore heart felt a calming
+influence, breathed mysteriously from the fluttering leaves. Still
+forgetful of the outward world, he wandered slowly up the street;
+living in the old scenes; thinking, not unhappily now, the old
+thoughts.
+
+Where, in all London, could he have found a solitude more congenial to
+a dreamer in daylight?
+
+The broad district, stretching northward and eastward from the British
+Museum, is like the quiet quarter of a country town set in the midst of
+the roaring activities of the largest city in the world. Here, you can
+cross the road, without putting limb or life in peril. Here, when you
+are idle, you can saunter and look about, safe from collision with
+merciless straight-walkers whose time is money, and whose destiny is
+business. Here, you may meet undisturbed cats on the pavement, in the
+full glare of noontide, and may watch, through the railings of the
+squares, children at play on grass that almost glows with the lustre of
+the Sussex Downs. This haven of rest is alike out of the way of fashion
+and business; and is yet within easy reach of the one and the other.
+Ovid paused in a vast and silent square. If his little cousin had
+lived, he might perhaps have seen his children at play in some such
+secluded place as this.
+
+The birds were singing blithely in the trees. A tradesman's boy,
+delivering fish to the cook, and two girls watering flowers at a
+window, were the only living creatures near him, as he roused himself
+and looked around.
+
+Where was the College? Where were the Curator and the Specimen? Those
+questions brought with them no feeling of anxiety or surprise. He
+turned, in a half-awakened way, without a wish or a purpose--turned,
+and listlessly looked back.
+
+Two foot-passengers, dressed in mourning garments, were rapidly
+approaching him. One of them, as they came nearer, proved to be an aged
+woman. The other was a girl.
+
+He drew aside to let them pass. They looked at him with the lukewarm
+curiosity of strangers, as they went by. The girl's eyes and his met.
+Only the glance of an instant--and its influence held him for life.
+
+She went swiftly on, as little impressed by the chance meeting as the
+old woman at her side. Without stopping to think--without being capable
+of thought--Ovid followed them. Never before had he done what he was
+doing now; he was, literally, out of himself. He saw them ahead of him,
+and he saw nothing else.
+
+Towards the middle of the square, they turned aside into a street on
+the left. A concert-hall was in the street--with doors open for an
+afternoon performance. They entered the hall. Still out of himself,
+Ovid followed them.
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+A room of magnificent size; furnished with every conventional luxury
+that money can buy; lavishly provided with newspapers and books of
+reference; lighted by tall windows in the day-time, and by gorgeous
+chandeliers at night, may be nevertheless one of the dreariest places
+of rest and shelter that can be found on the civilised earth. Such
+places exist, by hundreds, in those hotels of monstrous proportions and
+pretensions, which now engulf the traveller who ends his journey on the
+pier or the platform. It may be that we feel ourselves to be strangers
+among strangers--it may be that there is something innately repellent
+in splendid carpets and curtains, chairs and tables, which have no
+social associations to recommend them--it may be that the mind loses
+its elasticity under the inevitable restraint on friendly
+communication, which expresses itself in lowered tones and instinctive
+distrust of our next neighbour; but this alone is certain: life, in the
+public drawing-room of a great hotel, is life with all its healthiest
+emanations perishing in an exhausted receiver.
+
+On the same day, and nearly at the same hour, when Ovid had left his
+house, two women sat in a corner of the public room, in one of the
+largest of the railway hotels latterly built in London.
+
+Without observing it themselves, they were objects of curiosity to
+their fellow-travellers. They spoke to each other in a foreign
+language. They were dressed in deep mourning--with an absence of
+fashion and a simplicity of material which attracted the notice of
+every other woman in the room. One of them wore a black veil over her
+gray hair. Her hands were brown, and knotty at the joints; her eyes
+looked unnaturally bright for her age; innumerable wrinkles crossed and
+re-crossed her skinny face; and her aquiline nose (as one of the ladies
+present took occasion to remark) was so disastrously like the nose of
+the great Duke of Wellington as to be an offensive feature in the face
+of a woman.
+
+The lady's companion, being a man, took a more merciful view. "She
+can't help being ugly," he whispered. "But see how she looks at the
+girl with her. A good old creature, I say, if ever there was one yet."
+The lady eyed him, as only a jealous woman can eye her husband, and
+whispered back, "Of course you're in love with that slip of a girl!"
+
+She _was_ a slip of a girl--and not even a tall slip. At seventeen
+years of age, it was doubtful whether she would ever grow to a better
+height.
+
+But a girl who is too thin, and not even so tall as the Venus de'
+Medici, may still be possessed of personal attractions. It was not
+altogether a matter of certainty, in this case, that the attractions
+were sufficiently remarkable to excite general admiration. The fine
+colour and the plump healthy cheeks, the broad smile, and the regular
+teeth, the well-developed mouth, and the promising bosom which form
+altogether the average type of beauty found in the purely bred English
+maiden, were not among the noticeable charms of the small creature in
+gloomy black, shrinking into a corner of the big room. She had very
+little colour of any sort to boast of. Her hair was of so light a brown
+that it just escaped being flaxen; but it had the negative merit of not
+being forced down to her eyebrows, and twisted into the hideous
+curly-wig which exhibits a liberal equality of ugliness on the heads of
+women in the present day. There was a delicacy of finish in her
+features--in the nose and the lips especially--a sensitive
+changefulness in the expression of her eyes (too dark in themselves to
+be quite in harmony with her light hair), and a subtle yet simple
+witchery in her rare smile, which atoned, in some degree at least, for
+want of complexion in the face and of flesh in the figure. Men might
+dispute her claims to beauty--but no one could deny that she was, in
+the common phrase, an interesting person. Grace and refinement; a
+quickness of apprehension and a vivacity of movement, suggestive of
+some foreign origin; a childish readiness of wonder, in the presence of
+new objects--and perhaps, under happier circumstances, a childish
+playfulness with persons whom she loved--were all characteristic
+attractions of the modest stranger who was in the charge of the ugly
+old woman, and who was palpably the object of that wrinkled duenna's
+devoted love.
+
+A travelling writing-case stood open on a table near them. In an
+interval of silence the girl looked at it reluctantly. They had been
+talking of family affairs--and had spoken in Italian, so as to keep
+their domestic secrets from the ears of the strangers about them. The
+old woman was the first to resume the conversation.
+
+"My Carmina, you really ought to write that letter," she said; "the
+illustrious Mrs. Gallilee is waiting to hear of our arrival in London."
+
+Carmina took up the pen, and put it down again with a sigh. "We only
+arrived last night," she pleaded. "Dear old Teresa, let us have one day
+in London by ourselves!"
+
+Teresa received this proposal with undisguised amazement and alarm,
+
+"Jesu Maria! a day in London--and your aunt waiting for you all the
+time! She is your second mother, my dear, by appointment; and her house
+is your new home. And you propose to stop a whole day at an hotel,
+instead of going home. Impossible! Write, my Carmina--write. See, here
+is the address on a card:--'Fairfield Gardens.' What a pretty place it
+must be to live in, with such a name as that! And a sweet lady, no
+doubt. Come! Come!"
+
+But Carmina still resisted. "I have never even seen my aunt," she said.
+"It is dreadful to pass my life with a stranger. Remember, I was only a
+child when you came to us after my mother's death. It is hardly six
+months yet since I lost my father. I have no one but you, and, when I
+go to this new home, you will leave me. I only ask for one more day to
+be together, before we part."
+
+The poor old duenna drew back out of sight, in the shadow of a
+curtain--and began to cry. Carmina took her hand, under cover of a
+tablecloth; Carmina knew how to console her. "We will go and see
+sights," she whispered "and, when dinner-time comes, you shall have a
+glass of the Porto-porto-wine."
+
+Teresa looked round out of the shadow, as easily comforted as a child.
+"Sights!" she exclaimed--and dried her tears. "Porto-porto-wine!" she
+repeated--and smacked her withered lips at the relishing words. "Ah, my
+child, you have not forgotten the consolations I told you of, when I
+lived in London in my young days. To think of you, with an English
+father, and never in London till now! I used to go to museums and
+concerts sometimes, when my English mistress was pleased with me. That
+gracious lady often gave me a glass of the fine strong purple wine. The
+Holy Virgin grant that Aunt Gallilee may be as kind a woman! Such a
+head of hair as the other one she cannot hope to have. It was a joy to
+dress it. Do you think I wouldn't stay here in England with you if I
+could? What is to become of my old man in Italy, with his cursed
+asthma, and nobody to nurse him? Oh, but those were dull years in
+London! The black endless streets--the dreadful Sundays--the hundreds
+of thousands of people, always in a hurry; always with grim faces set
+on business, business, business! I was glad to go back and be married
+in Italy. And here I am in London again, after God knows how many
+years. No matter. We will enjoy ourselves to-day; and when we go to
+Madam Gallilee's to-morrow, we will tell a little lie, and say we only
+arrived on the evening that has not yet come."
+
+The duenna's sense of humour was so tickled by this prospective view of
+the little lie, that she leaned back in her chair and laughed.
+Carmina's rare smile showed itself faintly. The terrible first
+interview with the unknown aunt still oppressed her. She took up a
+newspaper in despair. "Oh, my old dear!" she said, "let us get out of
+this dreadful room, and be reminded of Italy!" Teresa lifted her ugly
+hands in bewilderment. "Reminded of Italy--in London?"
+
+"Is there no Italian music in London?" Carmina asked suggestively.
+
+The duenna's bright eyes answered this in their own language. She
+snatched up the nearest newspaper.
+
+It was then the height of the London concert season. Morning
+performances of music were announced in rows. Reading the advertised
+programmes, Carmina found them, in one remarkable respect, all alike.
+They would have led an ignorant stranger to wonder whether any such
+persons as Italian composers, French composers, and English composers
+had ever existed. The music offered to the English public was music of
+exclusively German (and for the most part modern German) origin.
+Carmina held the opinion--in common with Mozart and Rossini, as well as
+other people--that music without melody is not music at all. She laid
+aside the newspaper.
+
+The plan of going to a concert being thus abandoned, the idea occurred
+to them of seeing pictures. Teresa, in search of information, tried her
+luck at a great table in the middle of the room, on which useful books
+were liberally displayed. She returned with a catalogue of the Royal
+Academy Exhibition (which someone had left on the table), and with the
+most universally well-informed book, on a small scale, that has ever
+enlightened humanity--modestly described on the title-page as an
+Almanac.
+
+Carmina opened the catalogue at the first page, and discovered a list
+of Royal Academicians. Were all these gentlemen celebrated painters?
+Out of nearly forty names, three only had made themselves generally
+known beyond the limits of England. She turned to the last page. The
+works of art on show numbered more than fifteen hundred. Teresa,
+looking over her shoulder, made the same discovery. "Our heads will
+ache, and our feet will ache," she remarked, "before we get out of that
+place." Carmina laid aside the catalogue.
+
+Teresa opened the Almanac at hazard, and hit on the page devoted to
+Amusements. Her next discovery led her to the section inscribed
+"Museums." She scored an approving mark at that place with her
+thumbnail--and read the list in fluent broken English.
+
+The British Museum? Teresa's memory of that magnificent building
+recalled it vividly in one respect. She shook her head. "More headache
+and footache, there!" Bethnal Green; Indian Museum; College of
+Surgeons; Practical Geology; South Kensington; Patent Museum--all
+unknown to Teresa. "The saints preserve us! what headaches and
+footaches in all these, if they are as big as that other one!" She went
+on with the list--and astonished everybody in the room by suddenly
+clapping her hands. Sir John Soane's Museum, Lincoln's Inn Fields. "Ah,
+but I remember that! A nice little easy museum in a private house, and
+all sorts of pretty things to see. My dear love, trust your old Teresa.
+Come to Soane!"
+
+In ten minutes more they were dressed, and on the steps of the hotel.
+The bright sunlight, the pleasant air, invited them to walk. On the
+same afternoon, when Ovid had set forth on foot for Lincoln's Inn
+Fields, Carmina and Teresa set forth on foot for Lincoln's Inn Fields.
+Trivial obstacles had kept the man away from the College. Would trivial
+obstacles keep the women away from the Museum?
+
+They crossed the Strand, and entered a street which led out of it
+towards the North; Teresa's pride in her memory forbidding her thus far
+to ask their way.
+
+Their talk--dwelling at first on Italy, and on the memory of Carmina's
+Italian mother--reverted to the formidable subject of Mrs. Gallilee.
+Teresa's hopeful view of the future turned to the cousins, and drew the
+picture of two charming little girls, eagerly waiting to give their
+innocent hearts to their young relative from Italy. "Are there only
+two?" she said. "Surely you told me there was a boy, besides the
+girls?" Carmina set her right. "My cousin Ovid is a great doctor," she
+continued with an air of importance. "Poor papa used to say that our
+family would have reason to be proud of him." "Does he live at home?"
+asked simple Teresa. "Oh, dear, no! He has a grand house of his own.
+Hundreds of sick people go there to be cured, and give hundreds of
+golden guineas." Hundreds of golden guineas gained by only curing sick
+people, represented to Teresa's mind something in the nature of a
+miracle: she solemnly raised her eyes to heaven. "What a cousin to
+have! Is he young? is he handsome? is he married?"
+
+Instead of answering these questions, Carmina looked over her shoulder.
+"Is this poor creature following us?" she asked.
+
+They had now turned to the right, and had entered a busy street leading
+directly to Covent Garden. The "creature" (who was undoubtedly
+following them) was one of the starved and vagabond dogs of London.
+Every now and then, the sympathies of their race lead these inveterate
+wanderers to attach themselves, for the time, to some human companion,
+whom their mysterious insight chooses from the crowd. Teresa, with the
+hard feeling towards animals which is one of the serious defects of the
+Italian character, cried, "Ah, the mangy beast!" and lifted her
+umbrella. The dog starred back, waited a moment, and followed them
+again as they went on.
+
+Carmina's gentle heart gave its pity to this lost and hungry
+fellow-creature. "I must buy that poor dog something to eat," she
+said--and stopped suddenly as the idea struck her.
+
+The dog, accustomed to kicks and curses, was ignorant of kindness.
+Following close behind her, when she checked herself, he darted away in
+terror into the road. A cab was driven by rapidly at the same moment.
+The wheel passed over the dog's neck. And there was an end, as a man
+remarked looking on, of the troubles of a cur.
+
+This common accident struck the girl's sensitive nature with horror.
+Helpless and speechless, she trembled piteously. The nearest open door
+was the door of a music-seller's shop. Teresa led her in, and asked for
+a chair and a glass of water. The proprietor, feeling the interest in
+Carmina which she seldom failed to inspire among strangers, went the
+length of offering her a glass of wine. Preferring water, she soon
+recovered herself sufficiently to be able to leave her chair.
+
+"May I change my mind about going to the museum?" she said to her
+companion. "After what has happened, I hardly feel equal to looking at
+curiosities."
+
+Teresa's ready sympathy tried to find some acceptable alternative.
+"Music would be better, wouldn't it?" she suggested.
+
+The so-called Italian Opera was open that night, and the printed
+announcement of the performance was in the shop. They both looked at
+it. Fortune was still against them. A German opera appeared on the
+bill. Carmina turned to the music-seller in despair. "Is there no
+music, sir, but German music to be heard in London?" she asked. The
+hospitable shopkeeper produced a concert programmed for that
+afternoon--the modest enterprise of an obscure piano-forte teacher, who
+could only venture to address pupils, patrons, and friends. What did he
+promise? Among other things, music from "Lucia," music from "Norma,"
+music from "Ernani." Teresa made another approving mark with her
+thumb-nail; and Carmina purchased tickets.
+
+The music-seller hurried to the door to stop the first empty cab that
+might pass. Carmina showed a deplorable ignorance of the law of
+chances. She shrank from the bare idea of getting into a cab. "We may
+run over some other poor creature," she said. "If it isn't a dog, it
+may be a child next time." Teresa and the music-seller suggested a more
+reasonable view as gravely as they could. Carmina humbly submitted to
+the claims of common sense--without yielding, for all that. "I know I'm
+wrong," she confessed. "Don't spoil my pleasure; I can't do it!"
+
+The strange parallel was now complete. Bound for the same destination,
+Carmina and Ovid had failed to reach it alike. And Carmina had stopped
+to look at the garden of the British Museum, before she overtook Ovid
+in the quiet square.
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+If, on entering the hall, Ovid had noticed the placards, he would have
+found himself confronted by a coincidence. The person who gave the
+concert was also the person who taught music to his half-sisters. Not
+many days since, he had himself assisted the enterprise, by taking a
+ticket at his mother's request. Seeing nothing, remembering
+nothing--hurried by the fear of losing sight of the two strangers if
+there was a large audience--he impatiently paid for another ticket, at
+the doors.
+
+The room was little more than half full, and so insufficiently
+ventilated that the atmosphere was oppressive even under those
+circumstances. He easily discovered the two central chairs, in the
+midway row of seats, which she and her companion had chosen. There was
+a vacant chair (among many others) at one extremity of the row in front
+of them. He took that place. To look at her, without being
+discovered--there, so far, was the beginning and the end of his utmost
+desire.
+
+The performances had already begun. So long as her attention was
+directed to the singers and players on the platform, he could feast his
+eyes on her with impunity. In an unoccupied interval, she looked at the
+audience--and discovered him.
+
+Had he offended her?
+
+If appearances were to be trusted, he had produced no impression of any
+sort. She quietly looked away, towards the other side of the room. The
+mere turning of her head was misinterpreted by Ovid as an implied
+rebuke. He moved to the row of seats behind her. She was now nearer to
+him than she had been yet. He was again content, and more than content.
+The next performance was a solo on the piano. A round of applause
+welcomed the player. Ovid looked at the platform for the first time. In
+the bowing man, with a prematurely bald head and a servile smile, he
+recognized Mrs. Gallilee's music-master. The inevitable inference
+followed. His mother might be in the room.
+
+After careful examination of the scanty audience, he failed to discover
+her--thus far. She would certainly arrive, nevertheless. My money's
+worth for my money was a leading principle in Mrs. Gallilee's life.
+
+He sighed as he looked towards the door of entrance. Not for long had
+he revelled in the luxury of a new happiness. He had openly avowed his
+dislike of concerts, when his mother had made him take a ticket for
+this concert. With her quickness of apprehension what might she not
+suspect, if she found him among the audience?
+
+Come what might of it, he still kept his place; he still feasted his
+eyes on the slim figure of the young girl, on the gentle yet spirited
+carriage of her head. But the pleasure was no longer pleasure without
+alloy. His mother had got between them now.
+
+The solo on the piano came to an end.
+
+In the interval that followed, he turned once more towards the
+entrance. Just as he was looking away again, he heard Mrs. Gallilee's
+loud voice. She was administering a maternal caution to one of the
+children. "Behave better here than you behaved in the carriage, or I
+shall take you away."
+
+If she found him in his present place--if she put her own clever
+construction on what she saw--her opinion would assuredly express
+itself in some way. She was one of those women who can insult another
+woman (and safely disguise it) by an inquiring look. For the girl's
+sake, Ovid instantly moved away from her to the seats at the back of
+the hall.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee made a striking entrance--dressed to perfection; powdered
+and painted to perfection; leading her daughters, and followed by her
+governess. The usher courteously indicated places near the platform.
+Mrs. Galilee astonished him by a little lecture on acoustics, delivered
+with the sweetest condescension. Her Christian humility smiled, and
+call the usher, Sir. "Sound, sir, is most perfectly heard towards the
+centre of the auditorium." She led the way towards the centre. Vacant
+places invited her to the row of seats occupied by Carmina and Teresa.
+She, the unknown aunt, seated herself next to the unknown niece.
+
+They looked at each other.
+
+Perhaps, it was the heat of the room. Perhaps, she had not perfectly
+recovered the nervous shock of seeing the dog killed. Carmina's head
+sank on good Teresa's shoulder. She had fainted.
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+"May I ask for a cup of tea, Miss Minerva?"
+
+"Delighted, I'm sure, Mr. Le Frank."
+
+"And was Mrs. Gallilee pleased with the Concert?"
+
+"Charmed."
+
+Mr. Le Frank shook his head. "I am afraid there was a drawback," he
+suggested. "You forget the lady who fainted. So alarming to the
+audience. So disagreeable to the artists."
+
+"Take care, Mr. Le Frank! These new houses are flimsily built; they
+might hear you upstairs. The fainting lady is upstairs. All the
+elements of a romance are upstairs. Is your tea to your liking?"
+
+In this playfully provocative manner, Miss Minerva (the governess)
+trifled with the curiosity of Mr. Le Frank (the music-master), as the
+proverbial cat trifles with the terror of the captive mouse. The man of
+the bald head and the servile smile showed a polite interest in the
+coming disclosure; he opened his deeply-sunk eyes, and lazily lifted
+his delicate eyebrows.
+
+He had called at Mrs. Gallilee's house, after the concert, to get a
+little tea (with a large infusion of praise) in the schoolroom. A
+striking personal contrast confronted him, in the face of the lady who
+was dispensing the hospitalities of the table. Mr. Le Frank's plump
+cheeks were, in colour, of the obtrusively florid sort. The relics of
+yellow hair, still adhering to the sides of his head, looked as silkily
+frail as spun glass. His noble beard made amends for his untimely
+baldness. The glossy glory of it exhaled delicious perfumes; the
+keenest eyes might have tried in vain to discover a hair that was out
+of place. Miss Minerva's eager sallow face, so lean, and so hard, and
+so long, looked, by contrast, as if it wanted some sort of discreet
+covering thrown over some part of it. Her coarse black hair projected
+like a penthouse over her bushy black eyebrows and her keen black eyes.
+Oh, dear me (as they said in the servants' hall), she would never be
+married--so yellow and so learned, so ugly and so poor! And yet, if
+mystery is interesting, this was an interesting woman. The people about
+her felt an uneasy perception of something secret, ominously secret, in
+the nature of the governess which defied detection. If Inquisitive
+Science, vowed to medical research, could dissect firmness of will,
+working at its steadiest repressive action--then, the mystery of Miss
+Minerva's inner nature might possibly have been revealed. As it was,
+nothing more remarkable exposed itself to view than an irritable
+temper; serving perhaps as safety-valve to an underlying explosive
+force, which (with strong enough temptation and sufficient opportunity)
+might yet break out.
+
+"Gently, Mr. Le Frank! The tea is hot--you may burn your mouth. How am
+I to tell you what has happened?" Miss Minerva dropped the playfully
+provocative tone, with infinite tact, exactly at the right moment.
+"Just imagine," she resumed, "a scene on the stage, occurring in
+private life. The lady who fainted at your concert, turns out to be no
+less a person that Mrs. Gallilee's niece!"
+
+The general folly which reads a prospectus and blindly speculates in
+shares, is matched by the equally diffused stupidity, which is
+incapable of discovering that there can be any possible relation
+between fiction and truth. Say it's in a novel--and you are a fool if
+you believe it. Say it's in a newspaper--and you are a fool if you
+doubt it. Mr. Le Frank, following the general example, followed it on
+this occasion a little too unreservedly. He avowed his doubts of the
+circumstance just related, although it was, on the authority of a lady,
+a circumstance occurring in real life! Far from being offended, Miss
+Minerva cordially sympathized with him.
+
+"It _is_ too theatrical to be believed," she admitted; "but this
+fainting young person is positively the interesting stranger we have
+been expecting from Italy. You know Mrs. Gallilee. Hers was the first
+smelling-bottle produced; hers was the presence of mind which suggested
+a horizontal position. 'Help the heart,' she said; 'don't impede it.'
+The whole theory of fainting fits, in six words! In another moment,"
+proceeded the governess making a theatrical point without suspecting
+it--"in another moment, Mrs. Gallilee herself stood in need of the
+smelling-bottle."
+
+Mr. Le Frank was not a true believer, even yet. "You don't mean _she_
+fainted!" he said.
+
+Miss Minerva held up the indicative forefinger, with which she
+emphasized instruction when her pupils required rousing. "Mrs.
+Gallilee's strength of mind--as I was about to say, if you had listened
+to me--resisted the shock. What the effort must have cost her you will
+presently understand. Our interesting young lady was accompanied by a
+hideous old foreign woman who completely lost her head. She smacked her
+hands distractedly; she called on the saints (without producing the
+slightest effect)--but she mixed up a name, remarkable even in Italy,
+with the rest of the delirium; and _that_ was serious. Put yourself in
+Mrs. Gallilee's place--"
+
+"I couldn't do it," said Mr. Le Frank, with humility.
+
+Miss Minerva passed over this reply without notice. Perhaps she was not
+a believer in the humility of musicians.
+
+"The young lady's Christian name," she proceeded, "is Carmina; (put the
+accent, if you please, on the _first_ syllable). The moment Mrs.
+Gallilee heard the name, it struck her like a blow. She enlightened the
+old woman, and asserted herself as Miss Carmina's aunt in an instant.
+'I am Mrs. Gallilee:' that was all she said. The result"--Miss Minerva
+paused, and pointed to the ceiling; "the result is up there. Our
+charming guest was on the sofa, and the hideous old nurse was fanning
+her, when I had the honour of seeing them just now. No, Mr. Le Frank! I
+haven't done yet. There is a last act in this drama of private life
+still to relate. A medical gentleman was present at the concert, who
+offered his services in reviving Miss Carmina. The same gentleman is
+now in attendance on the interesting patient. Can you guess who he is?"
+
+Mr. Le Frank had sold a ticket for his concert to the medical adviser
+of the family--one Mr. Null. A cautious guess in this direction seemed
+to offer the likeliest chance of success.
+
+"He is a patron of music," the pianist began.
+
+"He hates music," the governess interposed.
+
+"I mean Mr. Null," Mr. Le Frank persisted.
+
+_"I_ mean--" Miss Minerva paused (like the cat with the mouse
+again!)--_"I_ mean, Mr. Ovid Vere."
+
+What form the music-master's astonishment might have assumed may be
+matter for speculation, it was never destined to become matter of fact.
+At the moment when Miss Minerva overwhelmed him with the climax of her
+story, a little, rosy, elderly gentleman, with a round face, a sweet
+smile, and a curly gray head, walked into the room, accompanied by two
+girls. Persons of small importance--only Mr. Gallilee and his
+daughters.
+
+"How d'ye-do, Mr. Le Frank. I hope you got plenty of money by the
+concert. I gave away my own two tickets. You will excuse me, I'm sure.
+Music, I can't think why, always sends me to sleep. Here are your two
+pupils, Miss Minerva, safe and sound. It struck me we were rather in
+the way, when that sweet young creature was brought home. Sadly in want
+of quiet, poor thing--not in want of _us._ Mrs. Gallilee and Ovid, so
+clever and attentive, were just the right people in the right place. So
+I put on my hat--I'm always available, Mr. Le Frank; I have the great
+advantage of never having anything to do--and I said to the girls,
+'Let's have a walk.' We had no particular place to go to--that's
+another advantage of mine--so we drifted about. I didn't mean it, but,
+somehow or other, we stopped at a pastry-cook's shop. What was the name
+of the pastry-cook?"
+
+So far Mr. Gallilee proceeded, speaking in the oddest
+self-contradictory voice, if such a description is permissible--a voice
+at once high in pitch and mild in tone: in short, as Mr. Le Frank once
+professionally remarked, a soft falsetto. When the good gentleman
+paused to make his little effort of memory, his eldest daughter--aged
+twelve, and always ready to distinguish herself--saw her opportunity,
+and took the rest of the narrative into her own hands.
+
+Miss Maria, named after her mother, was one of the successful new
+products of the age we live in--the conventionally-charming child (who
+has never been smacked); possessed of the large round eyes that we see
+in pictures, and the sweet manners and perfect principles that we read
+of in books. She called everybody "dear;" she knew to a nicety how much
+oxygen she wanted in the composition of her native air; and--alas, poor
+wretch!--she had never wetted her shoes or dirtied her face since the
+day when she was born.
+
+"Dear Miss Minerva," said Maria, "the pastry-cook's name was Timbal. We
+have had ices."
+
+His mind being now set at rest on the subject of the pastry-cook, Mr.
+Gallilee turned to his youngest daughter--aged ten, and one of the
+unsuccessful products of the age we live in. This was a curiously slow,
+quaint, self-contained child; the image of her father, with an
+occasional reflection of his smile; incurably stupid, or incurably
+perverse--the friends of the family were not quite sure which. Whether
+she might have been over-crammed with useless knowledge, was not a
+question in connection with the subject which occurred to anybody.
+
+"Rouse yourself, Zo," said Mr. Gallilee. "What did we have besides
+ices?"
+
+Zoe (known to her father, by vulgar abbreviation, as "Zo") took Mr.
+Gallilee's stumpy red hand, and held hard by it as if that was the one
+way in which a dull child could rouse herself, with a prospect of
+success.
+
+"I've had so many of them," she said; "I don't know. Ask Maria."
+
+Maria responded with the sweetest readiness. "Dear Zoe, you are so
+slow! Cheesecakes."
+
+Mr. Gallilee patted Zoe's head as encouragingly as if she had
+discovered the right answer by herself. "That's right--ices and
+cheese-cakes," he said. "We tried cream-ice, and then we tried
+water-ice. The children, Miss Minerva, preferred the cream-ice. And, do
+you know, I'm of their opinion. There's something in a cream-ice--what
+do you think yourself of cream-ices, Mr. Le Frank?"
+
+It was one among the many weaknesses of Mr. Gallilee's character to be
+incapable of opening his lips without, sooner or later, taking somebody
+into his confidence. In the merest trifles, he instinctively invited
+sympathy and agreement from any person within his reach--from a total
+stranger quite as readily as from an intimate friend. Mr. Le Frank,
+representing the present Court of Social Appeal, attempted to deliver
+judgment on the question of ices, and was interrupted without ceremony
+by Miss Minerva. She, too, had been waiting her opportunity to speak,
+and she now took it--not amiably.
+
+"With all possible respect, Mr. Gallilee, I venture to entreat that you
+will be a little more thoughtful, where the children are concerned. I
+beg your pardon, Mr. Le Frank, for interrupting you--but it is really a
+little too hard on Me. I am held responsible for the health of these
+girls; I am blamed over and over again, when it is not my fault, for
+irregularities in their diet--and there they are, at this moment,
+chilled with ices and cloyed with cakes! What will Mrs. Gallilee say?"
+
+"Don't tell her," Mr. Gallilee suggested.
+
+"The girls will be thirsty for the rest of the evening," Miss Minerva
+persisted; "the girls will have no appetite for the last meal before
+bedtime. And their mother will ask Me what it means."
+
+"My good creature," cried Mr. Gallilee, "don't be afraid of the girls'
+appetites! Take off their hats, and give them something nice for
+supper. They inherit my stomach, Miss Minerva--and they'll 'tuck in,'
+as we used to say at school. Did they say so in your time, Mr. Le
+Frank?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's governess and vulgar expressions were anomalies never
+to be reconciled, under any circumstances. Miss Minerva took off the
+hats in stern silence. Even "Papa" might have seen the contempt in her
+face, if she had not managed to hide it in this way, by means of the
+girls.
+
+In the silence that ensued, Mr. Le Frank had his chance of speaking,
+and showed himself to be a gentleman with a happily balanced
+character--a musician, with an eye to business. Using gratitude to Mr.
+Gallilee as a means of persuasion, he gently pushed the interests of a
+friend who was giving a concert next week. "We poor artists have our
+faults, my dear sir; but we are all earnest in helping each other. My
+friend sang for nothing at my concert. Don't suppose for a moment that
+he expects it of me! But I am going to play for nothing at his concert.
+May I appeal to your kind patronage to take two tickets?" The reply
+ended appropriately in musical sound--a golden tinkling, in Mr. Le
+Frank's pocket.
+
+Having paid his tribute to art and artists, Mr. Gallilee looked
+furtively at Miss Minerva. On the wise principle of letting well alone,
+he perceived that the happy time had arrived for leaving the room. How
+was he to make his exit? He prided himself on his readiness of
+resource, in difficulties of this sort, and he was equal to the
+occasion as usual--he said he would go to his club.
+
+"We really have a capital smoking-room at that club," he said. "I do
+like a good cigar; and--what do _you_ think Mr. Le Frank?--isn't a pint
+of champagne nice drinking, this hot weather? Just cooled with ice--I
+don't know whether you feel the weather, Miss Minerva, as I do?--and
+poured, fizzing, into a silver mug. Lord, how delicious! Good-bye,
+girls. Give me a kiss before I go."
+
+Maria led the way, as became the elder. She not only gave the kiss, but
+threw an appropriate sentiment into the bargain. "I do love you, dear
+papa!" said this perfect daughter--with a look in Miss Minerva's
+direction, which might have been a malicious look in any eyes but
+Maria's.
+
+Mr. Gallilee turned to his youngest child. "Well, Zo--what do _you_
+say?"
+
+Zo took her father's hand once more, and rubbed her head against it
+like a cat. This new method of expressing filial affection seemed to
+interest Mr. Gallilee. "Does your head itch, my dear?" he asked. The
+idea was new to Zo. She brightened, and looked at her father with a sly
+smile. "Why do you do it?" Miss Minerva asked sharply. Zo clouded over
+again, and answered, "I don't know." Mr. Gallilee rewarded her with a
+kiss, and went away to champagne and the club.
+
+Mr. Le Frank left the schoolroom next. He paid the governess the
+compliment of reverting to her narrative of events at the concert.
+
+"I am greatly struck," he said, "by what you told me about Mr. Ovid
+Vere. We may, perhaps, have misjudged him in thinking that he doesn't
+like music. His coming to my concert suggests a more cheering view. Do
+you think there would be any impropriety in my calling to thank him?
+Perhaps it would be better if I wrote, and enclosed two tickets for my
+friend's concert? To tell you the truth, I've pledged myself to dispose
+of a certain number of tickets. My friend is so much in request--it's
+expecting too much to ask him to sing for nothing. I think I'll write.
+Good-evening!"
+
+Left alone with her pupils, Miss Minerva looked at her watch. "Prepare
+your lessons for to-morrow," she said.
+
+The girls produced their books. Maria's library of knowledge was in
+perfect order. The pages over which Zo pondered in endless perplexity
+were crumpled by weary fingers, and stained by frequent tears. Oh,
+fatal knowledge! mercifully forbidden to the first two of our race, who
+shall count the crimes and stupidities committed in your name?
+
+Miss Minerva leaned back in her easy-chair. Her mind was occupied by
+the mysterious question of Ovid's presence at the concert. She raised
+her keenly penetrating eyes to the ceiling, and listened for sounds
+from above.
+
+"I wonder," she thought to herself, "what they are doing upstairs?"
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was as complete a mistress of the practice of domestic
+virtue as of the theory of acoustics and fainting fits. At dressing
+with taste, and ordering dinners with invention; at heading her table
+gracefully, and making her guests comfortable; at managing refractory
+servants and detecting dishonest tradespeople, she was the equal of the
+least intellectual woman that ever lived. Her preparations for the
+reception of her niece were finished in advance, without an oversight
+in the smallest detail. Carmina's inviting bedroom, in blue, opened
+into Carmina's irresistible sitting-room, in brown. The ventilation was
+arranged, the light and shade were disposed, the flowers were
+attractively placed, under Mrs. Gallilee's infallible superintendence.
+Before Carmina had recovered her senses she was provided with a second
+mother, who played the part to perfection.
+
+The four persons, now assembled in the pretty sitting-room upstairs,
+were in a position of insupportable embarrassment towards each other.
+
+Finding her son at a concert (after he had told her that he hated
+music) Mrs. Gallilee, had first discovered him hurrying to the
+assistance of a young lady in a swoon, with all the anxiety and alarm
+which he might have shown in the case of a near and dear friend. And
+yet, when this stranger was revealed as a relation, he had displayed an
+amazement equal to her own! What explanation could reconcile such
+contradictions as these?
+
+As for Carmina, her conduct complicated the mystery.
+
+What was she doing at a concert, when she ought to have been on her way
+to her aunt's house? Why, if she must faint when the hot room had not
+overpowered anyone else, had she failed to recover in the usual way?
+There she lay on the sofa, alternately flushing and turning pale when
+she was spoken to; ill at ease in the most comfortable house in London;
+timid and confused under the care of her best friends. Making all
+allowance for a sensitive temperament, could a long journey from Italy,
+and a childish fright at seeing a dog run over, account for such a
+state of things as this?
+
+Annoyed and perplexed--but yet far too prudent to commit herself
+ignorantly to inquiries which might lead to future embarrassment--Mrs.
+Gallilee tried suggestive small talk as a means of enlightenment. The
+wrinkled duenna, sitting miserably on satin supported by frail gilt
+legs, seemed to take her tone of feeling from her young mistress,
+exactly as she took her orders. Mrs. Gallilee spoke to her in English,
+and spoke to her in Italian--and could make nothing of the experiment
+in either case. The wild old creature seemed to be afraid to look at
+her.
+
+Ovid himself proved to be just as difficult to fathom, in another way
+
+He certainly answered when his mother spoke to him, but always briefly,
+and in the same absent tone. He asked no questions, and offered no
+explanations. The sense of embarrassment, on his side, had produced
+unaccountable changes. He showed the needful attention to Carmina, with
+a silent gentleness which presented him in a new character. His
+customary manner with ailing persons, women as well as men, was rather
+abrupt: his quick perception hurried him into taking the words out of
+their mouths (too pleasantly to give offence) when they were describing
+their symptoms. There he sat now, contemplating his pale little cousin,
+with a patient attention wonderful to see; listening to the commonplace
+words which dropped at intervals from her lips, as if--in his state of
+health, and with the doubtful prospect which it implied--there were no
+serious interests to occupy his mind.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee could endure it no longer.
+
+If she had not deliberately starved her imagination, and emptied her
+heart of any tenderness of feeling which it might once have possessed,
+her son's odd behaviour would have interested instead of perplexing
+her. As it was, her scientific education left her as completely in the
+dark, where questions of sentiment were concerned, as if her experience
+of humanity, in its relation to love, had been experience in the
+cannibal islands. She decided on leaving her niece to repose, and on
+taking her son away with her.
+
+"In your present state of health, Ovid," she began, "Carmina must not
+accept your professional advice."
+
+Something in those words stung Ovid's temper.
+
+"My professional advice?" he repeated. "You talk as if she was
+seriously ill!"
+
+Carmina's sweet smile stopped him there.
+
+"We don't know what may happen," she said, playfully.
+
+"God forbid _that_ should happen!" He spoke so fervently that the women
+all looked at him in surprise.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee turned to her niece, and proceeded quietly with what she
+had to say.
+
+"Ovid is so sadly overworked, my dear, that I actually rejoice in his
+giving up practice, and going away from us to-morrow. We will leave you
+for the present with your old friend. Pray ring, if you want anything."
+She kissed her hand to Carmina, and, beckoning to her son, advanced
+towards the door.
+
+Teresa looked at her, and suddenly looked away again. Mrs. Gallilee
+stopped on her way out, at a chiffonier, and altered the arrangement of
+some of the china on it. The duenna followed on tiptoe--folded her
+thumb and two middle fingers into the palm of her hand--and, stretching
+out the forefinger and the little finger, touched Mrs. Gallilee on the
+back, so softly that she was unaware of it. "The Evil Eye," Teresa
+whispered to herself in Italian, as she stole back to her place.
+
+Ovid lingered near his cousin: neither of them had seen what Teresa had
+done. He rose reluctantly to go. Feeling his little attentions
+gratefully, Carmina checked him with innocent familiarity as he left
+his chair. "I must thank you," she said, simply; "it seems hard indeed
+that you, who cure others, should suffer from illness yourself."
+
+Teresa, watching them with interest, came a little nearer.
+
+She could now examine Ovid's face with close and jealous scrutiny. Mrs.
+Gallilee reminded her son that she was waiting for him. He had some
+last words yet to say. The duenna drew back from the sofa, still
+looking at Ovid: she muttered to herself, "Holy Teresa, my patroness,
+show me that man's soul in his face!" At last, Ovid took his leave. "I
+shall call and see how you are to-morrow," he said, "before I go." He
+nodded kindly to Teresa. Instead of being satisfied with that act of
+courtesy, she wanted something more. "May I shake hands?" she asked.
+Mrs. Gallilee was a Liberal in politics; never had her principles been
+tried, as they were tried when she heard those words. Teresa wrung
+Ovid's hand with tremulous energy--still intent on reading his
+character in his face. He asked her, smiling, what she saw to interest
+her. "A good man, I hope," she answered, sternly. Carmina and Ovid were
+amused. Teresa rebuked them, as if they had been children. "Laugh at
+some fitter time," she said, "not now."
+
+Descending the stairs, Mrs. Gallilee and Ovid met the footman. "Mr.
+Mool is in the library, ma'am," the man said.
+
+"Have you anything to do, Ovid, for the next half-hour?" his mother
+asked.
+
+"Do you wish me to see Mr. Mool? If it's law-business, I am afraid I
+shall not be of much use."
+
+"The lawyer is here by appointment, with a copy of your late uncle's
+Will," Mrs. Gallilee answered. "You may have some interest in it. I
+think you ought to hear it read."
+
+Ovid showed no inclination to adopt this proposal. He asked an idle
+question. "I heard of their finding the Will--are there any romantic
+circumstances?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee surveyed her son with an expression of good-humoured
+contempt. "What a boy you are, in some things! Have you been reading a
+novel lately? My dear, when the people in Italy made up their minds, at
+last, to have the furniture in your uncle's room taken to pieces, they
+found the Will. It had slipped behind a drawer, in a rotten old
+cabinet, full of useless papers. Nothing romantic (thank God!), and
+nothing (as Mr. Mool's letter tells me) that can lead to
+misunderstandings or disputes."
+
+Ovid's indifference was not to be conquered. He left it to his mother
+to send him word if he had a legacy "I am not as much interested in it
+as you are," he explained. "Plenty of money left to you, of course?" He
+was evidently thinking all the time of something else.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee stopped in the hall, with an air of downright alarm.
+
+"Your mind is in a dreadful state," she said.
+
+"Have you really forgotten what I told you, only yesterday? The Will
+appoints me Carmina's guardian."
+
+He had plainly forgotten it--he started, when his mother recalled the
+circumstance. "Curious," he said to himself, "that I was not reminded
+of it, when I saw Carmina's rooms prepared for her." His mother,
+anxiously looking at him, observed that his face brightened when he
+spoke of Carmina. He suddenly changed his mind.
+
+"Make allowances for an overworked man," he said. "You are quite right.
+I ought to hear the Will read--I am at your service."
+
+Even Mrs. Gallilee now drew the right inference at last. She made no
+remark. Something seemed to move feebly under her powder and paint.
+Soft emotion trying to find its way to the surface? Impossible!
+
+As they entered the library together, Miss Minerva returned to the
+schoolroom. She had lingered on the upper landing, and had heard the
+conversation between mother and son.
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+The library at Fairfield Gardens possessed two special attractions,
+besides the books. It opened into a large conservatory; and it was
+adorned by an admirable portrait of Mrs. Gallilee, painted by her
+brother.
+
+Waiting the appearance of the fair original, Mr. Mool looked at the
+portrait, and then mentally reviewed the history of Mrs. Gallilee's
+family. What he did next, no person acquainted with the habits of
+lawyers will be weak enough to believe. Mr. Mool blushed.
+
+Is this the language of exaggeration, describing a human anomaly on the
+roll of attorneys? The fact shall be left to answer the question. Mr.
+Mool had made a mistake in his choice of a profession. The result of
+the mistake was--a shy lawyer.
+
+Attended by such circumstances as these, the history of the family
+assumes, for the moment, a certain importance. It is connected with a
+blushing attorney. It will explain what happened on the reading of the
+Will. And it is sure beforehand of a favourable reception--for it is
+all about money.
+
+
+Old Robert Graywell began life as the son of a small farmer. He was
+generally considered to be rather an eccentric man; but prospered,
+nevertheless, as a merchant in the city of London. When he retired from
+business, he possessed a house and estate in the country, and a
+handsome fortune safely invested in the Funds.
+
+His children were three in number:--his son Robert, and his daughters
+Maria and Susan.
+
+The death of his wife, to whom he was devotedly attached, was the first
+serious calamity of his life. He retired to his estate a soured and
+broken man. Loving husbands are not always, as a necessary consequence,
+tender fathers. Old Robert's daughters afforded him no consolation on
+their mother's death. Their anxiety about their mourning dresses so
+disgusted him that he kept out of their way. No extraordinary interest
+was connected with their prospects in life: they would be married--and
+there would be an end of them. As for the son, he had long since placed
+himself beyond the narrow range of his father's sympathies. In the
+first place, his refusal to qualify himself for a mercantile career had
+made it necessary to dispose of the business to strangers. In the
+second place, young Robert Graywell proved--without any hereditary
+influence, and in the face of the strongest discouragement--to be a
+born painter! One of the greatest artists of that day saw the boy's
+first efforts, and pronounced judgment in these plain words: "What a
+pity he has not got his bread to earn by his brush!"
+
+On the death of old Robert, his daughters found themselves (to use
+their own expression) reduced to a trumpery legacy of ten thousand
+pounds each. Their brother inherited the estate, and the bulk of the
+property--not because his father cared about founding a family, but
+because the boy had always been his mother's favourite.
+
+The first of the three children to marry was the eldest sister.
+
+Maria considered herself fortunate in captivating Mr. Vere--a man of
+old family, with a high sense of what he owed to his name. He had a
+sufficient income, and he wanted no more. His wife's dowry was settled
+on herself. When he died, he left her a life-interest in his property
+amounting to six hundred a year. This, added to the annual proceeds of
+her own little fortune, made an income of one thousand pounds. The
+remainder of Mr. Vere's property was left to his only surviving child,
+Ovid.
+
+With a thousand a year for herself, and with two thousand a year for
+her son, on his coming of age, the widowed Maria might possibly have
+been satisfied--but for the extraordinary presumption of her younger
+sister.
+
+Susan, ranking second in age, ranked second also in beauty; and yet, in
+the race for a husband, Susan won the prize!
+
+Soon after her sister's marriage, she made a conquest of a Scotch
+nobleman, possessed of a palace in London, and a palace in Scotland,
+and a rent-roll of forty thousand pounds. Maria, to use her own
+expression, never recovered it. From the horrid day when Susan became
+Lady Northlake, Maria became a serious woman. All her earthly interests
+centred now in the cultivation of her intellect. She started on that
+glorious career, which associated her with the march of science. In
+only a year afterwards--as an example of the progress which a resolute
+woman can make--she was familiar with zoophyte fossils, and had
+succeeded in dissecting the nervous system of a bee.
+
+Was there no counter-attraction in her married life?
+
+Very little. Mr. Vere felt no sympathy with his wife's scientific
+pursuits.
+
+On her husband's death, did she find no consolation in her son? Let her
+speak for herself. "My son fills my heart. But the school, the
+university, and the hospital have all in turn taken his education out
+of my hands. My mind must be filled, as well as my heart." She seized
+her exquisite instruments, and returned to the nervous system of the
+bee.
+
+In course of time, Mr. John Gallilee--"drifting about," as he said of
+himself--drifted across the path of science.
+
+The widowed Mrs. Vere (as exhibited in public) was still a fine woman.
+Mr. Gallilee admired "that style"; and Mr. Gallilee had fifty thousand
+pounds. Only a little more, to my lord and my lady, than one year's
+income. But, invested at four percent, it added an annual two thousand
+pounds to Mrs. Vere's annual one thousand. Result, three thousand a
+year, encumbered with Mr. Gallilee. On reflection, Mrs. Vere accepted
+the encumbrance--and reaped her reward. Susan was no longer
+distinguished as the sister who had her dresses made in Paris; and Mrs.
+Gallilee was not now subjected to the indignity of getting a lift in
+Lady Northlake's carriage.
+
+What was the history of Robert, during this interval of time? In two
+words, Robert disgraced himself.
+
+Taking possession of his country house, the new squire was invited to
+contribute towards the expense of a pack of hounds kept by subscription
+in the neighbourhood, and was advised to make acquaintance with his
+fellow-sportsmen by giving a hunt-breakfast. He answered very politely;
+but the fact was not to be concealed--the new man refused to encourage
+hunting: he thought that noble amusement stupid and cruel. For the same
+reason, he refused to preserve game. A last mistake was left to make,
+and he made it. After returning the rector's visit, he failed to appear
+at church. No person with the smallest knowledge of the English
+character, as exhibited in an English county, will fail to foresee that
+Robert's residence on his estate was destined to come, sooner or later,
+to an untimely end. When he had finished his sketches of the
+picturesque aspects of his landed property, he disappeared. The estate
+was not entailed. Old Robert--who had insisted on the minutest
+formalities and details in providing for his dearly-loved wife--was
+impenetrably careless about the future of his children. "My fortune has
+no value now in my eyes," he said to judicious friends; "let them run
+through it all, if they please. It would do them a deal of good if they
+were obliged to earn their own living, like better people than
+themselves." Left free to take his own way, Robert sold the estate
+merely to get rid of it. With no expensive tastes, except the taste for
+buying pictures, he became a richer man than ever.
+
+When their brother next communicated with them, Lady Northlake and Mrs.
+Gallilee heard of him as a voluntary exile in Italy. He was building a
+studio and a gallery; he was contemplating a series of pictures; and he
+was a happy man for the first time in his life.
+
+Another interval passed--and the sisters heard of Robert again.
+
+Having already outraged the sense of propriety among his English
+neighbours, he now degraded himself in the estimation of his family, by
+marrying a "model." The letter announcing this event declared, with
+perfect truth, that he had chosen a virtuous woman for his wife. She
+sat to artists, as any lady might sit to any artist, "for the head
+only." Her parents gained a bare subsistence by farming their own
+little morsel of land; they were honest people--and what did brother
+Robert care for rank? His own grandfather had been a farmer.
+
+Lady Northlake and Mrs. Gallilee felt it due to themselves to hold a
+consultation, on the subject of their sister-in-law. Was it desirable,
+in their own social interests, to cast Robert off from that moment?
+
+Susan (previously advised by her kind-hearted husband) leaned to the
+side of mercy. Robert's letter informed them that he proposed to live,
+and die, in Italy. If he held to this resolution, his marriage would
+surely be an endurable misfortune to his relatives in London. "Suppose
+we write to him," Susan concluded, "and say we are surprised, but we
+have no doubt he knows best. We offer our congratulations to Mrs.
+Robert, and our sincere wishes for his happiness."
+
+To Lady Northlake's astonishment, Mrs. Gallilee adopted this indulgent
+point of view, without a word of protest. She had her reasons--but they
+were not producible to a relative whose husband had forty thousand a
+year. Robert had paid her debts.
+
+An income of three thousand pounds, even in these days, represents a
+handsome competence--provided you don't "owe a duty to society." In
+Mrs. Gallilee's position, an income of three thousand pounds
+represented genteel poverty. She was getting into debt again; and she
+was meditating future designs on her brother's purse. A charming letter
+to Robert was the result. It ended with, "Do send me a photograph of
+your lovely wife!" When the poor "model" died, not many years
+afterwards, leaving one little daughter, Mrs. Gallilee implored her
+brother to return to England. "Come, dearest Robert, and find
+consolation and a home, under the roof of your affectionate Maria."
+
+But Robert remained in Italy, and was buried in Italy. At the date of
+his death, he had three times paid his elder sister's debts. On every
+occasion when he helped her in this liberal way, she proved her
+gratitude by anticipating a larger, and a larger, and a larger legacy
+if she outlived him.
+
+Knowing (as the family lawyer) what sums of money Mrs. Gallilee had
+extracted from her brother, Mr. Mool also knew that the advances thus
+made had been considered as representing the legacy, to which she might
+otherwise have had some sisterly claim. It was his duty to have warned
+her of this, when she questioned him generally on the subject of the
+Will; and he had said nothing about it, acting under a most unbecoming
+motive--in plain words, the motive of fear. From the self-reproachful
+feeling that now disturbed him, had risen that wonderful blush which
+made its appearance on Mr. Mool's countenance. He was actually ashamed
+of himself. After all, is it too much to have suggested that he was a
+human anomaly on the roll of attorneys?
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee made her appearance in the library--and Mr. Mool's pulse
+accelerated its beat. Mrs. Gallilee's son followed her into the
+room--and Mr. Mool's pulse steadied itself again. By special
+arrangement with the lawyer, Ovid had been always kept in ignorance of
+his mother's affairs. No matter how angry she might be in the course of
+the next few minutes, she could hardly express her indignation in the
+presence of her son.
+
+Joyous anticipation has the happiest effect on female beauty. Mrs.
+Gallilee looked remarkably well, that day. Having rather a round and
+full face, she wore her hair (coloured from youthful nature) in a
+fringe across her forehead, balanced on either side by clusters of
+charming little curls. Her mourning for Robert was worthy of its
+Parisian origin; it showed to perfect advantage the bloom of her
+complexion and the whiteness of her neck--also worthy of their Parisian
+origin. She looked like a portrait of the period of Charles the Second,
+endowed with life.
+
+"And how do you do, Mr. Mool? Have you been looking at my ferns?"
+
+The ferns were grouped at the entrance, leading from the library to the
+conservatory. They had certainly not escaped the notice of the lawyer,
+who possessed a hot-house of his own, and who was an enthusiast in
+botany. It now occurred to him--if he innocently provoked embarrassing
+results--that ferns might be turned to useful and harmless account as a
+means of introducing a change of subject. "Even when she hasn't spoken
+a word," thought Mr. Mool, consulting his recollections, "I have felt
+her eyes go through me like a knife."
+
+"Spare us the technicalities, please," Mrs. Gallilee continued,
+pointing to the documents on the table. "I want to be exactly
+acquainted with the duties I owe to Carmina. And, by the way, I
+naturally feel some interest in knowing whether Lady Northlake has any
+place in the Will."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee never said "my sister," never spoke in the family circle
+of "Susan." The inexhaustible sense of injury, aroused by that
+magnificent marriage, asserted itself in keeping her sister at the full
+distance implied by never forgetting her title.
+
+"The first legacy mentioned in the Will," said Mr. Mool, "is a legacy
+to Lady Northlake." Mrs. Gallilee's face turned as hard as iron. "One
+hundred pounds," Mr. Mool continued, "to buy a mourning ring."' Mrs.
+Gallilee's eyes became eloquent in an instant, and said as if in words,
+"Thank Heaven!"
+
+"So like your uncle's unpretending good sense," she remarked to her
+son. "Any other legacy to Lady Northlake would have been simply absurd.
+Yes, Mr. Mool? Perhaps my name follows?"
+
+Mr. Mool cast a side-look at the ferns. He afterwards described his
+sensations as reminding him of previous experience in a dentist's
+chair, at the awful moment when the operator says "Let me look," and
+has his devilish instrument hidden in his hand. The "situation," to use
+the language of the stage, was indeed critical enough already. Ovid
+added to the horror of it by making a feeble joke. "What will you take
+for your chance, mother?"
+
+Before bad became worse, Mr. Mool summoned the energy of despair. He
+wisely read the exact words of the Will, this time: "'And I give and
+bequeath to my sister, Mrs. Maria Gallilee, one hundred pounds."'
+
+Ovid's astonishment could only express itself in action. He started to
+his feet.
+
+Mr. Mool went on reading. "'Free of legacy duty, to buy a mourning
+ring--"'
+
+"Impossible!" Ovid broke out.
+
+Mr. Mool finished the sentence. "'And my sister will understand the
+motive which animates me in making this bequest."' He laid the Will on
+the table, and ventured to look up. At the same time, Ovid turned to
+his mother, struck by the words which had been just read, and eager to
+inquire what their meaning might be.
+
+Happily for themselves, the two men never knew what the preservation of
+their tranquillity owed to that one moment of delay.
+
+If they had looked at Mrs. Gallilee, when she was first aware of her
+position in the Will, they might have seen the incarnate Devil
+self-revealed in a human face. They might have read, in her eyes and on
+her lips, a warning hardly less fearful than the unearthly writing on
+the wall, which told the Eastern Monarch of his coming death. "See this
+woman, and know what I can do with her, when she has repelled her
+guardian angel, and her soul is left to ME."
+
+But the revelation showed itself, and vanished. Her face was composed
+again, when her son and her lawyer looked at it. Her voice was under
+control; her inbred capacity for deceit was ready for action. All those
+formidable qualities in her nature, which a gentler and wiser training
+than hers had been might have held in check--by development of
+preservative influences that lay inert--were now driven back to their
+lurking-place; leaving only the faintest traces of their momentary
+appearance on the surface. Her breathing seemed to be oppressed; her
+eyelids drooped heavily--and that was all.
+
+"Is the room too hot for you?" Ovid asked.
+
+It was a harmless question, but any question annoyed her at that
+moment. "Nonsense!" she exclaimed irritably.
+
+"The atmosphere of the conservatory is rich in reviving smells," Mr.
+Mool remarked. "Do I detect, among the delightful perfumes which reach
+us, the fragrant root-stock of the American fern? If I am wrong, Mrs.
+Gallilee, may I send you some of the sweet-smelling Maidenhair from my
+own little hot-house?" He smiled persuasively. The ferns were already
+justifying his confidence in their peace-making virtues, turned
+discreetly to account. Those terrible eyes rested on him mercifully.
+Not even a covert allusion to his silence in the matter of the legacy
+escaped her. Did the lawyer's artlessly abrupt attempt to change the
+subject warn her to be on her guard? In any case, she thanked him with
+the readiest courtesy for his kind offer. Might she trouble him in the
+meantime to let her see the Will?
+
+She read attentively the concluding words of the clause in which her
+name appeared--"My sister will understand the motive which animates me
+in making this bequest"--and then handed back the Will to Mr. Mool.
+Before Ovid could ask for it, she was ready with a plausible
+explanation. "When your uncle became a husband and a father," she said,
+"those claims on him were paramount. He knew that a token of
+remembrance (the smaller the better) was all I could accept, if I
+happened to outlive him. Please go on, Mr. Mool."
+
+In one respect, Ovid resembled his late uncle. They both belonged to
+that high-minded order of men, who are slow to suspect, and therefore
+easy to deceive. Ovid tenderly took his mother's hand.
+
+"I ought to have known it," he said, "without obliging you to tell me."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee did _not_ blush. Mr. Mool did.
+
+"Go on!" Mrs. Gallilee repeated. Mr. Mool looked at Ovid. "The next
+name, Mr. Vere, is yours."
+
+"Does my uncle remember me as he has remembered my mother?" asked Ovid.
+
+"Yes, sir--and let me tell you, a very pretty compliment is attached to
+the bequest. 'It is needless' (your late uncle says) 'to leave any more
+important proof of remembrance to my nephew. His father has already
+provided for him; and, with his rare abilities, he will make a second
+fortune by the exercise of his profession.' Most gratifying, Mrs.
+Gallilee, is it nor? The next clause provides for the good old
+housekeeper Teresa, and for her husband if he survives her, in the
+following terms--"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was becoming impatient to hear more of herself. "We may,
+I think, pass over that," she suggested, "and get to the part of it
+which relates to Carmina and me. Don't think I am impatient; I am only
+desirous--"
+
+The growling of a dog in the conservatory interrupted her. "That
+tiresome creature!" she said sharply; "I shall be obliged to get rid of
+him!"
+
+Mr. Mool volunteered to drive the dog out of the conservatory. Mrs.
+Gallilee, as irritable as ever, stopped him at the door.
+
+"Don't, Mr. Mool! That dog's temper is not to be trusted. He shows it
+with Miss Minerva, my governess--growls just in that way whenever he
+sees her. I dare say he smells you. There! Now he barks! You are only
+making him worse. Come back!"
+
+Being at the door, gentle Mr. Mool tried the ferns as peace-makers once
+more. He gathered a leaf, and returned to his place in a state of meek
+admiration. "The flowering fern!" he said softly.
+
+"A really fine specimen, Mrs. Gallilee, of the Osmunda Regalis. What a
+world of beauty in this bipinnate frond! One hardly knows where the
+stalk ends and the leaf begins!"
+
+The dog, a bright little terrier, came trotting into the library He
+saluted the company briskly with his tail, not excepting Mr. Mool. No
+growl, or approach to a growl, now escaped him. The manner in which he
+laid himself down at Mrs. Gallilee's feet completely refuted her
+aspersion on his temper. Ovid suggested that he might have been
+provoked by a cat in the conservatory.
+
+Meanwhile, Mr. Mool turned over a page of the Will, and arrived at the
+clauses relating to Carmina and her guardian.
+
+"It may not be amiss," he began, "to mention, in the first place, that
+the fortune left to Miss Carmina amounts, in round numbers, to one
+hundred and thirty thousand pounds. The Trustees--"
+
+"Skip the Trustees," said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Mr. Mool skipped.
+
+"In the matter of the guardian," he said, "there is a preliminary
+clause, in the event of your death or refusal to act, appointing Lady
+Northlake--"
+
+"Skip Lady Northlake," said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Mr. Mool skipped.
+
+"You are appointed Miss Carmina's guardian, until she comes of age," he
+resumed. "If she marries in that interval--"
+
+He paused to turn over a page. Not only Mrs. Gallilee, but Ovid also,
+now listened with the deepest interest.
+
+"If she marries in that interval, with her guardian's approval--"
+
+"Suppose I don't approve of her choice?" Mrs. Gallilee interposed.
+
+Ovid looked at his mother--and quickly looked away again. The restless
+little terrier caught his eye, and jumped up to be patted. Ovid was too
+pre-occupied to notice this modest advance. The dog's eyes and ears
+expressed reproachful surprise. His friend Ovid had treated him rudely
+for the first time in his life.
+
+"If the young lady contracts a matrimonial engagement of which you
+disapprove," Mr. Mool answered, "you are instructed by the testator to
+assert your reasons in the presence of--well, I may describe it, as a
+family council; composed of Mr. Gallilee, and of Lord and Lady
+Northlake."
+
+"Excessively foolish of Robert," Mrs. Gallilee remarked. "And what, Mr.
+Mool, is this meddling council of three to do?"
+
+"A majority of the council, Mrs. Gallilee, is to decide the question
+absolutely. If the decision confirms your view, and if Miss Carmina
+still persists in her resolution notwithstanding--"
+
+"Am I to give way?" Mrs. Gallilee asked.
+
+"Not until your niece comes of age, ma'am. Then, she decides for
+herself."
+
+"And inherits the fortune?"
+
+"Only an income from part of it--if her marriage is disapproved by her
+guardian and her relatives."
+
+"And what becomes of the rest?"
+
+"The whole of it," said Mr. Mool, "will be invested by the Trustees,
+and will be divided equally, on her death, among her children."
+
+"Suppose she leaves no children?"
+
+"That case is provided for, ma'am, by the last clause. I will only say
+now, that you are interested in the result."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee turned swiftly and sternly to her son. "When I am dead
+and gone," she said, "I look to you to defend my memory."
+
+"To defend your memory?" Ovid repeated, wondering what she could
+possibly mean.
+
+"If I do become interested in the disposal of Robert's fortune--which
+God forbid!--can't you foresee what will happen?" his mother inquired
+bitterly. "Lady Northlake will say, 'Maria intrigued for this!'"
+
+Mr. Mool looked doubtfully at the ferns. No! His vegetable allies were
+not strong enough to check any further outpouring of such family
+feeling as this. Nothing was to be trusted, in the present emergency,
+but the superior authority of the Will.
+
+"Pardon me," he said; "there are some further instructions, Mrs.
+Gallilee, which, as I venture to think, exhibit your late brother's
+well-known liberality of feeling in a very interesting light. They
+relate to the provision made for his daughter, while she is residing
+under your roof. Miss Carmina is to have the services of the best
+masters, in finishing her education."
+
+"Certainly!" cried Mrs. Gallilee, with the utmost fervour.
+
+"And the use of a carriage to herself, whenever she may require it."
+
+"No, Mr. Mool! _Two_ carriages--in such a climate as this. One open,
+and one closed."
+
+"And to defray these and other expenses, the Trustees are authorized to
+place at your disposal one thousand a year."
+
+"Too much! too much!"
+
+Mr. Mool might have agreed with her--if he had nor known that Robert
+Graywell had thought of his sister's interests, in making this
+excessive provision for expenses incurred on his daughter's account.
+
+"Perhaps, her dresses and her pocket money are included?" Mrs. Gallilee
+resumed.
+
+Mr. Mool smiled, and shook his head. "Mr. Graywell's generosity has no
+limits," he said, "where his daughter is concerned. Miss Carmina is to
+have five hundred a year for pocket-money and dresses."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee appealed to the sympathies of her son. "Isn't it
+touching?" she said. "Dear Carmina! my own people in Paris shall make
+her dresses. Well, Mr. Mool?"
+
+"Allow me to read the exact language of the Will next," Mr. Mool
+answered. "'If her sweet disposition leads her into exceeding her
+allowance, in the pursuit of her own little charities, my Trustees are
+hereby authorized, at their own discretion, to increase the amount,
+within the limit of another five hundred pounds annually.' It sounds
+presumptuous, perhaps, on my part," said Mr. Mool, venturing on a
+modest confession of enthusiasm, "but one can't help thinking, What a
+good father! what a good child!"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee had another appropriate remark ready on her lips, when
+the unlucky dog interrupted her once more. He made a sudden rush into
+the conservatory, barking with all his might. A crashing noise followed
+the dog's outbreak, which sounded like the fall of a flower-pot.
+
+Ovid hurried into the conservatory--with the dog ahead of him, tearing
+down the steps which led into the back garden.
+
+The pot lay broken on the tiled floor. Struck by the beauty of the
+flower that grew in it, he stooped to set it up again. If, instead of
+doing this, he had advanced at once to the second door, he would have
+seen a lady hastening into the house; and, though her back view only
+was presented, he could hardly have failed to recognize Miss Minerva.
+As it was, when he reached the door, the garden was empty.
+
+He looked up at the house, and saw Carmina at the open window of her
+bedroom.
+
+The sad expression on that sweet young face grieved him. Was she
+thinking of her happy past life? or of the doubtful future, among
+strangers in a strange country? She noticed Ovid--and her eyes
+brightened. His customary coldness with women melted instantly: he
+kissed his hand to her. She returned the salute (so familiar to her in
+Italy) with her gentle smile, and looked back into the room. Teresa
+showed herself at the window. Always following her impulses without
+troubling herself to think first, the duenna followed them now. "We are
+dull up here," she called out. "Come back to us, Mr. Ovid." The words
+had hardly been spoken before they both turned from the window. Teresa
+pointed significantly into the room. They disappeared.
+
+Ovid went back to the library.
+
+"Anybody listening?" Mr. Mool inquired.
+
+"I have not discovered anybody, but I doubt if a stray cat could have
+upset that heavy flower-pot." He looked round him as he made the reply.
+"Where is my mother?" he asked.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee had gone upstairs, eager to tell Carmina of the handsome
+allowance made to her by her father. Having answered in these terms,
+Mr. Mool began to fold up the Will--and suddenly stopped.
+
+"Very inconsiderate, on my part," he said; "I forgot, Mr. Ovid, that
+you haven't heard the end of it. Let me give you a brief abstract. You
+know, perhaps, that Miss Carmina is a Catholic? Very natural--her poor
+mother's religion. Well, sir, her good father forgets nothing. All
+attempts at proselytizing are strictly forbidden."
+
+Ovid smiled. His mother's religious convictions began and ended with
+the inorganic matter of the earth.
+
+"The last clause," Mr. Mool proceeded, "seemed to agitate Mrs. Gallilee
+quite painfully. I reminded her that her brother had no near relations
+living, but Lady Northlake and herself. As to leaving money to my lady,
+in my lord's princely position--"
+
+"Pardon me," Ovid interposed, "what is there to agitate my mother in
+this?"
+
+Mr. Mool made his apologies for not getting sooner to the point, with
+the readiest good-will. "Professional habit, Mr. Ovid," he explained.
+"We are apt to be wordy--paid, in fact, at so much a folio, for so many
+words!--and we like to clear the ground first. Your late uncle ends his
+Will, by providing for the disposal of his fortune, in two possible
+events, as follows: Miss Carmina may die unmarried, or Miss Carmina
+(being married) may die without offspring."
+
+Seeing the importance of the last clause now, Ovid stopped him again.
+"Do I remember the amount of the fortune correctly?" he asked. "Was it
+a hundred and thirty thousand pounds?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And what becomes of all that money, if Carmina never marries, or if
+she leaves no children?"
+
+"In either of those cases, sir, the whole of the money goes to Mrs.
+Gallilee and her daughters."'
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+Time had advanced to midnight, after the reading of the Will--and Ovid
+was at home.
+
+The silence of the quiet street in which he lived was only disturbed by
+the occasional rolling of carriage wheels, and by dance-music from the
+house of one of his neighbours who was giving a ball. He sat at his
+writing-table, thinking. Honest self-examination had laid out the state
+of his mind before him like a map, and had shown him, in its true
+proportions, the new interest that filled his life.
+
+Of that interest he was now the willing slave. If he had not known his
+mother to be with her, he would have gone back to Carmina when the
+lawyer left the house. As it was, he had sent a message upstairs,
+inviting himself to dinner, solely for the purpose of seeing Carmina
+again--and he had been bitterly disappointed when he heard that Mr. and
+Mrs. Gallilee were engaged, and that his cousin would take tea in her
+room. He had eaten something at this club, without caring what it was.
+He had gone to the Opera afterwards, merely because his recollections
+of a favourite singing-lady of that season vaguely reminded him of
+Carmina. And there he was, at midnight, on his return from the music,
+eager for the next opportunity of seeing his cousin, a few hours
+hence--when he had arranged to say good-bye at the family
+breakfast-table.
+
+To feel this change in him as vividly as he felt it, could lead to but
+one conclusion in the mind of a man who was incapable of purposely
+deceiving himself. He was as certain as ever of the importance of rest
+and change, in the broken state of his health. And yet, in the face of
+that conviction, his contemplated sea-voyage had already become one of
+the vanished illusions of his life!
+
+His friend had arranged to travel with him, that morning, from London
+to the port at which the yacht was waiting for them. They were hardly
+intimate enough to trust each other unreservedly with secrets. The
+customary apology for breaking an engagement was the alternative that
+remained. With the paper on his desk and with the words on his mind, he
+was yet in such a strange state of indecision that he hesitated to
+write the letter!
+
+His morbidly-sensitive nerves were sadly shaken. Even the familiar
+record of the half-hour by the hall clock startled him. The stroke of
+the bell was succeeded by a mild and mournful sound outside the
+door--the mewing of a cat.
+
+He rose, without any appearance of surprise, and opened the door.
+
+With grace and dignity entered a small black female cat; exhibiting, by
+way of variety of colour, a melancholy triangular patch of white over
+the lower part of her face, and four brilliantly clean white paws. Ovid
+went back to his desk. As soon as he was in his chair again, the cat
+jumped on his shoulder, and sat there purring in his ear. This was the
+place she occupied, whenever her master was writing alone. Passing one
+day through a suburban neighbourhood, on his round of visits, the young
+surgeon had been attracted by a crowd in a by-street. He had rescued
+his present companion from starvation in a locked-up house, the
+barbarous inhabitants of which had gone away for a holiday, and had
+forgotten the cat. When Ovid took the poor creature home with him in
+his carriage, popular feeling decided that the unknown gentleman was "a
+rum 'un." From that moment, this fortunate little member of a
+brutally-slandered race attached herself to her new friend, and to that
+friend only. If Ovid had owned the truth, he must have acknowledged
+that her company was a relief to him, in the present state of his mind.
+
+When a man's flagging purpose is in want of a stimulant, the most
+trifling change in the circumstances of the moment often applies the
+animating influence. Even such a small interruption as the appearance
+of his cat rendered this service to Ovid. To use the common and
+expressive phrase, it had "shaken him up." He wrote the letter--and his
+patient companion killed the time by washing her face.
+
+His mind being so far relieved, he went to bed--the cat following him
+upstairs to her bed in a corner of the room. Clothes are unwholesome
+superfluities not contemplated in the system of Nature. When we are
+exhausted, there is no such thing as true repose for us until we are
+freed from our dress. Men subjected to any excessive exertion--
+fighting, rowing, walking, working--must strip their bodies as
+completely as possible, or they are nor equal to the call on them.
+Ovid's knowledge of his own temperament told him that sleep was not to
+be hoped for, that night. But the way to bed was the way to rest
+notwithstanding, by getting rid of his clothes.
+
+With the sunrise he rose and went out.
+
+He took his letter with him, and dropped it into the box in his
+friend's door. The sooner he committed himself to the new course that
+he had taken, the more certain he might feel of not renewing the
+miserable and useless indecision of the past night. "Thank God, that's
+done!" he said to himself, as he heard the letter fall into the box,
+and left the house.
+
+After walking in the Park until he was weary, he sat down by the
+ornamental lake, and watched the waterfowl enjoying their happy lives.
+
+Wherever he went, whatever he did, Carmina was always with him. He had
+seen thousands of girls, whose personal attractions were far more
+remarkable--and some few among them whose manner was perhaps equally
+winning. What was the charm in the little half-foreign cousin that had
+seized on him in an instant, and that seemed to fasten its subtle hold
+more and more irresistibly with every minute of his life? He was
+content to feel the charm without caring to fathom it. The lovely
+morning light took him in imagination to her bedside; he saw here
+sleeping peacefully in her new room. Would the time come when she might
+dream of him? He looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. The
+breakfast-hour at Fairfield Gardens had been fixed for eight, to give
+him time to catch the morning train. Half an hour might be occupied in
+walking back to his own house. Add ten minutes to make some change in
+his dress--and he might set forth for his next meeting with Carmina. No
+uneasy anticipation of what the family circle might think of his sudden
+change of plan troubled his mind. A very different question occupied
+him. For the first time in his life, he wondered what dress a woman
+would wear at breakfast time.
+
+He opened his house door with his own key. An elderly person, in a
+coarse black gown, was seated on the bench in the hall. She rose, and
+advanced towards him. In speechless astonishment, he confronted
+Carmina's faithful companion--Teresa.
+
+"If you please, I want to speak to you," she said, in her best English.
+Ovid took her into his consulting-room. She wasted no time in apologies
+or explanations. "Don't speak!" she broke out. "Carmina has had a bad
+night."
+
+"I shall be at the house in half an hour!" Ovid eagerly assured her.
+
+The duenna shook her forefinger impatiently. "She doesn't want a
+doctor. She wants a friend, when I am gone. What is her life here? A
+new life, among new people. Don't speak! She's frightened and
+miserable. So young, so shy, so easily startled. And I must leave
+her--I must! I must! My old man is failing fast; he may die, without a
+creature to comfort him, if I don't go back. I could tear my hair when
+I think of it. Don't speak! It's _my_ business to speak. Ha! I know,
+what I know. Young doctor, you're in love with Carmina! I've read you
+like a book. You're quick to see, sudden to feel--like one of my
+people. _Be_ one of my people. Help me."
+
+She dragged a chair close to Ovid, and laid her hand suddenly and
+heavily on his arm.
+
+"It's not my fault, mind; _I_ have said nothing to disturb her. No!
+I've made the best of it. I've lied to her. What do I care? I would lie
+like Judas Iscariot himself to spare Carmina a moment's pain. It's such
+a new life for her--try to see it for yourself--such a new life. You
+and I shook hands yesterday. Do it again. Are you surprised to see me?
+I asked your mother's servants where you lived; and here I am--with the
+cruel teeth of anxiety gnawing me alive when I think of the time to
+come. Oh, my lamb! my angel! she's alone. Oh, my God, only seventeen
+years old, and alone in the world! No father, no mother; and soon--oh,
+too soon, too soon--not even Teresa! What are you looking at? What is
+there so wonderful in the tears of a stupid old fool? Drops of hot
+water. Ha! ha! if they fall on your fine carpet here, they won't hurt
+it. You're a good fellow; you're a dear fellow. Hush! I know the Evil
+Eye when I see it. No more of that! A secret in your ear--I've said a
+word for you to Carmina already. Give her time; she's not cold; young
+and innocent, that's all. Love will come--I know, what I know--love
+will come."
+
+She laughed--and, in the very act of laughing, changed again. Fright
+looked wildly at Ovid out of her staring eyes. Some terrifying
+remembrance had suddenly occurred to her. She sprang to her feet.
+
+"You said you were going away," she cried. "You said it, when you left
+us yesterday. It can't be! it shan't be! You're not going to leave
+Carmina, too?"
+
+Ovid's first impulse was to tell the whole truth. He resisted the
+impulse. To own that Carmina was the cause of his abandonment of the
+sea-voyage, before she was even sure of the impression she had produced
+on him, would be to place himself in a position from which his
+self-respect recoiled. "My plans are changed," was all he said to
+Teresa. "Make your mind easy; I'm not going away."
+
+The strange old creature snapped her fingers joyously. "Good-bye! I
+want no more of you." With those cool and candid words of farewell, she
+advanced to the door--stopped suddenly to think--and came back. Only a
+moment had passed, and she was as sternly in earnest again as ever.
+
+"May I call you by your name?" she asked.
+
+"Certainly!"
+
+"Listen, Ovid! I may not see you again before I go back to my husband.
+This is my last word--never forget it. Even Carmina may have enemies!"
+
+What could she be thinking of? "Enemies--in my mother's house!" Ovid
+exclaimed. "What can you possibly mean?"
+
+Teresa returned to the door, and only answered him when she had opened
+it to go.
+
+"The Evil Eye never lies," she said. "Wait--and you will see."
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was on her way to the breakfast-room, when her son
+entered the house. They met in the hall. "Is your packing done?" she
+asked.
+
+He was in no humour to wait, and make his confession at that moment.
+"Not yet," was his only reply.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee led the way into the room. "Ovid's luggage is not ready
+yet," she announced; "I believe he will lose his train."
+
+They were all at the breakfast table, the children and the governess
+included. Carmina's worn face, telling its tale of a wakeful night,
+brightened again, as it had brightened at the bedroom window, when she
+saw Ovid. She took his hand frankly, and made light of her weary looks.
+"No, my cousin," she said, playfully; "I mean to be worthier of my
+pretty bed to-night; I am not going to be your patient yet." Mr.
+Gallilee (with this mouth full at the moment) offered good advice. "Eat
+and drink as I do, my dear," he said to Carmina; "and you will sleep as
+I do. Off I go when the light's out--flat on my back, as Mrs. Gallilee
+will tell you--and wake me if you can, till it's time to get up. Have
+some buttered eggs, Ovid. They're good, ain't they, Zo?" Zo looked up
+from her plate, and agreed with her father, in one emphatic word,
+"Jolly!" Miss Minerva, queen of governesses, instantly did her duty.
+"Zoe! how often must I tell you not to talk slang? Do you ever hear
+your sister say 'Jolly?'" That highly-cultivated child, Maria, strong
+in conscious virtue, added her authority in support of the protest. "No
+young lady who respects herself, Zoe, will ever talk slang." Mr.
+Gallilee was unworthy of such a daughter. He muttered under his breath,
+"Oh, bother!" Zo held out her plate for more. Mr. Gallilee was
+delighted. "My child all over!" he exclaimed. "We are both of us good
+feeders. Zo will grow up a fine woman." He appealed to his stepson to
+agree with him. "That's your medical opinion, Ovid, isn't it?"
+
+Carmina's pretty smile passed like rippling light over her eyes and her
+lips. In her brief experience of England, Mr. Gallilee was the one
+exhilarating element in family life.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's mind still dwelt on her son's luggage, and on the
+rigorous punctuality of railway arrangements.
+
+"What is your servant about?" she said to Ovid. "It's his business to
+see that you are ready in time."
+
+It was useless to allow the false impression that prevailed to continue
+any longer. Ovid set them all right, in the plainest and fewest words.
+
+"My servant is not to blame," he said. "I have written an apology to my
+friend--I am not going away."
+
+For the moment, this astounding announcement was received in silent
+dismay--excepting the youngest member of the company. After her father,
+Ovid was the one other person in the world who held a place in Zo's odd
+little heart. Her sentiments were now expressed without hesitation and
+without reserve. She put down her spoon, and she cried, "Hooray!"
+Another exhibition of vulgarity. But even Miss Minerva was too
+completely preoccupied by the revelation which had burst on the family
+to administer the necessary reproof. Her eager eyes were riveted on
+Ovid. As for Mr. Gallilee, he held his bread and butter suspended in
+mid-air, and stared open-mouthed at his stepson, in helpless
+consternation.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee always set the right example. Mrs. Gallilee was the first
+to demand an explanation.
+
+"What does this extraordinary proceeding mean?" she asked.
+
+Ovid was impenetrable to the tone in which that question was put. He
+had looked at his cousin, when he declared his change of plan--and he
+was looking at her still. Whatever the feeling of the moment might be,
+Carmina's sensitive face expressed it vividly. Who could mistake the
+faintly-rising colour in her cheeks, the sweet quickening of light in
+her eyes, when she met Ovid's look? Still hardly capable of estimating
+the influence that she exercised over him, her sense of the interest
+taken in her by Ovid was the proud sense that makes girls innocently
+bold. Whatever the others might think of his broken engagement, her
+artless eyes said plainly, "My feeling is happy surprise."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee summoned her son to attend her, in no friendly voice.
+She, too, had looked at Carmina--and had registered the result of her
+observation privately.
+
+"Are we to hear your reasons?" she inquired.
+
+Ovid had made the one discovery in the world, on which his whole heart
+was set. He was so happy, that he kept his mother out of his secret,
+with a masterly composure worthy of herself.
+
+"I don't think a sea-voyage is the right thing for me," he answered.
+
+"Rather a sudden change of opinion," Mrs. Gallilee remarked.
+
+Ovid coolly agreed with her. It _was_ rather sudden, he said.
+
+The governess still looked at him, wondering whether he would provoke
+an outbreak.
+
+After a little pause, Mrs. Gallilee accepted her son's short
+answer--with a sudden submission which had a meaning of its own. She
+offered Ovid another cup of tea; and, more remarkable yet, she turned
+to her eldest daughter, and deliberately changed the subject. "What are
+your lessons, my dear, to-day?" she asked, with bland maternal
+interest.
+
+By this time, bewildered Mr. Gallilee had finished his bread and
+butter. "Ovid knows best, my dear," he said cheerfully to his wife.
+Mrs. Gallilee's sudden recovery of her temper did not include her
+husband. If a look could have annihilated that worthy man, his corporal
+presence must have vanished into air, when he had delivered himself of
+his opinion. As it was, he only helped Zo to another spoonful of jam.
+"When Ovid first thought of that voyage," he went on, "I said, Suppose
+he's sick? A dreadful sensation isn't it, Miss Minerva? First you seem
+to sink into your shoes, and then it all comes up--eh? You're _not_
+sick at sea? I congratulate you! I most sincerely congratulate you! My
+dear Ovid, come and dine with me to-night at the club." He looked
+doubtfully at his wife, as he made that proposal. "Got the headache, my
+dear? I'll take you out with pleasure for a walk. What's the matter
+with her, Miss Minerva? Oh, I see! Hush! Maria's going to say
+grace.--Amen! Amen!"
+
+They all rose from the table.
+
+Mr. Gallilee was the first to open the door. The smoking-room at
+Fairfield Gardens was over the kitchen; he preferred enjoying his cigar
+in the garden of the Square. He looked at Carmina and Ovid, as if he
+wanted one of them to accompany him. They were both at the aviary,
+admiring the birds, and absorbed in their own talk. Mr. Gallilee
+resigned himself to his fate; appealing, on his way out, to somebody to
+agree with him as usual. "Well!" he said with a little sigh, "a cigar
+keeps one company." Miss Minerva (absorbed in her own thoughts) passed
+near him, on her way to the school-room with her pupils. "You would
+find it so yourself, Miss Minerva--that is to say, if you smoked, which
+of course you don't. Be a good girl, Zo; attend to your lessons."
+
+Zo's perversity in the matter of lessons put its own crooked
+construction on this excellent advice. She answered in a whisper, "Give
+us a holiday."
+
+The passing aspirations of idle minds, being subject to the law of
+chances, are sometimes fulfilled, and so exhibit poor human wishes in a
+consolatory light. Thanks to the conversation between Carmina and Ovid,
+Zo got her holiday after all.
+
+
+Mrs. Gallilee, still as amiable as ever, had joined her son and her
+niece at the aviary. Ovid said to his mother, "Carmina is fond of
+birds. I have been telling her she may see all the races of birds
+assembled in the Zoological Gardens. It's a perfect day. Why shouldn't
+we go!"
+
+The stupidest woman living would have understood what this proposal
+really meant. Mrs. Gallilee sanctioned it as composedly as if Ovid and
+Carmina had been brother and sister. "I wish I could go with you," she
+said, "but my household affairs fill my morning. And there is a lecture
+this afternoon, which I cannot possibly lose. I don't know, Carmina,
+whether you are interested in these things. We are to have the
+apparatus, which illustrates the conversion of radiant energy into
+sonorous vibrations. Have you ever heard, my dear, of the Diathermancy
+of Ebonite? Not in your way, perhaps?"
+
+Carmina looked as unintelligent as Zo herself. Mrs. Gallilee's science
+seemed to frighten her. The Diathermancy of Ebonite, by some
+incomprehensible process, drove her bewildered mind back on her old
+companion. "I want to give Teresa a little pleasure before we part,"
+she said timidly; "may she go with us?"
+
+"Of course!" cried Mrs. Gallilee. "And, now I think of it, why
+shouldn't the children have a little pleasure too? I will give them a
+holiday. Don't be alarmed, Ovid; Miss Minerva will look after them. In
+the meantime, Carmina, tell your good old friend to get ready."
+
+Carmina hastened away, and so helped Mrs. Gallilee to the immediate
+object which she had in view--a private interview with her son.
+
+Ovid anticipated a searching inquiry into the motives which had led him
+to give up the sea voyage. His mother was far too clever a woman to
+waste her time in that way. Her first words told him that his motive
+was as plainly revealed to her as the sunlight shining in at the
+window.
+
+"That's a charming girl," she said, when Carmina closed the door behind
+her. "Modest and natural--quite the sort of girl, Ovid, to attract a
+clever man like you."
+
+Ovid was completely taken by surprise, and owned it by his silence.
+Mrs. Gallilee went on in a tone of innocent maternal pleasantry.
+
+"You know you began young," she said; "your first love was that poor
+little wizen girl of Lady Northlake's who died. Child's play, you will
+tell me, and nothing more. But, my dear, I am afraid I shall require
+some persuasion, before I quite sympathize with this new--what shall I
+call it?--infatuation is too hard a word, and 'fancy' means nothing. We
+will leave it a blank. Marriages of cousins are debatable marriages, to
+say the least of them; and Protestant fathers and Papist mothers do
+occasionally involve difficulties with children. Not that I say, No.
+Far from it. But if this is to go on, I do hesitate."
+
+Something in his mother's tone grated on Ovid's sensibilities. "I don't
+at all follow you," he said, rather sharply; "you are looking a little
+too far into the future."
+
+"Then we will return to the present," Mrs. Gallilee replied--still with
+the readiest submission to the humour of her son.
+
+On recent occasions, she had expressed the opinion that Ovid would do
+wisely--at his age, and with his professional prospects--to wait a few
+years before he thought of marrying. Having said enough in praise of
+her niece to satisfy him for the time being (without appearing to be
+meanly influenced, in modifying her opinion, by the question of money),
+her next object was to induce him to leave England immediately, for the
+recovery of his health. With Ovid absent, and with Carmina under her
+sole superintendence, Mrs. Gallilee could see her way to her own
+private ends.
+
+"Really," she resumed, "you ought to think seriously of change of air
+and scene. You know you would not allow a patient, in your present
+state of health, to trifle with himself as your are trifling now. If
+you don't like the sea, try the Continent. Get away somewhere, my dear,
+for your own sake."
+
+It was only possible to answer this, in one way. Ovid owned that his
+mother was right and asked for time to think. To his infinite relief,
+he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Miss Minerva entered the
+room--not in a very amiable temper, judging by appearances.
+
+"I am afraid I disturb you," she began.
+
+Ovid seized the opportunity of retreat. He had some letters to
+write--he hurried away to the library.
+
+"Is there any mistake?" the governess asked, when she and Mrs. Gallilee
+were alone.
+
+"In what respect, Miss Minerva?"
+
+"I met your niece, ma'am, on the stairs. She says you wish the children
+to have a holiday."
+
+"Yes, to go with my son and Miss Carmina to the Zoological Gardens."
+
+"Miss Carmina said I was to go too."
+
+"Miss Carmina was perfectly right."
+
+The governess fixed her searching eyes on Mrs. Gallilee. "You really
+wish me to go with them?" she said.
+
+"I do."
+
+"I know why."
+
+In the course of their experience, Mrs. Gallilee and Miss Minerva had
+once quarrelled fiercely--and Mrs. Gallilee had got the worst of it.
+She learnt her lesson. For the future she knew how to deal with her
+governess. When one said, "I know why," the other only answered, "Do
+you?"
+
+"Let's have it out plainly, ma'am," Miss Minerva proceeded. "I am not
+to let Mr. Ovid" (she laid a bitterly strong emphasis on the name, and
+flushed angrily)--"I am not to let Mr. Ovid and Miss Carmina be alone
+together."
+
+"You are a good guesser," Mrs. Gallilee remarked quietly.
+
+"No," said Miss Minerva more quietly still; "I have only seen what you
+have seen."
+
+"Did I tell you what I have seen?"
+
+"Quite needless, ma'am. Your son is in love with his cousin. When am I
+to be ready?"
+
+The bland mistress mentioned the hour. The rude governess left the
+room.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee looked at the closing door with a curious smile. She had
+already suspected Miss Minerva of being crossed in love. The suspicion
+was now confirmed, and the man was discovered.
+
+"Soured by a hopeless passion," she said to herself. "And the object
+is--my son."
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+On entering the Zoological Gardens, Ovid turned at once to the right,
+leading Carmina to the aviaries, so that she might begin by seeing the
+birds. Miss Minerva, with Maria in dutiful attendance, followed them.
+Teresa kept at a little distance behind; and Zo took her own erratic
+course, now attaching herself to one member of the little party, and
+now to another.
+
+When they reached the aviaries the order of march became confused;
+differences in the birds made their appeal to differences in the taste
+of the visitors. Insatiably eager for useful information, that
+prize-pupil Maria held her governess captive at one cage; while Zo
+darted away towards another, out of reach of discipline, and good
+Teresa volunteered to bring her back. For a minute, Ovid and his cousin
+were left alone. He might have taken a lover's advantage even of that
+small opportunity. But Carmina had something to say to him--and Carmina
+spoke first.
+
+"Has Miss Minerva been your mother's governess for a long time?" she
+inquired.
+
+"For some years," Ovid replied. "Will you let me put a question on my
+side? Why do you ask?"
+
+Carmina hesitated--and answered in a whisper, "She looks ill-tempered."
+
+"She _is_ ill-tempered," Ovid confessed. "I suspect," he added with a
+smile, "you don't like Miss Minerva."
+
+Carmina attempted no denial; her excuse was a woman's excuse all over:
+"She doesn't like _me."_
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"I have been looking at her. Does she beat the children?"
+
+"My dear Carmina! do you think she would be my mother's governess if
+she treated the children in that way? Besides, Miss Minerva is too
+well-bred a woman to degrade herself by acts of violence. Family
+misfortunes have very materially lowered her position in the world."
+
+He was reminded, as he said those words, of the time when Miss Minerva
+had entered on her present employment, and when she had been the object
+of some little curiosity on his own part. Mrs. Gallilee's answer, when
+he once asked why she kept such an irritable woman in the house, had
+been entirely satisfactory, so far as she herself was concerned: "Miss
+Minerva is remarkably well informed, and I get her cheap." Exactly like
+his mother! But it left Miss Minerva's motives involved in utter
+obscurity. Why had this highly cultivated woman accepted an inadequate
+reward for her services, for years together? Why--to take the event of
+that morning as another example--after plainly showing her temper to
+her employer, had she been so ready to submit to a suddenly decreed
+holiday, which disarranged her whole course of lessons for the week?
+Little did Ovid think that the one reconciling influence which adjusted
+these contradictions, and set at rest every doubt that grew out of
+them, was to be found in himself. Even the humiliation of watching him
+in his mother's interest, and of witnessing his devotion to another
+woman, was a sacrifice which Miss Minerva could endure for the one
+inestimable privilege of being in Ovid's company.
+
+Before Carmina could ask any more questions a shrill voice, at its
+highest pitch of excitement, called her away. Zo had just discovered
+the most amusing bird in the Gardens--the low comedian of the feathered
+race--otherwise known as the Piping Crow.
+
+Carmina hurried to the cage as if she had been a child herself. Seeing
+Ovid left alone, the governess seized _her_ chance of speaking to him.
+The first words that passed her lips told their own story. While
+Carmina had been studying Miss Minerva, Miss Minerva had been studying
+Carmina. Already, the same instinctive sense of rivalry had associated,
+on a common ground of feeling, the two most dissimilar women that ever
+breathed the breath of life.
+
+"Does your cousin know much about birds?" Miss Minerva began.
+
+The opinion which declares that vanity is a failing peculiar to the sex
+is a slander on women. All the world over, there are more vain men in
+it than vain women. If Ovid had not been one of the exceptions to a
+general rule among men, or even if his experience of the natures of
+women had been a little less limited, he too might have discovered Miss
+Minerva's secret. Even her capacity for self-control failed, at the
+moment when she took Carmina's place. Those keen black eyes, so hard
+and cold when they looked at anyone else--flamed with an all-devouring
+sense of possession when they first rested on Ovid. "He's mine. For one
+golden moment he's mine!" They spoke--and, suddenly, the every-day
+blind was drawn down again; there was nobody present but a well-bred
+woman, talking with delicately implied deference to a distinguished
+man.
+
+"So far, we have not spoken of the birds," Ovid innocently answered.
+
+"And yet you seemed to be both looking at them!" She at once covered
+this unwary outbreak of jealousy under an impervious surface of
+compliment. "Miss Carmina is not perhaps exactly pretty, but she is a
+singularly interesting girl."
+
+Ovid cordially (too cordially) agreed. Miss Minerva had presented her
+better self to him under a most agreeable aspect. She tried--struggled
+--fought with herself--to preserve appearances. The demon in her got
+possession again of her tongue. "Do you find the young lady
+intelligent?" she inquired.
+
+"Certainly!"
+
+Only one word--spoken perhaps a little sharply. The miserable woman
+shrank under it. "An idle question on my part," she said, with the
+pathetic humility that tries to be cheerful. "And another warning, Mr.
+Vere, never to judge by appearances." She looked at him, and returned
+to the children.
+
+Ovid's eyes followed her compassionately. "Poor wretch!" he thought.
+"What an infernal temper, and how hard she tries to control it!" He
+joined Carmina, with a new delight in being near her again. Zo was
+still in ecstasies over the Piping Crow. "Oh, the jolly little chap!
+Look how he cocks his head! He mocks me when I whistle. Buy him," cried
+Zo, tugging at Ovid's coat tails in the excitement that possessed her;
+"buy him, and let me take him home with me!"
+
+Some visitors within hearing began to laugh. Miss Minerva opened her
+lips; Maria opened her lips. To the astonishment of both of them the
+coming rebuke proved to be needless.
+
+A sudden transformation to silence and docility had made a new creature
+of Zo, before they could speak--and Ovid had unconsciously worked the
+miracle. For the first time in the child's experience, he had suffered
+his coat tails to be pulled without immediately attending to her. Who
+was he looking at? It was only too easy to see that Carmina had got him
+all to herself. The jealous little heart swelled in Zo's bosom. In
+silent perplexity she kept watch on the friend who had never
+disappointed her before. Little by little, her slow intelligence began
+to realise the discovery of something in his face which made him look
+handsomer than ever, and which she had never seen in it yet. They all
+left the aviaries, and turned to the railed paddocks in which the
+larger birds were assembled. And still Zo followed so quietly, so
+silently, that her elder sister--threatened with a rival in good
+behaviour--looked at her in undisguised alarm.
+
+Incited by Maria (who felt the necessity of vindicating her character)
+Miss Minerva began a dissertation on cranes, suggested by the birds
+with the brittle-looking legs hopping up to her in expectation of
+something to eat. Ovid was absorbed in attending to his cousin; he had
+provided himself with some bread, and was helping Carmina to feed the
+birds. But one person noticed Zo, now that her strange lapse into good
+behaviour had lost the charm of novelty. Old Teresa watched her. There
+was something plainly troubling the child in secret; she had a mind to
+know what it might be.
+
+Zo approached Ovid again, determined to understand the change in him if
+perseverance could do it. He was talking so confidentially to Carmina,
+that he almost whispered in her ear. Zo eyed him, without daring to
+touch his coat tails again. Miss Minerva tried hard to go on composedly
+with the dissertation on cranes. "Flocks of these birds, Maria, pass
+periodically over the southern and central countries of Europe"--Her
+breath failed her, as she looked at Ovid: she could say no more. Zo
+stopped those maddening confidences; Zo, in desperate want of
+information, tugged boldly at Carmina's skirts this time.
+
+The young girl turned round directly. "What is it, dear?"
+
+With big tears of indignation rising in her eyes, Zo pointed to Ovid.
+"I say!" she whispered, "is he going to buy the Piping Crow for you?"
+
+To Zo's discomfiture they both smiled. She dried her eyes with her
+fists, and waited doggedly for an answer. Carmina set the child's mind
+at ease very prettily and kindly; and Ovid added the pacifying
+influence of a familiar pat on her cheek. Noticed at last, and
+satisfied that the bird was not to be bought for anybody, Zo's sense of
+injury was appeased; her jealousy melted away as the next result. After
+a pause--produced, as her next words implied, by an effort of
+memory--she suddenly took Carmina into her confidence.
+
+"Don't tell!" she began. "I saw another man look like Ovid."
+
+"When, dear?" Carmina asked--meaning, at what past date.
+
+"When his face was close to yours," Zo answered--meaning, under what
+recent circumstances.
+
+Ovid, hearing this reply, knew his small sister well enough to foresee
+embarrassing results if he allowed the conversation to proceed. He took
+Carmina's arm, and led her a little farther on.
+
+Miss Minerva obstinately followed them, with Maria in attendance, still
+imperfectly enlightened on the migration of cranes. Zo looked round, in
+search of another audience. Teresa had been listening; she was present,
+waiting for events. Being herself what stupid people call "an oddity,"
+her sympathies were attracted by this quaint child. In Teresa's
+opinion, seeing the animals was very inferior, as an amusement, to
+exploring Zo's mind. She produced a cake of chocolate, from a
+travelling bag which she carried with her everywhere. The cake was
+sweet, it was flavoured with vanilla, and it was offered to Zo,
+unembittered by advice not to be greedy and make herself ill. Staring
+hard at Teresa, she took an experimental bite. The wily duenna chose
+that propitious moment to present herself in the capacity of a new
+audience.
+
+"Who was that other man you saw, who looked like Mr. Ovid?" she asked;
+speaking in the tone of serious equality which is always flattering to
+the self-esteem of children in intercourse with elders. Zo was so proud
+of having her own talk reported by a grown-up stranger, that she even
+forgot the chocolate. "I wanted to say more than that," she announced.
+"Would you like to hear the end of it?" And this admirable foreign
+person answered, "I should very much like."
+
+Zo hesitated. To follow out its own little train of thought, in words,
+was no easy task to the immature mind which Miss Minerva had so
+mercilessly overworked. Led by old Dame Nature (first of governesses!)
+Zo found her way out of the labyrinth by means of questions.
+
+"Do you know Joseph?" she began.
+
+Teresa had heard the footman called by his name: she knew who Joseph
+was.
+
+"Do you know Matilda?" Zo proceeded.
+
+Teresa had heard the housemaid called by her name: she knew who Matilda
+was. And better still, she helped her little friend by a timely guess
+at what was coming, presented under the form of a reminder. "You saw
+Mr. Ovid's face close to Carmina's face," she suggested.
+
+Zo nodded furiously--the end of it was coming already.
+
+"And before that," Teresa went on, "you saw Joseph's face close to
+Matilda's face."
+
+"I saw Joseph kiss Matilda!" Zo burst out, with a scream of triumph.
+"Why doesn't Ovid kiss Carmina?"
+
+A deep bass voice, behind them, answered gravely: "Because the
+governess is in the way." And a big bamboo walking-stick pointed over
+their heads at Miss Minerva. Zo instantly recognised the stick, and
+took it into her own hands.
+
+Teresa turned--and found herself in the presence of a remarkable man.
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+In the first place, the stranger was almost tall enough to be shown as
+a giant; he towered to a stature of six feet six inches, English
+measure. If his immense bones had been properly covered with flesh, he
+might have presented the rare combination of fine proportions with
+great height. He was so miserably--it might almost be said, so
+hideously--thin that his enemies spoke of him as "the living skeleton."
+His massive forehead, his great gloomy gray eyes, his protuberant
+cheek-bones, overhung a fleshless lower face naked of beard, whiskers,
+and moustache. His complexion added to the startling effect which his
+personal appearance produced on strangers. It was of the true
+gipsy-brown, and, being darker in tone than his eyes, added remarkably
+to the weird look, the dismal thoughtful scrutiny, which it was his
+habit to fix on persons talking with him, no matter whether they were
+worthy of attention or not. His straight black hair hung as gracelessly
+on either side of his hollow face as the hair of an American Indian.
+His great dusky hands, never covered by gloves in the summer time,
+showed amber-coloured nails on bluntly-pointed fingers, turned up at
+the tips. Those tips felt like satin when they touched you. When he
+wished to be careful, he could handle the frailest objects with the
+most exquisite delicacy. His dress was of the recklessly loose and easy
+kind. His long frock-coat descended below his knees; his flowing
+trousers were veritable bags; his lean and wrinkled throat turned about
+in a widely-opened shirt-collar, unconfined by any sort of neck-tie. He
+had a theory that a head-dress should be solid enough to resist a
+chance blow--a fall from a horse, or the dropping of a loose brick from
+a house under repair. His hard black hat, broad and curly at the brim,
+might have graced the head of a bishop, if it had not been secularised
+by a queer resemblance to the bell-shaped hat worn by dandies in the
+early years of the present century. In one word he was, both in himself
+and in his dress, the sort of man whom no stranger is careless enough
+to pass without turning round for a second look. Teresa, eyeing him
+with reluctant curiosity, drew back a step, and privately reviled him
+(in the secrecy of her own language) as an ugly beast! Even his name
+startled people by the outlandish sound of it. Those enemies who called
+him "the living skeleton" said it revealed his gipsy origin. In medical
+and scientific circles he was well and widely known as--Doctor
+Benjulia.
+
+Zo ran away with his bamboo stick. After a passing look of gloomy
+indifference at the duenna, he called to the child to come back.
+
+She obeyed him in an oddly indirect way, as if she had been returning
+against her will. At the same time she looked up in his face, with an
+absence of shyness which showed, like the snatching away of his stick,
+that she was familiarly acquainted with him, and accustomed to take
+liberties. And yet there was an expression of uneasy expectation in her
+round attentive eyes. "Do you want it back again?" she asked, offering
+the stick.
+
+"Of course I do. What would your mother say to me, if you tumbled over
+my big bamboo, and dashed out your brains on this hard gravel walk?"
+
+"Have you been to see Mama?" Zo asked.
+
+"I have _not_ been to see Mama--but I know what she would say to me if
+you dashed out your brains, for all that."
+
+"What would she say?"
+
+"She would say--Doctor Benjulia, your name ought to be Herod."'
+
+"Who was Herod?"
+
+"Herod was a Royal Jew, who killed little girls when they took away his
+walking-stick. Come here, child. Shall I tickle you?"
+
+"I knew you'd say that," Zo answered.
+
+When men in general thoroughly enjoy the pleasure of talking nonsense
+to children, they can no more help smiling than they can help
+breathing. The doctor was an extraordinary exception to this rule; his
+grim face never relaxed--not even when Zo reminded him that one of his
+favourite recreations was tickling her. She obeyed, however, with the
+curious appearance of reluctant submission showing itself once more. He
+put two of his soft big finger-tips on her spine, just below the back
+of her neck, and pressed on the place. Zo started and wriggled under
+his touch. He observed her with as serious an interest as if he had
+been conducting a medical experiment. "That's how you make our dog kick
+with his leg," said Zo, recalling her experience of the doctor in the
+society of the dog. "How do you do it?"
+
+"I touch the Cervical Plexus," Doctor Benjulia answered as gravely as
+ever.
+
+This attempt at mystifying the child failed completely. Zo considered
+the unknown tongue in which he had answered her as being equivalent to
+lessons. She declined to notice the Cervical Plexus, and returned to
+the little terrier at home. "Do you think the dog likes it?" she asked.
+
+"Never mind the dog. Do _you_ like it?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+Doctor Benjulia turned to Teresa. His gloomy gray eyes rested on her,
+as they might have rested on any inanimate object near him--on the
+railing that imprisoned the birds, or on the pipes that kept the
+monkey-house warm. "I have been playing the fool, ma'am, with this
+child," he said; "and I fear I have detained you. I beg your pardon."
+He pulled off his episcopal hat, and walked grimly on, without taking
+any further notice of Zo.
+
+Teresa made her best courtesy in return. The magnificent civility of
+the ugly giant daunted, while it flattered her. "The manners of a
+prince," she said, "and the complexion of a gipsy. Is he a nobleman?"
+
+Zo answered, "He's a doctor,"--as if that was something much better.
+
+"Do you like him?" Teresa inquired next.
+
+Zo answered the duenna as she had answered the doctor: "I don't know."
+
+In the meantime, Ovid and his cousin had not been unobservant of what
+was passing at a little distance from them. Benjulia's great height,
+and his evident familiarity with the child, stirred Carmina's
+curiosity.
+
+Ovid seemed to be disinclined to talk of him. Miss Minerva made herself
+useful, with the readiest politeness. She mentioned his odd name, and
+described him as one of Mrs. Gallilee's old friends. "Of late years,"
+she proceeded, "he is said to have discontinued medical practice, and
+devoted himself to chemical experiments. Nobody seems to know much
+about him. He has built a house in a desolate field--in some lost
+suburban neighbourhood that nobody can discover. In plain English, Dr.
+Benjulia is a mystery."
+
+Hearing this, Carmina appealed again to Ovid.
+
+"When I am asked riddles," she said, "I am never easy till the answer
+is guessed for me. And when I hear of mysteries, I am dying to have
+them revealed. You are a doctor yourself. Do tell me something more!"
+
+Ovid might have evaded her entreaties by means of an excuse. But her
+eyes were irresistible: they looked him into submission in an instant.
+
+"Doctor Benjulia is what we call a Specialist," he said. "I mean that
+he only professes to treat certain diseases. Brains and nerves are
+Benjulia's diseases. Without quite discontinuing his medical practice,
+he limits himself to serious cases--when other doctors are puzzled, you
+know, and want him to help them. With this exception, he has certainly
+sacrificed his professional interests to his mania for experiments in
+chemistry. What those experiments are, nobody knows but himself. He
+keeps the key of his laboratory about him by day and by night. When the
+place wants cleaning, he does the cleaning with his own hands."
+
+Carmina listened with great interest: "Has nobody peeped in at the
+windows?" she asked.
+
+"There are no windows--only a skylight in the roof."
+
+"Can't somebody get up on the roof, and look in through the skylight?"
+
+Ovid laughed. "One of his men-servants is said to have tried that
+experiment," he replied.
+
+"And what did the servant see?"
+
+"A large white blind, drawn under the skylight, and hiding the whole
+room from view. Somehow, the doctor discovered him--and the man was
+instantly dismissed. Of course there are reports which explain the
+mystery of the doctor and his laboratory. One report says that he is
+trying to find a way of turning common metals into gold. Another
+declares that he is inventing some explosive compound, so horribly
+destructive that it will put an end to war. All I can tell you is, that
+his mind (when I happen to meet him) seems to be as completely absorbed
+as ever in brains and nerves. But, what they can have to do with
+chemical experiments, secretly pursued in a lonely field, is a riddle
+to which I have thus far found no answer.
+
+"Is he married?" Carmina inquired.
+
+The question seemed to amuse Ovid. "If Doctor Benjulia had a wife, you
+think we might get at his secrets? There is no such chance for us--he
+manages his domestic affairs for himself."
+
+"Hasn't he even got a housekeeper?"
+
+"Not even a housekeeper!"
+
+While he was making that reply, he saw the doctor slowly advancing
+towards them. "Excuse me for one minute," he resumed; "I will just
+speak to him, and come back to you."
+
+Carmina turned to Miss Minerva in surprise.
+
+"Ovid seems to have some reason for keeping the tall man away from us,"
+she said. "Does he dislike Doctor Benjulia?"
+
+But for restraining motives, the governess might have gratified her
+hatred of Carmina by a sharp reply. She had her reasons--not only after
+what she had overheard in the conservatory, but after what she had seen
+in the Gardens--for winning Carmina's confidence, and exercising over
+her the influence of a trusted friend. Miss Minerva made instant use of
+her first opportunity.
+
+"I can tell you what I have noticed myself," she said confidentially.
+"When Mrs. Gallilee gives parties, I am allowed to be present--to see
+the famous professors of science. On one of these occasions they were
+talking of instinct and reason. Your cousin, Mr. Ovid Vere, said it was
+no easy matter to decide where instinct ended and reason began. In his
+own experience, he had sometimes found people of feeble minds, who
+judged by instinct, arrive at sounder conclusions than their superiors
+in intelligence, who judged by reason. The talk took another turn--and,
+soon after, Doctor Benjulia joined the guests. I don't know whether you
+have observed that Mr. Gallilee is very fond of his stepson?"
+
+Oh, yes! Carmina had noticed that. "I like Mr. Gallilee," she said
+warmly; "he is such a nice, kind-hearted, natural old man."
+
+Miss Minerva concealed a sneer under a smile. Fond of Mr. Gallilee?
+what simplicity! "Well," she resumed, "the doctor paid his respects to
+the master of the house, and then he shook hands with Mr. Ovid; and
+then the scientific gentlemen all got round him, and had learned talk.
+Mr. Gallilee came up to his stepson, looking a little discomposed. He
+spoke in a whisper--you know his way?--'Ovid, do you like Doctor
+Benjulia? Don't mention it; I hate him.' Strong language for Mr.
+Gallilee, wasn't it? Mr. Ovid said, 'Why do you hate him?' And poor Mr.
+Gallilee answered like a child, 'Because I do.' Some ladies came in,
+and the old gentleman left us to speak to them. I ventured to say to
+Mr. Ovid, 'Is that instinct or reason?' He took it quite seriously.
+'Instinct,' he said--'and it troubles me.' I leave you, Miss Carmina,
+to draw your own conclusion."
+
+They both looked up. Ovid and the doctor were walking slowly away from
+them, and were just passing Teresa and the child. At the same moment,
+one of the keepers of the animals approached Benjulia. After they had
+talked together for a while, the man withdrew. Zo (who had heard it
+all, and had understood a part of it) ran up to Carmina, charged with
+news.
+
+"There's a sick monkey in the gardens, in a room all by himself!" the
+child cried. "And, I say, look there!" She pointed excitedly to
+Benjulia and Ovid, walking on again slowly in the direction of the
+aviaries. "There's the big doctor who tickles me! He says he'll see the
+poor monkey, as soon as he's done with Ovid. And what do you think he
+said besides? He said perhaps he'd take the monkey home with him."
+
+"I wonder what's the matter with the poor creature?" Carmina asked.
+
+"After what Mr. Ovid has told us, I think I know," Miss Minerva
+answered. "Doctor Benjulia wouldn't be interested in the monkey unless
+it had a disease of the brain."
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+Ovid had promised to return to Carmina in a minute. The minutes passed,
+and still Doctor Benjulia held him in talk.
+
+Now that he was no longer seeking amusement, in his own dreary way, by
+mystifying Zo, the lines seemed to harden in the doctor's fleshless
+face. A scrupulously polite man, he was always cold in his politeness.
+He waited to have his hand shaken, and waited to be spoken to. And yet,
+on this occasion, he had something to say. When Ovid opened the
+conversation, he changed the subject directly.
+
+"Benjulia! what brings You to the Zoological Gardens?"
+
+"One of the monkeys has got brain disease; and they fancy I might like
+to see the beast before they kill him. Have you been thinking lately of
+that patient we lost?"
+
+Not at the moment remembering the patient, Ovid made no immediate
+reply. The doctor seemed to distrust his silence.
+
+"You don't mean to say you have forgotten the case?" he resumed. "We
+called it hysteria, not knowing what else it was. I don't forgive the
+girl for slipping through our fingers; I hate to be beaten by Death, in
+that way. Have you made up your mind what to do, on the next occasion?
+Perhaps you think you could have saved her life if you had been sent
+for, now?"
+
+"No, indeed, I am just as ignorant--"
+
+"Give ignorance time," Benjulia interposed, "and ignorance will become
+knowledge--if a man is in earnest. The proper treatment might occur to
+you to-morrow."
+
+He held to his idea with such obstinacy that Ovid set him right, rather
+impatiently. "The proper treatment has as much chance of occurring to
+the greatest ass in the profession," he answered, "as it has of
+occurring to me. I can put my mind to no good medical use; my work has
+been too much for me. I am obliged to give up practice, and rest--for a
+time."
+
+Not even a formal expression of sympathy escaped Doctor Benjulia.
+Having been a distrustful friend so far, he became an inquisitive
+friend now. "You're going away, of course," he said. "Where to? On the
+Continent? Not to Italy--if you really want to recover your health!"
+
+"What is the objection to Italy?"
+
+The doctor put his great hand solemnly on his young friend's shoulder.
+"The medical schools in that country are recovering their past
+reputation," he said. "They are becoming active centres of
+physiological inquiry. You will be dragged into it, to a dead
+certainty. They're sure to try what they can strike out by collision
+with a man like you. What will become of that overworked mind of yours,
+when a lot of professors are searching it without mercy? Have you ever
+been to Canada?"
+
+"No. Have you?"
+
+"I have been everywhere. Canada is just the place for you, in this
+summer season. Bracing air; and steady-going doctors who leave the
+fools in Europe to pry into the secrets of Nature. Thousands of miles
+of land, if you like riding. Thousands of miles of water, if you like
+sailing. Pack up, and go to Canada."
+
+What did all this mean? Was he afraid that his colleague might stumble
+on some discovery which he was in search of himself? And did the
+discovery relate to his own special subject of brains and nerves? Ovid
+made an attempt to understand him.
+
+"Tell me something about yourself, Benjulia," he said. "Are you
+returning to your regular professional work?"
+
+Benjulia struck his bamboo stick emphatically on the gravel-walk.
+"Never! Unless I know more than I know now."
+
+This surely meant that he was as much devoted to his chemical
+experiments as ever? In that case, how could Ovid (who knew nothing of
+chemical experiments) be an obstacle in the doctor's way? Baffled thus
+far, he made another attempt at inducing Benjulia to explain himself.
+
+"When is the world to hear of your discoveries?" he asked.
+
+The doctor's massive forehead gathered ominously into a frown, "Damn
+the world!" That was his only reply.
+
+Ovid was not disposed to allow himself to be kept in the dark in this
+way. "I suppose you are going on with your experiments?" he said.
+
+The gloom of Benjulia's grave eyes deepened: they stared with a stern
+fixedness into vacancy. His great head bent slowly over his broad
+breast. The whole man seemed to be shut up in himself. "I go on a way
+of my own," he growled. "Let nobody cross it."
+
+After that reply, to persist in making inquiries would only have ended
+in needlessly provoking an irritable man. Ovid looked back towards
+Carmina. "I must return to my friends," he said.
+
+The doctor lifted his head, like a man awakened. "Have I been rude?" he
+asked. "Don't talk to me about my experiments. That's my raw place, and
+you hit me on it. What did you say just now? Friends? who are your
+friends?" He rubbed his hand savagely over his forehead--it was a way
+he had of clearing his mind. "I know," he went on. "I saw your friends
+just now. Who's the young lady?" His most intimate companions had never
+heard him laugh: they had sometimes seen his thin-lipped mouth widen
+drearily into a smile. It widened now. "Whoever she is," he proceeded,
+"Zo wonders why you don't kiss her."
+
+This specimen of Benjulia's attempts at pleasantry was not exactly to
+Ovid's taste. He shifted the topic to his little sister. "You were
+always fond of Zo," he said.
+
+Benjulia looked thoroughly puzzled. Fondness for anybody was, to all
+appearance, one of the few subjects on which he had not qualified
+himself to offer an opinion. He gave his head another savage rub, and
+returned to the subject of the young lady. "Who is she?" he asked
+again.
+
+"My cousin," Ovid replied as shortly as possible.
+
+"Your cousin? A girl of Lady Northlake's?"
+
+"No: my late uncle's daughter."
+
+Benjulia suddenly came to a standstill. "What!" he cried, "has that
+misbegotten child grown up to be a woman?"'
+
+Ovid started. Words of angry protest were on his lips, when he
+perceived Teresa and Zo on one side of him, and the keeper of the
+monkeys on the other. Benjulia dismissed the man, with the favourable
+answer which Zo had already reported. They walked on again. Ovid was at
+liberty to speak.
+
+"Do you know what you said of my cousin, just now?" he began.
+
+His tone seemed to surprise the doctor. "What did I say?" he asked.
+
+"You used a very offensive word. You called Carmina a 'misbegotten
+child.' Are you repeating some vile slander on the memory of her
+mother?"
+
+Benjulia came to another standstill. "Slander?" he repeated--and said
+no more.
+
+Ovid's anger broke out. "Yes!" he replied. "Or a lie, if you like, told
+of a woman as high above reproach as your mother or mine!"
+
+"You are hot," the doctor remarked, and walked on again. "When I was in
+Italy--" he paused to calculate, "when I was at Rome, fifteen years
+ago, your cousin was a wretched little rickety child. I said to Robert
+Graywell, 'Don't get too fond of that girl; she'll never live to grow
+up.' He said something about taking her away to the mountain air. I
+didn't think, myself, the mountain air would be of any use. It seems I
+was wrong. Well! it's a surprise to me to find her--" he waited, and
+calculated again, "to find her grown up to be seventeen years old." To
+Ovid's ears, there was an inhuman indifference in his tone as he said
+this, which it was impossible not to resent, by looks, if not in words.
+Benjulia noticed the impression that he had produced, without in the
+least understanding it. "Your nervous system's in a nasty state," he
+remarked; "you had better take care of yourself. I'll go and look at
+the monkey."
+
+His face was like the face of the impenetrable sphinx; his deep bass
+voice droned placidly. Ovid's anger had passed by him like the passing
+of the summer air. "Good-bye!" he said; "and take care of those nasty
+nerves. I tell you again--they mean mischief."
+
+Not altogether willingly, Ovid made his apologies. "If I have
+misunderstood you, I beg your pardon. At the same time, I don't think I
+am to blame. Why did you mislead me by using that detestable word?"
+
+"Wasn't it the right word?"
+
+"The right word--when you only wanted to speak of a poor sickly child!
+Considering that you took your degree at Oxford--"
+
+"You could expect nothing better from the disadvantages of my
+education," said the doctor, finishing the sentence with the grave
+composure that distinguished him. "When I said 'misbegotten,' perhaps I
+ought to have said 'half-begotten'? Thank you for reminding me. I'll
+look at the dictionary when I get home."
+
+Ovid's mind was not set at ease yet. "There's one other thing," he
+persisted, "that seems unaccountable." He started, and seized Benjulia
+by the arm. "Stop!" he cried, with a sudden outburst of alarm.
+
+"Well?" asked the doctor, stopping directly. "What is it?"
+
+"Nothing," said Ovid, recoiling from a stain on the gravel walk, caused
+by the remains of an unlucky beetle, crushed under his friend's heavy
+foot. "You trod on the beetle before I could stop you."
+
+Benjulia's astonishment at finding an adult male human being (not in a
+lunatic asylum) anxious to spare the life of a beetle, literally struck
+him speechless. His medical instincts came to his assistance. "You had
+better leave London at once," he suggested. "Get into pure air, and be
+out of doors all day long." He turned over the remains of the beetle
+with the end of his stick. "The common beetle," he said; "I haven't
+damaged a Specimen."
+
+Ovid returned to the subject, which had suffered interruption through
+his abortive little act of mercy. "You knew my uncle in Italy. It seems
+strange, Benjulia, that I should never have heard of it before."
+
+"Yes; I knew your uncle; and," he added with especial emphasis, "I knew
+his wife."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, I can't say I felt any particular interest in either of them.
+Nothing happened afterwards to put me in mind of the acquaintance till
+you told me who the young lady was, just now.
+
+"Surely my mother must have reminded you?"
+
+"Not that I can remember. Women in her position don't much fancy
+talking of a relative who has married"--he stopped to choose his next
+words. "I don't want to be rude; suppose we say married beneath him?"
+
+Reflection told Ovid that this was true. Even in conversation with
+himself (before the arrival in England of Robert's Will), his mother
+rarely mentioned her brother--and still more rarely his family. There
+was another reason for Mrs. Gallilee's silence, known only to herself.
+Robert was in the secret of her debts, and Robert had laid her under
+heavy pecuniary obligations. The very sound of his name was revolting
+to his amiable sister: it reminded her of that humiliating sense, known
+in society as a sense of gratitude.
+
+Carmina was still waiting--and there was nothing further to be gained
+by returning to the subject of her mother with such a man as Benjulia.
+Ovid held out his hand to say good-bye.
+
+Taking the offered hand readily enough, the doctor repeated his odd
+question--"I haven't been rude, have I?"--with an unpleasant appearance
+of going through a form purely for form's sake. Ovid's natural
+generosity of feeling urged him to meet the advance, strangely as it
+had been made, with a friendly reception.
+
+"I am afraid it is I who have been rude," he said. "Will you go back
+with me, and be introduced to Carmina?"
+
+Benjulia made his acknowledgments in his own remarkable way. "No, thank
+you," he said, quietly, "I'd rather see the monkey."
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+In the meantime, Zo had become the innocent cause of a difference of
+opinion between two no less dissimilar personages than Maria and the
+duenna.
+
+Having her mind full of the sick monkey, the child felt a natural
+curiosity to see the other monkeys who were well. Amiable Miss Minerva
+consulted her young friend from Italy before she complied with Zo's
+wishes. Would Miss Carmina like to visit the monkey-house? Ovid's
+cousin, remembering Ovid's promise, looked towards the end of the walk.
+He was not returning to her--he was not even in sight. Carmina resigned
+herself to circumstances, with a little air of pique which was duly
+registered in Miss Minerva's memory.
+
+Arriving at the monkey-house, Teresa appeared in a new character. She
+surprised her companions by showing an interest in natural history.
+
+"Are they all monkeys in that big place?" she asked. "I don't know much
+about foreign beasts. How do they like it, I wonder?"
+
+This comprehensive inquiry was addressed to the governess, as the most
+learned person present. Miss Minerva referred to her elder pupil with
+an encouraging smile. "Maria will inform you," she said. "Her studies
+in natural history have made her well acquainted with the habits of
+monkeys."
+
+Thus authorised to exhibit her learning, even the discreet Maria
+actually blushed with pleasure. It was that young lady's most
+highly-prized reward to display her knowledge (in imitation of her
+governess's method of instruction) for the benefit of unfortunate
+persons of the lower rank, whose education had been imperfectly carried
+out. The tone of amiable patronage with which she now imparted useful
+information to a woman old enough to be her grandmother, would have
+made the hands of the bygone generation burn to box her ears.
+
+"The monkeys are kept in large and airy cages," Maria began; "and the
+temperature is regulated with the utmost care. I shall be happy to
+point out to you the difference between the monkey and the ape. You are
+not perhaps aware that the members of the latter family are called
+'Simiadae,' and are without tails and cheek-pouches?"
+
+Listening so far in dumb amazement, Teresa checked the flow of
+information at tails and cheek-pouches.
+
+"What gibberish is this child talking to me?" she asked. "I want to
+know how the monkeys amuse themselves in that large house?"
+
+Maria's perfect training condescended to enlighten even this state of
+mind.
+
+"They have ropes to swing on," she answered sweetly; "and visitors feed
+them through the wires of the cage. Branches of trees are also placed
+for their diversion; reminding many of them no doubt of the vast
+tropical forests in which, as we learn from travellers, they pass in
+flocks from tree to tree."
+
+Teresa held up her hand as a signal to stop. "A little of You, my young
+lady, goes a long way," she said. "Consider how much I can hold, before
+you cram me at this rate."
+
+Maria was bewildered, but nor daunted yet. "Pardon me," she pleaded; "I
+fear I don't quite understand you."
+
+"Then there are two of us puzzled," the duenna remarked. _"I_ don't
+understand _you._ I shan't go into that house. A Christian can't be
+expected to care about beasts--but right is right all the world over.
+Because a monkey is a nasty creature (as I have heard, not even good to
+eat when he's dead), that's no reason for taking him out of his own
+country and putting him into a cage. If we are to see creatures in
+prison, let's see creatures who have deserved it--men and women, rogues
+and sluts. The monkeys haven't deserved it. Go in--I'll wait for you at
+the door."
+
+Setting her bitterest emphasis on this protest, which expressed
+inveterate hostility to Maria (using compassion for caged animals as
+the readiest means at hand), Teresa seated herself in triumph on the
+nearest bench.
+
+A young person, possessed of no more than ordinary knowledge, might
+have left the old woman to enjoy the privilege of saying the last word.
+Miss Minerva's pupil, exuding information as it were at every pore in
+her skin, had been rudely dried up at a moment's notice. Even earthly
+perfection has its weak places within reach. Maria lost her temper.
+
+
+"You will allow me to remind you," she said, "that intelligent
+curiosity leads us to study the habits of animals that are new to us.
+We place them in a cage--"
+
+Teresa lost _her_ temper.
+
+"You're an animal that's new to me," cried the irate duenna. "I never
+in all my life met with such a child before. If you please, madam
+governess, put this girl into a cage. My intelligent curiosity wants to
+study a monkey that's new to me."
+
+It was fortunate for Teresa that she was Carmina's favourite and
+friend, and, as such, a person to be carefully handled. Miss Minerva
+stopped the growing quarrel with the readiest discretion and
+good-feeling. She patted Teresa on the shoulder, and looked at Carmina
+with a pleasant smile. "Worthy old creature! how full of humour she is!
+The energy of the people, Miss Carmina. I often remark the quaint force
+with which they express their ideas. No--not a word of apology, I beg
+and pray. Maria, my dear, take your sister's hand, and we will follow."
+She put her arm in Carmina's arm with the happiest mixture of
+familiarity and respect, and she nodded to Carmina's old companion with
+the cordiality of a good-humoured friend.
+
+Teresa was not further irritated by being kept waiting for any length
+of time. In a few minutes Carmina joined her on the bench.
+
+"Tired of the beasts already, my pretty one?"
+
+"Worse than tired--driven away by the smell! Dear old Teresa, why did
+you speak so roughly to Miss Minerva and Maria?"
+
+"Because I hate them! because I hate the family! Was your poor father
+demented in his last moments, when he trusted you among these
+detestable people?"
+
+Carmina listened in astonishment. "You said just the contrary of the
+family," she exclaimed, "only yesterday!"
+
+Teresa hung her head in confusion. Her well-meant attempt to reconcile
+Carmina to the new life on which she had entered was now revealed as a
+sham, thanks to her own outbreak of temper. The one honest alternative
+left was to own the truth, and put Carmina on her guard without
+alarming her, if possible.
+
+"I'll never tell a lie again, as long as I live," Teresa declared. "You
+see I didn't like to discourage you. After all, I dare say I'm more
+wrong than right in my opinion. But it _is_ my opinion, for all that. I
+hate those women, mistress and governess, both alike. There! now it's
+out. Are you angry with me?"
+
+"I am never angry with you, my old friend; I am only a little vexed.
+Don't say you hate people, after only knowing them for a day or two! I
+am sure Miss Minerva has been very kind--to me, as well as to you. I
+feel ashamed of myself already for having begun by disliking her."
+
+Teresa took her young mistress's hand, and patted it compassionately.
+"Poor innocent, if you only had my experience to help you! There are
+good ones and bad ones among all creatures. I say to you the Gallilees
+are bad ones! Even their music-master (I saw him this morning) looks
+like a rogue. You will tell me the poor old gentleman is harmless,
+surely. I shall not contradict that--I shall only ask, what is the use
+of a man who is as weak as water? Oh, I like him, but I distinguish! I
+also like Zo. But what is a child--especially when that beastly
+governess has muddled her unfortunate little head with learning? No, my
+angel, there's but one person among these people who comforts me, when
+I think of the day that will part us. Ha! do I see a little colour
+coming into your cheeks? You sly girl! you know who it is. _There_ is
+what I call a Man! If I was as young as you are, and as pretty as you
+are--"
+
+A warning gesture from Carmina closed Teresa's lips. Ovid was rapidly
+approaching them.
+
+He looked a little annoyed, and he made his apologies without
+mentioning the doctor's name. His cousin was interested enough in him
+already to ask herself what this meant. Did he really dislike Benjulia,
+and had there been some disagreement between them?
+
+"Was the tall doctor so very interesting?" she ventured to inquire.
+
+"Not in the least!" He answered as if the subject was disagreeable to
+him--and yet he returned to it. "By-the-by, did you ever hear
+Benjulia's name mentioned, at home in Italy?"
+
+"Never! Did he know my father and mother?"
+
+"He says so."
+
+"Oh, do introduce me to him!"
+
+"We must wait a little. He prefers being introduced to the monkey
+to-day. Where are Miss Minerva and the children?"
+
+Teresa replied. She pointed to the monkey-house, and then drew Ovid
+aside. "Take her to see some more birds, and trust me to keep the
+governess out of your way," whispered the good creature. "Make
+love--hot love to her, doctor!"
+
+In a minute more the cousins were out of sight. How are you to make
+love to a young girl, after an acquaintance of a day or two? The
+question would have been easily answered by some men. It thoroughly
+puzzled Ovid.
+
+"I am so glad to get back to you!" he said, honestly opening his mind
+to her. "Were you half as glad when you saw me return?"
+
+He knew nothing of the devious and serpentine paths by which love finds
+the way to its ends. It had not occurred to him to approach her with
+those secret tones and stolen looks which speak for themselves. She
+answered with the straightforward directness of which he had set the
+example.
+
+"I hope you don't think me insensible to your kindness," she said. "I
+am more pleased and more proud than I can tell you."
+
+"Proud!" Ovid repeated, not immediately understanding her.
+
+"Why not?" she asked. "My poor father used to say you would be an
+honour to the family. Ought I not to be proud, when I find such a man
+taking so much notice of me?"
+
+She looked up at him shyly. At that moment, he would have resigned all
+his prospects of celebrity for the privilege of kissing her. He made
+another attempt to bring her--in spirit--a little nearer to him.
+
+"Carmina, do you remember where you first saw me?"
+
+"How can you ask?--it was in the concert-room. When I saw you there, I
+remembered passing you in the large Square. It seems a strange
+coincidence that you should have gone to the very concert that Teresa
+and I went to by accident."
+
+Ovid ran the risk, and made his confession. "It was no coincidence," he
+said. "After our meeting in the Square I followed you to the concert."
+
+This bold avowal would have confused a less innocent girl. It only took
+Carmina by surprise.
+
+"What made you follow us?" she asked.
+
+Us? Did she suppose he had followed the old woman? Ovid lost no time in
+setting her right. "I didn't even see Teresa," he said. "I followed
+You."
+
+She was silent. What did her silence mean? Was she confused, or was she
+still at a loss to understand him? That morbid sensitiveness, which was
+one of the most serious signs of his failing health, was by this time
+sufficiently irritated to hurry him into extremities. "Did you ever
+hear," he asked, "of such a thing as love at first sight?"
+
+She started. Surprise, confusion, doubt, succeeded each other in rapid
+changes on her mobile and delicate face. Still silent, she roused her
+courage, and looked at him.
+
+If he had returned the look, he would have told the story of his first
+love without another word to help him. But his shattered nerves
+unmanned him, at the moment of all others when it was his interest to
+be bold. The fear that he might have allowed himself to speak too
+freely--a weakness which would never have misled him in his days of
+health and strength--kept his eyes on the ground. She looked away again
+with a quick flush of shame. When such a man as Ovid spoke of love at
+first sight, what an instance of her own vanity it was to have thought
+that his mind was dwelling on _her!_ He had kindly lowered himself to
+the level of a girl's intelligence, and had been trying to interest her
+by talking the language of romance. She was so dissatisfied with
+herself that she made a movement to turn back.
+
+He was too bitterly disappointed, on his side, to attempt to prolong
+the interview. A deadly sense of weakness was beginning to overpower
+him. It was the inevitable result of his utter want of care for
+himself. After a sleepless night, he had taken a long walk before
+breakfast; and to these demands on his failing reserves of strength, he
+had now added the fatigue of dawdling about a garden. Physically and
+mentally he had no energy left.
+
+"I didn't mean it," he said to Carmina sadly; "I am afraid I have
+offended you."
+
+"Oh, how little you know me," she cried, "if you think that!"
+
+This time their eyes met. The truth dawned on her--and he saw it.
+
+He took her hand. The clammy coldness of his grasp startled her. "Do
+you still wonder why I followed you?" he asked. The words were so
+faintly uttered that she could barely hear them. Heavy drops of
+perspiration stood on his forehead; his face faded to a gray and
+ghastly whiteness--he staggered, and tried desperately to catch at the
+branch of a tree near them. She threw her arms round him. With all her
+little strength she tried to hold him up. Her utmost effort only
+availed to drag him to the grass plot by their side, and to soften his
+fall. Even as the cry for help passed her lips, she saw help coming. A
+tall man was approaching her--not running, even when he saw what had
+happened; only stalking with long strides. He was followed by one of
+the keepers of the gardens. Doctor Benjulia had his sick monkey to take
+care of. He kept the creature sheltered under his long frock-coat.
+
+"Don't do that, if you please," was all the doctor said, as Carmina
+tried to lift Ovid's head from the grass. He spoke with his customary
+composure, and laid his hand on the heart of the fainting man, as
+coolly as if it had been the heart of a stranger. "Which of you two can
+run the fastest?" he asked, looking backwards and forwards between
+Carmina and the keeper. "I want some brandy."
+
+The refreshment room was within sight. Before the keeper quite
+understood what was required of him, Carmina was speeding over the
+grass like Atalanta herself.
+
+Benjulia looked after her, with his usual grave attention. "That wench
+can run," he said to himself, and turned once more to Ovid. "In his
+state of health, he's been fool enough to over-exert himself." So he
+disposed of the case in his own mind. Having done that, he remembered
+the monkey, deposited for the time being on the grass. "Too cold for
+him," he remarked, with more appearance of interest than he had shown
+yet. "Here, keeper! Pick up the monkey till I'm ready to take him
+again." The man hesitated.
+
+"He might bite me, sir."
+
+"Pick him up!" the doctor reiterated; "he can't bite anybody, after
+what I've done to him." The monkey was indeed in a state of stupor. The
+keeper obeyed his instructions, looking half stupefied himself: he
+seemed to be even more afraid of the doctor than of the monkey. "Do you
+think I'm the Devil?" Benjulia asked with dismal irony. The man looked
+as if he would say "Yes," if he dared.
+
+Carmina came running back with the brandy. The doctor smelt it first,
+and then took notice of her. "Out of breath?" he said.
+
+"Why don't you give him the brandy?" she answered impatiently.
+
+"Strong lungs," Benjulia proceeded, sitting down cross-legged by Ovid,
+and administering the stimulant without hurrying himself. "Some girls
+would not have been able to speak, after such a run as you have had. I
+didn't think much of you or your lungs when you were a baby."
+
+"Is he coming to himself?" Carmina asked.
+
+"Do you know what a pump is?" Benjulia rejoined. "Very well; a pump
+sometimes gets out of order. Give the carpenter time, and he'll put it
+right again." He let his mighty hand drop on Ovid's breast. _"This_
+pump is out of order; and I'm the carpenter. Give me time, and I'll set
+it right again. You're not a bit like your mother."
+
+Watching eagerly for the slightest signs of recovery in Ovid's face,
+Carmina detected a faint return of colour. She was so relieved that she
+was able to listen to the doctor's oddly discursive talk, and even to
+join in it. "Some of our friends used to think I was like my father,"
+she answered.
+
+"Did they?" said Benjulia--and shut his thin-lipped mouth as if he was
+determined to drop the subject for ever.
+
+Ovid stirred feebly, and half opened his eyes.
+
+Benjulia got up. "You don't want me any longer," he said. "Now, Mr.
+Keeper, give me back the monkey." He dismissed the man, and tucked the
+monkey under one arm as if it had been a bundle. "There are your
+friends," he resumed, pointing to the end of the walk. "Good-day!"
+
+Carmina stopped him. Too anxious to stand on ceremony, she laid her
+hand on his arm. He shook it off--not angrily: just brushing it away,
+as he might have brushed away the ash of his cigar or a splash of mud
+in the street.
+
+"What does this fainting fit mean?" she asked timidly. "Is Ovid going
+to be ill?"
+
+"Seriously ill--unless you do the right thing with him, and do it at
+once." He walked away. She followed him, humbly and yet resolutely.
+"Tell me, if you please," she said, "what we are to do."
+
+He looked back over his shoulder. "Send him away."
+
+She returned, and knelt down by Ovid--still slowly reviving. With a
+fond and gentle hand, she wiped the moisture from his forehead.
+
+"Just as we were beginning to understand each other!" she said to
+herself, with a sad little sigh.
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+Two days passed. In spite of the warnings that he had received, Ovid
+remained in London.
+
+The indisputable authority of Benjulia had no more effect on him than
+the unanswerable arguments of Mrs. Gallilee. "Recent circumstances" (as
+his mother expressed it) "had strengthened his infatuated resistance to
+reason." The dreaded necessity for Teresa's departure had been hastened
+by a telegram from Italy: Ovid felt for Carmina's distress with
+sympathies which made her dearer to him than ever. On the second
+morning after the visit to the Zoological Gardens, her fortitude had
+been severely tried. She had found the telegram under her pillow,
+enclosed in a farewell letter. Teresa had gone.
+
+"My Carmina,--I have kissed you, and cried over you, and I am writing
+good-bye as well as my poor eyes will let me. Oh, my heart's darling, I
+cannot be cruel enough to wake you, and see you suffer! Forgive me for
+going away, with only this dumb farewell. I am so fond of you--that is
+my only excuse. While he still lives, my helpless old man has his claim
+on me. Write by every post, and trust me to write back--and remember
+what I said when I spoke of Ovid. Love the good man who loves _you;_
+and try to make the best of the others. They cannot surely be cruel to
+the poor angel who depends on their kindness. Oh, how hard life is--"
+
+The paper was blotted, and the rest was illegible.
+
+The miserable day of Teresa's departure was passed by Carmina in the
+solitude of her room: gently and firmly, she refused to see anyone.
+This strange conduct added to Mrs. Gallilee's anxieties. Already
+absorbed in considering Ovid's obstinacy, and the means of overcoming
+it, she was now confronted by a resolute side in the character of her
+niece, which took her by surprise. There might be difficulties to come,
+in managing Carmina, which she had not foreseen. Meanwhile, she was
+left to act on her own unaided discretion in the serious matter of her
+son's failing health. Benjulia had refused to help her; he was too
+closely occupied in his laboratory to pay or receive visits. "I have
+already given my advice" (the doctor wrote). "Send him away. When he
+has had a month's change, let me see his letters; and then, if I have
+anything more to say, I will tell you what I think of your son."
+
+Left in this position, Mrs. Gallilee's hard self-denial yielded to the
+one sound conclusion that lay before her. The only influence that could
+be now used over Ovid, with the smallest chance of success, was the
+influence of Carmina. Three days after Teresa's departure, she invited
+her niece to take tea in her own boudoir. Carmina found her reading. "A
+charming book," she said, as she laid it down, "on a most interesting
+subject, Geographical Botany. The author divides the earth into
+twenty-five botanical regions--but, I forget; you are not like Maria;
+you don't care about these things."
+
+"I am so ignorant," Carmina pleaded. "Perhaps, I may know better when I
+get older." A book on the table attracted her by its beautiful binding.
+She took it up. Mrs. Gallilee looked at her with compassionate good
+humour.
+
+"Science again, my dear," she said facetiously, "inviting you in a
+pretty dress! You have taken up the 'Curiosities of Coprolites.' That
+book is one of my distinctions--a presentation copy from the author."
+
+"What are Coprolites?" Carmina asked, trying to inform herself on the
+subject of her aunt's distinctions.
+
+Still good-humoured, but with an effort that began to appear, Mrs.
+Gallilee lowered herself to the level of her niece.
+
+"Coprolites," she explained, "are the fossilised indigestions of
+extinct reptiles. The great philosopher who has written that book has
+discovered scales, bones, teeth, and shells--the undigested food of
+those interesting Saurians. What a man! what a field for investigation!
+Tell me about your own reading. What have you found in the library?"
+
+"Very interesting books--at least to me," Carmina answered. "I have
+found many volumes of poetry. Do you ever read poetry?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee laid herself back in her chair, and submitted patiently
+to her niece's simplicity. "Poetry?" she repeated, in accents of
+resignation. "Oh, good heavens!"
+
+Unlucky Carmina tried a more promising topic. "What beautiful flowers
+you have in the drawing-room!" she said.
+
+"Nothing remarkable, my dear. Everybody has flowers in their
+drawing-rooms--they are part of the furniture."
+
+"Did you arrange them yourself, aunt?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee still endured it. "The florist's man," she said, "does
+all that. I sometimes dissect flowers, but I never trouble myself to
+arrange them. What would be the use of the man if I did?" This view of
+the question struck Carmina dumb. Mrs. Gallilee went on. "By-the-by,
+talking of flowers reminds one of other superfluities. Have you tried
+the piano in your room? Will it do?"
+
+"The tone is quite perfect!" Carmina answered with enthusiasm. "Did you
+choose it?" Mrs. Gallilee looked as if she was going to say "Good
+Heavens!" again, and perhaps to endure it no longer. Carmina was too
+simple to interpret these signs in the right way. Why should her aunt
+not choose a piano? "Don't you like music?" she asked.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee made a last effort. "When you see a little more of
+society, my child, you will know that one _must_ like music. So again
+with pictures--one _must_ go to the Royal Academy Exhibition. So
+again--"
+
+Before she could mention any more social sacrifices, the servant came
+in with a letter, and stopped her.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee looked at the address. The weary indifference of her
+manner changed to vivid interest, the moment she saw the handwriting.
+"From the Professor!" she exclaimed. "Excuse me, for one minute." She
+read the letter, and closed it again with a sigh of relief. "I knew
+it!" she said to herself. "I have always maintained that the albuminoid
+substance of frog's eggs is insufficient (viewed as nourishment) to
+transform a tadpole into a frog--and, at last, the Professor owns that
+I am right. I beg your pardon, Carmina; I am carried away by a subject
+that I have been working at in my stolen intervals for weeks past. Let
+me give you some tea. I have asked Miss Minerva to join us. What is
+keeping her, I wonder? She is usually so punctual. I suppose Zoe has
+been behaving badly again."
+
+In a few minutes more, the governess herself confirmed this maternal
+forewarning of the truth. Zo had declined to commit to memory "the
+political consequences of the granting of Magna Charta"--and now stood
+reserved for punishment, when her mother "had time to attend to it."
+Mrs. Gallilee at once disposed of this little responsibility. "Bread
+and water for tea," she said, and proceeded to the business of the
+evening.
+
+"I wish to speak to you both," she began, "on the subject of my son."
+
+The two persons addressed waited in silence to hear more. Carmina's
+head drooped: she looked down. Miss Minerva attentively observed Mrs.
+Gallilee. "Why am I invited to hear what she has to say about her son?"
+was the question which occurred to the governess. "Is she afraid that
+Carmina might tell me about it, if I was not let into the family
+secrets?"
+
+Admirably reasoned, and correctly guessed!
+
+Mrs. Gallilee had latterly observed that the governess was insinuating
+herself into the confidence of her niece--that is to say, into the
+confidence of a young lady, whose father was generally reported to have
+died in possession of a handsome fortune. Personal influence, once
+obtained over an heiress, is not infrequently misused. To check the
+further growth of a friendship of this sort (without openly offending
+Miss Minerva) was an imperative duty. Mrs. Gallilee saw her way to the
+discreet accomplishment of that object. Her niece and her governess
+were interested--diversely interested--in Ovid. If she invited them
+both together, to consult with her on the delicate subject of her son,
+there would be every chance of exciting some difference of opinion,
+sufficiently irritating to begin the process of estrangement, by
+keeping them apart when they had left the tea-table.
+
+"It is most important that there should be no misunderstanding among
+us," Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. "Let me set the example of speaking
+without reserve. We all three know that Ovid persists in remaining in
+London--"
+
+She paused, on the point of finishing the sentence. Although she _had_
+converted a Professor, Mrs. Gallilee was still only a woman. There did
+enter into her other calculations, the possibility of exciting some
+accidental betrayal of her governess's passion for her son. On alluding
+to Ovid, she turned suddenly to Miss Minerva. "I am sure you will
+excuse my troubling you with family anxieties," she said--"especially
+when they are connected with the health of my son."
+
+It was cleverly done, but it laboured under one disadvantage. Miss
+Minerva had no idea of what the needless apology meant, having no
+suspicion of the discovery of her secret by her employer. But to feel
+herself baffled in trying to penetrate Mrs. Gallilee's motives was
+enough, of itself, to put Mrs. Gallilee's governess on her guard for
+the rest of the evening.
+
+"You honour me, madam, by admitting me to your confidence"--was what
+she said. "Trip me up, you cat, if you can!"--was what she thought.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee resumed.
+
+"We know that Ovid persists in remaining in London, when change of air
+and scene are absolutely necessary to the recovery of his health. And
+we know why. Carmina, my child, don't think for a moment that I blame
+you! don't even suppose that I blame my son. You are too charming a
+person not to excuse, nay even to justify, any man's admiration. But
+let us (as we hard old people say) look the facts in the face. If Ovid
+had not seen you, he would be now on the health-giving sea, on his way
+to Spain and Italy. You are the innocent cause of his obstinate
+indifference, his most deplorable and dangerous disregard of the duty
+which he owes to himself. He refuses to listen to his mother, he sets
+the opinion of his skilled medical colleague at defiance. But one
+person has any influence over him now." She paused again, and tried to
+trip up the governess once more. "Miss Minerva, let me appeal to You. I
+regard you as a member of our family; I have the sincerest admiration
+of your tact and good sense. Am I exceeding the limits of delicacy, if
+I say plainly to my niece, Persuade Ovid to go?"
+
+If Carmina had possessed an elder sister, with a plain personal
+appearance and an easy conscience, not even that sister could have
+matched the perfect composure with which Miss Minerva replied.
+
+"I don't possess your happy faculty of expressing yourself, Mrs.
+Gallilee. But, if I had been in your place, I should have said to the
+best of my poor ability exactly what you have said now." She bent her
+head with a graceful gesture of respect, and looked at Carmina with a
+gentle sisterly interest while she stirred her tea.
+
+At the very opening of the skirmish, Mrs. Gallilee was defeated. She
+had failed to provoke the slightest sign of jealousy, or even of
+ill-temper. Unquestionably the most crafty and most cruel woman of the
+two--possessing the most dangerously deceitful manner, and the most
+mischievous readiness of language--she was, nevertheless, Miss
+Minerva's inferior in the one supreme capacity of which they both stood
+in need, the capacity for self-restraint.
+
+She showed this inferiority on expressing her thanks. The underlying
+malice broke through the smooth surface that was intended to hide it.
+"I am apt to doubt myself," she said; "and such sound encouragement as
+yours always relieves me. Of course I don't ask you for more than a
+word of advice. Of course I don't expect _you_ to persuade Ovid."
+
+"Of course not!" Miss Minerva agreed. "May I ask for a little more
+sugar in my tea?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee turned to Carmina.
+
+"Well, my dear? I have spoken to you, as I might have spoken to one of
+my own daughters, if she had been of your age. Tell me frankly, in
+return, whether I may count on your help."
+
+Still pale and downcast, Carmina obeyed. "I will do my best, if you
+wish it. But--"
+
+"Yes? Go on."
+
+She still hesitated. Mrs. Gallilee tried gentle remonstrance. "My
+child, surely you are not afraid of me?"
+
+She was certainly afraid. But she controlled herself.
+
+"You are Ovid's mother, and I am only his cousin," she resumed. "I
+don't like to hear you say that my influence over him is greater than
+yours."
+
+It was far from the poor girl's intention; but there was an implied
+rebuke in this. In her present state of irritation, Mrs. Gallilee felt
+it.
+
+"Come! come!" she said. "Don't affect to be ignorant, my dear, of what
+you know perfectly well."
+
+Carmina lifted her head. For the first time in the experience of the
+two elder women, this gentle creature showed that she could resent an
+insult. The fine spirit that was in her fired her eyes, and fixed them
+firmly on her aunt.
+
+"Do you accuse me of deceit?" she asked.
+
+"Let us call it false modesty," Mrs. Gallilee retorted.
+
+Carmina rose without another word--and walked out of the room.
+
+In the extremity of her surprise, Mrs. Gallilee appealed to Miss
+Minerva. "Is she in a passion?"
+
+"She didn't bang the door," the governess quietly remarked.
+
+"I am not joking, Miss Minerva."
+
+"I am not joking either, madam."
+
+The tone of that answer implied an uncompromising assertion of
+equality. You are not to suppose (it said) that a lady drops below your
+level, because she receives a salary and teaches your children. Mrs.
+Gallilee was so angry, by this time, that she forgot the importance of
+preventing a conference between Miss Minerva and her niece. For once,
+she was the creature of impulse--the overpowering impulse to dismiss
+her insolent governess from her hospitable table.
+
+"May I offer you another cup of tea?"
+
+"Thank you--no more. May I return to my pupils?"
+
+"By all means!"
+
+Carmina had not been five minutes in her own room before she heard a
+knock at the door. Had Mrs. Gallilee followed her? "Who is there?" she
+asked. And a voice outside answered,
+
+"Only Miss Minerva!"
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+"I am afraid I have startled you?" said the governess, carefully
+closing the door.
+
+"I thought it was my aunt," Carmina answered, as simply as a child.
+
+"Have you been crying?"
+
+"I couldn't help it, Miss Minerva."
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee spoke cruelly to you--I don't wonder at your feeling
+angry."
+
+Carmina gently shook her head. "I have been crying," she explained,
+"because I am sorry and ashamed. How can I make it up with my aunt?
+Shall I go back at once and beg her pardon? I think you are my friend,
+Miss Minerva. Will you advise me?"
+
+It was so prettily and innocently said that even the governess was
+touched--for a moment. "Shall I prove to you that I am your friend?"
+she proposed. "I advise you not to go back yet to your aunt--and I will
+tell you why. Mrs. Gallilee bears malice; she is a thoroughly
+unforgiving woman. And I should be the first to feel it, if she knew
+what I have just said to you."
+
+"Oh, Miss Minerva! you don't think that I would betray your
+confidence?"
+
+"No, my dear, I don't. I felt attracted towards you, when we first met.
+You didn't return the feeling--you (very naturally) disliked me. I am
+ugly and ill-tempered: and, if there is anything good in me, it doesn't
+show itself on the surface. Yes! yes! I believe you are beginning to
+understand me. If I can make your life here a little happier, as time
+goes on, I shall be only too glad to do it." She put her long yellow
+hands on either side of Carmina's head, and kissed her forehead.
+
+The poor child threw her arms round Miss Minerva's neck, and cried her
+heart out on the bosom of the woman who was deceiving her. "I have
+nobody left, now Teresa has gone," she said. "Oh, do try to be kind to
+me--I feel so friendless and so lonely!"
+
+Miss Minerva neither moved nor spoke. She waited, and let the girl cry.
+
+Her heavy black eyebrows gathered into a frown; her sallow face
+deepened in colour. She was in a state of rebellion against herself.
+Through all the hardening influences of the woman's life--through the
+fortifications against good which watchful evil builds in human
+hearts--that innocent outburst of trust and grief had broken its way;
+and had purified for a while the fetid inner darkness with divine
+light. She had entered the room, with her own base interests to serve.
+In her small sordid way she, like her employer, was persecuted by
+debts--miserable debts to sellers of expensive washes, which might
+render her ugly complexion more passable in Ovid's eyes; to makers of
+costly gloves, which might show Ovid the shape of her hands, and hide
+their colour; to skilled workmen in fine leather, who could tempt Ovid
+to look at her high instep, and her fine ankle--the only beauties that
+she could reveal to the only man whom she cared to please. For the
+time, those importunate creditors ceased to threaten her. For the time,
+what she had heard in the conservatory, while they were reading the
+Will, lost its tempting influence. She remained in the room for half an
+hour more--and she left it without having borrowed a farthing.
+
+"Are you easier now?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+Carmina dried her eyes, and looked shyly at Miss Minerva. "I have been
+treating you as if I had a sister," she said; "you don't think me too
+familiar, I hope?"
+
+"I wish I was your sister, God knows!"
+
+The words were hardly out of her mouth before she was startled by her
+own fervour. "Shall I tell you what to do with Mrs. Gallilee?" she said
+abruptly. "Write her a little note."
+
+"Yes! yes! and you will take it for me?"
+
+Carmina's eyes brightened through her tears, the suggestion was such a
+relief! In a minute the note was written: "My dear Aunt, I have behaved
+very badly, and I am very much ashamed of it. May I trust to your kind
+indulgence to forgive me? I will try to be worthier of your kindness
+for the future; and I sincerely beg your pardon." She signed her name
+in breathless haste. "Please take it at once!" she said eagerly.
+
+Miss Minerva smiled. "If I take it," she said, "I shall do harm instead
+of good--I shall be accused of interfering. Give it to one of the
+servants. Not yet! When Mrs. Gallilee is angry, she doesn't get over it
+so soon as you seem to think. Leave her to dabble in science first,"
+said the governess in tones of immeasurable contempt. "When she has
+half stifled herself with some filthy smell, or dissected some wretched
+insect or flower, she may be in a better humour. Wait."
+
+Carmina thought of the happy days at home in Italy, when her father
+used to laugh at her little outbreaks of temper, and good Teresa only
+shrugged her shoulders. What a change--oh, me, what a change for the
+worse! She drew from her bosom a locket, hung round her neck by a thin
+gold chain--and opened it, and kissed the glass over the miniature
+portraits inside. "Would you like to see them?" she said to Miss
+Minerva. "My mother's likeness was painted for me by my father; and
+then he had his photograph taken to match it. I open my portraits and
+look at them, while I say my prayers. It's almost like having them
+alive again, sometimes. Oh, if I only had my father to advise me
+now--!" Her heart swelled--but she kept back the tears: she was
+learning that self-restraint, poor soul, already! "Perhaps," she went
+on, "I ought not to want advice. After that fainting-fit in the
+Gardens, if I can persuade Ovid to leave us, I ought to do it--and I
+will do it!"
+
+Miss Minerva crossed the room, and looked out of window. Carmina had
+roused the dormant jealousy; Carmina had fatally weakened the good
+influences which she had herself produced. The sudden silence of her
+new friend perplexed her. She too went to the window. "Do you think it
+would be taking a liberty?" she asked.
+
+"No."
+
+A short answer--and still looking out of window! Carmina tried again.
+"Besides, there are my aunt's wishes to consider. After my bad
+behaviour--"
+
+Miss Minerva turned round from the window sharply. "Of course! There
+can't be a doubt of it." Her tone softened a little. "You are young,
+Carmina--I suppose I may call you by your name--you are young and
+simple. Do those innocent eyes of yours ever see below the surface?"
+
+"I don't quite understand you."
+
+"Do you think your aunt's only motive in wishing Mr. Ovid Vere to leave
+London is anxiety about his health? Do you feel no suspicion that she
+wants to keep him away from You?"
+
+Carmina toyed with her locket, in an embarrassment which she was quite
+unable to disguise. "Are you afraid to trust me?" Miss Minerva asked.
+That reproach opened the girl's lips instantly.
+
+"I am afraid to tell you how foolish I am," she answered. "Perhaps, I
+still feel a little strangeness between us? It seems to be so formal to
+call you Miss Minerva. I don't know what your Christian name is. Will
+you tell me?"
+
+Miss Minerva replied rather unwillingly. "My name is Frances. Don't
+call me Fanny!"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because it's too absurd to be endured! What does the mere sound of
+Fanny suggest? A flirting, dancing creature--plump and fair, and
+playful and pretty!" She went to the looking-glass, and pointed
+disdainfully to the reflection of herself. "Sickening to think of," she
+said, "when you look at that. Call me Frances--a man's name, with only
+the difference between an i and an e. No sentiment in it; hard, like
+me. Well, what was it you didn't like to say of yourself?"
+
+Carmina dropped her voice to a whisper. "It's no use asking me what I
+do see, or don't see, in my aunt," she answered. "I am afraid we shall
+never be--what we ought to be to each other. When she came to that
+concert, and sat by me and looked at me--" She stopped, and shuddered
+over the recollection of it.
+
+Miss Minerva urged her to go on--first, by a gesture; then by a
+suggestion: "They said you fainted under the heat."
+
+"I didn't feel the heat. I felt a horrid creeping all over me. Before I
+looked at her, mind!--when I only knew that somebody was sitting next
+to me. And then, I did look round. Her eyes and my eyes flashed into
+each other. In that one moment, I lost all sense of myself as if I was
+dead. I can only tell you of it in that way. It was a dreadful surprise
+to me to remember it--and a dreadful pain--when they brought me to
+myself again. Though I do look so little and so weak, I am stronger
+than people think; I never fainted before. My aunt is--how can I say it
+properly?--hard to get on with since that time. Is there something
+wicked in my nature? I do believe she feels in the same way towards me.
+Yes; I dare say it's imagination, but it's as bad as reality for all
+that. Oh, I am sure you are right--she does want to keep Ovid out of my
+way!"
+
+"Because she doesn't like you?" said Miss Minerva. "Is that the only
+reason you can think of?"
+
+"What other reason can there be?"
+
+The governess summoned her utmost power of self-restraint. She needed
+it, even to speak of the bare possibility of Carmina's marriage to
+Ovid, as if it was only a matter of speculative interest to herself.
+
+"Some people object to marriages between cousins," she said. "You are
+cousins. Some people object to marriages between Catholics and
+Protestants. You are a Catholic--" No! She could not trust herself to
+refer to him directly; she went on to the next sentence. "And there
+might be some other reason," she resumed.
+
+"Do you know what that is?" Carmina asked.
+
+"No more than you do--thus far."
+
+She spoke the plain truth. Thanks to the dog's interruption, and to the
+necessity of saving herself from discovery, the last clauses of the
+Will had been read in her absence.
+
+"Can't you even guess what it is?" Carmina persisted.
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee is very ambitious," the governess replied: "and her son
+has a fortune of his own. She may wish him to marry a lady of high
+rank. But--no--she is always in need of money. In some way, money may
+be concerned in it."
+
+"In what way?" Carmina asked.
+
+"I have already told you," Miss Minerva answered, "that I don't know."
+
+Before the conversation could proceed, they were interrupted by the
+appearance of Mrs. Gallilee's maid, with a message from the schoolroom.
+Miss Maria wanted a little help in her Latin lesson. Noticing Carmina's
+letter, as she advanced to the door, it struck Miss Minerva that the
+woman might deliver it. "Is Mrs. Gallilee at home?" she asked. Mrs.
+Gallilee had just gone out. "One of her scientific lectures, I
+suppose," said Miss Minerva to Carmina. "Your note must wait till she
+comes back."
+
+The door closed on the governess--and the lady's-maid took a liberty.
+She remained in the room; and produced a morsel of folded paper,
+hitherto concealed from view. Smirking and smiling, she handed the
+paper to Carmina.
+
+"From Mr. Ovid, Miss."
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+"Pray come to me; I am waiting for you in the garden of the Square."
+
+In those two lines, Ovid's note began and ended. Mrs. Gallilee's
+maid--deeply interested in an appointment which was not without
+precedent in her own experience--ventured on an expression of sympathy,
+before she returned to the servants' hall. "Please to excuse me, Miss;
+I hope Mr. Ovid isn't ill? He looked sadly pale, I thought. Allow me to
+give you your hat." Carmina thanked her, and hurried downstairs.
+
+Ovid was waiting at the gate of the Square--and he did indeed look
+wretchedly ill.
+
+It was useless to make inquiries; they only seemed to irritate him. "I
+am better already, now you have come to me." He said that, and led the
+way to a sheltered seat among the trees. In the later evening-time the
+Square was almost empty. Two middle-aged ladies, walking up and down
+(who considerately remembered their own youth, and kept out of the
+way), and a boy rigging a model yacht (who was too closely occupied to
+notice them), were the only persons in the enclosure besides
+themselves.
+
+"Does my mother know that you have come here?" Ovid asked.
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee has gone out. I didn't stop to think of it, when I got
+your letter. Am I doing wrong?"
+
+Ovid took her hand. "Is it doing wrong to relieve me of anxieties that
+I have no courage to endure? When we meet in the house either my mother
+or her obedient servant, Miss Minerva, is sure to interrupt us. At
+last, my darling, I have got you to myself! You know that I love you.
+Why can't I look into your heart, and see what secrets it is keeping
+from me? I try to hope; but I want some little encouragement. Carmina!
+shall I ever hear you say that you love me?"
+
+She trembled, and turned away her head. Her own words to the governess
+were in her mind; her own conviction of the want of all sympathy
+between his mother and herself made her shrink from answering him.
+
+"I understand your silence." With those words he dropped her hand, and
+looked at her no more.
+
+It was sadly, not bitterly spoken. She attempted to find excuses; she
+showed but too plainly how she pitied him. "If I only had myself to
+think of--" Her voice failed her. A new life came into his eyes, the
+colour rose in his haggard face: even those few faltering words had
+encouraged him!
+
+She tried again to make him understand her. "I am so afraid of
+distressing you, Ovid; and I am so anxious not to make mischief between
+you and your mother--"
+
+"What has my mother to do with it?"
+
+She went on, without noticing the interruption. "You won't think me
+ungrateful? We had better speak of something else. Only this evening,
+your mother sent for me, and--don't be angry!--I am afraid she might be
+vexed if she knew what you have been saying to me. Perhaps I am wrong?
+Perhaps she only thinks I am too young. Oh, Ovid, how you look at me!
+Your mother hasn't said in so many words--"
+
+"What has she said?"
+
+In that question she saw the chance of speaking to him of other
+interests than the interests of love.
+
+"You must go away to another climate," she said; "and your mother tells
+me I must persuade you to do it. I obey her with a heavy heart. Dear
+Ovid, you know how I shall miss you; you know what a loss it will be to
+me, when you say good-bye--but there is only one way to get well again.
+I entreat you to take that way! Your mother thinks I have some
+influence over you. Have I any influence?"
+
+"Judge for yourself," he answered. "You wish me to leave you?"
+
+"For your own sake. Only for your own sake."
+
+"Do you wish me to come back again?"
+
+"It's cruel to ask the question!"
+
+"It rests with you, Carmina. Send me away when you like, and where you
+like. But, before I go, give me my one reason for making the sacrifice.
+No change will do anything for me, no climate will restore my
+health--unless you give me your love. I am old enough to know myself; I
+have thought of it by day and by night. Am I cruel to press you in this
+way? I will only say one word more. It doesn't matter what becomes of
+me--if you refuse to be my wife."
+
+Without experience, without advice--with her own heart protesting
+against her silence--the restraint that she had laid on herself grew
+harder and harder to endure. The tears rose in her eyes. He saw them;
+they embittered his mind against his mother. With a darkening face he
+rose, and walked up and down before her, struggling with himself.
+
+"This is my mother's doing," he said.
+
+His tone terrified her. The dread, present to her mind all through the
+interview, of making herself a cause of estrangement between mother and
+son, so completely overcame her that she even made an attempt to defend
+Mrs. Gallilee! At the first words, he sat down by her again. For a
+moment, he scrutinised her face without mercy--and then repented of his
+own severity.
+
+"My poor child," he said, "you are afraid to tell me what has happened.
+I won't press you to speak against your own inclinations. It would be
+cruel and needless--I have got at the truth at last. In the one hope of
+my life, my mother is my enemy. She is bent on separating us; she shall
+not succeed. I won't leave you."
+
+Carmina looked at him. His eyes dropped before her, in confusion and
+shame.
+
+"Are you angry with me?" she asked.
+
+No reproaches could have touched his heart as that question touched it.
+"Angry with you? Oh, my darling, if you only knew how angry I am with
+myself! It cuts me to the heart to see how I have distressed you. I am
+a miserable selfish wretch; I don't deserve your love. Forgive me, and
+forget me. I will make the best atonement I can, Carmina. I will go
+away to-morrow."
+
+Under hard trial, she had preserved her self-control. She had resisted
+him; she had resisted herself. His sudden submission disarmed her in an
+instant. With a low cry of love and fear she threw her arms round his
+neck, and laid her burning cheek against his face. "I can't help it,"
+she whispered; "oh, Ovid, don't despise me!" His arms closed round her;
+his lips were pressed to hers. "Kiss me," he said. She kissed him,
+trembling in his embrace. That innocent self-abandonment did not plead
+with him in vain. He released her--and only held her hand. There was
+silence between them; long, happy silence.
+
+He was the first to speak again. "How can I go away now?" he said.
+
+She only smiled at that reckless forgetfulness of the promise, by which
+he had bound himself a few minutes since. "What did you tell me," she
+asked playfully, "when you called yourself by hard names, and said you
+didn't deserve my love?" Her smile vanished softly, and left only a
+look of tender entreaty in its place. "Set me an example of firmness,
+Ovid--don't leave it all to me! Remember what you have made me say.
+Remember"--she only hesitated for a moment--"remember what an interest
+I have in you now. I love you, Ovid. Say you will go."
+
+He said it gratefully. "My life is yours; my will is yours. Decide for
+me, and I will begin my journey."
+
+She was so impressed by her sense of this new responsibility, that she
+answered him as gravely as if she had been his wife. "I must give you
+time to pack up," she said.
+
+"Say time to be with You!"
+
+She fell into thought. He asked if she was still considering when to
+send him away. "No," she said; "it isn't that. I was wondering at
+myself. What is it that makes a great man like you so fond of me?"
+
+His arm stole round her waist. He could just see her in the darkening
+twilight under the trees; the murmuring of the leaves was the only
+sound near them--his kisses lingered on her face. She sighed softly.
+"Don't make it too hard for me to send you away!" she whispered. He
+raised her, and put her arm in his. "Come," he said, "we will walk a
+little in the cool air."
+
+They returned to the subject of his departure. It was still early in
+the week. She inquired if Saturday would be too soon to begin his
+journey. No: he felt it, too--the longer they delayed, the harder the
+parting would be.
+
+"Have you thought yet where you will go?" she asked.
+
+"I must begin with a sea-voyage," he replied. "Long railway journeys,
+in my present state, will only do me harm. The difficulty is where to
+go to. I have been to America; India is too hot; Australia is too far.
+Benjulia has suggested Canada."
+
+As he mentioned the doctor's name, her hand mechanically pressed his
+arm.
+
+"That strange man!" she said. "Even his name startles one; I hardly
+know what to think of him. He seemed to have more feeling for the
+monkey than for you or me. It was certainly kind of him to take the
+poor creature home, and try what he could do with it. Are you sure he
+is a great chemist?"
+
+Ovid stopped. Such a question, from Carmina, sounded strange to him.
+"What makes you doubt it?" he said.
+
+"You won't laugh at me, Ovid?"
+
+"You know I won't!"
+
+"Now you shall hear. We knew a famous Italian chemist at Rome--such a
+nice old man! He and my father used to play piquet; and I looked at
+them, and tried to learn--and I was too stupid. But I had plenty of
+opportunities of noticing our old friend's hands. They were covered
+with stains; and he caught me looking at them. He was not in the least
+offended; he told me his experiments had spotted his skin in that way,
+and nothing would clean off the stains. I saw Doctor Benjulia's great
+big hands, while he was giving you the brandy--and I remembered
+afterwards that there were no stains on them. I seem to surprise you."
+
+"You do indeed surprise me. After knowing Benjulia for years, I have
+never noticed, what you have discovered on first seeing him."
+
+"Perhaps he has some way of cleaning the stains off his hands."
+
+Ovid agreed to this, as the readiest means of dismissing the subject.
+Carmina had really startled him. Some irrational connection between the
+great chemist's attention to the monkey, and the perplexing purity of
+his hands, persisted in vaguely asserting itself in Ovid's mind. His
+unacknowledged doubts of Benjulia troubled him as they had never
+troubled him yet. He turned to Carmina for relief.
+
+"Still thinking, my love?"
+
+"Thinking of you," she answered. "I want you to promise me
+something--and I am afraid to ask it."
+
+"Afraid? You don't love me, after all!"
+
+"Then I will say it at once! How long do you expect to be away?"
+
+"For two or three months, perhaps."
+
+"Promise to wait till you return, before you tell your mother--"
+
+"That we are engaged?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You have my promise, Carmina; but you make me uneasy."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"In my absence, you will be under my mother's care. And you don't like
+my mother."
+
+Few words and plain words--and they sorely troubled her.
+
+If she owned that he was right, what would the consequence be? He might
+refuse to leave her. Even assuming that he controlled himself, he would
+take his departure harassed by anxieties, which might exercise the
+worst possible influence over the good effect of the journey. To
+prevaricate with herself or with him was out of the question. That very
+evening she had quarrelled with his mother; and she had yet to discover
+whether Mrs. Gallilee had forgiven her. In her heart of hearts she
+hated deceit--and in her heart of hearts she longed to set his mind at
+ease. In that embarrassing position, which was the right way out? Satan
+persuaded Eve; and Love persuaded Carmina. Love asked if she was cruel
+enough to make her heart's darling miserable when he was so fond of
+her? Before she could realise it, she had begun to deceive him. Poor
+humanity! poor Carmina!
+
+"You are almost as hard on me as if you were Doctor Benjulia himself!"
+she said. "I feel your mother's superiority--and you tell me I don't
+like her. Haven't you seen how good she has been to me?"
+
+She thought this way of putting it irresistible. Ovid resisted,
+nevertheless. Carmina plunged into lower depths of deceit immediately.
+
+"Haven't you seen my pretty rooms--my piano--my pictures--my china--my
+flowers? I should be the most insensible creature living if I didn't
+feel grateful to your mother."
+
+"And yet, you are afraid of her."
+
+She shook his arm impatiently. "I say, No!"
+
+He was as obstinate as ever. "I say, Yes! If you're not afraid, why do
+you wish to keep our engagement from my mother's knowledge?"
+
+His reasoning was unanswerable. But where is the woman to be found who
+is not supple enough to slip through the stiff fingers of Reason? She
+sheltered herself from his logic behind his language.
+
+"Must I remind you again of the time when you were angry?" she
+rejoined. "You said your mother was bent on separating us. If I don't
+want her to know of our engagement just yet--isn't that a good reason?"
+She rested her head caressingly on his shoulder. "Tell me," she went
+on, thinking of one of Miss Minerva's suggestions, "doesn't my aunt
+look to a higher marriage for you than a marriage with me?"
+
+It was impossible to deny that Mrs. Gallilee's views might justify that
+inquiry. Had she not more than once advised him to wait a few years--in
+other words, to wait until he had won the highest honours of his
+profession--before he thought of marrying at all? But Carmina was too
+precious to him to be humiliated by comparisons with other women, no
+matter what their rank might be. He paid her a compliment, instead of
+giving her an answer.
+
+"My mother can't look higher than you," he said. "I wish I could feel
+sure, Carmina--in leaving you with her--that I am leaving you with a
+friend whom you trust and love."
+
+There was a sadness in his tone that grieved her. "Wait till you come
+back," she replied, speaking as gaily as she could. "You will be
+ashamed to remember your own misgivings. And don't forget, dear, that I
+have another friend besides your mother--the best and kindest of
+friends--to take care of me."
+
+Ovid heard this with some surprise. "A friend in my mother's house?" he
+asked.
+
+"Certainly!"
+
+"Who is it?"
+
+"Miss Minerva."
+
+"What!" His tone expressed such immeasurable amazement, that Carmina's
+sense of justice was roused in defence of her new friend.
+
+"If I began by wronging Miss Minerva, I had the excuse of being a
+stranger," she said, warmly. "You have known her for years, and you
+ought to have found out her good qualities long since! Are all men
+alike, I wonder? Even my kind dear father used to call ugly women the
+inexcusable mistakes of Nature. Poor Miss Minerva says herself she is
+ugly, and expects everybody to misjudge her accordingly. I don't
+misjudge her, for one. Teresa has left me; and you are going away next.
+A miserable prospect, Ovid, but not quite without hope. Frances--yes, I
+call her by her Christian name, and she calls me by mine!--Frances will
+console me, and make my life as happy as it can be till you come back."
+
+Excepting bad temper, and merciless cultivation of the minds of
+children, Ovid knew of nothing that justified his prejudice against the
+governess. Still, Carmina's sudden conversion inspired him with
+something like alarm. "I suppose you have good reasons for what you
+tell me," he said.
+
+"The best reasons," she replied, in the most positive manner.
+
+He considered for a moment how he could most delicately inquire what
+those reasons might be. But valuable opportunities may be lost, even in
+a moment. "Will you help me to do justice to Miss Minerva?" he
+cautiously began.
+
+"Hush!" Carmina interposed. "Surely, I heard somebody calling to me?"
+
+They paused, and listened. A voice hailed them from the outer side of
+the garden. They started guiltily. It was the voice of Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+"Carmina! are you in the Square?"
+
+"Leave it to me," Ovid whispered. "We will come to you directly," he
+called back.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was waiting for them at the gate. Ovid spoke, the moment
+they were within sight of each other. "You will have no more cause to
+complain of me," he said cheerfully; "I am going away at the end of the
+week."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's answer was addressed to Carmina instead of to her son.
+"Thank you, my dear," she said, and pressed her niece's hand.
+
+It was too dark to see more of faces than their shadowy outline. The
+learned lady's tone was the perfection of amiability. She sent Ovid
+across the road to knock at the house-door, and took Carmina's arm
+confidentially. "You little goose!" she whispered, "how could you
+suppose I was angry with you? I can't even regret your mistake, you
+have written such a charming note."
+
+Ovid was waiting for them in the hall. They went into the library. Mrs.
+Gallilee enfolded her son in a fervent motherly embrace.
+
+"This completes the enjoyment of a most delightful evening," she said.
+"First a perfect lecture--and then the relief of overpowering anxiety
+about my son. I suppose your professional studies, Ovid, have never
+taken you as high as the Interspacial Regions? We were an immense
+audience to-night, to hear the Professor on that subject, and I really
+haven't recovered it yet. Fifty miles above us--only fifty miles--there
+is an atmosphere of cold that would freeze the whole human family to
+death in a second of time. Moist matter, in that terrific emptiness,
+would explode, and become stone; and--listen to this, Carmina--the
+explosion itself would be frozen, and produce no sound. Think of
+serious people looking up in that dreadful direction, and talking of
+going to Heaven. Oh, the insignificance of man, except--I am going to
+make a joke, Ovid--except when he pleases his old mother by going away
+for the benefit of his health! And where are you going? Has sensible
+Carmina advised you? I agree with her beforehand, whatever she has
+said."
+
+Ovid informed his mother of Benjulia's suggestion, and asked her what
+she thought of it.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's overflowing geniality instantly flooded the absent
+doctor. He was rude, he was ugly; but what an inestimable friend! what
+admirable advice! In Ovid's state of health he must not write letters;
+his mother would write and thank the doctor, and ask for introductions
+to local grandees who occupied a position in colonial society. She
+seized the newspaper: a steamer for Canada sailed from Liverpool on
+Saturday. Ovid could secure his cabin the next morning ("amidships, my
+dear, if you can possibly get it"), and could leave London by Friday's
+train. In her eagerness to facilitate his departure, she proposed to
+superintend the shutting up of his house, in his absence, and to
+arrange the disposal of the servants, if he considered it worth while
+to keep them. She even thought of the cat. The easiest way to provide
+for the creature would be of course to have her poisoned; but Ovid was
+so eccentric in some things, that practical suggestions were thrown
+away on him. "Sixpence a week for cat's meat isn't much," cried Mrs.
+Gallilee in an outburst of generosity. "We will receive the cat!"
+
+Ovid made his acknowledgments resignedly. Carmina could see that Mrs.
+Gallilee's overpowering vitality was beginning to oppress her son.
+
+"I needn't trouble you, mother," he said. "My domestic affairs were all
+settled when I first felt the necessity of getting rest. My manservant
+travels with me. My housemaid and kitchenmaid will go to their friends
+in the country; the cook will look after the house; and her nephew, the
+little page, is almost as fond of the cat as I am. If you will send for
+a cab, I think I will go home. Like other people in my wretched state,
+I feel fatigued towards night-time."
+
+His lips just touched Carmina's delicate little ear, while his mother
+turned away to ring the bell. "Expect me to-morrow," he whispered. "I
+love you!--love you!--love you!" He seemed to find the perfection of
+luxury in the reiteration of those words.
+
+When Ovid had left them, Carmina expected to hear something of her
+aunt's discovery in the Square.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's innocence was impenetrable. Not finding her niece in
+the house, she had thought of the Square. What could be more natural
+than that the cousins should take an evening walk, in one of the
+prettiest enclosures in London? Her anticipation of Ovid's recovery,
+and her admiration of Carmina's powers of persuasion appeared, for the
+time, to be the only active ideas in that comprehensive mind. When the
+servant brought in the tray, with the claret and soda-water, she sent
+for Miss Minerva to join them, and hear the good news; completely
+ignoring the interruption of their friendly relations, earlier in the
+evening. She became festive and facetious at the sight of the
+soda-water. "Let us imitate the men, Miss Minerva, and drink a toast
+before we go to bed. Be cheerful, Carmina, and share half a bottle of
+soda-water with me. A pleasant journey to Ovid, and a safe return!"
+Cheered by the influences of conviviality, the friend of Professors,
+the tender nurse of half-developed tadpoles, lapsed into learning
+again. Mrs. Gallilee improvised an appropriate little lecture on
+Canada--on the botany of the Dominion; on the geology of the Dominion;
+on the number of gallons of water wasted every hour by the falls of
+Niagara. "Science will set it all right, my dears; we shall make that
+idle water work for us, one of these days. Good-night, Miss Minerva!
+Dear Carmina, pleasant dreams!"
+
+Safe in the solitude of her bedroom, the governess ominously knitted
+her heavy eyebrows.
+
+"In all my experience," she thought, "I never saw Mrs. Gallilee in such
+spirits before. What mischief is she meditating, when she has got rid
+of her son?"
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+The lapse of a few hours exercised no deteriorating influence on Mrs.
+Gallilee's amiability.
+
+On the next day, thanks to his mother's interference, Ovid was left in
+the undisturbed enjoyment of Carmina's society. Not only Miss Minerva,
+but even Mr. Gallilee and the children, were kept out of the way with a
+delicately-exercised dexterity, which defied the readiest suspicion to
+take offence. In one word, all that sympathy and indulgence could do to
+invite Ovid's confidence, was unobtrusively and modestly done. Never
+had the mistress of domestic diplomacy reached her ends with finer art.
+
+In the afternoon, a messenger delivered Benjulia's reply to Mrs.
+Gallilee's announcement of her son's contemplated journey--despatched
+by the morning's post. The doctor was confined to the house by an
+attack of gout. If Ovid wanted information on the subject of Canada,
+Ovid must go to him, and get it. That was all.
+
+"Have you ever been to Doctor Benjulia's house?" Carmina asked.
+
+"Never."
+
+"Then all you have told me about him is mere report? Now you will find
+out the truth! Of course you will go?"
+
+Ovid felt no desire to make a voyage of exploration to Benjulia's
+house--and said so plainly. Carmina used all her powers of persuasion
+to induce him to change his mind. Mrs. Gallilee (superior to the
+influence of girlish curiosity) felt the importance of obtaining
+introductions to Canadian society, and agreed with her niece. "I shall
+order the carriage," she said, assuming a playfully despotic tone;
+"and, if you don't go to the doctor--Carmina and I will pay him a visit
+in your place."
+
+Threatened, if he remained obstinate, with such a result as this, Ovid
+had no alternative but to submit.
+
+The one order that could be given to the coachman was to drive to the
+village of Hendon, on the north-western side of London, and to trust to
+inquiries for the rest of the way. Between Hendon and Willesden, there
+are pastoral solitudes within an hour's drive of Oxford Street--wooded
+lanes and wild-flowers, farms and cornfields, still unprofaned by the
+devastating brickwork of the builder of modern times. Following winding
+ways, under shadowing trees, the coachman made his last inquiry at a
+roadside public-house. Hearing that Benjulia's place of abode was now
+within half a mile of him, Ovid set forth on foot; leaving the driver
+and the horses to take their ease at their inn.
+
+He arrived at an iron gate, opening out of a lonely lane.
+
+There, in the middle of a barren little field, he saw Benjulia's
+house--a hideous square building of yellow brick, with a slate roof. A
+low wall surrounded the place, having another iron gate at the
+entrance. The enclosure within was as barren as the field without: not
+even an attempt at flower-garden or kitchen-garden was visible. At a
+distance of some two hundred yards from the house stood a second and
+smaller building, with a skylight in the roof, which Ovid recognised
+(from description) as the famous laboratory. Behind it was the hedge
+which parted Benjulia's morsel of land from the land of his neighbour.
+Here, the trees rose again, and the fields beyond were cultivated. No
+dwellings, and no living creatures appeared. So near to London--and
+yet, in its loneliness, so far away--there was something unnatural in
+the solitude of the place.
+
+Led by a feeling of curiosity, which was fast degenerating into
+suspicion, Ovid approached the laboratory, without showing himself in
+front of the house. No watch-dog barked; no servant appeared on the
+look-out for a visitor. He was ashamed of himself as he did it, but (so
+strongly had he been impressed by Carmina's observation of the doctor)
+he even tried the locked door of the laboratory, and waited and
+listened! It was a breezy summer-day; the leaves of the trees near him
+rustled cheerfully. Was there another sound audible? Yes--low and
+faint, there rose through the sweet woodland melody a moaning cry. It
+paused; it was repeated; it stopped. He looked round him, not quite
+sure whether the sound proceeded from the outside or the inside of the
+building. He shook the door. Nothing happened. The suffering creature
+(if it was a suffering creature) was silent or dead. Had chemical
+experiment accidentally injured some living thing? Or--?
+
+He recoiled from pursuing that second inquiry. The laboratory had, by
+this time, become an object of horror to him. He returned to the
+dwelling-house.
+
+He put his hand on the latch of the gate, and looked back at the
+laboratory. He hesitated.
+
+That moaning cry, so piteous and so short-lived, haunted his ears. The
+idea of approaching Benjulia became repellent to him. What he might
+afterwards think of himself--what his mother and Carmina might think of
+him--if he returned without having entered the doctors' house, were
+considerations which had no influence over his mind, in its present
+mood. The impulse of the moment was the one power that swayed him. He
+put the latch back in the socket. "I won't go in," he said to himself.
+
+It was too late. As he turned from the house a manservant appeared at
+the door--crossed the enclosure--and threw the gate open for Ovid,
+without uttering a word.
+
+They entered the passage. The speechless manservant opened a door on
+the right, and made a bow, inviting the visitor to enter. Ovid found
+himself in a room as barren as the field outside. There were the
+plastered walls, there was the bare floor, left exactly as the builders
+had left them when the house was finished. After a short absence, the
+man appeared again. He might be depressed in spirits, or crabbed in
+temper: the fact remained that, even now, he had nothing to say. He
+opened a door on the opposite side of the passage--made another
+bow--and vanished.
+
+"Don't come near me!" cried Benjulia, the moment Ovid showed himself.
+
+The doctor was seated in an inner corner of the room; robed in a long
+black dressing-gown, buttoned round his throat, which hid every part of
+him below his fleshless face, except his big hands, and his tortured
+gouty foot. Rage and pain glared in his gloomy gray eyes, and shook his
+clenched fists, resting on the arms of an easy chair. "Ten thousand
+red-hot devils are boring ten thousand holes through my foot," he said.
+"If you touch the pillow on my stool, I shall fly at your throat." He
+poured some cooling lotion from a bottle into a small watering-pot, and
+irrigated his foot as if it had been a bed of flowers. By way of
+further relief to the pain, he swore ferociously; addressing his oaths
+to himself, in thunderous undertones which made the glasses ring on the
+sideboard.
+
+Relieved, in his present frame of mind, to have escaped the necessity
+of shaking hands, Ovid took a chair, and looked about him. Even here he
+discovered but little furniture, and that little of the heavy
+old-fashioned sort. Besides the sideboard, he perceived a dining-table,
+six chairs, and a dingy brown carpet. There were no curtains on the
+window, and no pictures or prints on the drab-coloured walls. The empty
+grate showed its bleak black cavity undisguised; and the mantelpiece
+had nothing on it but the doctor's dirty and strong-smelling pipe.
+Benjulia set down his watering-pot, as a sign that the paroxysm of pain
+had passed away. "A dull place to live in, isn't it?" In those words he
+welcomed the visitor to his house.
+
+Irritated by the accident which had forced him into the repellent
+presence of Benjulia, Ovid answered in a tone which matched the doctor
+on his own hard ground.
+
+"It's your own fault if the place is dull. Why haven't you planted
+trees, and laid out a garden?"
+
+"I dare say I shall surprise you," Benjulia quietly rejoined; "but I
+have a habit of speaking my mind. I don't object to a dull place; and I
+don't care about trees and gardens."
+
+"You don't seem to care about furniture either," said Ovid.
+
+Now that he was out of pain for awhile, the doctor's innate
+insensibility to what other people might think of him, or might say to
+him, resumed its customary torpor in its own strangely unconscious way.
+He seemed only to understand that Ovid's curiosity was in search of
+information about trifles. Well, there would be less trouble in giving
+him his information, than in investigating his motives. So Benjulia
+talked of his furniture.
+
+"I dare say you're right," he said. "My sister-in-law--did you know I
+had a relation of that sort?--my sister-in-law got the tables and
+chairs, and beds and basins. Buying things at shops doesn't interest
+me. I gave her a cheque; and I told her to furnish a room for me to eat
+in, and a room for me to sleep in--and not to forget the kitchen and
+the garrets for the servants. What more do I want?"
+
+His intolerable composure only added to his guest's irritability.
+
+"A selfish way of putting it," Ovid broke out. "Have you nobody to
+think of but yourself?"
+
+"Nobody--I am happy to say."
+
+"That's downright cynicism, Benjulia!"
+
+The doctor reflected. "Is it?" he said. "Perhaps you may be right
+again. I think it's only indifference, myself. Curiously enough my
+brother looks at it from your point of view--he even used the same word
+that you used just now. I suppose he found my cynicism beyond the reach
+of reform. At any rate, he left off coming here. I got rid of _him_ on
+easy terms. What do you say? That inhuman way of talking is unworthy of
+me? Really I don't think so. I'm not a downright savage. It's only
+indifference."
+
+"Does your brother return your indifference? You must be a nice pair,
+if he does!"
+
+Benjulia seemed to find a certain dreary amusement in considering the
+question that Ovid had proposed. He decided on doing justice to his
+absent relative.
+
+"My brother's intelligence is perhaps equal to such a small effort as
+you suggest," he said. "He has just brains enough to keep himself out
+of an asylum for idiots. Shall I tell you what he is in two words? A
+stupid sensualist--that's what he is. I let his wife come here
+sometimes, and cry. It doesn't trouble _me;_ and it seems to relieve
+_her._ More of my indifference--eh? Well, I don't know. I gave her the
+change out of the furniture-cheque, to buy a new bonnet with. You might
+call that indifference, and you might be right once more. I don't care
+about money. Will you have a drink? You see I can't move. Please ring
+for the man."
+
+Ovid refused the drink, and changed the subject. "Your servant is a
+remarkably silent person," he said.
+
+"That's his merit," Benjulia answered; "the women-servants have
+quarrelled with every other man I've had. They can't quarrel with this
+man. I have raised his wages in grateful acknowledgment of his
+usefulness to me. I hate noise."
+
+"Is that the reason why you don't keep a watch-dog?"
+
+"I don't like dogs. They bark."
+
+He had apparently some other disagreeable association with dogs, which
+he was not disposed to communicate. His hollow eyes stared gloomily
+into vacancy. Ovid's presence in the room seemed to have become, for
+the time being, an impression erased from his mind. He recovered
+himself, with the customary vehement rubbing of his head, and turned
+the talk to the object of Ovid's visit.
+
+"So you have taken my advice," he said. "You're going to Canada, and
+you want to get at what I can tell you before you start. Here's my
+journal. It will jog my memory, and help us both."
+
+His writing materials were placed on a movable table, screwed to his
+chair. Near them lay a shabby-looking book, guarded by a lock. Ten
+minutes after he had opened his journal, and had looked here and there
+through the pages, his hard intellect had grasped all that it required.
+Steadily and copiously his mind emptied its information into Ovid's
+mind; without a single digression from beginning to end, and with the
+most mercilessly direct reference to the traveller's practical wants.
+Not a word escaped him, relating to national character or to the
+beauties of Nature. Mrs. Gallilee had criticized the Falls of Niagara
+as a reservoir of wasted power. Doctor Benjulia's scientific
+superiority over the woman asserted itself with magnificent ease.
+Niagara being nothing but useless water, he never mentioned Niagara at
+all.
+
+"Have I served your purpose as a guide?" he asked. "Never mind thanking
+me. Yes or no will do. Very good. I have got a line of writing to give
+you next." He mended his quill pen, and made an observation. "Have you
+ever noticed that women have one pleasure which lasts to the end of
+their lives?" he said. "Young and old, they have the same inexhaustible
+enjoyment of society; and, young and old, they are all alike incapable
+of understanding a man, when he says he doesn't care to go to a party.
+Even your clever mother thinks you want to go to parties in Canada." He
+tried his pen, and found it would do--and began his letter.
+
+Seeing his hands at work, Ovid was again reminded of Carmina's
+discovery. His eyes wandered a little aside, towards the corner formed
+by the pillar of the chimney-piece and the wall of the room. The big
+bamboo-stick rested there. A handle was attached to it, made of
+light-coloured horn, and on that handle there were some stains. Ovid
+looked at them with a surgeon's practised eye. They were dry stains of
+blood. (Had he washed his hands on the last occasion when he used his
+stick? And had he forgotten that the handle wanted washing too?)
+
+Benjulia finished his letter, and wrote the address. He took up the
+envelope, to give it to Ovid--and stopped, as if some doubt tempted him
+to change his mind. The hesitation was only momentary. He persisted in
+his first intention, and gave Ovid the letter. It was addressed to a
+doctor at Montreal.
+
+"That man won't introduce you to society," Benjulia announced, "and
+won't worry your brains with medical talk. Keep off one subject on your
+side. A mad bull is nothing to my friend if you speak of Vivisection."
+
+Ovid looked at him steadily, when he uttered the last word. Benjulia
+looked back, just as steadily at Ovid.
+
+At the moment of that reciprocal scrutiny, did the two men suspect each
+other? Ovid, on his side, determined not to leave the house without
+putting his suspicions to the test.
+
+"I thank you for the letter," he began; "and I will not forget the
+warning."
+
+The doctor's capacity for the exercise of the social virtues had its
+limits. His reserves of hospitality were by this time near their end.
+
+"Is there anything more I can do for you?" he interposed.
+
+"You can answer a simple question," Ovid replied. "My cousin Carmina--"
+
+Benjulia interrupted him again: "Don't you think we said enough about
+your cousin in the Gardens?" he suggested.
+
+Ovid acknowledged the hint with a neatness of retort almost worthy of
+his mother. "You have your own merciful disposition to blame, if I
+return to the subject," he replied. "My cousin cannot forget your
+kindness to the monkey."
+
+"The sooner she forgets my kindness the better. The monkey is dead."
+
+"I am glad to hear it."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I thought the creature was living in pain."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that I heard a moaning--"
+
+"Where?"
+
+"In the building behind your house."
+
+"You heard the wind in the trees."
+
+"Nothing of the sort. Are your chemical experiments ever made on
+animals?"
+
+The doctor parried that direct attack, without giving ground by so much
+as a hair's breadth.
+
+"What did I say when I gave you your letter of introduction?" he asked.
+"I said, A mad bull is nothing to my friend, if you speak to him of
+Vivisection. Now I have something more to tell you. I am like my
+friend." He waited a little. "Will that do?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," said Ovid; "that will do."
+
+They were as near to an open quarrel as two men could be: Ovid took up
+his hat to go. Even at that critical moment, Benjulia's strange
+jealousy of his young colleague--as a possible rival in some field of
+discovery which he claimed as his own--showed itself once more. There
+was no change in his tone; he still spoke like a judicious friend.
+
+"A last word of advice," he said. "You are travelling for your health;
+don't let inquisitive strangers lead you into talk. Some of them might
+be physiologists."
+
+"And might suggest new ideas," Ovid rejoined, determined to make him
+speak out this time.
+
+Benjulia nodded, in perfect agreement with his guest's view.
+
+"Are you afraid of new ideas?" Ovid went on.
+
+"Perhaps I am--in _your_ head." He made that admission, without
+hesitation or embarrassment. "Good-bye!" he resumed. "My sensitive foot
+feels noises: don't bang the door."
+
+Getting out into the lane again, Ovid looked at his letter to the
+doctor at Montreal. His first impulse was to destroy it.
+
+As Benjulia had hesitated before giving him the letter, so he now
+hesitated before tearing it up.
+
+Contrary to the usual practice in such cases, the envelope was closed.
+Under those circumstances, Ovid's pride decided him on using the
+introduction. Time was still to pass, before events opened his eyes to
+the importance of his decision. To the end of his life he remembered
+that Benjulia had been near to keeping back the letter, and that he had
+been near to tearing it up.
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+The wise ancient who asserted that "Time flies," must have made that
+remarkable discovery while he was in a state of preparation for a
+journey. When are we most acutely sensible of the shortness of life?
+When do we consult our watches in perpetual dread of the result? When
+does the night steal on us unawares, and the morning take us by
+surprise? When we are going on a journey.
+
+The remaining days of the week went by with a rush. Ovid had hardly
+time to ask himself if Friday had really come, before the hours of his
+life at home were already numbered.
+
+He had still a little time to spare when he presented himself at
+Fairfield Gardens late in the afternoon. Finding no one in the library,
+he went up to the drawing-room. His mother was alone, reading.
+
+"Have you anything to say to me, before I tell Carmina that you are
+here?" Mrs. Gallilee put that question quietly, so far as her voice was
+concerned. But she still kept her eyes on her book. Ovid knew that she
+was offering him his first and last chance of speaking plainly, before
+he went away. In Carmina's interests he spoke.
+
+"Mother," he said, "I am leaving the one person in the world who is
+most precious to me, under your care."
+
+"Do you mean," Mrs. Gallilee asked, "that you and Carmina are engaged
+to be married?"
+
+"I mean that; and I am not sure that you approve of the engagement.
+Will you be plainer with me than you were on the last occasion when we
+spoke on this subject?"
+
+"When was that?" Mrs. Gallilee inquired.
+
+"When you and I were alone for a few minutes, on the morning when I
+breakfasted here. You said it was quite natural that Carmina should
+have attracted me; but you were careful not to encourage the idea of a
+marriage between us. I understood that you disapproved of it--but you
+didn't plainly tell me why."
+
+"Can women always give their reason?"
+
+"Yes--when they are women like you."
+
+"Thank you, my dear, for a pretty compliment. I can trust my memory. I
+think I hinted at the obvious objections to an engagement. You and
+Carmina are cousins; and you belong to different religious communities.
+I may add that a man with your brilliant prospects has, in my opinion,
+no reason to marry unless his wife is in a position to increase his
+influence and celebrity. I had looked forward to seeing my clever son
+rise more nearly to a level with persons of rank, who are members of
+our family. There is my confession, Ovid. If I did hesitate on the
+occasion to which you have referred, I have now, I think, told you
+why."
+
+"Am I to understand that you hesitate still?" Ovid asked.
+
+"No." With that brief reply she rose to put away her book.
+
+Ovid followed her to the bookcase. "Has Carmina conquered you?" he
+said.
+
+She put her book back in its place. "Carmina has conquered me," she
+answered.
+
+"You say it coldly."
+
+"What does that matter, if I say it truly?"
+
+The struggle in him between hope and fear burst its way out. "Oh,
+mother, no words can tell you how fond I am of Carmina! For God's sake
+take care of her, and be kind to her!"
+
+"For _your_ sake," said Mrs. Gallilee, gently correcting the language
+of her excitable son, from her own protoplastic point of view. "You do
+me an injustice if you feel anxious about Carmina, when you leave her
+here. My dead brother's child, is _my_ child. You may be sure of that."
+She took his hand, and drew him to her, and kissed his forehead with
+dignity and deliberation. If Mr. Mool had been present, during the
+registration of that solemn pledge, he would have been irresistibly
+reminded of the other ceremony, which is called signing a deed.
+
+"Have you any instructions to give me?" Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. "For
+instance, do you object to my taking Carmina to parties? I mean, of
+course, parties which will improve her mind."
+
+He fell sadly below his mother's level in replying to this. "Do
+everything you can to make her life happy while I am away." Those were
+his only instructions.
+
+But Mrs. Gallilee had not done with him yet. "With regard to visitors,"
+she went on, "I presume you wish me to be careful, if I find young men
+calling here oftener than usual?"
+
+Ovid actually laughed at this. "Do you think I doubt her?" he asked.
+"The earth doesn't hold a truer girl than my little Carmina!" A thought
+struck him while he said it. The brightness faded out of his face; his
+voice lost its gaiety. "There is one person who may call on you," he
+said, "whom I don't wish her to see."
+
+"Who is he?"
+
+"Unfortunately, he is a man who has excited her curiosity. I mean
+Benjulia."
+
+It was now Mrs. Gallilee's turn to be amused. Her laugh was not one of
+her foremost fascinations. It was hard in tone, and limited in
+range--it opened her mouth, but it failed to kindle any light in her
+eyes. "Jealous of the ugly doctor!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Ovid, what
+next?"
+
+"You never made a greater mistake in your life," her son answered
+sharply.
+
+"Then what is the objection to him?" Mrs. Gallilee rejoined.
+
+It was not easy to meet that question with a plain reply. If Ovid
+asserted that Benjulia's chemical experiments were assumed--for some
+reason known only to himself--as a cloak to cover the atrocities of the
+Savage Science, he would only raise the doctor in his mother's
+estimation. If, on the other hand, he described what had passed between
+them when they met in the Zoological Gardens, Mrs. Gallilee might
+summon Benjulia to explain the slur which he had indirectly cast on the
+memory of Carmina's mother--and might find, in the reply, some
+plausible reason for objecting to her son's marriage. Having rashly
+placed himself in this dilemma, Ovid unwisely escaped from it by the
+easiest way. "I don't think Benjulia a fit person," he said, "to be in
+the company of a young girl."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee accepted this expression of opinion with a readiness,
+which would have told a more suspicious man that he had made a mistake.
+Ovid had roused the curiosity--perhaps awakened the distrust--of his
+clever mother.
+
+"You know best," Mrs. Gallilee replied; "I will bear in mind what you
+say." She rang the bell for Carmina, and left the room. Ovid found the
+minutes passing slowly, for the first time since the day had been fixed
+for his departure. He attributed this impression to his natural
+impatience for the appearance of his cousin--until the plain evidence
+of the clock pointed to a delay of five endless minutes, and more. As
+he approached the door to make inquiries, it opened at last. Hurrying
+to meet Carmina, he found himself face to face with Miss Minerva!
+
+She came in hastily, and held out her hand without looking at him.
+
+"Forgive me for intruding on you," she said, with a rapidity of
+utterance and a timidity of manner strangely unlike herself. "I'm
+obliged to prepare the children's lessons for to-morrow; and this is my
+only opportunity of bidding you good-bye. You have my best wishes--my
+heartfelt wishes--for your safety and your health, and--and your
+enjoyment of the journey. Good-bye! good-bye!"
+
+After holding his hand for a moment, she hastened back to the door.
+There she stopped, turned towards him again, and looked at him for the
+first time. "I have one thing more to say," she broke out. "I will do
+all I can to make Carmina's life pleasant in your absence." Before he
+could thank her, she was gone.
+
+In another minute Carmina came in, and found Ovid looking perplexed and
+annoyed. She had passed Frances on the stairs--had there been any
+misunderstanding between Ovid and the governess?
+
+"Have you seen Miss Minerva?" she asked.
+
+He put his arm round her, and seated her by him on the sofa. "I don't
+understand Miss Minerva," he said. "How is it that she came here, when
+I was expecting You?"
+
+"She asked me, as a favour, to let her see you first; and she seemed to
+be so anxious about it that I gave way. I didn't do wrong, Ovid--did
+I?"
+
+"My darling, you are always kind, and always right! But why couldn't
+she say good-bye (with the others) downstairs? Do _you_ understand this
+curious woman?"
+
+"I think I do." She paused, and toyed with the hair over Ovid's
+forehead. "Miss Minerva is fond of you, poor thing," she said
+innocently.
+
+"Fond of me?"
+
+The surprise which his tone expressed, failed to attract her attention.
+She quietly varied the phrase that she had just used.
+
+"Miss Minerva has a true regard for you--and knows that you don't
+return it," she explained, still playing with Ovid's hair. "I want to
+see how it looks," she went on, "when it's parted in the middle. No! it
+looks better as you always wear it. How handsome you are, Ovid! Don't
+you wish I was beautiful, too? Everybody in the house loves you; and
+everybody is sorry you are going away. I like Miss Minerva, I like
+everybody, for being so fond of my dear, dear hero. Oh, what shall I do
+when day after day passes, and only takes you farther and farther away
+from me? No! I won't cry. You shan't go away with a heavy heart, my
+dear one, if I can help it. Where is your photograph? You promised me
+your photograph. Let me look at it. Yes! it's like you, and yet not
+like you. It will do to think over, when I am alone. My love, it has
+copied your eyes, but it has not copied the divine kindness and
+goodness that I see in them!" She paused, and laid her head on his
+bosom. "I shall cry, in spite of my resolution, if I look at you any
+longer. We won't look--we won't talk--I can feel your arm round me--I
+can hear your heart. Silence is best. I have been told of people dying
+happily; and I never understood it before. I think I could die happily
+now." She put her hand over his lips before he could reprove her, and
+nestled closer to him. "Hush!" she said softly; "hush!"
+
+They neither moved nor spoke: that silent happiness was the best
+happiness, while it lasted. Mrs. Gallilee broke the charm. She suddenly
+opened the door, pointed to the clock, and went away again.
+
+The cruel time had come. They made their last promises; shared their
+last kisses; held each other in the last embrace. She threw herself on
+the sofa, as he left her--with a gesture which entreated him to go,
+while she could still control herself. Once, he looked round, when he
+reached the door--and then it was over.
+
+Alone on the landing, he dashed the tears away from his eyes. Suffering
+and sorrow tried hard to get the better of his manhood: they had
+shaken, but had not conquered him. He was calm, when he joined the
+members of the family, waiting in the library.
+
+Perpetually setting an example, Mrs. Gallilee ascended her domestic
+pedestal as usual. She favoured her son with one more kiss, and
+reminded him of the railway. "We understand each other, Ovid--you have
+only five minutes to spare. Write, when you get to Quebec. Now, Maria!
+say good-bye."
+
+Maria presented herself to her brother with a grace which did honour to
+the family dancing-master. Her short farewell speech was a model of its
+kind.
+
+"Dear Ovid, I am only a child; but I feel truly anxious for the
+recovery of your health. At this favourable season you may look forward
+to a pleasant voyage. Please accept my best wishes." She offered her
+cheek to be kissed--and looked like a young person who had done her
+duty, and knew it.
+
+Mr. Gallilee--modestly secluded behind the window curtains--appeared,
+at a sign from his wife. One of his plump red hands held a bundle of
+cigars. The other clutched an enormous new travelling-flask--the giant
+of its tribe.
+
+"My dear boy, it's possible there may be good brandy and cigars on
+board; but that's not my experience of steamers--is it yours?" He
+stopped to consult his wife. "My dear, is it yours?" Mrs. Gallilee held
+up the "Railway Guide," and shook it significantly. Mr. Gallilee went
+on in a hurry. "There's some of the right stuff in this flask, Ovid, if
+you will accept it. Five-and-forty years old--would you like to taste
+it? Would you like to taste it, my dear?" Mrs. Gallilee seized the
+"Railway Guide" again, with a terrible look. Her husband crammed the
+big flask into one of Ovid's pockets, and the cigars into the other.
+"You'll find them a comfort when you're away from us. God bless you, my
+son! You don't mind my calling you my son? I couldn't be fonder of you,
+if I really was your father. Let's part as cheerfully as we can," said
+poor Mr. Gallilee, with the tears rolling undisguisedly over his fat
+cheeks. "We can write to each other--can't we? Oh dear! dear! I wish I
+could take it as easy as Maria does. Zo! come and give him a kiss, poor
+fellow. Where's Zo?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee made the discovery--she dragged Zo into view, from under
+the table. Ovid took his little sister on his knee, and asked why she
+had hidden herself.
+
+"Because I don't want to say good-bye!" cried the child, giving her
+reason with a passionate outbreak of sorrow that shook her from head to
+foot. "Take me with you, Ovid, take me with you!" He did his best to
+console her, under adverse circumstances. Mrs. Gallilee's warning voice
+sounded like a knell--"Time! time!" Zo's shrill treble rang out louder
+still. Zo was determined to write to Ovid, if she was not allowed to go
+with him. "Pa's going to write to you--why shouldn't I?" she screamed
+through her tears. "Dear Zoe, you are too young," Maria remarked.
+"Damned nonsense!" sobbed Mr. Gallilee; "she _shall_ write!" "Time,
+time!" Mrs. Gallilee reiterated. Taking no part in the dispute, Ovid
+directed two envelopes for Zo, and quieted her in that way. He hurried
+into the hall; he glanced at the stairs that led to the drawing-room.
+Carmina was on the landing, waiting for a farewell look at him. On the
+higher flight of stairs, invisible from the hall, Miss Minerva was
+watching the scene of departure. Reckless of railways and steamers,
+Ovid ran up to Carmina. Another and another kiss; and then away to the
+house-door, with Zo at his heels, trying to get into the cab with him.
+A last kind word to the child, as they carried her back to the house; a
+last look at the familiar faces in the doorway; a last effort to resist
+that foretaste of death which embitters all human partings--and Ovid
+was gone!
+
+VOLUME TWO
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+On the afternoon of the day that followed Ovid's departure, the three
+ladies of the household were in a state of retirement--each in her own
+room.
+
+The writing-table in Mrs. Gallilee's boudoir was covered with letters.
+Her banker's pass-book and her cheque-book were on the desk; Mr.
+Gallilee's affairs having been long since left as completely in the
+hands of his wife, as if Mr. Gallilee had been dead. A sheet of paper
+lay near the cheque-book, covered with calculations divided into two
+columns. The figures in the right-hand column were contained in one
+line at the top of the page. The figures in the left-hand column filled
+the page from top to bottom. With her fan in her hand, and her pen in
+the ink-bottle, Mrs. Gallilee waited, steadily thinking.
+
+It was the hottest day of the season. All the fat women in London
+fanned themselves on that sultry afternoon; and Mrs. Gallilee followed
+the general example. When she looked to the right, her calculations
+showed the balance at the bank. When she looked to the left, her
+calculations showed her debts: some partially paid, some not paid at
+all. If she wearied of the prospect thus presented, and turned for
+relief to her letters, she was confronted by polite requests for money;
+from tradespeople in the first place, and from secretaries of
+fashionable Charities in the second. Here and there, by way of variety,
+were invitations to parties, representing more pecuniary liabilities,
+incurred for new dresses, and for hospitalities acknowledged by dinners
+and conversaziones at her own house. Money that she owed, money that
+she must spend; nothing but outlay of money--and where was it to come
+from?
+
+So far as her pecuniary resources were concerned, she was equally
+removed from hope and fear. Twice a year the same income flowed in
+regularly from the same investments. What she could pay at any future
+time was far more plainly revealed to her than what she might owe. With
+tact and management it would be possible to partially satisfy
+creditors, and keep up appearances for six months more. To that
+conclusion her reflections led her, and left her to write cheques.
+
+And after the six months--what then?
+
+Having first completed her correspondence with the tradespeople, and
+having next decided on her contributions to the Charities, this iron
+matron took up her fan again, cooled herself, and met the question of
+the future face to face.
+
+Ovid was the central figure in the prospect.
+
+If he lived devoted to his profession, and lived unmarried, there was a
+last resource always left to Mrs. Gallilee. For years past, his
+professional gains had added largely to the income which he had
+inherited from his father. Unembarrassed by expensive tastes, he had
+some thousands of pounds put by--for the simple reason that he was at a
+loss what else to do with them. Thus far, her brother's generosity had
+spared Mrs. Gallilee the hard necessity of making a confession to her
+son. As things were now, she must submit to tell the humiliating truth;
+and Ovid (with no wife to check _his_ liberal instincts) would do what
+Ovid's uncle (with no wife living to check his liberal instincts) had
+done already.
+
+There was the prospect, if her son remained a bachelor. But her son had
+resolved to marry Carmina. What would be the result if she was weak
+enough to allow it?
+
+There would be, not one result, but three results. Natural; Legal;
+Pecuniary.
+
+The natural result would be--children.
+
+The legal result (if only one of those children lived) would be the
+loss to Mrs. Gallilee and her daughters of the splendid fortune
+reserved for them in the Will, if Carmina died without leaving
+offspring.
+
+The pecuniary result would be (adding the husband's income to the
+wife's) about eight thousand a year for the young married people.
+
+And how much for a loan, applicable to the mother-in-law's creditors?
+Judging Carmina by the standard of herself--by what other standard do
+we really judge our fellow-creatures, no matter how clever we may be?--
+Mrs. Gallilee decided that not one farthing would be left to help her
+to pay debts, which were steadily increasing with every new concession
+that she made to the claims of society. Young Mrs. Ovid Vere, at the
+head of a household, would have the grand example of her other aunt
+before her eyes. Although her place of residence might not be a palace,
+she would be a poor creature indeed, if she failed to spend eight
+thousand a year, in the effort to be worthy of the social position of
+Lady Northlake. Add to these results of Ovid's contemplated marriage
+the loss of a thousand a year, secured to the guardian by the Will,
+while the ward remained under her care--and the statement of disaster
+would be complete. "We must leave this house, and submit to be Lady
+Northlake's poor relations--there is the price I pay for it, if Ovid
+and Carmina become man and wife."
+
+She quietly laid aside her fan, as the thought in her completed itself
+in this form.
+
+The trivial action, and the look which accompanied it, had a sinister
+meaning of their own, beyond the reach of words. And Ovid was already
+on the sea. And Teresa was far away in Italy.
+
+The clock on the mantelpiece struck five; the punctual parlour-maid
+appeared with her mistress's customary cup of tea. Mrs. Gallilee asked
+for the governess. The servant answered that Miss Minerva was in her
+room.
+
+"Where are the young ladies?"
+
+"My master has taken them out for a walk."
+
+"Have they had their music lesson?"
+
+"Not yet, ma'am. Mr. Le Frank left word yesterday that he would come at
+six this evening."
+
+"Does Mr. Gallilee know that?"
+
+"I heard Miss Minerva tell my master, while I was helping the young
+ladies to get ready."
+
+"Very well. Ask Miss Minerva to come here, and speak to me."
+
+Miss Minerva sat at the open window of her bedroom, looking out
+vacantly at the backs of houses, in the street behind Fairfield
+Gardens.
+
+The evil spirit was the dominant spirit in her again. She, too, was
+thinking of Ovid and Carmina. Her memory was busy with the parting
+scene on the previous day.
+
+The more she thought of all that had happened in that short space of
+time, the more bitterly she reproached herself. Her one besetting
+weakness had openly degraded her, without so much as an attempt at
+resistance on her part. The fear of betraying herself if she took leave
+of the man she secretly loved, in the presence of his family, had
+forced her to ask a favour of Carmina, and to ask it under
+circumstances which might have led her rival to suspect the truth.
+Admitted to a private interview with Ovid, she had failed to control
+her agitation; and, worse still, in her ungovernable eagerness to
+produce a favourable impression on him at parting, she had
+promised--honestly promised, in that moment of impulse--to make
+Carmina's happiness her own peculiar care! Carmina, who had destroyed
+in a day the hope of years! Carmina, who had taken him away from her;
+who had clung round him when he ran upstairs, and had kissed
+him--fervently, shamelessly kissed him--before the servants in the
+hall!
+
+She started to her feet, roused to a frenzy of rage by her own
+recollections. Standing at the window, she looked down at the pavement
+of the courtyard--it was far enough below to kill her instantly if she
+fell on it. Through the heat of her anger there crept the chill and
+stealthy prompting of despair. She leaned over the window-sill--she was
+not afraid--she might have done it, but for a trifling interruption.
+Somebody spoke outside.
+
+It was the parlour-maid. Instead of entering the room, she spoke
+through the open door. The woman was one of Miss Minerva's many enemies
+in the house. "Mrs. Gallilee wishes to see you," she said--and shut the
+door again, the instant the words were out of her mouth.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee!
+
+The very name was full of promise at that moment. It suggested
+hope--merciless hope.
+
+She left the window, and consulted her looking-glass. Even to herself,
+her haggard face was terrible to see. She poured eau-de-cologne and
+water into her basin, and bathed her burning head and eyes. Her shaggy
+black hair stood in need of attention next. She took almost as much
+pains with it as if she had been going into the presence of Ovid
+himself. "I must make a calm appearance," she thought, still as far as
+ever from suspecting that her employer had guessed her secret, "or his
+mother may find me out." Her knees trembled under her. She sat down for
+a minute to rest.
+
+Was she merely wanted for some ordinary domestic consultation? or was
+there really a chance of hearing the question of Ovid and Carmina
+brought forward at the coming interview?
+
+She believed what she hoped: she believed that the time had come when
+Mrs. Gallilee had need of an ally--perhaps of an accomplice. Only let
+her object be the separation of the two cousins--and Miss Minerva was
+eager to help her, in either capacity. Suppose she was too cautious to
+mention her object? Miss Minerva was equally ready for her employer, in
+that case. The doubt which had prompted her fruitless suggestions to
+Carmina, when they were alone in the young girl's room--the doubt
+whether a clue to the discovery of Mrs. Gallilee's motives might not be
+found, in that latter part of the Will which she had failed to
+overhear--was as present as ever in the governess's mind. "The learned
+lady is not infallible," she thought as she entered Mrs. Gallilee's
+room. "If one unwary word trips over her tongue, I shall pick it up!"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's manner was encouraging at the outset. She had left her
+writing-table; and she now presented herself, reclining in an easy
+chair, weary and discouraged--the picture of a woman in want of a
+helpful friend.
+
+"My head aches with adding up figures, and writing letters," she said.
+"I wish you would finish my correspondence for me."
+
+Miss Minerva took her place at the desk. She at once discovered the
+unfinished correspondence to be a false pretence. Three cheques for
+charitable subscriptions, due at that date, were waiting to be sent to
+three secretaries, with the customary letters. In five minutes, the
+letters were ready for the post. "Anything more?" Miss Minerva asked.
+
+"Not that I remember. Do you mind giving me my fan? I feel perfectly
+helpless--I am wretchedly depressed to-day."
+
+"The heat, perhaps?"
+
+"No. The expenses. Every year, the demands on our resources seem to
+increase. On principle, I dislike living up to our income--and I am
+obliged to do it."
+
+Here, plainly revealed to the governess's experienced eyes, was another
+false pretence--used to introduce the true object of the interview, as
+something which might accidentally suggest itself in the course of
+conversation. Miss Minerva expressed the necessary regret with innocent
+readiness. "Might I suggest economy?" she asked with impenetrable
+gravity.
+
+"Admirably advised," Mrs. Gallilee admitted; "but how is it to be done?
+Those subscriptions, for instance, are more than I ought to give. And
+what happens if I lower the amount? I expose myself to unfavourable
+comparison with other people of our rank in society."
+
+Miss Minerva still patiently played the part expected of her. "You
+might perhaps do with only one carriage-horse," she remarked.
+
+"My good creature, look at the people who have only one carriage-horse!
+Situated as I am, can I descend to that level? Don't suppose I care two
+straws about such things, myself. My one pride and pleasure in life is
+the pride and pleasure of improving my mind. But I have Lady Northlake
+for a sister; and I must not be entirely unworthy of my family
+connections. I have two daughters; and I must think of their interests.
+In a few years, Maria will be presented at Court. Thanks to you, she
+will be one of the most accomplished girls in England. Think of Maria's
+mother in a one-horse chaise. Dear child! tell me all about her
+lessons. Is she getting on as well as ever?"
+
+"Examine her yourself, Mrs. Gallilee. I can answer for the result."
+
+"No, Miss Minerva! I have too much confidence in you to do anything of
+the kind. Besides, in one of the most important of Maria's
+accomplishments, I am entirely dependent on yourself. I know nothing of
+music. You are not responsible for her progress in that direction.
+Still, I should like to know if you are satisfied with Maria's music?"
+
+"Quite satisfied."
+
+"You don't think she is getting--how can I express it?--shall I say
+beyond the reach of Mr. Le Frank's teaching?"
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"Perhaps you would consider Mr. Le Frank equal to the instruction of an
+older and more advanced pupil than Maria?"
+
+Thus far, Miss Minerva had answered the questions submitted to her with
+well-concealed indifference. This last inquiry roused her attention.
+Why did Mrs. Gallilee show an interest, for the first time, in Mr. Le
+Frank's capacity as a teacher? Who was this "older and more advanced
+pupil," for whose appearance in the conversation the previous questions
+had so smoothly prepared the way? Feeling delicate ground under her,
+the governess advanced cautiously.
+
+"I have always thought Mr. Le Frank an excellent teacher," she said.
+
+"Can you give me no more definite answer than that?" Mrs. Gallilee
+asked.
+
+"I am quite unacquainted, madam, with the musical proficiency of the
+pupil to whom you refer. I don't even know (which adds to my
+perplexity) whether you are speaking of a lady or a gentleman."
+
+"I am speaking," said Mrs. Gallilee quietly, "of my niece, Carmina."
+
+Those words set all further doubt at rest in Miss Minerva's mind.
+Introduced by such elaborate preparation, the allusion to Carmina's
+name could only lead, in due course, to the subject of Carmina's
+marriage. By indirect methods of approach, Mrs. Gallilee had at last
+reached the object that she had in view.
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+There was an interval of silence between the two ladies.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee waited for Miss Minerva to speak next. Miss Minerva
+waited to be taken into Mrs. Gallilee's confidence. The sparrows
+twittered in the garden; and, far away in the schoolroom, the notes of
+the piano announced that the music lesson had begun.
+
+"The birds are noisy," said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+"And the piano sounds out of tune," Miss Minerva remarked.
+
+There was no help for it. Either Mrs. Gallilee must return to the
+matter in hand---or the matter in hand must drop.
+
+"I am afraid I have not made myself understood," she resumed.
+
+"I am afraid I have been very stupid," Miss Minerva confessed.
+
+Resigning herself to circumstances, Mrs. Gallilee put the adjourned
+question under a new form. "We were speaking of Mr. Le Frank as a
+teacher, and of my niece as a pupil," she said. "Have you been able to
+form any opinion of Carmina's musical abilities?"
+
+Miss Minerva remained as prudent as ever. She answered, "I have had no
+opportunity of forming an opinion."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee met this cautious reply by playing her trump card. She
+handed a letter to Miss Minerva. "I have received a proposal from Mr.
+Le Frank," she said. "Will you tell me what you think of it?"
+
+The letter was short and servile. Mr. Le Frank presented his best
+respects. If Mrs. Gallilee's charming niece stood in need of musical
+instruction, he ventured to hope that he might have the honour and
+happiness of superintending her studies. Looking back to the top of the
+letter, the governess discovered that this modest request bore a date
+of eight days since. "Have you written to Mr. Le Frank?" she asked.
+
+"Only to say that I will take his request into consideration," Mrs.
+Gallilee replied.
+
+Had she waited for her son's departure, before she committed herself to
+a decision? On the chance that this might be the case, Miss Minerva
+consulted her memory. When Mrs. Gallilee first decided on engaging a
+music-master to teach the children, her son had disapproved of
+employing Mr. Le Frank. This circumstance might possibly be worth
+bearing in mind. "Do you see any objection to accepting Mr. Le Frank's
+proposal?" Mrs. Gallilee asked. Miss Minerva saw an objection
+forthwith, and, thanks to her effort of memory, discovered an
+especially mischievous way of stating it. "I feel a certain delicacy in
+offering an opinion," she said modestly.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was surprised. "Do you allude to Mr. Le Frank?" she
+inquired.
+
+"No. I don't doubt that his instructions would be of service to any
+young lady."
+
+"Are you thinking of my niece?"
+
+"No, Mrs. Gallilee. I am thinking of your son."
+
+"In what way, if you please?"
+
+"In this way. I believe your son would object to employing Mr. Le Frank
+as Miss Carmina's teacher."
+
+"On musical grounds?"
+
+"No; on personal grounds."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+Miss Minerva explained her meaning. "I think you have forgotten what
+happened, when you first employed Mr. Le Frank to teach Maria and Zoe.
+His personal appearance produced an unfavourable impression on your
+son; and Mr. Ovid made certain inquiries which you had not thought
+necessary. Pardon me if I persist in mentioning the circumstances. I
+owe it to myself to justify my opinion--an opinion, you will please to
+remember, that I did not volunteer. Mr. Ovid's investigations brought
+to light a very unpleasant report, relating to Mr. Le Frank and a young
+lady who had been one of his pupils."
+
+"An abominable slander, Miss Minerva! I am surprised that you should
+refer to it."
+
+"I am referring, madam, to the view of the matter taken by Mr. Ovid. If
+Mr. Le Frank had failed to defend himself successfully, he would of
+course not have been received into this house. But your son had his own
+opinion of the defence. I was present at the time, and I heard him say
+that, if Maria and Zoe had been older, he should have advised employing
+a music-master who had no false reports against him to contradict. As
+they were only children, he would say nothing more. That is what I had
+in my mind, when I gave my opinion. I think Mr. Ovid will be annoyed
+when he hears that Mr. Le Frank is his cousin's music-master. And, if
+any foolish gossip reaches him in his absence, I fear it might lead to
+mischievous results--I mean, to misunderstandings not easily set right
+by correspondence, and quite likely therefore to lead, in the end, to
+distrust and jealousy."
+
+There she paused, and crossed her hands on her lap, and waited for what
+was to come next.
+
+If Mrs. Gallilee could have looked into her mind at that moment as well
+as into her face, she would have read Miss Minerva's thoughts in these
+plain terms: "All this time, madam, you have been keeping up
+appearances in the face of detection. You are going to use Mr. Le Frank
+as a means of making mischief between Ovid and Carmina. If you had
+taken me into your confidence, I might have been willing to help you.
+As it is, please observe that I am not caught in the trap you have set
+for me. If Mr. Ovid discovers your little plot, you can't lay the blame
+on your governess's advice."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee felt that she had again measured herself with Miss
+Minerva, and had again been beaten. She had confidently reckoned on the
+governess's secret feeling towards her son to encourage, without
+hesitation or distrust, any project for promoting the estrangement of
+Ovid and Carmina. There was no alternative now but to put her first
+obstacle in the way of the marriage, on her own sole responsibility.
+
+"I don't doubt that you have spoken sincerely," she said; "but you have
+failed to do justice to my son's good sense; and you are--naturally
+enough, in your position--incapable of estimating his devoted
+attachment to Carmina." Having planted that sting, she paused to
+observe the effect. Not the slightest visible result rewarded her. She
+went on. "Almost the last words he said to me expressed his
+confidence--his affectionate confidence--in my niece. The bare idea of
+his being jealous of anybody, and especially of such a person as Mr. Le
+Frank, is simply ridiculous. I am astonished that you don't see it in
+that light."
+
+"I should see it in that light as plainly as you do," Miss Minerva
+quietly replied, "if Mr. Ovid was at home."
+
+"What difference does that make?"
+
+"Excuse me--it makes a great difference, as I think. He has gone away
+on a long journey, and gone away in bad health. He will have his hours
+of depression. At such times, trifles are serious things; and even
+well-meant words--in letters--are sometimes misunderstood. I can offer
+no better apology for what I have said; and I can only regret that I
+have made so unsatisfactory a return for your flattering confidence in
+me."
+
+Having planted _her_ sting, she rose to retire.
+
+"Have you any further commands for me?" she asked.
+
+"I should like to be quite sure that I have not misunderstood you,"
+said Mrs. Gallilee. "You consider Mr. Le Frank to be competent, as
+director of any young lady's musical studies? Thank you. On the one
+point on which I wished to consult you, my mind is at ease. Do you know
+where Carmina is?"
+
+"In her room, I believe."
+
+"Will you have the goodness to send her here?"
+
+"With the greatest pleasure. Good-evening!"
+
+So ended Mrs. Gallilee's first attempt to make use of Miss Minerva,
+without trusting her.
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+The mistress of the house, and the governess of the house, had their
+own special reasons for retiring to their own rooms. Carmina was in
+solitude as a matter of necessity. The only friends that the poor girl
+could gather round her now, were the absent and the dead.
+
+She had written to Ovid--merely for the pleasure of thinking that her
+letter would accompany him, in the mail-steamer which took him to
+Quebec. She had written to Teresa. She had opened her piano, and had
+played the divinely beautiful music of Mozart, until its tenderness
+saddened her, and she closed the instrument with an aching heart. For a
+while she sat by the window, thinking of Ovid. The decline of day has
+its melancholy affinities with the decline of life. As the evening wore
+on, her loneliness had become harder and harder to endure. She rang for
+the maid, and asked if Miss Minerva was at leisure. Miss Minerva had
+been sent for by Mrs. Gallilee. Where was Zo? In the schoolroom,
+waiting until Mr. Le Frank had done with Maria, to take her turn at the
+piano. Left alone again, Carmina opened her locket, and put Ovid's
+portrait by it on the table. Her sad fancy revived her dead
+parents--imagined her lover being presented to them--saw him winning
+their hearts by his genial voice, his sweet smile, his wise and kindly
+words. Miss Minerva, entering the room, found her still absorbed in her
+own little melancholy daydream; recalling the absent, reviving the
+dead--as if she had been nearing the close of life. And only seventeen
+years old. Alas for Carmina, only seventeen!
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee wishes to see you."
+
+She started. "Is there anything wrong?" she asked.
+
+"No. What makes you think so?"
+
+"You speak in such a strange way. Oh, Frances, I have been longing for
+you to keep me company! And now you are here, you look at me as coldly
+as if I had offended you. Perhaps you are not well?"
+
+"That's it. I am not well."
+
+"Have some of my lavender water! Let me bathe your forehead, and then
+blow on it to cool you this hot weather. No? Sit down, dear, at any
+rate. What does my aunt want with me?"
+
+"I think I had better not tell you."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Your aunt is sure to ask you what I have said. I have tried her
+temper; you know what her temper is! She has sent me here instead of
+sending a maid, on the chance that I may commit some imprudence. I give
+you her message exactly as the servant might have given it--and you can
+tell her so with a safe conscience. No more questions!"
+
+"One more, please. Is it anything about Ovid?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then my aunt can wait a little. Do sit down! I want to speak to you."
+
+"About what?"
+
+"About Ovid, of course!"
+
+Carmina's look and tone at once set Miss Minerva's mind at ease. Her
+conduct, on the day of Ovid's departure, had aroused no jealous
+suspicion in her innocent rival. She refused to take the offered chair.
+
+"I have already told you your aunt is out of temper," she said. "Go to
+her at once."
+
+Carmina rose unwillingly. "There were so many things I wanted to say to
+you," she began--and was interrupted by a rapid little series of knocks
+at the door. Was the person in a hurry? The person proved to be the
+discreet and accomplished Maria. She made her excuses to Carmina with
+sweetness, and turned to Miss Minerva with sorrow.
+
+"I regret to say that you are wanted in the schoolroom. Mr. Le Frank
+can do nothing with Zoe. Oh, dear!" She sighed over her sister's
+wickedness, and waited for instructions.
+
+To be called away, under any circumstances, was a relief to Miss
+Minerva. Carmina's affectionate welcome had irritated her in the most
+incomprehensible manner. She was angry with herself for being
+irritated; she felt inclined to abuse the girl for believing her. "You
+fool, why don't you see through me? Why don't you write to that other
+fool who is in love with you, and tell him how I hate you both?" But
+for her self-command, she might have burst out with such mad words as
+those. Maria's appearance was inexpressibly welcome. "Say I will follow
+you directly," she answered.
+
+Maria, in the language of the stage, made a capital exit. With a few
+hurried words of apology, Miss Minerva prepared to follow. Carmina
+stopped her at the door.
+
+"Don't be hard on Zo!" she said.
+
+"I must do my duty," Miss Minerva answered sternly.
+
+"We were sometimes naughty ourselves when we were children," Carmina
+pleaded. "And only the other day she had bread and water for tea. I am
+so fond of Zo! And besides--" she looked doubtfully at Miss Minerva--"I
+don't think Mr. Le Frank is the sort of man to get on with children."
+
+After what had just passed between Mrs. Gallilee and herself, this
+expression of opinion excited the governess's curiosity. "What makes
+you say that?" she asked.
+
+"Well, my dear, for one thing Mr. Le Frank is so ugly. Don't you agree
+with me?"
+
+"I think you had better keep your opinion to yourself. If he heard of
+it--"
+
+"Is he vain? My poor father used to say that all bad musicians were
+vain."
+
+"You don't call Mr. Le Frank a bad musician?"
+
+"Oh, but I do! I heard him at his concert. Mere execution of the most
+mechanical kind. A musical box is as good as that man's playing. This
+is how he does it!"
+
+Her girlish good spirits had revived in her friend's company. She
+turned gaily to the piano, and amused herself by imitating Mr. Le
+Frank.
+
+Another knock at the door--a single peremptory knock this time--stopped
+the performance.
+
+Miss Minerva had left the door ajar, when Carmina had prevented her
+from quitting the room. She looked through the open space, and
+discovered--Mr. Le Frank.
+
+His bald head trembled, his florid complexion was livid with suppressed
+rage. "That little devil has run away!" he said--and hurried down the
+stairs again, as if he dare not trust himself to utter a word more.
+
+"Has he heard me?" Carmina asked in dismay.
+
+"He may only have heard you playing."
+
+Offering this hopeful suggestion, Miss Minerva felt no doubt, in her
+own mind, that Mr. Le Frank was perfectly well acquainted with
+Carmina's opinion of him. It was easy enough to understand that he
+should himself inform the governess of an incident, so entirely beyond
+the reach of his own interference as the flight of Zo. But it was
+impossible to assume that the furious anger which his face betrayed,
+could have been excited by a child who had run away from a lesson. No:
+the vainest of men and musicians had heard that he was ugly, and that
+his pianoforte-playing resembled the performance of a musical box.
+
+They left the room together--Carmina, ill at ease, to attend on her
+aunt; Miss Minerva, pondering on what had happened, to find the
+fugitive Zo.
+
+The footman had already spared her the trouble of searching the house.
+He had seen Zo running out bare-headed into the Square, and had
+immediately followed her. The young rebel was locked up. "I don't
+care," said Zo; "I hate Mr. Le Frank!" Miss Minerva's mind was too
+seriously preoccupied to notice this aggravation of her pupil's
+offence. One subject absorbed her attention--the interview then in
+progress between Carmina and her aunt.
+
+How would Mrs. Gallilee's scheme prosper now? Mr. Le Frank might, or
+might not, consent to be Carmina's teacher. Another result, however,
+was certain. Miss Minerva thoroughly well knew the vindictive nature of
+the man. He neither forgave nor forgot--he was Carmina's enemy for
+life.
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+The month of July was near its end.
+
+On the morning of the twenty-eighth, Carmina was engaged in replying to
+a letter received from Teresa. Her answer contained a record of
+domestic events, during an interval of serious importance in her life
+under Mrs. Gallilee's roof. Translated from the Italian, the letter was
+expressed in these terms:
+
+
+"Are you vexed with me, dearest, for this late reply to your sad news
+from Italy? I have but one excuse to offer.
+
+"Can I hear of your anxiety about your husband, and not feel the wish
+to help you to bear your burden by writing cheerfully of myself? Over
+and over again, I have thought of you and have opened my desk. My
+spirits have failed me, and I have shut it up again. Am I now in a
+happier frame of mind? Yes, my good old nurse, I am happier. I have had
+a letter from Ovid.
+
+"He has arrived safely at Quebec, and he is beginning to feel better
+already, after the voyage. You cannot imagine how beautifully, how
+tenderly he writes! I am almost reconciled to his absence, when I read
+his letter. Will that give you some idea of the happiness and the
+consolation that I owe to this best and dearest of men?
+
+"Ah, my old granny, I see you start, and make that favourite mark with
+your thumb-nail under the word 'consolation'! I hear you say to
+yourself, 'Is she unhappy in her English home? And is Aunt Gallilee to
+blame for it?' Yes! it is even so. What I would not for the whole world
+write to Ovid, I may confess to you. Aunt Gallilee is indeed a hard,
+hard woman.
+
+"Do you remember telling me, in your dear downright way, that Mr. Le
+Frank looked like a rogue? I don't know whether he is a rogue--but I do
+know that it is through his conduct that my aunt is offended with me.
+
+"It happened three weeks ago.
+
+"She sent for me, and said that my education must be completed, and
+that my music in particular must be attended to. I was quite willing to
+obey her, and I said so with all needful readiness and respect. She
+answered that she had already chosen a music-master for me--and then,
+to my astonishment, she mentioned his name. Mr. Le Frank, who taught
+her children, was also to teach me! I have plenty of faults, but I
+really think vanity is not one of them. It is only due to my excellent
+master in Italy to say, that I am a better pianoforte player than Mr.
+Le Frank.
+
+"I never breathed a word of this, mind, to my aunt. It would have been
+ungrateful and useless. She knows and cares nothing about music.
+
+"So we parted good friends, and she wrote the same evening to engage my
+master. The next day she got his reply. Mr. Le Frank refused to be my
+professor of music--and this, after he had himself proposed to teach
+me, in a letter addressed to my aunt! Being asked for his reasons, he
+made an excuse. The spare time at his disposal, when he had written,
+had been since occupied by another pupil. The true reason for his
+conduct is, that he heard me speak of him--rashly enough, I don't deny
+it--as an ugly man and a bad player. Miss Minerva sounded him on the
+subject, at my request, for the purpose of course of making my
+apologies. He affected not to understand what she meant--with what
+motive I am sure I don't know. False and revengeful, you may say, and
+perhaps you may be right. But the serious part of it, so far as I am
+concerned, is my aunt's behaviour to me. If I had thwarted her in the
+dearest wish of her life, she could hardly treat me with greater
+coldness and severity. She has not stirred again, in the matter of my
+education. We only meet at meal-times; and she receives me, when I sit
+down at table, as she might receive a perfect stranger. Her icy
+civility is unendurable. And this woman is my darling Ovid's mother!
+
+"Have I done with my troubles now? No, Teresa; not even yet. Oh, how I
+wish I was with you in Italy!
+
+"Your letters persist in telling me that I am deluded in believing Miss
+Minerva to be truly my friend. Do pray remember--even if I am
+wrong--what a solitary position mine is, in Mrs. Gallilee's house! I
+can play with dear little Zo; but whom can I talk to, whom can I
+confide in, if it turns out that Miss Minerva has been deceiving me?
+
+"When I wrote to you, I refused to acknowledge that any such dreadful
+discovery as this could be possible; I resented the bare idea of it as
+a cruel insult to my friend. Since that time--my face burns with shame
+while I write it--I am a little, just a little, shaken in my own
+opinion.
+
+"Shall I tell you how it began? Yes; I will.
+
+"My good old friend, you have your prejudices. But you speak your mind
+truly--and whom else can I consult? Not Ovid! The one effort of my life
+is to prevent him from feeling anxious about me. And, besides, I have
+contended against his opinion of Miss Minerva, and have brought him to
+think of her more kindly. Has he been right, notwithstanding? and are
+you right? And am I alone wrong? You shall judge for yourself.
+
+"Miss Minerva began to change towards me, after I had done the thing of
+all others which ought to have brought us closer together than ever.
+She is very poorly paid by my aunt, and she has been worried by little
+debts. When she owned this, I most willingly lent her the money to pay
+her bills--a mere trifle, only thirty pounds. What do you think she
+did? She crushed up the bank-notes in her hand, and left the room in
+the strangest headlong manner--as if I had insulted her instead of
+helping her! All the next day, she avoided me. The day after, I myself
+went to her room, and asked what was the matter. She gave me a most
+extraordinary answer. She said, 'I don't know which of us two I most
+detest--myself or you. Myself for borrowing your money, or you for
+lending it.' I left her; not feeling offended, only bewildered and
+distressed. More than an hour passed before she made her excuses. 'I am
+ill and miserable'--that was all she said. She did indeed look so
+wretched that I forgave her directly. Would you not have done so too,
+in my place?
+
+"This happened a fortnight since. Only yesterday, she broke out again,
+and put my affection for her to a far more severe trial. I have not got
+over it yet.
+
+"There was a message for her in Ovid's letter--expressed in the
+friendliest terms. He remembered with gratitude her kind promise, on
+saying good-bye; he believed she would do all that lay in her power to
+make my life happy in his absence; and he only regretted her leaving
+him in such haste that he had no time to thank her personally. Such was
+the substance of the message. I was proud and pleased to go to her room
+myself, and read it to her.
+
+"Can you guess how she received me? Nobody--I say it positively--nobody
+could guess.
+
+"She actually flew into a rage! Not only with me (which I might have
+pardoned), but with Ovid (which is perfectly inexcusable). 'How dare he
+write to _you,'_ she burst out, 'of what I said to him when we took
+leave of each other? And how dare you come here, and read it to me?
+What do I care about your life, in his absence? Of what earthly
+consequence are his remembrance and his gratitude to Me!' She spoke of
+him, with such fury and such contempt, that she roused me at last. I
+said to her, 'You abominable woman, there is but one excuse for
+you--you're mad!' I left the room--and didn't I bang the door! We have
+not met since. Let me hear your opinion, Teresa. I was in a passion
+when I told her she was mad; but was I altogether wrong? Do you really
+think the poor creature is in her right senses?
+
+"Looking back at your letter, I see that you ask if I have made any new
+acquaintances.
+
+"I have been introduced to one of the sweetest women I ever met with.
+And who do you think she is? My other aunt--Mrs. Gallilee's younger
+sister, Lady Northlake! They say she was not so handsome as Mrs.
+Gallilee, when they were both young. For my part, I can only declare
+that no such comparison is possible between them now. In look, in
+voice, in manner there is something so charming in Lady Northlake that
+I quite despair of describing it. My father used to say that she was
+amiable and weak; led by her husband, and easily imposed upon. I am not
+clever enough to have his eye for character: and perhaps I am weak and
+easily imposed upon too. Before I had been ten minutes in Lady
+Northlake's company, I would have given everything I possess in the
+world to have had _her_ for my guardian.
+
+"She had called to say good-bye, on leaving London; and my aunt was not
+at home. We had a long delightful talk together. She asked me so kindly
+to visit her in Scotland, and be introduced to Lord Northlake, that I
+accepted the invitation with a glad heart.
+
+"When my aunt returned, I quite forgot that we were on bad terms. I
+gave her an enthusiastic account of all that had passed between her
+sister and myself. How do you think she met this little advance on my
+part? She positively refused to let me go to Scotland.
+
+"As soon as I had in some degree got over my disappointment, I asked
+for her reasons. 'I am your guardian,' she said; 'and I am acting in
+the exercise of my own discretion. I think it better you should stay
+with me.' I made no further remark. My aunt's cruelty made me think of
+my dead father's kindness. It was as much as I could do to keep from
+crying.
+
+"Thinking over it afterwards, I supposed (as this is the season when
+everybody leaves town) that she had arranged to take me into the
+country with her. Mr. Gallilee, who is always good to me, thought so
+too, and promised me some sailing at the sea-side. To the astonishment
+of everybody, she has not shown any intention of going away from
+London! Even the servants ask what it means.
+
+"This is a letter of complaints. Am I adding to your anxieties instead
+of relieving them? My kind old nurse, there is no need to be anxious.
+At the worst of my little troubles, I have only to think of Ovid--and
+his mother's ice melts away from me directly; I feel brave enough to
+endure anything.
+
+"Take my heart's best love, dear--no, next best love, after Ovid!--and
+give some of it to your poor suffering husband. May I ask one little
+favour? The English gentleman who has taken our old house at Rome, will
+not object to give you a few flowers out of what was once my garden.
+Send them to me in your next letter."
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+On the twelfth of August, Carmina heard from Ovid again. He wrote from
+Montreal; describing the presentation of that letter of introduction
+which he had once been tempted to destroy. In the consequences that
+followed the presentation--apparently harmless consequences at the
+time--the destinies of Ovid, of Carmina, and of Benjulia proved to be
+seriously involved.
+
+Ovid's letter was thus expressed:
+
+
+"I want to know, my love, if there is any other man in the world who is
+as fond of his darling as I am of you? If such a person exists, and if
+adverse circumstances compel him to travel, I should like to ask a
+question. Is he perpetually calling to mind forgotten things, which he
+ought to have said to his sweetheart before he left her?
+
+"This is my case. Let me give you an instance.
+
+"I have made a new friend here--one Mr. Morphew. Last night, he was so
+kind as to invite me to a musical entertainment at his house. He is a
+medical man; and he amuses himself in his leisure hours by playing on
+that big and dreary member of the family of fiddles, whose name is
+Violoncello. Assisted by friends, he hospitably cools his guests, in
+the hot season, by the amateur performance of quartets. My dear, I
+passed a delightful evening. Listening to the music? Not listening to a
+single note of it. Thinking of You.
+
+"Have I roused your curiosity? I fancy I can see your eyes brighten; I
+fancy I can hear you telling me to go on!
+
+"My thoughts reminded me that music is one of the enjoyments of your
+life. Before I went away, I ought to have remembered this, and to have
+told you that the manager of the autumn concerts at the opera-house is
+an old friend of mine. He will be only too glad to place a box at your
+disposal, on any night when his programme attracts your notice; I have
+already made amends for my forgetfulness, by writing to him by this
+mail. Miss Minerva will be your companion at the theatre. If Mr. Le
+Frank (who is sure to be on the free list) pays you a visit in your
+box, tell him from me to put a wig on his bald head, and to try if
+_that_ will make him look like an honest man!
+
+"Did I forget anything else before my departure? Did I tell you how
+precious you are to me? how beautiful you are to me? how entirely
+worthless my life is without you? I dare say I did; but I tell it all
+over again--and, when you are tired of the repetition, you have only to
+let me know.
+
+"In the meanwhile, have I nothing else to say? have I no travelling
+adventures to relate? You insist on hearing of everything that happens
+to me; and you are to have your own way before we are married, as well
+as after. My sweet Carmina, your willing slave has something more
+serious than common travelling adventures to relate--he has a
+confession to make. In plain words, I have been practising my
+profession again, in the city of Montreal!
+
+"I wonder whether you will forgive me, when you are informed of the
+circumstances? It is a sad little story; but I am vain enough to think
+that my part in it will interest you. I have been a vain man, since
+that brightest and best of all possible days when you first made _your_
+confession--when you said that you loved me.
+
+"Look back in my letter, and you will see Mr. Morphew mentioned as a
+new friend of mine, in Canada. I became acquainted with him through a
+letter of introduction, given to me by Benjulia.
+
+"Say nothing to anybody of what I am now going to tell you--and be
+especially careful, if you happen to see him, to keep Benjulia in the
+dark. I sincerely hope you will not see him. He is a hard-hearted
+man--and he might say something which would distress you, if he knew of
+the result which has followed his opening to me the door of his
+friend's house.
+
+"Mr. Morphew is a worthy busy old gentleman, who follows his
+professional routine, and whose medical practice consists principally
+in bringing infant Canadians into the world. His services happened to
+be specially in request, at the time when I made his acquaintance. He
+was called away from his table, on the day after the musical party,
+when I dined with him. I was the only guest--and his wife was left to
+entertain me.
+
+"The good lady began by speaking of Benjulia. She roundly declared him
+to be a brute--and she produced my letter of introduction (closed by
+the doctor's own hand, before he gave it to me) as a proof. Would you
+like to read the letter, too? Here is a copy:--'The man who brings this
+is an overworked surgeon, named Ovid Vere. He wants rest and good air.
+Don't encourage him to use his brains; and give him information enough
+to take him, by the shortest way, to the biggest desert in Canada.' You
+will now understand that I am indebted to myself for the hospitable
+reception which has detained me at Montreal.
+
+"To return to my story. Mr. Morphew's services were again in request,
+ten minutes after he had left the house. This time the patient was a
+man--and the messenger declared that he was at the point of death.
+
+"Mrs. Morphew seemed to be at a loss what to do. 'In this dreadful
+case,' she said, 'death is a mercy. What I cannot bear to think of is
+the poor man's lonely position. In his last moments, there will not be
+a living creature at his bedside.'
+
+"Hearing this, I ventured to make some inquiries. The answers painted
+such a melancholy picture of poverty and suffering, and so vividly
+reminded me of a similar case in my own experience, that I forgot I was
+an invalid myself, and volunteered to visit the dying man in Mr.
+Morphew's place.
+
+"The messenger led me to the poorest quarter of the city and to a
+garret in one of the wretchedest houses in the street. There he lay,
+without anyone to nurse him, on a mattress on the floor. What his
+malady was, you will not ask to know. I will only say that any man but
+a doctor would have run out of the room, the moment he entered it. To
+save the poor creature was impossible. For a few days longer, I could
+keep pain in subjection, and could make death easy when it came.
+
+"At my next visit he was able to speak.
+
+"I discovered that he was a member of my own profession--a mulatto from
+the Southern States of America, by birth. The one fatal event of his
+life had been his marriage. Every worst offence of which a bad woman
+can be guilty, his vile wife had committed--and his infatuated love
+clung to her through it all. She had disgraced and ruined him. Not
+once, but again and again he had forgiven her, under circumstances
+which degraded him in his own estimation, and in the estimation of his
+best friends. On the last occasion when she left him, he had followed
+her to Montreal. In a fit of drunken frenzy, she had freed him from her
+at last by self-destruction. Her death affected his reason. When he was
+discharged from the asylum, he spent his last miserable savings in
+placing a monument over her grave. As long as his strength held out, he
+made daily pilgrimages to the cemetery. And now, when the shadow of
+death was darkening over him, his one motive for clinging to life, his
+one reason for vainly entreating me to cure him, still centred in
+devotion to the memory of his wife. 'Nobody will take care of her
+grave,' he said, 'when I am gone.'
+
+"My love, I have always thought fondly of you. After hearing this
+miserable story, my heart overflowed with gratitude to God for giving
+me Carmina.
+
+"He died yesterday. His last words implored me to have him buried in
+the same grave with the woman who had dishonoured him. Who am I that I
+should judge him? Besides, I shall fulfil his last wishes as a
+thank-offering for You.
+
+"There is still something more to tell.
+
+"On the day before his death he asked me to open an old
+portmanteau--literally, the one thing that he possessed. He had no
+money left, and no clothes. In a corner of the portmanteau there was a
+roll of papers, tied with a piece of string--and that was all.
+
+"I can make you but one return,' he said; 'I give you my book.'
+
+"He was too weak to tell me what the book was about, or to express any
+wish relative to its publication. I am ashamed to say I set no sort of
+value on the manuscript presented to me--except as a memorial of a sad
+incident in my life. Waking earlier than usual this morning, I opened
+and examined my gift for the first time.
+
+"To my amazement, I found myself rewarded a hundredfold for the little
+that I had been able to do. This unhappy man must have been possessed
+of abilities which (under favouring circumstances) would, I don't
+hesitate to say, have ranked him among the greatest physicians of our
+time. The language in which he writes is obscure, and sometimes
+grammatically incorrect. But he, and he alone, has solved a problem in
+the treatment of disease, which has thus far been the despair of
+medical men throughout the whole civilised world.
+
+"If a stranger was looking over my shoulder, he would be inclined to
+say, This curious lover writes to his young lady as if she was a
+medical colleague! We understand each other, Carmina, don't we? My
+future career is an object of interest to my future wife. This poor
+fellow's gratitude has opened new prospects to me; and who will be so
+glad to hear of it as you?
+
+"Before I close my letter, you will expect me to say a word more about
+my health. Sometimes I feel well enough to take my cabin in the next
+vessel that sails for Liverpool. But there are other occasions,
+particularly when I happen to over-exert myself in walking or riding,
+which warn me to be careful and patient. My next journey will take me
+inland, to the mighty plains and forest of this grand country. When I
+have breathed the health-giving air of those regions, I shall be able
+to write definitely of the blessed future day which is to unite us once
+more.
+
+"My mother has, I suppose, given her usual conversazione at the end of
+the season. Let me hear how you like the scientific people at close
+quarters, and let me give you a useful hint. When you meet in society
+with a particularly positive man, who looks as if he was sitting for
+his photograph, you may safely set that man down as a Professor.
+
+"Seriously, I do hope that you and my mother get on well together. You
+say too little of each other in your letters to me, and I am sometimes
+troubled by misgivings. There is another odd circumstance, connected
+with our correspondence, which sets me wondering. I always send
+messages to Miss Minerva; and Miss Minerva never sends any messages
+back to me. Do you forget? or am I an object of perfect indifference to
+your friend?
+
+"My latest news of you all is from Zo. She has sent me a letter, in one
+of the envelopes that I directed for her when I went away. Miss
+Minerva's hair would stand on end if she could see the blots and the
+spelling. Zo's account of the family circle (turned into intelligible
+English), will I think personally interest you. Here it is, in its own
+Roman brevity--with your pretty name shortened to two syllables:
+'Except Pa and Car, we are a bad lot at home.' After that, I can add
+nothing that is worth reading.
+
+"Take the kisses, my angel, that I leave for you on the blank morsel of
+paper below, and love me as I love you. There is a world of meaning,
+Carmina, even in those commonplace words. Oh, if I could only go to you
+by the mail steamer, in the place of my letter!"
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+The answers to Ovid's questions were not to be found in Carmina's
+reply. She had reasons for not mentioning the conversazione; and she
+shrank from writing to him of his mother. Her true position in Mrs.
+Gallilee's house--growing, day by day, harder and harder to endure;
+threatening, more and more plainly, complications and perils to
+come--was revealed in her next letter to her old friend in Italy. She
+wrote to Teresa in these words:
+
+
+"If you love me, forget the inhuman manner in which I have spoken of
+Miss Minerva!
+
+"After I had written to you, I would have recalled my letter, if it
+could have been done. I began, that evening, to feel ashamed of what I
+had said in my anger. As the hours went on, and bedtime approached, I
+became so wretched that I ran the risk of another harsh reception, by
+intruding on her once more. It was a circumstance in my favour that she
+was, to all appearance, in bad spirits too. There was something in her
+voice, when she asked what I wanted, which made me think--though she
+looks like the last person in the world to be guilty of such
+weakness--that she had been crying.
+
+"I gave the best expression I could to my feelings of repentance and
+regret. What I actually said to her, has slipped out of my memory; I
+was frightened and upset--and I am always stupid in that condition. My
+attempt at reconciliation may have been clumsy enough; but she might
+surely have seen that I had no intention to mystify and distress her.
+And yet, what else could she have imagined?--to judge by her own
+actions and words.
+
+"Her bedroom candle was on the table behind me. She snatched it up and
+held it before my face, and looked at me as if I was some extraordinary
+object that she had never seen or heard of before! 'You are little
+better than a child,' she said; 'I have ten times your strength of
+will--what is there in you that I can't resist? Go away from me! Be on
+your guard against me! I am false; I am suspicious; I am cruel. You
+simpleton, have you no instincts to protect you? Is there nothing in
+you that shrinks from me?'
+
+"She put down the candle, and burst into a wretched mocking laugh.
+'There she stands,' cried this strange creature, 'and looks at me with
+the eyes of a baby that sees something new! I can't frighten her. I
+can't disgust her. What does it mean?' She dropped into a chair; her
+voice sank almost to a whisper--I should have thought she was afraid of
+me, if such a thing had been possible. 'What do you know of me, that I
+don't know of myself?' she asked.
+
+"It was quite beyond me to understand what she meant. I took a chair,
+and sat down by her. 'I only know what you said to me yesterday,' I
+answered.
+
+"'What did I say?'
+
+"'You told me you were miserable.'
+
+"'I told you a lie! Believe what I have said to you to-day. In your own
+interests, believe it to be the truth!'
+
+"Nothing would induce me to believe it. 'No,' I said. 'You were
+miserable yesterday, and you are miserable to-day. _That_ is the
+truth!'
+
+"What put my next bold words into my head, I don't know. It doesn't
+matter; the thought was in me--and out it came.
+
+"'I think you have some burden on your mind,' I went on. 'If I can't
+relieve you of it, perhaps I can help you bear it. Come! tell me what
+it is.' I waited; but it was of no use--she never even looked at me.
+Because I am in love myself, do I think everybody else is like me? I
+thought she blushed. I don't know what else I thought. 'Are you in
+love?' I asked.
+
+"She jumped up from her chair, so suddenly and so violently that she
+threw it on the floor. Still, not a word passed her lips. I found
+courage enough to go on--but not courage enough to look at her.
+
+"'I love Ovid, and Ovid loves me,' I said. 'There is my consolation,
+whatever my troubles may be. Are you not so fortunate?' A dreadful
+expression of pain passed over her face. How could I see it, and not
+feel the wish to sympathise with her? I ran the risk, and said, 'Do you
+love somebody, who doesn't love you?'
+
+"She turned her back on me, and went to the toilet-table. I think she
+looked at herself in the glass. 'Well,' she said, speaking to me at
+last, 'what else?'
+
+"'Nothing else,' I answered--'except that I hope I have not offended
+you.'
+
+"She left the glass as suddenly as she had approached it, and took up
+the candle again. Once more she held it so that it lit my face.
+
+"'Guess who he is,' she said.
+
+"'How can I do that?' I asked.
+
+"She quietly put down the candle again. In some way, quite
+incomprehensible to myself, I seemed to have relieved her. She spoke to
+me in a changed voice, gently and sadly.
+
+"You are the best of good girls, and you mean kindly. It's of no
+use--you can do nothing. Forgive my insolence yesterday; I was mad with
+envy of your happy marriage engagement. You don't understand such a
+nature as mine. So much the better! ah, so much the better!
+Good-night!'
+
+"There was such hopeless submission, such patient suffering, in those
+words, that I could not find it in my heart to leave her. I thought of
+how I might have behaved, of the wild things I might have said, if Ovid
+had cared nothing for me. Had some cruel man forsaken her? That was
+_her_ secret. I asked myself what I could do to encourage her. Your
+last letter, with our old priest's enclosure, was in my pocket. I took
+it out.
+
+"'Would you mind reading a short letter,' I said, 'before we wish each
+other goodnight?' I held out the priest's letter.
+
+"She drew back with a dark look; she appeared to have some suspicion of
+it. 'Who is the writer?' she inquired sharply.
+
+"'A person who is a stranger to you.'
+
+"Her face cleared directly. She took the letter from me, and waited to
+hear what I had to say next. 'The person,' I told her, 'is a wise and
+good old man--the priest who married my father and mother, and baptised
+me. We all of us used to consult Father Patrizio, when we wanted
+advice. My nurse Teresa felt anxious about me in Ovid's absence; she
+spoke to him about my marriage engagement, and of my exile--forgive me
+for using the word!--in this house. He said he would consider, before
+he gave her his opinion. The next day, he sent her the letter which you
+have got in your hand.'
+
+"There, I came to a full stop; having something yet to say, but not
+knowing how to express myself with the necessary delicacy.
+
+"'Why do you wish me to read the letter?' she asked, quietly.
+
+"I think there is something in it which might--.'
+
+"There, like a fool, I came to another full stop. She was as patient as
+ever; she only made a little sign to me to go on.
+
+"'I think Father Patrizio's letter might put you in a better frame of
+mind,' I said; 'it might keep you from despising yourself.'
+
+"She went back to her chair, and read the letter. You have permitted me
+to keep the comforting words of the good Father, among my other
+treasures. I copy his letter for you in this place--so that you may
+read it again, and see what I had in my mind, and understand how it
+affected poor Miss Minerva.
+
+"'Teresa, my well-beloved friend,--I have considered the anxieties that
+trouble you, with this result: that I can do my best, conscientiously,
+to quiet your mind. I have had the experience of forty years in the
+duties of the priesthood. In that long time, the innermost secrets of
+thousands of men and women have been confided to me. From such means of
+observation, I have drawn many useful conclusions; and some of them may
+be also useful to you. I will put what I have to say, in the plainest
+and fewest words: consider them carefully, on your side. The growth of
+the better nature, in women, is perfected by one influence--and that
+influence is Love. Are you surprised that a priest should write in this
+way? Did you expect me to say, Religion? Love, my sister, _is_
+Religion, in women. It opens their hearts to all that is good for them;
+and it acts independently of the conditions of human happiness. A
+miserable woman, tormented by hopeless love, is still the better and
+the nobler for that love; and a time will surely come when she will
+show it. You have fears for Carmina--cast away, poor soul, among
+strangers with hard hearts! I tell you to have no fears. She may suffer
+under trials; she may sink under trials. But the strength to rise again
+is in her--and that strength is Love.'
+
+"Having read our old friend's letter, Miss Minerva turned back, and
+read it again--and waited a little, repeating some part of it to
+herself.
+
+"'Does it encourage you?' I asked.
+
+"She handed the letter back to me. 'I have got one sentence in it by
+heart,' she said.
+
+"You will know what that sentence is, without my telling you. I felt so
+relieved, when I saw the change in her for the better--I was so
+inexpressibly happy in the conviction that we were as good friends
+again as ever--that I bent down to kiss her, on saying goodnight.
+
+"She put up her hand and stopped me. 'No,' she said, 'not till I have
+done something to deserve it. You are more in need of help than you
+think. Stay here a little longer; I have a word to say to you about
+your aunt.'
+
+"I returned to my chair, feeling a little startled. Her eyes rested on
+me absently--she was, as I imagined, considering with herself, before
+she spoke. I refrained from interrupting her thoughts. The night was
+still and dark. Not a sound reached our ears from without. In the
+house, the silence was softly broken by a rustling movement on the
+stairs. It came nearer. The door was opened suddenly. Mrs. Gallilee
+entered the room.
+
+"What folly possessed me? Why was I frightened? I really could not help
+it--I screamed. My aunt walked straight up to me, without taking the
+smallest notice of Miss Minerva. 'What are you doing here, when you
+ought to be in your bed?' she asked.
+
+"She spoke in such an imperative manner--with such authority and such
+contempt--that I looked at her in astonishment. Some suspicion seemed
+to be roused in her by finding me and Miss Minerva together.
+
+"No more gossip!' she called out sternly. 'Do you hear me? Go to bed!'
+
+"Was it not enough to rouse anybody? I felt my pride burning in my
+face. 'Am I a child, or a servant?' I said. 'I shall go to bed early or
+late as I please.'
+
+"She took one step forward; she seized me by the arm, and forced me to
+my feet. Think of it, Teresa! In all my life I have never had a hand
+laid on me except in kindness. Who knows it better than you! I tried
+vainly to speak--I saw Miss Minerva rise to interfere--I heard her say,
+'Mrs. Gallilee, you forget yourself!' Somehow, I got out of the room.
+On the landing, a dreadful fit of trembling shook me from head to foot.
+I sank down on the stairs. At first, I thought I was going to faint.
+No; I shook and shivered, but I kept my senses. I could hear their
+voices in the room.
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee began. 'Did you tell me just now that I had forgotten
+myself?'
+
+"Miss Minerva answered, 'Certainly, madam. You _did_ forget yourself.'
+
+"The next words escaped me. After that, they grew louder; and I heard
+them again--my aunt first.
+
+"'I am dissatisfied with your manner to me, Miss Minerva. It has
+latterly altered very much for the worse.'
+
+"'In what respect, Mrs. Gallilee?'
+
+"'In this respect. Your way of speaking to me implies an assertion of
+equality--'
+
+"'Stop a minute, madam! I am not so rich as you are. But I am at a loss
+to know in what other way I am not your equal. Did you assert your
+superiority--may I ask--when you came into my room without first
+knocking at the door?'
+
+"'Miss Minerva! Do you wish to remain in my service?'
+
+"'Say employment, Mrs. Gallilee--if you please. I am quite indifferent
+in the matter. I am equally ready, at your entire convenience, to stay
+or to go.'
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee's voice sounded nearer, as if she was approaching the
+door. 'I think we arranged,' she said, 'that there was to be a month's
+notice on either side, when I first engaged you?'
+
+"'Yes--at my suggestion.'
+
+"'Take your month's notice, if you please.'
+
+"'Dating from to-morrow?'
+
+"'Of course!'
+
+"My aunt came out, and found me on the stairs. I tried to rise. It was
+not to be done. My head turned giddy. She must have seen that I was
+quite prostrate--and yet she took no notice of the state I was in.
+Cruel, cruel creature! she accused me of listening.
+
+"'Can't you see that the poor girl is ill?'
+
+"It was Miss Minerva's voice. I looked round at her, feeling fainter
+and fainter. She stooped; I felt her strong sinewy arms round me; she
+lifted me gently. 'I'll take care of you,' she whispered--and carried
+me downstairs to my room, as easily as if I had been a child.
+
+"I must rest, Teresa. The remembrance of that dreadful night brings it
+all back again. Don't be anxious about me, my old dear! You shall hear
+more to-morrow."
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+On the next day events happened, the influence of which upon Carmina's
+excitable nature urged her to complete her unfinished letter, without
+taking the rest that she needed. Once more--and, as the result proved,
+for the last time--she wrote to her faithful old friend in these words:
+
+
+"Don't ask me to tell you how the night passed! Miss Minerva was the
+first person who came to me in the morning.
+
+"She had barely said a few kind words, when Maria interrupted us,
+reminding her governess of the morning's lessons. 'Mrs. Gallilee has
+sent her,' Miss Minerva whispered; 'I will return to you in the hour
+before the children's dinner.'
+
+"The next person who appeared was, as we had both anticipated, Mrs.
+Gallilee herself.
+
+"She brought me a cup of tea; and the first words she spoke were words
+of apology for her conduct on the previous night. Her excuse was that
+she had been 'harassed by anxieties which completely upset her.'
+And--can you believe it?--she implored me not to mention 'the little
+misunderstanding between us when I next wrote to her son!' Is this
+woman made of iron and stone, instead of flesh and blood? Does she
+really think me such a wretch as to cause Ovid, under any provocation,
+a moment's anxiety while he is away? The fewest words that would
+satisfy her, and so send her out of my room, were the only words I
+said.
+
+"After this, an agreeable surprise was in store for me. The familiar
+voice of good Mr. Gallilee applied for admission--through the keyhole!
+
+"'Are you asleep, my dear? May I come in?' His kind, fat old face
+peeped round the door when I said Yes--and reminded me of Zo, at
+dinner, when she asks for more pudding, and doesn't think she will get
+it. Mr. Gallilee had something to ask for, and some doubt of getting
+it, which accounted for the resemblance. 'I've taken the liberty,
+Carmina, of sending for our doctor. You're a delicate plant, my dear--'
+(Here, his face disappeared and he spoke to somebody outside)--'You
+think so yourself, don't you, Mr. Null? And you have a family of
+daughters, haven't you?' (His face appeared again; more like Zo than
+ever.) 'Do please see him, my child; I'm not easy about you. I was on
+the stairs last night--nobody ever notices me, do they, Mr. Null?--and
+I saw Miss Minerva--good creature, and, Lord, how strong!--carrying you
+to your bed. Mr. Null's waiting outside. Don't distress me by saying
+No!'
+
+"Is there anybody cruel enough to distress Mr. Gallilee? The doctor
+came in--looking like a clergyman; dressed all in black, with a
+beautiful frill to his shirt, and a spotless white cravat. He stared
+hard at me; he produced a little glass-tube; he gave it a shake, and
+put it under my arm; he took it away again, and consulted it; he said,
+'Aha!' he approved of my tongue; he disliked my pulse; he gave his
+opinion at last. 'Perfect quiet. I must see Mrs. Gallilee.' And there
+was an end of it.
+
+"Mr. Gallilee observed the medical proceedings with awe. 'Mr. Null is a
+wonderful man,' he whispered, before he followed the doctor out. Ill
+and wretched as I was, this little interruption amused me. I wonder why
+I write about it here? There are serious things waiting to be told--am
+I weakly putting them off?
+
+"Miss Minerva came back to me as she had promised. 'It is well,' she
+said gravely, 'that the doctor has been to see you.'
+
+"I asked if the doctor thought me very ill.
+
+"He thinks you have narrowly escaped a nervous fever; and he has given
+some positive orders. One of them is that your slightest wishes are to
+be humoured. If he had not said that, Mrs. Gallilee would have
+prevented me from seeing you. She has been obliged to give way; and she
+hates me--almost as bitterly, Carmina, as she hates you.'
+
+"This called to my mind the interruption of the previous night, when
+Miss Minerva had something important to tell me. When I asked what it
+was, she shook her head, and said painful subjects of conversation were
+not fit subjects in my present state.
+
+"Need I add that I insisted on hearing what she had to say? Oh, how
+completely my poor father must have been deceived, when he made his
+horrible sister my guardian! If I had not fortunately offended the
+music-master, she would have used Mr. Le Frank as a means of making
+Ovid jealous, and of sowing the seeds of dissension between us. Having
+failed so far, she is (as Miss Minerva thinks) at a loss to discover
+any other means of gaining her wicked ends. Her rage at finding herself
+baffled seems to account for her furious conduct, when she discovered
+me in Miss Minerva's room.
+
+"You will ask, as I did, what has she to gain by this wicked plotting
+and contriving, with its shocking accompaniments of malice and anger?
+
+"Miss Minerva answered, 'I still believe that money is the motive. Her
+son is mistaken about her; her friends are mistaken; they think she is
+fond of money--the truer conclusion is, she is short of money. There is
+the secret of the hard bargains she drives, and the mercenary opinions
+she holds. I don't doubt that her income would be enough for most other
+women in her position. It is not enough for a woman who is jealous of
+her rich sister's place in the world. Wait a little, and you will see
+that I am not talking at random. You were present at the grand party
+she gave some week's since?'
+
+"'I wish I had stayed in my own room,' I said. 'Mrs. Gallilee was
+offended with me for not admiring her scientific friends. With one or
+two exceptions, they talked of nothing but themselves and their
+discoveries--and, oh, dear, how ugly they were!'
+
+"'Never mind that now, Carmina. Did you notice the profusion of
+splendid flowers, in the hall and on the staircase, as well as in the
+reception-rooms?'
+
+"'Yes.'
+
+"'Did you observe--no, you are a young girl--did you hear any of the
+gentlemen, in the supper-room, expressing their admiration of the
+luxuries provided for the guests, the exquisite French cookery and the
+delicious wine? Why was all the money which these things cost spent in
+one evening? Because Lady Northlake's parties must be matched by Mrs.
+Gallilee's parties. Lady Northlake lives in a fashionable neighbourhood
+in London, and has splendid carriages and horses. This is a fashionable
+neighbourhood. Judge what this house costs, and the carriages and
+horses, when I tell you that the rent of the stables alone is over a
+hundred pounds a year. Lady Northlake has a superb place in Scotland.
+Mrs. Gallilee is not able to rival her sister in that respect--but she
+has her marine villa in the Isle of Wight. When Mr. Gallilee said you
+should have some sailing this autumn, did you think he meant that he
+would hire a boat? He referred to the yacht, which is part of the
+establishment at the sea-side. Lady Northlake goes yachting with her
+husband; and Mrs. Gallilee goes yachting with her husband. Do you know
+what it costs, when the first milliner in Paris supplies English ladies
+with dresses? That milliner's lowest charge for a dress which Mrs.
+Gallilee would despise--ordinary material, my dear, and imitation
+lace--is forty pounds. Think a little--and even your inexperience will
+see that the mistress of this house is spending more than she can
+afford, and is likely (unless she has resources that we know nothing
+about) to be, sooner or later, in serious need of money.'
+
+"This was a new revelation to me, and it altered my opinion of course.
+But I still failed to see what Mrs. Gallilee's extravagances had to do
+with her wicked resolution to prevent Ovid from marrying me. Miss
+Minerva's only answer to this was to tell me to write to Mr. Mool,
+while I had the chance, and ask for a copy of my father's Will. 'I will
+take the letter to him,' she said, 'and bring the reply myself. It will
+save time, if it does nothing else.' The letter was written in a
+minute. Just as she took it from me, the parlour-maid announced that
+the early dinner was ready.
+
+"Two hours later, the reply was in my hands. The old father had taken
+Maria and Zo for their walk; and Miss Minerva had left the house by
+herself--sending word to Mrs. Gallilee that she was obliged to go out
+on business of her own.
+
+"'Did Mrs. Gallilee see you come in?' I asked.
+
+"'Yes. She was watching for me, no doubt.'
+
+"Did she see you go upstairs to my room?'
+
+"'Yes.'
+
+"'And said nothing?'
+
+"'Nothing.'
+
+"We looked at each other; both of us feeling the same doubt of how the
+day would end. Miss Minerva pointed impatiently to the lawyer's reply.
+I opened it.
+
+"Mr. Mool's letter was very kind, but quite incomprehensible in the
+latter part of it. After referring me to his private residence, in case
+I wished to consult him personally later in the day, he mentioned some
+proceeding, called 'proving the Will,' and some strange place called
+'Doctors' Commons.' However, there was the copy of the Will, and that
+was all we wanted.
+
+"I began reading it. How I pitied the unfortunate men who have to learn
+the law! My dear Teresa, I might as well have tried to read an unknown
+tongue. The strange words, the perpetual repetitions, the absence of
+stops, utterly bewildered me. I handed the copy to Miss Minerva.
+Instead of beginning on the first page, as I had done, she turned to
+the last. With what breathless interest I watched her face! First, I
+saw that she understood what she was reading. Then, after a while, she
+turned pale. And then, she lifted her eyes to me. 'Don't be
+frightened,' she said.
+
+"But I was frightened. My ignorant imagination pictured some dreadful
+unknown power given to Mrs. Gallilee by the Will. 'What can my aunt do
+to me?' I asked.
+
+"Miss Minerva composed me--without concealing the truth. 'In her
+position, Carmina, and with her intensely cold and selfish nature,
+there is no fear of her attempting to reach her ends by violent means.
+Your happiness may be in danger--and that prospect, God knows, is bad
+enough.'
+
+"When she talked of my happiness, I naturally thought of Ovid. I asked
+if there was anything about him in the Will.
+
+"It was no doubt a stupid thing to say at such a time; and it seemed to
+annoy her. 'You are the only person concerned,' she answered sharply.
+'It is Mrs. Gallilee's interest that you shall never be her son's wife,
+or any man's wife. If she can have her way, you will live and die an
+unmarried woman.'
+
+"This did me good: it made me angry. I began to feel like myself again.
+I said, 'Please let me hear the rest of it.'
+
+"Miss Minerva first patiently explained to me what she had read in the
+Will. She then returned to the subject of my aunt's extravagance;
+speaking from experience of what had happened in her own family. 'If
+Mrs. Gallilee borrows money,' she said, 'her husband will, in all
+probability, have to repay the loan. And, if borrowings go on in that
+way, Maria and Zoe will be left wretchedly provided for, in comparison
+with Lady Northlake's daughters. A fine large fortune would wonderfully
+improve these doubtful prospects--can you guess, Carmina, where it is
+to come from?' I could easily guess, now I understood the Will. My good
+Teresa. if I die without leaving children, the fine large fortune comes
+from Me.
+
+"You see it all now--don't you? After I had thanked Miss Minerva,
+turned away my head on the pillow overpowered by disgust.
+
+"The clock in the hall struck the hour of the children's tea. Miss
+Minerva would be wanted immediately. At parting, she kissed me. 'There
+is the kiss that you meant to give me last night,' she said. 'Don't
+despair of yourself. I am to be in the house for a month longer; and I
+am a match for Mrs. Gallilee. We will say no more now. Compose
+yourself, and try to sleep.'
+
+"She went away to her duties. Sleep was out of the question. My
+attention wandered when I tried to read. Doing nothing meant, in other
+words, thinking of what had happened. If you had come into my room, I
+should have told you all about it. The next best thing was to talk to
+you in this way. You don't know what a relief it has been to me to
+write these lines."
+
+
+"The night has come, and Mrs. Gallilee's cruelty has at last proved too
+much even for my endurance.
+
+"Try not to be surprised; try not to be alarmed. If my mind to-morrow
+is the same as my mind to-night, I shall attempt to make my escape. I
+shall take refuge with Lady Northlake.
+
+"Oh, if I could go to Ovid! But he is travelling in the deserts of
+Canada. Until his return to the coast, I can only write to him to the
+care of his bankers at Quebec. I should not know where to find him,
+when I arrived; and what a dreadful meeting--if I did find him--to be
+obliged to acknowledge that it is his mother who has driven me away!
+There will be nothing to alarm him, if I go to his mother's sister. If
+you could see Lady Northlake, you would feel as sure as I do that she
+will take my part.
+
+"After writing to you, I must have fallen asleep. It was quite dark,
+when I was awakened by the striking of a match in my room. I looked
+round, expecting to see Miss Minerva. The person lighting my candle was
+Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+"She poured out the composing medicine which Mr. Null had ordered for
+me. I took it in silence. She sat down by the bedside.
+
+"'My child,' she began, 'we are friends again now. You bear no malice,
+I am sure.'
+
+"Distrust still kept me silent. I remembered that she had watched for
+Miss Minerva's return, and that she had seen Miss Minerva go up to my
+room. The idea that she meant to be revenged on us both for having our
+secrets, and keeping them from her knowledge, took complete possession
+of my mind.
+
+"'Are you feeling better?' she asked.
+
+"'Yes.'
+
+"'Is there anything I can get for you?'
+
+"'Not now--thank you.'
+
+"'Would you like to see Mr. Null again, before to-morrow?'
+
+"'Oh, no!'
+
+"These were ungraciously short replies--but it cost me an effort to
+speak to her at all. She showed no signs of taking offence; she
+proceeded as smoothly as ever.
+
+"My dear Carmina, I have my faults of temper; and, with such pursuits
+as mine, I am not perhaps a sympathetic companion for a young girl. But
+I hope you believe that it is my duty and my pleasure to be a second
+mother to you?'
+
+"Yes; she did really say that! Whether I was only angry, or whether I
+was getting hysterical, I don't know. I began to feel an oppression in
+my breathing that almost choked me. There are two windows in my room,
+and one of them only was open. I was obliged to ask her to open the
+other.
+
+"She did it; she came back, and fanned me. I submitted as long as I
+could--and then I begged her not to trouble herself any longer. She put
+down the fan, and went on with what she had to say.
+
+"'I wish to speak to you about Miss Minerva. You are aware that I gave
+her notice, last night, to leave her situation. For your sake, I regret
+that I did not take this step before you came to England.'
+
+"My confidence in myself returned when I heard Miss Minerva spoken of
+in this way. I said at once that I considered her to be one of my best
+and truest friends.
+
+"'My dear child, that is exactly what I lament! This person has
+insinuated herself into your confidence--and she is utterly unworthy of
+it.'
+
+"Could I let those abominable words pass in silence? 'Mrs. Gallilee!' I
+said, 'you are cruelly wronging a woman whom I love and respect!'
+
+"'Mrs. Gallilee?' she repeated. 'Do I owe it to Miss Minerva that you
+have left off calling me Aunt? Your obstinacy, Carmina, leaves me no
+alternative but to speak out. If I had done my duty, I ought to have
+said long since, what I am going to say now. You are putting your trust
+in the bitterest enemy you have; an enemy who secretly hates you with
+the unforgiving hatred of a rival!'
+
+"Look back at my letter, describing what passed between Miss Minerva
+and me, when I went to her room; and you will know what I felt on
+hearing her spoken of as 'a rival.' My sense of justice refused to
+believe it. But, oh, my dear old nurse, there was some deeper sense in
+me that said, as if in words, It is true!
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee went on, without mercy.
+
+"'I know her thoroughly; I have looked into her false heart. Nobody has
+discovered her but me. Charge her with it, if you like; and let her
+deny it if she dare. Miss Minerva is secretly in love with my son.'
+
+"She got up. Her object was gained: she was even with me, and with the
+woman who had befriended me, at last.
+
+"'Lie down in your bed again,' she said, 'and think over what I have
+told you. In your own interests, think over it well.'
+
+"I was left alone.
+
+"Shall I tell you what saved me from sinking under the shock?
+Ovid--thousands and thousands of miles away--Ovid saved me.
+
+"I love him with all my heart and soul; and I do firmly believe that I
+know him better than I know myself. If his mother had betrayed Miss
+Minerva to him, as she has betrayed her to me, that unhappy woman would
+have had his truest pity. I am as certain of this, as I am that I see
+the moon, while I write, shining on my bed. Ovid would have pitied her.
+And I pitied her.
+
+"I wrote the lines that follow, and sent them to her by the maid. In
+the fear that she might mistake my motives, and think me angry and
+jealous, I addressed her with my former familiarity by her christian
+name:--"'Last night, Frances, I ventured to ask if you loved some one
+who did not love you. And you answered by saying to me, Guess who he
+is. My aunt has just told me that he is her son. Has she spoken the
+truth?'
+
+"I am now waiting to receive Miss Minerva's reply.
+
+"For the first time since I have been in the house, my door is locked.
+I cannot, and will not, see Mrs. Gallilee again. All her former
+cruelties are, as I feel it, nothing to the cruelty of her coming here
+when I am ill, and saying to me what she has said.
+
+"The weary time passes, and still there is no reply. Is Frances angry?
+or is she hesitating how to answer me--personally or by writing? No!
+she has too much delicacy of feeling to answer in her own person.
+
+"I have only done her justice. The maid has just asked me to open the
+door. I have got my answer. Read it."
+
+
+"'Mrs. Gallilee has spoken the truth.
+
+"'How I can have betrayed myself so that she has discovered my
+miserable secret is more than I can tell I will not own it to her or to
+any living creature but yourself. Undeserving as I am, I know that I
+can trust you.
+
+"It is needless to dwell at any length on this confession. Many things
+in my conduct, which must have perplexed you, will explain themselves
+flow. There has been, however, one concealment on my part, which it is
+due to you that I should acknowledge.
+
+"'If Mrs. Gallilee had taken me into her confidence, I confess that my
+jealousy would have degraded me into becoming her accomplice. As things
+were, I was too angry and too cunning to let her make use of me without
+trusting me.
+
+"'There are other acts of deceit which I ought to acknowledge--if I
+could summon composure enough to write about them. Better to say at
+once--I am not worthy of your pardon, not worthy even of your pity.
+
+"'With the same sincerity, I warn you that the wickedness in me, on
+which Mrs. Gallilee calculated, may be in me still. The influence of
+your higher and better nature--helped perhaps by that other influence
+of which the old priest spoke in his letter--has opened my heart to
+tenderness and penitence of which I never believed myself capable: has
+brought the burning tears into my eyes which make it a hard task to
+write to you. All this I know, and yet I dare not believe in myself. It
+is useless to deny it, Carmina--I love him. Even now, when you have
+found me out, I love him. Don't trust me. Oh, God, what torture it is
+to write it--but I do write it, I _will_ write it--don't trust me!
+
+"'One thing I may say for myself. I know the utter hopelessness of that
+love which I have acknowledged. I know that he returns your love, and
+will never return mine. So let it be.
+
+"'I am not young; I have no right to comfort myself with hopes that I
+know to be vain. If one of us is to suffer, let it be that one who is
+used to suffering. I have never been the darling of my parents, like
+you; I have not been used at home to the kindness and the love that you
+remember. A life without sweetness and joy has well fitted me for a
+loveless future. And, besides, you are worthy of him, and I am not.
+Mrs. Gallilee is wrong, Carmina, if she thinks I am your rival. I am
+not your rival; I never can be your rival. Believe nothing else, but,
+for God's sake, believe that!
+
+"'I have no more to say--at least no more that I can remember now.
+Perhaps, you shrink from remaining in the same house with me? Let me
+know it, and I shall be ready--I might almost say, glad--to go.'"
+
+
+"Have you read her letter, Teresa? Am I wrong in feeling that this poor
+wounded heart has surely some claim on me? If I _am_ wrong, oh, what am
+I to do? what am I to do?"
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+The last lines addressed by Carmina to her old nurse were completed on
+the seventeenth of August, and were posted that night.
+
+The day that followed was memorable to Carmina, and memorable to Mrs.
+Gallilee. Doctor Benjulia had his reasons also for remembering the
+eighteenth of August.
+
+Still in search of a means to undermine the confidence which united
+Ovid and Carmina, and still calling on her invention in vain, Mrs.
+Gallilee had passed a sleepless night. Her maid, entering the room at
+the usual hour, was ordered to leave her in bed, and not to return
+until the bell rang. On ordinary occasions, Mrs. Gallilee was up in
+time to receive the letters arriving by the first delivery; the
+correspondence of the other members of the household being sorted by
+her own hands, before it was distributed by the servant. On this
+particular morning (after sleeping a little through sheer exhaustion),
+she entered the empty breakfast-room two hours later than usual. The
+letters waiting for her were addressed only to herself. She rang for
+the maid.
+
+"Any other letters this morning?" she asked.
+
+"Two, for my master."
+
+"No more than that!"
+
+"Nothing more, ma'am--except a telegram for Miss Carmina."
+
+"When did it come?"
+
+"Soon after the letters."
+
+"Have you given it to her?"
+
+"Being a telegram, ma'am, I thought I ought to take it to Miss Carmina
+at once."
+
+"Quite right. You can go."
+
+A telegram for Carmina? Was there some private correspondence going on?
+And were the interests involved too important to wait for the ordinary
+means of communication by post? Considering these questions, Mrs.
+Gallilee poured out a cup of tea and looked over her letters.
+
+Only one of them especially attracted her notice in her present frame
+of mind. The writer was Benjulia. He dispensed as usual with the
+customary forms of address.
+
+"I have had a letter about Ovid, from a friend of mine in Canada. There
+is an allusion to him of the complimentary sort, which I don't
+altogether understand. I want to ask you about it--but I can't spare
+the time to go a-visiting. So much the better for me--I hate
+conversation, and I like work. You have got your carriage--and your
+fine friends are out of town. If you want a drive, come to me, and
+bring your last letters from Ovid with you."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee decided on considering this characteristic proposal later
+in the day. Her first and foremost interest took her upstairs to her
+niece's room.
+
+Carmina had left her bed. Robed in her white dressing-gown, she lay on
+the sofa in the sitting-room. When her aunt came in, she started and
+shuddered Those signs of nervous aversion escaped the notice of Mrs.
+Gallilee. Her attention had been at once attracted by a travelling bag,
+opened as if in preparation for packing. The telegram lay on Carmina's
+lap. The significant connection between those two objects asserted
+itself plainly. But it was exactly the opposite of the connection
+suspected by Mrs. Gallilee. The telegram had prevented Carmina from
+leaving the house.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee paved the way for the necessary investigation, by making
+a few common-place inquiries. How had Carmina passed the night? Had the
+maid taken care of her at breakfast-time? Was there anything that her
+aunt could do for her? Carmina replied with a reluctance which she was
+unable to conceal. Mrs. Gallilee passed over the cold reception
+accorded to her without remark, and pointed with a bland smile to the
+telegram.
+
+"No bad news, I hope?"
+
+Carmina handed the telegram silently to her aunt. The change of
+circumstances which the arrival of the message had produced, made
+concealment superfluous. Mrs. Gallilee opened the telegram, keeping her
+suspicions in reserve. It had been sent from Rome by the old foreign
+woman, named "Teresa," and it contained these words:
+
+"My husband died this morning. Expect me in London from day to day."
+
+"Why is this person coming to London?" Mrs. Gallilee inquired.
+
+Stung by the insolent composure of that question, Carmina answered
+sharply, "Her name is on the telegram; you ought to know!"
+
+"Indeed?" said Mrs. Gallilee. "Perhaps, she likes London?"
+
+"She hates London! You have had her in the house; you have seen us
+together. Now she has lost her husband, do you think she can live apart
+from the one person in the world whom she loves best?"
+
+"My dear, these matters of mere sentiment escape my notice," Mrs.
+Gallilee rejoined. "It's an expensive journey from Italy to England.
+What was her husband?"
+
+"Her husband was foreman in a manufactory till his health failed him."
+
+"And then," Mrs. Gallilee concluded, "the money failed him, of course.
+What did he manufacture?"
+
+"Artists' colours."
+
+"Oh! an artists' colourman? Not a very lucrative business, I should
+think. Has his widow any resources of her own?"
+
+"My purse is hers!"
+
+"Very generous, I am sure! Even the humblest lodgings are dear in this
+neighbourhood. However--with your assistance--your old servant may be
+able to live somewhere near you."
+
+Having settled the question of Teresa's life in London in this way,
+Mrs. Gallilee returned to the prime object of her suspicion--she took
+possession of the travelling bag.
+
+Carmina looked at her with the submission of utter bewilderment. Teresa
+had been the companion of her life; Teresa had been received as her
+attendant, when she was first established under her aunt's roof. She
+had assumed that her nurse would become a member of the household
+again, as a matter of course. With Teresa to encourage her, she had
+summoned the resolution to live with Ovid's mother, until Ovid came
+back. And now she had been informed, in words too plain to be mistaken,
+that Teresa must find a home for herself when she returned to London!
+Surprise, disappointment, indignation held Carmina speechless.
+
+"This thing," Mrs. Gallilee proceeded, holding up the bag, "will only
+be in your way here. I will have it put with our own bags and boxes, in
+the lumber-room. And, by-the-bye, I fancy you don't quite understand
+(naturally enough, at your age) our relative positions in this house.
+My child, the authority of your late father is the authority which your
+guardian holds over you. I hope never to be obliged to exercise
+it--especially, if you will be good enough to remember two things. I
+expect you to consult me in your choice of companions; and to wait for
+my approval before you make arrangements which--well! let us say, which
+require the bag to be removed from the lumber-room."
+
+Without waiting for a reply, she turned to the door. After opening it,
+she paused--and looked back into the room.
+
+"Have you thought of what I told you, last night?" she asked.
+
+Sorely as they had been tried, Carmina's energies rallied at this. "I
+have done my best to forget it!" she answered.
+
+"At Miss Minerva's request?"
+
+Carmina took no notice of the question.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee persisted. "Have you had any communication with that
+person?"
+
+There was still no reply. Preserving her temper, Mrs. Gallilee stepped
+out on the landing, and called to Miss Minerva. The governess answered
+from the upper floor.
+
+"Please come down here," said Mrs. Galilee.
+
+Miss Minerva obeyed. Her face was paler than usual; her eyes had lost
+something of their piercing brightness. She stopped outside Carmina's
+door. Mrs. Gallilee requested her to enter the room.
+
+After an instant--only an instant--of hesitation, Miss Minerva crossed
+the threshold. She cast one quick glance at Carmina, and lowered her
+eyes before the look could be returned. Mrs. Gallilee discovered no
+mute signs of an understanding between them. She turned to the
+governess.
+
+"Have you been here already this morning?" she inquired.
+
+"No."
+
+"Is there some coolness between you and my niece?"
+
+"None, madam, that I know of."
+
+"Then, why don't you speak to her when you come into the room?"
+
+"Miss Carmina has been ill. I see her resting on the sofa--and I am
+unwilling to disturb her."
+
+"Not even by saying good-morning?"
+
+"Not even that!"
+
+"You are exceedingly careful, Miss Minerva."
+
+"I have had some experience of sick people, and I have learnt to be
+careful. May I ask if you have any particular reason for calling me
+downstairs?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee prepared to put her niece and her governess to the final
+test.
+
+"I wish you to suspend the children's lesson for an hour or two," she
+answered.
+
+"Certainly. Shall I tell them?"
+
+"No; I will tell them myself."
+
+"What do you wish me to do?" said Miss Minerva.
+
+"I wish you to remain here with my niece."
+
+If Mrs. Gallilee, after answering in those terms, had looked at her
+niece, instead of looking at her governess, she would have seen
+Carmina--distrustful of her own self-control--move on the sofa so as to
+turn her face to the wall. As it was, Miss Minerva's attitude and look
+silently claimed some explanation.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee addressed her in a whisper. "Let me say a word to you at
+the door."
+
+Miss Minerva followed her to the landing outside. Carmina turned again,
+listening anxiously.
+
+"I am not at all satisfied with her looks, this morning," Mrs. Gallilee
+proceeded; "and I don't think it right she should be left alone. My
+household duties must be attended to. Will you take my place at the
+sofa, until Mr. Null comes?" (_"Now,"_ she thought, "if there is
+jealousy between them, I shall see it!")
+
+She saw nothing: the governess quietly bowed to her, and went back to
+Carmina. She heard nothing: although the half-closed door gave her
+opportunities for listening. Ignorant, she had entered the room.
+Ignorant, she left it.
+
+Carmina lay still and silent. With noiseless step, Miss Minerva
+approached the sofa, and stood by it, waiting. Neither of them lifted
+her eyes, the one to the other. The woman suffered her torture in
+secret. The girl's sweet eyes filled slowly with tears. One by one the
+minutes of the morning passed--not many in number, before there was a
+change. In silence, Carmina held out her hand. In silence, Miss Minerva
+took it and kissed it.
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee saw her housekeeper as usual, and gave her orders for the
+day. "If there is anything forgotten," she said, "I must leave it to
+you. For the next hour or two, don't let me be disturbed."
+
+Some of her letters of the morning were still unread, others required
+immediate acknowledgment. She was not as ready for her duties as usual.
+For once, the most unendurably industrious of women was idle, and sat
+thinking.
+
+Even her unimaginative nature began to tremble on the verge of
+superstition. Twice, had the subtle force of circumstances defeated
+her, in the attempt to meddle with the contemplated marriage of her
+son. By means of the music-master, she had planned to give Ovid jealous
+reasons for doubting Carmina--and she had failed. By means of the
+governess, she had planned to give Carmina jealous reasons for doubting
+Ovid--and she had failed. When some people talked of Fatality, were
+they quite such fools as she had hitherto supposed them to be? It would
+be a waste of time to inquire. What next step could she take?
+
+Urged by the intolerable sense of defeat to find reasons for still
+looking hopefully to the future, the learned Mrs. Gallilee lowered
+herself to the intellectual level of the most ignorant servant in the
+house. The modern Muse of Science unconsciously opened her mind to the
+vulgar belief in luck. She said to herself, as her kitchen-maid might
+have said, We will see what comes of it, the third time!
+
+Benjulia's letter was among the other letters waiting on the table. She
+took it up, and read it again.
+
+In her present frame of mind, to find her thoughts occupied by the
+doctor, was to be reminded of Ovid's strange allusion to his
+professional colleague, on the day of his departure. Speaking of
+Carmina, he had referred to one person whom he did not wish her to see
+in his absence; and that person, he had himself admitted to be
+Benjulia. He had been asked to state his objection to the doctor--and
+how had he replied? He had said, "I don't think Benjulia a fit person
+to be in the company of a young girl."
+
+Why?
+
+There are many men of mature age, who are not fit persons to be in the
+company of young girls--but they are either men who despise, or men who
+admire, young girls. Benjulia belonged neither to the one nor to the
+other of these two classes. Girls were objects of absolute indifference
+to him--with the one exception of Zo, aged ten. Never yet, after
+meeting him in society hundreds of times, had Mrs. Gallilee seen him
+talk to young ladies or even notice young ladies. Ovid's alleged reason
+for objecting to Benjulia stood palpably revealed as a clumsy excuse.
+
+In the present posture of events, to arrive at that conclusion was
+enough for Mrs. Gallilee. Without stopping to pursue the idea, she rang
+the bell, and ordered her carriage to be ready that afternoon, at three
+o'clock.
+
+Doubtful, and more than doubtful, though it might be, the bare prospect
+of finding herself possessed, before the day was out, of a means of
+action capable of being used against Carmina, raised Mrs. Gallilee's
+spirits. She was ready at last to attend to her correspondence.
+
+One of the letters was from her sister in Scotland. Among other
+subjects, it referred to Carmina.
+
+"Why won't you let that sweet girl come and stay with us?" Lady
+Northlake asked. "My daughters are longing for such a companion; and
+both my sons are ready to envy Ovid the moment they see her. Tell my
+nephew, when you next write, that I thoroughly understand his falling
+in love with that gentle pretty creature at first sight."
+
+Carmina's illness was the ready excuse which presented itself in Mrs.
+Gallilee's reply. With or without an excuse, Lady Northlake was to be
+resolutely prevented from taking a foremost place in her niece's heart,
+and encouraging the idea of her niece's marriage. Mrs. Gallilee felt
+almost pious enough to thank Heaven that her sister's palace in the
+Highlands was at one end of Great Britain, and her own marine villa at
+the other!
+
+The marine villa reminded her of the family migration to the sea-side.
+
+When would it be desirable to leave London? Not until her mind was
+relieved of the heavier anxieties that now weighed on it. Not while
+events might happen--in connection with the threatening creditors or
+the contemplated marriage--which would baffle her latest calculations,
+and make her presence in London a matter of serious importance to her
+own interests. Miss Minerva, again, was a new obstacle in the way. To
+take her to the Isle of Wight was not to be thought of for a moment. To
+dismiss her at once, by paying the month's salary, might be the
+preferable course to pursue--but for two objections. In the first place
+(if the friendly understanding between them really continued) Carmina
+might communicate with the discarded governess in secret. In the second
+place, to pay Miss Minerva's salary before she had earned it, was a
+concession from which Mrs. Gallilee's spite, and Mrs. Gallilee's
+principles of paltry economy, recoiled in disgust. No! the waiting
+policy in London, under whatever aspect it might be viewed, was, for
+the present, the one policy to pursue.
+
+She returned to the demands of her correspondence. Just as she had
+taken up her pen, the sanctuary of the boudoir was violated by the
+appearance of a servant.
+
+"What is it now? Didn't the housekeeper tell you that I am not to be
+disturbed?"
+
+"I beg your pardon, ma'am. My master--"
+
+"What does your master want?"
+
+"He wishes to see you, ma'am."
+
+This was a circumstance entirely without parallel in the domestic
+history of the house. In sheer astonishment, Mrs. Gallilee pushed away
+her letters, and said "Show him in."
+
+When the boys of fifty years since were naughty, the schoolmaster of
+the period was not accustomed to punish them by appealing to their
+sense of honour. If a boy wanted a flogging, in those days, the
+educational system seized a cane, or a birch-rod, and gave it to him.
+Mr. Gallilee entered his wife's room, with the feelings which had once
+animated him, on entering the schoolmaster's study to be caned. When he
+said "Good-morning, my dear!" his face presented the expression of
+fifty years since, when he had said, "Please, sir, let me off this
+time!"
+
+"Now," said Mrs. Gallilee, "what do you want?"
+
+"Only a little word. How well you're looking, my dear!"
+
+After a sleepless night, followed by her defeat in Carmina's room, Mrs.
+Gallilee looked, and knew that she looked, ugly and old. And her
+wretched husband had reminded her of it. "Go on!" she answered sternly.
+
+Mr. Gallilee moistened his dry lips. "I think I'll take a chair, if you
+will allow me," he said. Having taken his chair (at a respectful
+distance from his wife), he looked all round the room with the air of a
+visitor who had never seen it before. "How very pretty!" he remarked
+softly. "Such taste in colour. I think the carpet was your own design,
+wasn't it? How chaste!"
+
+_"Will_ you come to the point, Mr. Gallilee?"
+
+"With pleasure, my dear--with pleasure. I'm afraid I smell of tobacco?"
+
+"I don't care if you do!"
+
+This was such an agreeable surprise to Mr. Gallilee, that he got on his
+legs again to enjoy it standing up. "How kind! Really now, how kind!"
+He approached Mrs. Gallilee confidentially. "And do you know, my dear,
+it was one of the most remarkable cigars I ever smoked." Mrs. Gallilee
+laid down her pen, and eyed him with an annihilating frown. In the
+extremity of his confusion Mr. Gallilee ventured nearer. He felt the
+sinister fascination of the serpent in the expression of those awful
+eyebrows. "How well you are looking! How amazingly well you are looking
+this morning!" He leered at his learned wife, and patted her shoulder!
+
+For the moment, Mrs. Gallilee was petrified. At his time of life, was
+this fat and feeble creature approaching her with conjugal endearments?
+At that early hour of the day, had his guilty lips tasted his favourite
+champagne, foaming in his well-beloved silver mug, over his
+much-admired lump of ice? And was _this_ the result?
+
+"Mr. Gallilee!"
+
+"Yes, my dear?"
+
+"Sit down!"
+
+Mr. Gallilee sat down.
+
+"Have you been to the club?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee got up again.
+
+"Sit down!"
+
+Mr. Gallilee sat down. "I was about to say, my dear, that I'll show you
+over the club with the greatest pleasure--if that's what you mean."
+
+"If you are not a downright idiot," said Mrs. Gallilee, "understand
+this! Either say what you have to say, or--" she lifted her hand, and
+let it down on the writing-table with a slap that made the pens ring in
+the inkstand--"or, leave the room!"
+
+Mr. Gallilee lifted his hand, and searched in the breast-pocket of his
+coat. He pulled out his cigar-case, and put it back in a hurry. He
+tried again, and produced a letter. He looked piteously round the room,
+in sore need of somebody whom he might appeal to, and ended in
+appealing to himself. "What sort of temper will she be in?" he
+whispered.
+
+"What have you got there?" Mrs. Gallilee asked sharply. "One of the
+letters you had this morning?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee looked at her with admiration. "Wonderful woman!" he said.
+"Nothing escapes her! Allow me, my dear."
+
+He rose and presented the letter, as if he was presenting a petition.
+Mrs. Gallilee snatched it out of his hand. Mr. Gallilee went softly
+back to his chair, and breathed a devout ejaculation. "Oh, Lord!"
+
+It was a letter from one of the tradespeople, whom Mrs. Gallilee had
+attempted to pacify with a payment "on account." The tradesman felt
+compelled, in justice to himself, to appeal to Mr. Gallilee, as master
+of the house (!). It was impossible for him (he submitted with the
+greatest respect) to accept a payment, which did not amount to
+one-third of the sum owing to him for more than a twelvemonth.
+"Wretch!" cried Mrs. Gallilee. "I'll settle his bill, and never employ
+him again!" She opened her cheque-book, and dipped her pen in the ink.
+A faint voice meekly protested. Mr. Gallilee was on his legs again. Mr.
+Gallilee said. "Please don't!"
+
+His incredible rashness silenced his wife. There he stood; his round
+eyes staring at the cheque-book, his fat cheeks quivering with
+excitement. "You mustn't do it," he said, with a first and last
+outburst of courage. "Give me a minute, my dear--oh, good gracious,
+give me a minute!"
+
+He searched in his pocket again, and produced another letter. His eyes
+wandered towards the door; drops of perspiration oozed out on his
+forehead. He laid the second letter on the table; he looked at his
+wife, and--ran out of the room.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee opened the second letter. Another dissatisfied tradesman?
+No: creditors far more formidable than the grocer and the butcher. An
+official letter from the bankers, informing Mr. Gallilee that "the
+account was overdrawn."
+
+She seized her pass-book, and her paper of calculations. Never yet had
+her rigid arithmetic committed an error. Column by column she revised
+her figures--and made the humiliating discovery of her first mistake.
+She had drawn out all, and more than all, the money deposited in the
+bank; and the next half-yearly payment of income was not due until
+Christmas.
+
+There was but one thing to be done--to go at once to the bank. If Ovid
+had not been in the wilds of Canada, Mrs. Gallilee would have made her
+confession to him without hesitation. As it was, the servant called a
+cab, and she made her confession to the bankers.
+
+The matter was soon settled to her satisfaction. It rested (exactly as
+Miss Minerva had anticipated) with Mr. Gallilee. In the house, he might
+abdicate his authority to his heart's content. Out of the house, in
+matters of business, he was master still. His "investments" represented
+excellent "security;" he had only to say how much he wanted to borrow,
+and to sign certain papers--and the thing was done.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee went home again, with her pecuniary anxieties at rest for
+the time. The carriage was waiting for her at the door.
+
+Should she fulfil her intention of visiting Benjulia? She was not a
+person who readily changed her mind--and, besides, after the troubles
+of the morning, the drive into the country would be a welcome relief.
+Hearing that Mr. Gallilee was still at home, she looked in at the
+smoking-room. Unerring instinct told her where to find her husband,
+under present circumstances. There he was, enjoying his cigar in
+comfort, with his coat off and his feet on a chair. She opened the
+door. "I want you, this evening," she said--and shut the door again;
+leaving Mr. Gallilee suffocated by a mouthful of his own smoke.
+
+Before getting into the carriage, she only waited to restore her face
+with a flush of health (from Paris), modified by a sprinkling of pallor
+(from London). Benjulia's humour was essentially an uncertain humour.
+It might be necessary to fascinate the doctor.
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+The complimentary allusion to Ovid, which Benjulia had not been able to
+understand, was contained in a letter from Mr. Morphew, and was
+expressed in these words:--"Let me sincerely thank you for making us
+acquainted with Mr. Ovid Vere. Now that he has left us, we really feel
+as if we had said good-bye to an old friend. I don't know when I have
+met with such a perfectly unselfish man--and I say this, speaking from
+experience of him. In my unavoidable absence, he volunteered to attend
+a serious case of illness, accompanied by shocking circumstances--and
+this at a time when, as you know, his own broken health forbids him to
+undertake any professional duty. While he could preserve the patient's
+life--and he did wonders, in this way--he was every day at the bedside,
+taxing his strength in the service of a perfect stranger. I fancy I see
+you (with your impatience of letter-writing at any length) looking to
+the end. Don't be alarmed. I am writing to your brother Lemuel by this
+mail, and I have little time to spare."
+
+Was this "serious case of illness"--described as being "accompanied by
+shocking circumstances"--a case of disease of the brain?
+
+There was the question, proposed by Benjulia's inveterate suspicion of
+Ovid! The bare doubt cost him the loss of a day's work. He reviled poor
+Mr. Morphew as "a born idiot" for not having plainly stated what the
+patient's malady was, instead of wasting paper on smooth sentences,
+encumbered by long words. If Ovid had alluded to his Canadian patient
+in his letters to his mother, his customary preciseness of language
+might be trusted to relieve Benjulia's suspense. With that purpose in
+view, the doctor had written to Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Before he laid down his pen, he looked once more at Mr. Morphew's
+letter, and paused thoughtfully over one line: "I am writing to your
+brother Lemuel by this mail."
+
+The information of which he was in search might be in _that_ letter. If
+Mrs. Gallilee's correspondence with her son failed to enlighten him,
+here was another chance of making the desired discovery. Surely the
+wise course to take would be to write to Lemuel as well.
+
+His one motive for hesitating was dislike of his younger
+brother--dislike so inveterate that he even recoiled from communicating
+with Lemuel through the post.
+
+There had never been any sympathy between them; but indifference had
+only matured into downright enmity, on the doctor's part, a year since.
+Accident (the result of his own absence of mind, while he was perplexed
+by an unsuccessful experiment) had placed Lemuel in possession of his
+hideous secret. The one person in the world who knew how he was really
+occupied in the laboratory, was his brother.
+
+Here was the true motive of the bitterly contemptuous tone in which
+Benjulia had spoken to Ovid of his nearest relation. Lemuel's character
+was certainly deserving of severe judgment, in some of its aspects. In
+his hours of employment (as clerk in the office of a London publisher)
+he steadily and punctually performed the duties entrusted to him. In
+his hours of freedom, his sensual instincts got the better of him; and
+his jealous wife had her reasons for complaint. Among his friends, he
+was the subject of a wide diversity of opinion. Some of them agreed
+with his brother in thinking him little better than a fool. Others
+suspected him of possessing natural abilities, but of being too lazy,
+perhaps too cunning, to exert them. In the office he allowed himself to
+be called "a mere machine"--and escaped the overwork which fell to the
+share of quicker men. When his wife and her relations declared him to
+be a mere animal, he never contradicted them--and so gained the
+reputation of a person on whom reprimand was thrown away. Under the
+protection of this unenviable character, he sometimes said severe
+things with an air of perfect simplicity. When the furious doctor
+discovered him in the laboratory, and said, "I'll be the death of you,
+if you tell any living creature what I am doing!"--Lemuel answered,
+with a stare of stupid astonishment, "Make your mind easy; I should be
+ashamed to mention it."
+
+Further reflection decided Benjulia on writing. Even when he had a
+favour to ask, he was unable to address Lemuel with common politeness.
+
+"I hear that Morphew has written to you by the last mail. I want to see
+the letter." So much he wrote, and no more. What was barely enough for
+the purpose, was enough for the doctor, when he addressed his brother.
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+Between one and two o'clock, the next afternoon, Benjulia (at work in
+his laboratory) heard the bell which announced the arrival of a visitor
+at the house. No matter what the circumstances might be, the servants
+were forbidden to disturb him at his studies in any other way.
+
+Very unwillingly he obeyed the call, locking the door behind him. At
+that hour it was luncheon-time in well-regulated households, and it was
+in the last degree unlikely that Mrs. Gallilee could be the visitor.
+Getting within view of the front of the house, he saw a man standing on
+the doorstep. Advancing a little nearer, he recognised Lemuel.
+
+"Hullo!" cried the elder brother.
+
+"Hullo!" answered the younger, like an echo.
+
+They stood looking at each other with the suspicious curiosity of two
+strange cats. Between Nathan Benjulia, the famous doctor, and Lemuel
+Benjulia, the publisher's clerk, there was just family resemblance
+enough to suggest that they were relations. The younger brother was
+only a little over the ordinary height; he was rather fat than thin; he
+wore a moustache and whiskers; he dressed smartly--and his prevailing
+expression announced that he was thoroughly well satisfied with
+himself. But he inherited Benjulia's gipsy complexion; and, in form and
+colour, he had Benjulia's eyes.
+
+"How-d'ye-do, Nathan?" he said.
+
+"What the devil brings you here?" was the answer.
+
+Lemuel passed over his brother's rudeness without notice. His mouth
+curled up at the corners with a mischievous smile.
+
+"I thought you wished to see my letter," he said.
+
+"Why couldn't you send it by post?"
+
+"My wife wished me to take the opportunity of calling on you."
+
+"That's a lie," said Benjulia quietly. "Try another excuse. Or do a new
+thing. For once, speak the truth."
+
+Without waiting to hear the truth, he led the way into the room in
+which he had received Ovid. Lemuel followed, still showing no outward
+appearance of resentment.
+
+"How did you get away from your office?" Benjulia inquired.
+
+"It's easy to get a holiday at this time of year. Business is slack,
+old boy--"
+
+"Stop! I don't allow you to speak to me in that way."
+
+"No offence, brother Nathan!"
+
+"Brother Lemuel, I never allow a fool to offend me. I put him in his
+place--that's all."
+
+The distant barking of a dog became audible from the lane by which the
+house was approached. The sound seemed to annoy Benjulia. "What's
+that?" he asked.
+
+Lemuel saw his way to making some return for his brother's reception of
+him.
+
+"It's my dog," he said; "and it's lucky for you that I have left him in
+the cab."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well, he's as sweet-tempered a dog as ever lived. But he has one
+fault. He doesn't take kindly to scientific gentlemen in your line of
+business." Lemuel paused, and pointed to his brother's hands. "If he
+smelt that, he might try his teeth at vivisecting You."
+
+The spots of blood which Ovid had once seen on Benjulia's stick, were
+on his hands now. With unruffled composure he looked at the horrid
+stains, silently telling their tale of torture.
+
+"What's the use of washing my hands," he answered, "when I am going
+back to my work?"
+
+He wiped his finger and thumb on the tail of his coat. "Now," he
+resumed, "if you have got your letter with you, let me look at it."
+
+Lemuel produced the letter. "There are some bits in it," he explained,
+"which you had better not see. If you want the truth--that's the reason
+I brought it myself. Read the first page-and then I'll tell you where
+to skip."
+
+So far, there was no allusion to Ovid. Benjulia turned to the second
+page--and Lemuel pointed to the middle of it. "Read as far as that," he
+went on, "and then skip till you come to the last bit at the end."
+
+On the last page, Ovid's name appeared. He was mentioned, as a
+"delightful person, introduced by your brother,"--and with that the
+letter ended. In the first bitterness of his disappointment, Benjulia
+conceived an angry suspicion of those portions of the letter which he
+had been requested to pass over unread.
+
+"What has Morphew got to say to you that I mustn't read?" he asked.
+
+"Suppose you tell me first, what you want to find in the letter,"
+Lemuel rejoined. "Morphew is a doctor like you. Is it anything
+medical?"
+
+Benjulia answered this in the easiest way--he nodded his head.
+
+"Is it Vivisection?" Lemuel inquired slyly.
+
+Benjulia at once handed the letter back, and pointed to the door. His
+momentary interest in the suppressed passages was at an end. "That will
+do," he answered. "Take yourself and your letter away."
+
+"Ah," said Lemuel, "I'm glad you don't want to look at it again!" He
+put the letter away, and buttoned his coat, and tapped his pocket
+significantly. "You have got a nasty temper, Nathan--and there are
+things here that might try it."
+
+In the case of any other man, Benjulia would have seen that the one
+object of these prudent remarks was to irritate him. Misled by his
+profound conviction of his brother's stupidity, he now thought it
+possible that the concealed portions of the letter might be worth
+notice. He stopped Lemuel at the door. "I've changed my mind," he said;
+"I want to look at the letter again."
+
+"You had better not," Lemuel persisted. "Morphew's going to write a
+book against you--and he asks me to get it published at our place. I'm
+on his side, you know; I shall do my best to help him; I can lay my
+hand on literary fellows who will lick his style into shape--it will be
+an awful exposure!" Benjulia still held out his hand. With over-acted
+reluctance, Lemuel unbuttoned his coat. The distant dog barked again as
+he gave the letter back. "Please excuse my dear old dog," he said with
+maudlin tenderness; "the poor dumb animal seems to know that I'm taking
+his side in the controversy. _Bow-wow_ means, in his language, Fie upon
+the cruel hands that bore holes in our head and use saws on our backs.
+Ah, Nathan, if you have got any dogs in that horrid place of yours, pat
+them and give them their dinner! You never heard me talk like this
+before--did you? I'm a new man since I joined the Society for
+suppressing you. Oh, if I only had the gift of writing!"
+
+The effect of this experiment on his brother's temper, failed to fulfil
+Lemuel's expectations. The doctor's curiosity was roused on the
+doctor's own subject of inquiry.
+
+"You're quite right about one thing," said Benjulia gravely; "I never
+heard you talk in this way before. You suggest some interesting
+considerations, of the medical sort. Come to the light." He led Lemuel
+to the window--looked at him with the closest attention--and carefully
+consulted his pulse. Lemuel smiled. "I'm not joking," said Benjulia
+sternly. "Tell me this. Have you had headaches lately? Do you find your
+memory failing you?"
+
+As he put those questions, he thought to himself--seriously thought--
+"Is this fellow's brain softening? I wish I had him on my table!"
+
+Lemuel persisted in presenting himself under a sentimental aspect. He
+had not forgiven his elder brother's rudeness yet--and he knew, by
+experience, the one weakness in Benjulia's character which, with his
+small resources, it was possible to attack.
+
+"Thank you for your kind inquiries," he replied. "Never mind my head,
+so long as my heart's in the right place. I don't pretend to be
+clever--but I've got my feelings; and I could put some awkward
+questions on what you call Medical Research, if I had Morphew to help
+me."
+
+"I'll help you," said Benjulia--interested in developing the state of
+his brother's brain.
+
+"I don't believe you," said Lemuel--interested in developing the state
+of his brother's temper.
+
+"Try me, Lemuel."
+
+"All right, Nathan."
+
+The two brothers returned to their chairs; reduced for once to the same
+moral level.
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+"Now," said Benjulia, "what is it to be? The favourite public bugbear?
+Vivisection?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very well. What can I do for you?"
+
+"Tell me first," said Lemuel, "what is Law?"
+
+"Nobody knows."
+
+"Well, then, what _ought_ it to be?"
+
+"Justice, I suppose."
+
+"Let me wait a bit, Nathan, and get that into my mind."
+
+Benjulia waited with exemplary patience.
+
+"Now about yourself," Lemuel continued. "You won't be offended--will
+you? Should I be right, if I called you a dissector of living
+creatures?"
+
+Benjulia was reminded of the day when he had discovered his brother in
+the laboratory. His dark complexion deepened in hue. His cold gray eyes
+seemed to promise a coming outbreak. Lemuel went on.
+
+"Does the Law forbid you to make your experiments on a man?" he asked.
+
+"Of course it does!"
+
+"Why doesn't the Law forbid you to make your experiments on a dog?"
+
+Benjulia's face cleared again. The one penetrable point in his ironclad
+nature had not been reached yet. That apparently childish question
+about the dog appeared, not only to have interested him, but to have
+taken him by surprise. His attention wandered away from his brother.
+His clear intellect put Lemuel's objection in closer logical form, and
+asked if there was any answer to it, thus:
+
+The Law which forbids you to dissect a living man, allows you to
+dissect a living dog. Why?
+
+There was positively no answer to this.
+
+Suppose he said, Because a dog is an animal? Could he, as a
+physiologist, deny that a man is an animal too?
+
+Suppose he said, Because a dog is the inferior creature in intellect?
+The obvious answer to this would be, But the lower order of savage, or
+the lower order of lunatic, compared with the dog, is the inferior
+creature in intellect; and, in these cases, the dog has, on your own
+showing, the better right to protection of the two.
+
+Suppose he said, Because a man is a creature with a soul, and a dog is
+a creature without a soul? This would be simply inviting another
+unanswerable question: How do you know?
+
+Honestly accepting the dilemma which thus presented itself, the
+conclusion that followed seemed to be beyond dispute.
+
+If the Law, in the matter of Vivisection, asserts the principle of
+interference, the Law has barred its right to place arbitrary limits on
+its own action. If it protects any living creatures, it is bound, in
+reason and in justice, to protect all.
+
+"Well," said Lemuel, "am I to have an answer?"
+
+"I'm not a lawyer."
+
+With this convenient reply, Benjulia opened Mr. Morphew's letter, and
+read the forbidden part of it which began on the second page. There he
+found the very questions with which his brother had puzzled
+him--followed by the conclusion at which he had himself arrived!
+
+"You interpreted the language of your dog just now," he said quietly to
+Lemuel; "and I naturally supposed your brain might be softening. Such
+as it is, I perceive that your memory is in working order. Accept my
+excuses for feeling your pulse. You have ceased to be an object of
+interest to me."
+
+He returned to his reading. Lemuel watched him--still confidently
+waiting for results.
+
+The letter proceeded in these terms:
+
+"Your employer may perhaps be inclined to publish my work, if I can
+satisfy him that it will address itself to the general reader.
+
+"We all know what are the false pretences, under which English
+physiologists practice their cruelties. I want to expose those false
+pretences in the simplest and plainest way, by appealing to my own
+experience as an ordinary working member of the medical profession.
+
+"Take the pretence of increasing our knowledge of the curative action
+of poisons, by trying them on animals. The very poisons, the action of
+which dogs and cats have been needlessly tortured to demonstrate, I
+have successfully used on my human patients in the practice of a
+lifetime.
+
+"I should also like to ask what proof there is that the effect of a
+poison on an animal may be trusted to inform us, with certainty, of the
+effect of the same poison on a man. To quote two instances only which
+justify doubt--and to take birds this time, by way of a change--a
+pigeon will swallow opium enough to kill a man, and will not be in the
+least affected by it; and parsley, which is an innocent herb in the
+stomach of a human being, is deadly poison to a parrot.
+
+"I should deal in the same way, with the other pretence, of improving
+our practice of surgery by experiment on living animals.
+
+"Not long since, I saw the diseased leg of a dog cut off at the hip
+joint. When the limb was removed, not a single vessel bled. Try the
+same operation on a man--and twelve or fifteen vessels must be tied as
+a matter of absolute necessity.
+
+"Again. We are told by a great authority that the baking of dogs in
+ovens has led to new discoveries in treating fever. I have always
+supposed that the heat, in fever, is not a cause of disease, but a
+consequence. However, let that be, and let us still stick to
+experience. Has this infernal cruelty produced results which help us to
+cure scarlet fever? Our bedside practice tells us that scarlet fever
+runs it course as it always did. I can multiply such examples as these
+by hundreds when I write my book.
+
+"Briefly stated, you now have the method by which I propose to drag the
+scientific English Savage from his shelter behind the medical interests
+of humanity, and to show him in his true character,--as plainly as the
+scientific Foreign Savage shows himself of his own accord. _He_ doesn't
+shrink behind false pretences. _He_ doesn't add cant to cruelty. _He_
+boldly proclaims the truth:--I do it, because I like it!"
+
+Benjulia rose, and threw the letter on the floor.
+
+_"I_ proclaim the truth," he said; _"I_ do it because I like it. There
+are some few Englishmen who treat ignorant public opinion with the
+contempt that it deserves--and I am one of them." He pointed scornfully
+to the letter. "That wordy old fool is right about the false pretences.
+Publish his book, and I'll buy a copy of it."
+
+"That's odd," said Lemuel.
+
+"What's odd?"
+
+"Well, Nathan, I'm only a fool--but if you talk in that way of false
+pretences and public opinion, why do you tell everybody that your
+horrid cutting and carving is harmless chemistry? And why were you in
+such a rage when I got into your workshop, and found you out? Answer me
+that!"
+
+"Let me congratulate you first," said Benjulia. "It isn't every fool
+who knows that he _is_ a fool. Now you shall have your answer. Before
+the end of the year, all the world will be welcome to come into my
+workshop, and see me at the employment of my life. Brother Lemuel, when
+you stole your way through my unlocked door, you found me travelling on
+the road to the grandest medical discovery of this century. You stupid
+ass, do you think I cared about what _you_ could find out? I am in such
+perpetual terror of being forestalled by my colleagues, that I am not
+master of myself, even when such eyes as yours look at my work. In a
+month or two more--perhaps in a week or two--I shall have solved the
+grand problem. I labour at it all day. I think of it, I dream of it,
+all night. It will kill me. Strong as I am, it will kill me. What do
+you say? Am I working myself into my grave, in the medical interests of
+humanity? _That_ for humanity! I am working for my own satisfaction--
+for my own pride--for my own unutterable pleasure in beating other men-
+-for the fame that will keep my name living hundreds of years hence.
+Humanity! I say with my foreign brethren--Knowledge for its own sake,
+is the one god I worship. Knowledge is its own justification and its
+own reward. The roaring mob follows us with its cry of Cruelty. We pity
+their ignorance. Knowledge sanctifies cruelty. The old anatomist stole
+dead bodies for Knowledge. In that sacred cause, if I could steal a
+living man without being found out, I would tie him on my table, and
+grasp my grand discovery in days, instead of months. Where are you
+going? What? You're afraid to be in the same room with me? A man who
+can talk as I do, is a man who would stick at nothing? Is that the
+light in which you lower order of creatures look at us? Look a little
+higher--and you will see that a man who talks as I do is a man set
+above you by Knowledge. Exert yourself, and try to understand me. Have
+I no virtues, even from your point of view? Am I not a good citizen?
+Don't I pay my debts? Don't I serve my friends? You miserable creature,
+you have had my money when you wanted it! Look at that letter on the
+floor. The man mentioned in it is one of those colleagues whom I
+distrust. I did my duty by him for all that. I gave him the information
+he wanted; I introduced him to a friend in a land of strangers. Have I
+no feeling, as you call it? My last experiments on a monkey horrified
+me. His cries of suffering, his gestures of entreaty, were like the
+cries and gestures of a child. I would have given the world to put him
+out of his misery. But I went on. In the glorious cause I went on. My
+hands turned cold--my heart ached--I thought of a child I sometimes
+play with--I suffered--I resisted--I went on. All for Knowledge! all
+for Knowledge!"
+
+His brother's presence was forgotten. His dark face turned livid; his
+gigantic frame shuddered; his breath came and went in deep sobbing
+gasps--it was terrible to see him and hear him.
+
+Lemuel slunk out of the room. The jackal had roused the lion; the mean
+spirit of mischief in him had not bargained for this. "I begin to
+believe in the devil," he said to himself when he got to the house
+door.
+
+As he descended the steps, a carriage appeared in the lane. A footman
+opened the gate of the enclosure. The carriage approached the house,
+with a lady in it.
+
+Lemuel ran back to his brother. "Here's a lady coming!" he said.
+"You're in a nice state to see her! Pull yourself together,
+Nathan--and, damn it, wash your hands!"
+
+He took Benjulia's arm, and led him upstairs.
+
+When Lemuel returned to the hall, Mrs. Gallilee was ascending the
+house-steps. He bowed profoundly, in homage to the well-preserved
+remains of a fine woman. "My brother will be with you directly, ma'am.
+Pray allow me to give you a chair."
+
+His hat was in his hand. Mrs. Gallilee's knowledge of the world easily
+set him down at his true value. She got rid of him with her best grace.
+"Pray don't let me detain you, sir; I will wait with pleasure."
+
+If she had been twenty years younger the hint might have been thrown
+away. As it was, Lemuel retired.
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+An unusually long day's work at the office had fatigued good Mr. Mool.
+He pushed aside his papers, and let his weary eyes rest on a glass vase
+full of flowers on the table--a present from a grateful client. As a
+man, he enjoyed the lovely colours of the nosegay. As a botanist, he
+lamented the act which had cut the flowers from their parent stems, and
+doomed them to a premature death. "I should not have had the heart to
+do it myself," he thought; "but tastes differ."
+
+The office boy came into the room, with a visiting card in his hand.
+
+"I'm going home to dinner," said Mr. Mool. "The person must call
+to-morrow."
+
+The boy laid the card on the table. The person was Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee, at seven o'clock in the evening! Mrs. Gallilee, without
+a previous appointment by letter! Mr. Mool trembled under the
+apprehension of some serious family emergency, in imminent need of
+legal interference. He submitted as a matter of course. "Show the lady
+in."
+
+Before a word had passed between them, the lawyer's mind was relieved.
+Mrs. Gallilee shone on him with her sweetest smiles; pressed his hand
+with her friendliest warmth; admired the nosegay with her readiest
+enthusiasm. "Quite perfect," she said--"especially the Pansy. The round
+flat edge, Mr. Mool; the upper petals perfectly uniform--there is a
+flower that defies criticism! I long to dissect it."
+
+Mr. Mool politely resigned the Pansy to dissection (murderous
+mutilation, he would have called it, in the case of one of his own
+flowers), and waited to hear what his learned client might have to say
+to him.
+
+"I am going to surprise you," Mrs. Gallilee announced. "No--to shock
+you. No--even that is not strong enough. Let me say, to horrify you."
+
+Mr. Mool's anxieties returned, complicated by confusion. The behaviour
+of Mrs. Gallilee exhibited the most unaccountable contrast to her
+language. She showed no sign of those strong emotions to which she had
+alluded. "How am I to put it?" she went on, with a transparent
+affectation of embarrassment. "Shall I call it a disgrace to our
+family?" Mr. Mool started. Mrs. Gallilee entreated him to compose
+himself; she approached the inevitable disclosure by degrees. "I
+think," she said, "you have met Doctor Benjulia at my house?"
+
+"I have had that honour, Mrs. Gallilee. Not a very sociable person--if
+I may venture to say so."
+
+"Downright rude, Mr. Mool, on some occasions. But that doesn't matter
+now. I have just been visiting the doctor."
+
+Was this visit connected with the "disgrace to the family?" Mr. Mool
+ventured to put a question.
+
+"Doctor Benjulia is not related to you, ma'am--is he?"
+
+"Not the least in the world. Please don't interrupt me again. I am, so
+to speak, laying a train of circumstances before you; and I might leave
+one of them out. When Doctor Benjulia was a young man--I am returning
+to my train of circumstances, Mr. Mool--he was at Rome, pursuing his
+professional studies. I have all this, mind, straight from the doctor
+himself. At Rome, he became acquainted with my late brother, after the
+period of his unfortunate marriage. Stop! I have failed to put it
+strongly enough again. I ought to have said, his disgraceful marriage."
+
+"Really, Mrs. Gallilee--"
+
+"Mr. Mool!"
+
+"I beg your pardon, ma'am."
+
+"Don't mention it. The next circumstance is ready in my mind. One of
+the doctor's fellow-students (described as being personally an
+irresistible man) was possessed of abilities which even attracted our
+unsociable Benjulia. They became friends. At the time of which I am now
+speaking, my brother's disgusting wife--oh, but I repeat it, Mr. Mool!
+I say again, his disgusting wife--was the mother of a female child."
+
+"Your niece, Mrs. Gallilee."
+
+"No!"
+
+"Not Miss Carmina?"
+
+"Miss Carmina is no more my niece than she is your niece. Carry your
+mind back to what I have just said. I mentioned a medical student who
+was an irresistible man. Miss Carmina's father was that man."
+
+Mr. Mool's astonishment and indignation would have instantly expressed
+themselves, if he had not been a lawyer. As it was, his professional
+experience warned him of the imprudence of speaking too soon.
+
+Mrs. Galilee's exultation forced its way outwards. Her eyes glittered;
+her voice rose. "The law, Mr. Mool! what does the law say?" she broke
+out. "Is my brother's Will no better than waste-paper? Is the money
+divided among his only near relations? Tell me! tell me!"
+
+Mr. Mool suddenly plunged his face into his vase of flowers. Did he
+feel that the air of the office wanted purifying? or was he conscious
+that his face might betray him unless he hid it? Mrs. Galilee was at no
+loss to set her own clever interpretation on her lawyer's extraordinary
+proceeding.
+
+"Take your time," she said with the most patronising kindness. "I know
+your sensitive nature; I know what I felt myself when this dreadful
+discovery burst upon me. If you remember, I said I should horrify you.
+Take your time, my dear sir--pray take your time."
+
+To be encouraged in this way--as if he was the emotional client, and
+Mrs. Gallilee the impassive lawyer--was more than even Mr. Mool could
+endure. Shy men are, in the innermost depths of their nature, proud
+men: the lawyer had his professional pride. He came out of his flowery
+retreat, with a steady countenance. For the first time in his life, he
+was not afraid of Mrs. Galilee.
+
+"Before we enter on the legal aspect of the case--" he began.
+
+"The shocking case," Mrs. Gallilee interposed, in the interests of
+Virtue.
+
+Under any other circumstances Mr. Mool would have accepted the
+correction. He actually took no notice of it now! "There is one point,"
+he proceeded, "on which I must beg you to enlighten me."
+
+"By all means! I am ready to go into any details, no matter how
+disgusting they may be."
+
+Mr. Mool thought of certain "ladies" (objects of perfectly needless
+respect among men) who, being requested to leave the Court, at
+unmentionable Trials, persist in keeping their places. It was a relief
+to him to feel--if his next questions did nothing else--that they would
+disappoint Mrs. Galilee.
+
+"Am I right in supposing that you believe what you have told me?" he
+resumed.
+
+"Most assuredly!"
+
+"Is Doctor Benjulia the only person who has spoken to you on the
+subject?"
+
+"The only person."
+
+"His information being derived from his friend--the fellow-student whom
+you mentioned just now?"
+
+"In other words," Mrs. Gallilee answered viciously, "the father of the
+wretched girl who has been foisted on my care."
+
+If Mr. Mool's courage had been in danger of failing him, he would have
+found it again now His regard for Carmina, his respect for the memory
+of her mother, had been wounded to the quick. Strong on his own legal
+ground, he proceeded as if he was examining a witness in a police
+court.
+
+"I suppose the doctor had some reason for believing what his friend
+told him?"
+
+"Ample reason! Vice and poverty generally go together--_this_ man was
+poor. He showed Doctor Benjulia money received from his mistress--her
+husband's money, it is needless to say."
+
+"Her motive might be innocent, Mrs. Gallilee. Had the man any letters
+of hers to show?"
+
+"Letters? From a woman in her position? It's notorious, Mr. Mool, that
+Italian models don't know how to read or write."
+
+"May I ask if there are any further proofs?"
+
+"You have had proofs enough."
+
+"With all possible respect, ma'am, I deny that."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee had not been asked to enter into disgusting details. Mrs.
+Gallilee had been contradicted by her obedient humble servant of other
+days. She thought it high time to bring the examination to an end.
+
+"If you are determined to believe in the woman's innocence," she said,
+"without knowing any of the circumstances--"
+
+Mr. Mool went on from bad to worse: he interrupted her now.
+
+"Excuse me, Mrs. Gallilee, I think you have forgotten that one of my
+autumn holidays, many years since, was spent in Italy. I was in Rome,
+like Doctor Benjulia, after your brother's marriage. His wife was, to
+my certain knowledge, received in society. Her reputation was
+unblemished; and her husband was devoted to her."
+
+"In plain English," said Mrs. Gallilee, "my brother was a poor weak
+creature--and his wife, when you knew her, had not been found out."
+
+"That is just the difficulty I feel," Mr. Mool rejoined. "How is it
+that she is only found out now? Years have passed since she died. More
+years have passed since this attack on her character reached Doctor
+Benjulia's knowledge. He is an old friend of yours. Why has he only
+told you of it to-day? I hope I don't offend you by asking these
+questions?"
+
+"Oh, dear, no! your questions are so easily answered. I never
+encouraged the doctor to speak of my brother and his wife. The subject
+was too distasteful to me--and I don't doubt that Doctor Benjulia felt
+about it as I did."
+
+"Until to-day," the lawyer remarked; "Doctor Benjulia appears to have
+been quite ready to mention the subject to-day."
+
+"Under special circumstances, Mr. Mool. Perhaps, you will not allow
+that special circumstances make any difference?"
+
+On the contrary, Mr. Mool made every allowance. At the same time, he
+waited to hear what the circumstances might be.
+
+But Mrs. Galilee had her reasons for keeping silence. It was impossible
+to mention Benjulia's reception of her without inflicting a wound on
+her self-esteem. To begin with, he had kept the door of the room open,
+and had remained standing. "Have you got Ovid's letters? Leave them
+here; I'm not fit to look at them now." Those were his first words.
+There was nothing in the letters which a friend might not read: she
+accordingly consented to leave them. The doctor had expressed his sense
+of obligation by bidding her get into her carriage again, and go. "I
+have been put in a passion; I have made a fool of myself; I haven't a
+nerve in my body that isn't quivering with rage. Go! go! go!" There was
+his explanation. Impenetrably obstinate, Mrs. Galilee faced him--
+standing between the doctor and the door--without shrinking. She had
+not driven all the way to Benjulia's house to be sent back again
+without gaining her object: she had her questions to put to him, and
+she persisted in pressing them as only a woman can. He was left--with
+the education of a gentleman against him--between the two vulgar
+alternatives of turning her out by main force, or of yielding, and
+getting rid of her decently in that way. At any other time, he would
+have flatly refused to lower himself to the level of a scandal-
+mongering woman, by entering on the subject. In his present mood, if
+pacifying Mrs. Galilee, and ridding himself of Mrs. Gallilee, meant one
+and the same thing, he was ready, recklessly ready, to let her have her
+own way. She heard the infamous story, which she had repeated to her
+lawyer; and she had Lemuel Benjulia's visit, and Mr. Morphew's
+contemplated attack on Vivisection, to thank for getting her
+information.
+
+Mr. Mool waited, and waited in vain. He reminded his client of what she
+had just said.
+
+"You mentioned certain circumstances. May I know what they are?" he
+asked.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee rose, before she replied.
+
+"Your time is valuable, and my time is valuable," she said. "We shall
+not convince each other by prolonging our conversation. I came here,
+Mr. Mool, to ask you a question about the law. Permit me to remind you
+that I have not had my answer yet. My own impression is that the girl
+now in my house, not being my brother's child, has no claim on my
+brother's property? Tell me in two words, if you please--am I right or
+wrong?"
+
+"I can do it in one word, Mrs. Gallilee. Wrong."
+
+"What!"
+
+Mr. Mool entered on the necessary explanation, triumphing in the reply
+that he had just made. "It's the smartest thing," he thought, "I ever
+said in my life."
+
+"While husbands and wives live together," he continued, "the Law holds
+that all children, born in wedlock, are the husband's children. Even if
+Miss Carmina's mother had not been as good and innocent a woman as ever
+drew the breath of life--"
+
+"That will do, Mr. Mool. You really mean to say that this girl's
+interest in my brother's Will--"
+
+"Remains quite unaffected, ma'am, by all that you have told me."
+
+"And I am still obliged to keep her under my care?"
+
+"Or," Mr. Mool answered, "to resign the office of guardian, in favour
+of Lady Northlake--appointed to act, in your place."
+
+"I won't trouble you any further, sir. Good-evening!"
+
+She turned to leave the office. Mr. Mool actually tried to stop her.
+
+"One word more, Mrs. Galilee."
+
+"No; we have said enough already."
+
+Mr. Mool's audacity arrived at its climax. He put his hand on the lock
+of the office door, and held it shut.
+
+"The young lady, Mrs. Gallilee! I am sure you will never breathe a word
+of this to the pretty gentle, young lady? Even if it was true; and, as
+God is my witness, I am sure it's false--"
+
+"Good-evening, Mr. Mool!"
+
+He opened the door, and let her go; her looks and tones told him that
+remonstrance was worse than useless. From year's end to year's end,
+this modest and amiable man had never been heard to swear. He swore
+now. "Damn Doctor Benjulia!" he burst out, in the solitude of his
+office. His dinner was waiting for him at home. Instead of putting on
+his hat, he went back to his writing-table. His thoughts projected
+themselves into the future--and discovered possibilities from which
+they recoiled. He took up his pen, and began a letter. "To John
+Gallilee, Esquire: Dear Sir,--Circumstances have occurred, which I am
+not at liberty to mention, but which make it necessary for me, in
+justice to my own views and feelings, to withdraw from the position of
+legal adviser to yourself and family." He paused and considered with
+himself. "No," he decided; "I may be of some use to that poor child,
+while I am the family lawyer." He tore up his unfinished letter.
+
+When Mr. Mool got home that night, it was noticed that he had a poor
+appetite for his dinner. On the other hand, he drank more wine than
+usual.
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+"I don't know what is the matter with me. Sometimes I think I am going
+to be really ill."
+
+It was the day after Mrs. Gallilee's interview with her lawyer--and
+this was Carmina's answer, when the governess entered her room, after
+the lessons of the morning, and asked if she felt better.
+
+"Are you still taking medicine?" Miss Minerva inquired.
+
+"Yes. Mr. Null says it's a tonic, and it's sure to do me good. It
+doesn't seem to have begun yet. I feel so dreadfully weak, Frances. The
+least thing makes me cry; and I put off doing what I ought to do, and
+want to do, without knowing why. You remember what I told you about
+Teresa? She may be with us in a few days more, for all I know to the
+contrary. I must find a nice lodging for her, poor dear--and here I am,
+thinking about it instead of doing it."
+
+"Let me do it," Miss Minerva suggested.
+
+Carmina's sad face brightened. "That's kind indeed!" she said.
+
+"Nonsense! I shall take the children out, after dinner to-day. Looking
+over lodgings will be an amusement to me and to them."
+
+"Where is Zo? Why haven't you brought her with you?"
+
+"She is having her music lesson--and I must go back to keep her in
+order. About the lodging? A sitting-room and bedroom will be enough, I
+suppose? In this neighbourhood, I am afraid the terms will be rather
+high."
+
+"Oh, never mind that! Let us have clean airy rooms--and a kind
+landlady. Teresa mustn't know it, if the terms are high."
+
+"Will she allow you to pay her expenses?"
+
+"Ah, _you_ put it delicately! My aunt seemed to doubt if Teresa had any
+money of her own. I forgot, at the time, that my father had left her a
+little income. She told me so herself, and wondered, poor dear, how she
+was to spend it all. She mustn't be allowed to spend it all. We will
+tell her that the terms are half what they may really be--and I will
+pay the other half. Isn't it cruel of my aunt not to let my old nurse
+live in the same house with me?"
+
+At that moment, a message arrived from one of the persons of whom she
+was speaking. Mrs. Gallilee wished to see Miss Carmina immediately.
+
+"My dear," said Miss Minerva, when the servant had withdrawn, "why do
+you tremble so?"
+
+"There's something in me, Frances, that shudders at my aunt, ever
+since--"
+
+She stopped.
+
+Miss Minerva understood that sudden pause--the undesigned allusion to
+Carmina's guiltless knowledge of her feeling towards Ovid. By
+unexpressed consent, on either side, they still preserved their former
+relations as if Mrs. Gallilee had not spoken. Miss Minerva looked at
+Carmina sadly and kindly. "Good-bye for the present!" she said--and
+went upstairs again to the schoolroom.
+
+In the hall, Carmina found the servant waiting for her. He opened the
+library door. The learned lady was at her studies.
+
+"I have been speaking to Mr. Null about you," said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+On the previous evening, Carmina had kept her room. She had breakfasted
+in bed--and she now saw her aunt for the first time, since Mrs.
+Gallilee had left the house on her visit to Benjulia. The girl was
+instantly conscious of a change--to be felt rather than to be
+realised--a subtle change in her aunt's way of looking at her and
+speaking to her. Her heart beat fast. She took the nearest chair in
+silence.
+
+"The doctor," Mrs. Gallilee proceeded, "thinks it of importance to your
+health to be as much as possible in the air. He wishes you to drive out
+every day, while the fine weather lasts. I have ordered the open
+carriage to be ready, after luncheon. Other engagements will prevent me
+from accompanying you. You will be under the care of my maid, and you
+will be out for two hours. Mr. Null hopes you will gain strength. Is
+there anything you want?"
+
+"Nothing--thank you."
+
+"Perhaps you wish for a new dress?"
+
+"Oh, no!"
+
+"You have no complaint to make of the servants?"
+
+"The servants are always kind to me."
+
+"I needn't detain you any longer--I have a person coming to speak to
+me."
+
+Carmina had entered the room in doubt and fear. She left it with
+strangely-mingled feelings of perplexity and relief. Her sense of a
+mysterious change in her aunt had strengthened with every word that
+Mrs. Gallilee had said to her. She had heard of reformatory
+institutions, and of discreet persons called matrons who managed them.
+In her imaginary picture of such places, Mrs. Gallilee's tone and
+manner realised, in the strangest way, her idea of a matron speaking to
+a penitent.
+
+As she crossed the hall, her thoughts took a new direction. Some
+indefinable distrust of the coming time got possession of her. An ugly
+model of the Colosseum, in cork, stood on the hall table. She looked at
+it absently. "I hope Teresa will come soon," she thought--and turned
+away to the stairs.
+
+She ascended slowly; her head drooping, her mind still preoccupied.
+Arrived at the first landing, a sound of footsteps disturbed her. She
+looked up--and found herself face to face with Mr. Le Frank, leaving
+the schoolroom after his music lesson. At that sudden discovery, a cry
+of alarm escaped her--the common little scream of a startled woman. Mr.
+Le Frank made an elaborately formal bow: he apologised with sternly
+stupid emphasis. "I _beg_ your pardon."
+
+Moved by a natural impulse, penitently conscious of those few foolish
+words of hers which he had so unfortunately overheard, the poor girl
+made an effort to conciliate him. "I have very few friends, Mr. Le
+Frank," she said timidly. "May I still consider you as one of them?
+Will you forgive and forget? Will you shake hands?"
+
+Mr. Le Frank made another magnificent bow. He was proud of his voice.
+In his most resonant and mellifluous tones, he said, "You do me
+honour--" and took the offered hand, and lifted it grandly, and touched
+it with his lips.
+
+She held by the baluster with her free hand, and controlled the
+sickening sensation which that momentary contact with him produced. He
+might have detected the outward signs of the struggle, but for an
+interruption which preserved her from discovery. Mrs. Gallilee was
+standing at the open library door. Mrs. Gallilee said, "I am waiting
+for you, Mr. Le Frank."
+
+Carmina hurried up the stairs, pursued already by a sense of her own
+imprudence. In her first confusion and dismay, but one clear idea
+presented itself. "Oh!" she said, "have I made another mistake?"
+
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Gallilee had received her music-master with the nearest
+approach to an indulgent welcome, of which a hardened nature is
+capable.
+
+"Take the easy chair, Mr. Le Frank. You are not afraid of the open
+window?"
+
+"Oh, dear no! I like it." He rapidly unrolled some leaves of music
+which he had brought downstairs. "With regard to the song that I had
+the honour of mentioning--"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee pointed to the table. "Put the song there for the
+present. I have a word to say first. How came you to frighten my niece?
+I heard something like a scream, and naturally looked out. She was
+making an apology; she asked you to forgive and forget. What does all
+this mean?"
+
+Mr. Le Frank exhausted his ingenuity in efforts of polite evasion
+without the slightest success. From first to last (if the expression
+may be permitted) Mrs. Gallilee had him under her thumb. He was not
+released, until he had literally reported Carmina's opinion of him as a
+man and a musician, and had exactly described the circumstances under
+which he had heard it. Mrs. Gallilee listened with an interest, which
+(under less embarrassing circumstances) would have even satisfied Mrs.
+Le Frank's vanity.
+
+She was not for a moment deceived by the clumsy affectation of good
+humour with which he told his story. Her penetration discovered the
+vindictive feeling towards Carmina, which offered him, in case of
+necessity, as an instrument ready made to her hand. By fine degrees,
+she presented herself in the new character of a sympathising friend.
+
+"I know now, Mr. Le Frank, why you declined to be my niece's
+music-master. Allow me to apologise for having ignorantly placed you in
+a false position. I appreciate the delicacy of your conduct--I
+understand, and admire you."
+
+Mr. Le Frank's florid cheeks turned redder still. His cold blood began
+to simmer, heated by an all-pervading glow of flattered self-esteem.
+
+"My niece's motives for concealment are plain enough," Mrs. Gallilee
+proceeded. "Let me hope that she was ashamed to confess the total want
+of taste, delicacy, and good manners which has so justly offended you.
+Miss Minerva, however, has no excuse for keeping me in the dark. Her
+conduct, in this matter, offers, I regret to say, one more instance of
+her habitual neglect of the duties which attach to her position in my
+house. There seems to be some private understanding between my
+governess and my niece, of which I highly disapprove. However, the
+subject is too distasteful to dwell on. You were speaking of your
+song--the last effort of your genius, I think?"
+
+His "genius"! The inner glow in Mr. Le Frank grew warmer and warmer. "I
+asked for the honour of an interview," he explained, "to make a
+request." He took up his leaves of music. "This is my last, and, I
+hope, my best effort at composition. May I dedicate it--?"
+
+"To me!" Mrs. Gallilee exclaimed with a burst of enthusiasm.
+
+Mr. Le Frank felt the compliment. He bowed gratefully.
+
+"Need I say how gladly I accept the honour?" With this gracious answer
+Mrs. Gallilee rose.
+
+Was the change of position a hint, suggesting that Mr. Le Frank might
+leave her to her studies, now that his object was gained? Or was it an
+act of homage offered by Science to Art? Mr. Le Frank was incapable of
+placing an unfavourable interpretation on any position which a
+woman--and such a woman--could assume in his presence. He felt the
+compliment again. "The first copy published shall be sent to you," he
+said--and snatched up his hat, eager to set the printers at work.
+
+"And five-and-twenty copies more, for which I subscribe," cried his
+munificent patroness, cordially shaking hands with him.
+
+Mr. Le Frank attempted to express his sense of obligation. Generous
+Mrs. Gallilee refused to hear him. He took his leave; he got as far as
+the hall; and then he was called back--softly, confidentially called
+back to the library.
+
+"A thought has just struck me," said Mrs. Gallilee. "Please shut the
+door for a moment. About that meeting between you and my niece?
+Perhaps, I am taking a morbid view?"
+
+She paused. Mr. Le Frank waited with breathless interest.
+
+"Or is there something out of the common way, in that apology of hers?"
+Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. "Have you any idea what the motive might be?"
+
+Mr. Le Frank's ready suspicion was instantly aroused. "Not the least
+idea," he answered. "Can you tell me?"
+
+"I am as completely puzzled as you are," Mrs. Gallilee rejoined.
+
+Mr. Le Frank considered. His suspicions made an imaginative effort,
+assisted by his vanity. "After my refusal to teach her," he suggested,
+"that proposal to shake hands may have a meaning--" There, his
+invention failed him. He stopped, and shook his head ominously.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's object being attained, she made no attempt to help him.
+"Perhaps, time will show," she answered discreetly. "Good-bye
+again--with best wishes for the success of the song."
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+The solitude of her own room was no welcome refuge to Carmina, in her
+present state of mind. She went on to the schoolroom.
+
+Miss Minerva was alone. The two girls, in obedience to domestic
+regulations, were making their midday toilet before dinner. Carmina
+described her interview with Mrs. Gallilee, and her meeting with Mr. Le
+Frank. "Don't scold me," she said; "I make no excuse for my folly."
+
+"If Mr. Le Frank had left the house, after you spoke to him," Miss
+Minerva answered, I should not have felt the anxiety which troubles me
+now. I don't like his going to Mrs. Gallilee afterwards--especially
+when you tell me of that change in her manner towards you. Yours is a
+vivid imagination, Carmina. Are you sure that it has not been playing
+you any tricks?"
+
+"Perfectly sure."
+
+Miss Minerva was not quite satisfied. "Will you help me to feel as
+certain about it as you do?" she asked. "Mrs. Gallilee generally looks
+in for a few minutes, while the children are at dinner. Stay here, and
+say something to her in my presence. I want to judge for myself."
+
+The girls came in. Maria's perfect toilet, reflected Maria's perfect
+character. She performed the duties of politeness with her usual happy
+choice of words. "Dear Carmina, it is indeed a pleasure to see you
+again in our schoolroom. We are naturally anxious about your health.
+This lovely weather is no doubt in your favour; and papa thinks Mr.
+Null a remarkably clever man." Zo stood by frowning, while these smooth
+conventionalities trickled over her sister's lips. Carmina asked what
+was the matter. Zo looked gloomily at the dog on the rug. "I wish I was
+Tinker," she said. Maria smiled sweetly. "Dear Zoe, what a very strange
+wish! What would you do, if you were Tinker?" The dog, hearing his
+name, rose and shook himself. Zo pointed to him, with an appearance of
+the deepest interest. _"He_ hasn't got to brush his hair, before he
+goes out for a walk; _his_ nails don't took black when they're dirty.
+And, I say!" (she whispered the next words in Carmina's ear) _"he_
+hasn't got a governess."
+
+The dinner made its appearance; and Mrs. Gallilee followed the dinner.
+Maria said grace. Zo, always ravenous at meals, forgot to say Amen.
+Carmina, standing behind her chair, prompted her. Zo said "Amen; oh,
+bother!" the first word at the top of her voice, and the last two in a
+whisper. Mrs. Gallilee looked at Carmina as she might have looked at an
+obtrusive person who had stepped in from the street. "You had better
+dress before luncheon," she suggested, "or you will keep the carriage
+waiting." Hearing this, Zo laid down her knife and fork, and looked
+over her shoulder. "Ask if I may go with you," she said. Carmina made
+the request. "No," Mrs. Gallilee answered, "the children must walk. My
+maid will accompany you." Carmina glanced at Miss Minerva on leaving
+the room. The governess replied by a look. She too had seen the change
+in Mrs. Gallilee's manner, and was at a loss to understand it.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's maid Marceline belonged to a quick-tempered race: she
+was a Jersey woman. It is not easy to say which of the two felt most
+oppressed by their enforced companionship in the carriage.
+
+The maid was perhaps the most to be pitied. Secretly drawn towards
+Carmina like the other servants in the house, she was forced by her
+mistress's private instruction, to play the part of a spy. "If the
+young lady changes the route which the coachman has my orders to take,
+or if she communicates with any person while your are out, you are to
+report it to me." Mrs. Gallilee had not forgotten the discovery of the
+travelling bag; and Mr. Mool's exposition of the law had informed her,
+that the superintendence of Carmina was as much a matter of serious
+pecuniary interest as ever.
+
+But recent events had, in one respect at least, improved the prospect.
+
+If Ovid (as his mother actually ventured to hope!) broke off his
+engagement, when he heard the scandalous story of Carmina's birth,
+there was surely a chance that she, like other girls of her sensitive
+temperament, might feel the calamity that had fallen on her so acutely
+as to condemn herself to a single life. Misled, partly by the hope of
+relief from her own vile anxieties; partly by the heartless
+incapability of appreciating generous feeling in others, developed by
+the pursuits of her later life, Mrs. Gallilee seriously contemplated
+her son's future decision as a matter of reasonable doubt.
+
+In the meanwhile, this detestable child of adultery--this living
+obstacle in the way of the magnificent prospects which otherwise
+awaited Maria and Zoe, to say nothing of their mother--must remain in
+the house, submitted to her guardian's authority, watched by her
+guardian's vigilance. The hateful creature was still entitled to
+medical attendance when she was ill, and must still be supplied with
+every remedy that the doctor's ingenuity could suggest. A liberal
+allowance was paid for the care of her; and the trustees were bound to
+interfere if it was not fairly earned.
+
+Looking after the carriage as it drove away--Marceline on the front
+seat presenting the picture of discomfort; and Carmina opposite to her,
+unendurably pretty and interesting, with the last new poem on her
+lap--Mrs. Gallilee's reflections took their own bitter course.
+"Accidents happen to other carriages, with other girls in them. Not to
+my carriage, with that girl in it! Nothing will frighten _my_ horses
+to-day; and, fat as he is, _my_ coachman will not have a fit on the
+box!"
+
+It was only too true. At the appointed hour the carriage appeared
+again--and (to complete the disappointment) Marceline had no report to
+make.
+
+Miss Minerva had not forgotten her promise. When she returned from her
+walk with the children, the rooms had been taken. Teresa's London
+lodging was within five minutes' walk of the house.
+
+That evening, Carmina sent a telegram to Rome, on the chance that the
+nurse might not yet have begun her journey. The message (deferring
+other explanations until they met) merely informed her that her rooms
+were ready, adding the address and the landlady's name. Guessing in the
+dark, Carmina and the governess had ignorantly attributed the sinister
+alteration in Mrs. Gallilee's manner to the prospect of Teresa's
+unwelcome return. "While you have the means in your power," Miss
+Minerva advised, "it may be as well to let your old friend know that
+there is a home for her when she reaches London."
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+The weather, to Carmina's infinite relief, changed for the worse the
+next day. Incessant rain made it impossible to send her out in the
+carriage again.
+
+But it was an eventful day, nevertheless. On that rainy afternoon, Mr.
+Gallilee asserted himself as a free agent, in the terrible presence of
+his wife!
+
+"It's an uncommonly dull day, my dear," he began. This passed without
+notice, which was a great encouragement to go on. "If you will allows
+me to say so, Carmina wants a little amusement." Mrs. Gallilee looked
+up from her book. Fearing that he might stop altogether if he took his
+time as usual, Mr. Gallilee proceeded in a hurry. "There's an afternoon
+performance of conjuring tricks; and, do you know, I really think I
+might take Carmina to see it. We shall be delighted if you will
+accompany us, my dear; and they do say--perhaps you have heard of it
+yourself?--that there's a good deal of science in this exhibition." His
+eyes rolled in uneasy expectation, as he waited to hear what his wife
+might decide. She waved her hand contemptuously in the direction of the
+door. Mr. Gallilee retired with the alacrity of a young man. "Now we
+shall enjoy ourselves!" he thought as he went up to Carmina's room.
+
+They were just leaving the house, when the music-master arrived at the
+door to give his lesson.
+
+Mr. Gallilee immediately put his head out of the cab window. "We are
+going to see the conjuring!" he shouted cheerfully. "Carmina! don't you
+see Mr. Le Frank? He is bowing to you. Do you like conjuring, Mr. Le
+Frank? Don't tell the children where we are going! They would be
+disappointed, poor things--but they must have their lessons, mustn't
+they? Good-bye! I say! stop a minute. If you ever want your umbrella
+mended, I know a man who will do it cheap and well. Nasty day, isn't
+it? Go on! go on!"
+
+The general opinion which ranks vanity among the lighter failings of
+humanity, commits a serious mistake. Vanity wants nothing but the
+motive power to develop into absolute wickedness. Vanity can be
+savagely suspicious and diabolically cruel. What are the two typical
+names which stand revealed in history as the names of the two vainest
+men that ever lived? Nero and Robespierre.
+
+In his obscure sphere, and within his restricted means, the vanity of
+Mrs. Gallilee's music-master had developed its inherent qualities,
+under her cunning and guarded instigation. Once set in action, his
+suspicion of Carmina passed beyond all limits. There could be no reason
+but a bad reason for that barefaced attempt to entrap him into a
+reconciliation. Every evil motive which it was possible to attribute to
+a girl of her age, no matter how monstrously improbable it might be,
+occurred to him when he recalled her words, her look, and her manner at
+their meeting on the stairs. His paltry little mind, at other times
+preoccupied in contemplating himself and his abilities, was now so
+completely absorbed in imagining every variety of conspiracy against
+his social and professional position, that he was not even capable of
+giving his customary lesson to two children. Before the appointed hour
+had expired, Miss Minerva remarked that his mind did not appear to be
+at ease, and suggested that he had better renew the lesson on the next
+day. After a futile attempt to assume an appearance of tranquillity--he
+thanked her and took his leave.
+
+On his way downstairs, he found the door of Carmina's room left half
+open.
+
+She was absent with Mr. Gallilee. Miss Minerva remained upstairs with
+the children. Mrs. Gallilee was engaged in scientific research. At that
+hour of the afternoon, there were no duties which called the servants
+to the upper part of the house. He listened--he hesitated--he went into
+the room.
+
+It was possible that she might keep a journal: it was certain that she
+wrote and received letters. If he could only find her desk unlocked and
+her drawers open, the inmost secrets of her life would be at his mercy.
+
+He tried her desk; he tried the cupboard under the bookcase. They were
+both locked. The cabinet between the windows and the drawer of the
+table were left unguarded. No discovery rewarded the careful search
+that he pursued in these two repositories. He opened the books that she
+had left on the table, and shook them. No forgotten letter, no private
+memorandum (used as marks) dropped out. He looked all round him; he
+peeped into the bedroom; he listened, to make sure that nobody was
+outside; he entered the bedroom, and examined the toilet-table, and
+opened the doors of the wardrobe--and still the search was fruitless,
+persevere as he might.
+
+Returning to the sitting-room, he shook his fist at the writing-desk.
+"You wouldn't be locked," he thought, "unless you had some shameful
+secrets to keep! _I_ shall have other opportunities; and _she_ may not
+always remember to turn the key." He stole quietly down the stairs, and
+met no one on his way out.
+
+The bad weather continued on the next day. The object of Mr. Le Frank's
+suspicion remained in the house--and the second opportunity failed to
+offer itself as yet.
+
+The visit to the exhibition of conjuring had done Carmina harm instead
+of good. Her head ached, in the close atmosphere--she was too fatigued
+to be able to stay in the room until the performance came to an end.
+Poor Mr. Gallilee retired in disgrace to the shelter of his club. At
+dinner, even his perfect temper failed him for the moment. He found
+fault with the champagne--and then apologised to the waiter. "I'm sorry
+I was a little hard on you just now. The fact is, I'm out of sorts--you
+have felt in that way yourself, haven't you? The wine's first-rate;
+and, really the weather is so discouraging, I think I'll try another
+pint."
+
+But Carmina's buoyant heart defied the languor of illness and the
+gloomy day. The post had brought her a letter from Ovid--enclosing a
+photograph, taken at Montreal, which presented him in his travelling
+costume.
+
+He wrote in a tone of cheerfulness, which revived Carmina's sinking
+courage, and renewed for a time at least the happiness of other days.
+The air of the plains of Canada he declared to be literally
+intoxicating. Every hour seemed to be giving him back the vital energy
+that he had lost in his London life. He slept on the ground, in the
+open air, more soundly than he had ever slept in a bed. But one anxiety
+troubled his mind. In the roving life which he now enjoyed, it was
+impossible that his letters could follow him--and yet, every day that
+passed made him more unreasonably eager to hear that Carmina was not
+weary of waiting for him, and that all was well at home.
+
+"And how have these vain aspirations of mine ended?"--the letter went
+on. "They have ended, my darling, in a journey for one of my guides--an
+Indian, whose fidelity I have put to the proof, and whose zeal I have
+stimulated by a promise of reward.
+
+"The Indian takes these lines to be posted at Quebec. He is also
+provided with an order, authorising my bankers to trust him with the
+letters that are waiting for me. I begin a canoe voyage to-morrow; and,
+after due consultation with the crew, we have arranged a date and a
+place at which my messenger will find me on his return. Shall I confess
+my own amiable weakness? or do you know me well enough already to
+suspect the truth? My love, I am sorely tempted to be false to my plans
+and arrangements to go back with the Indian to Quebec--and to take a
+berth in the first steamer that returns to England.
+
+"Don't suppose that I am troubled by any misgivings about what is going
+on in my absence! It is one of the good signs of my returning health
+that I take the brightest view of our present lives, and of our lives
+to come. I feel tempted to go back, for the same reason that makes me
+anxious for letters. I want to hear from you, because I love you--I
+want to return at once, because I love you. There is longing,
+unutterable longing, in my heart. No doubts, my sweet one, and no
+fears!
+
+"But I was a doctor, before I became a lover. My medical knowledge
+tells me that this is an opportunity of thoroughly fortifying my
+constitution, and (with God's blessing) of securing to myself reserves
+of health and strength which will take us together happily on the way
+to old age. Dear love, you must be my wife--not my nurse! There is the
+thought that gives me self-denial enough to let the Indian go away by
+himself."
+
+Carmina answered this letter as soon as she had read it.
+
+Before the mail could carry her reply to its destination, she well knew
+that the Indian messenger would be on the way back to his master. But
+Ovid had made her so happy that she felt the impulse to write to him at
+once, as she might have felt the impulse to answer him at once if he
+had been present and speaking to her. When the pages were filled, and
+the letter had been closed and addressed, the effort produced its
+depressing effect on her spirits.
+
+There now appeared to her a certain wisdom in the loving rapidity of
+her reply.
+
+Even in the fullness of her joy, she was conscious of an underlying
+distrust of herself. Although he refused to admit it, Mr. Null had
+betrayed a want of faith in the remedy from which he had anticipated
+such speedy results, by writing another prescription. He had also added
+a glass to the daily allowance of wine, which he had thought sufficient
+thus far. Without despairing of herself, Carmina felt that she had done
+wisely in writing her answer, while she was still well enough to rival
+the cheerful tone of Ovid's letter.
+
+She laid down to rest on the sofa, with the photograph in her hand. No
+sense of loneliness oppressed her now; the portrait was the best of all
+companions. Outside, the heavy rain pattered; in the room, the busy
+clock ticked. She listened lazily, and looked at her lover, and kissed
+the faithful image of him--peacefully happy.
+
+The opening of the door was the first little event that disturbed her.
+Zo peeped in. Her face was red, her hair was tousled, her fingers
+presented inky signs of a recent writing lesson.
+
+"I'm in a rage," she announced; "and so is the Other One."
+
+Carmina called her to the sofa, and tried to find out who this second
+angry person might be. "Oh, you know!" Zo answered doggedly. "She
+rapped my knuckles. I call her a Beast."
+
+"Hush! you mustn't talk in that way."
+
+"She'll be here directly," Zo proceeded. "You look out! She'd rap
+_your_ knuckles--only you're too big. If it wasn't raining, I'd run
+away." Carmina assumed an air of severity, and entered a serious
+protest adapted to her young friend's intelligence. She might as well
+have spoken in a foreign language. Zo had another reason to give,
+besides the rap on the knuckles, for running away.
+
+"I say!" she resumed--"you know the boy?"
+
+"What boy, dear?"
+
+"He comes round sometimes. He's got a hurdy-gurdy. He's got a monkey.
+He grins. He says, _Aha--gimmee--haypenny._ I mean to go to that boy!"
+
+As a confession of Zo's first love, this was irresistible. Carmina
+burst out laughing. Zo indignantly claimed a hearing. "I haven't done
+yet!" she burst out. "The boy dances. Like this." She cocked her head,
+and slapped her thigh, and imitated the boy. "And sometimes he sings!"
+she cried with another outburst of admiration.
+
+_"Yah-yah-yah-bellah-vitah-yah!_ That's Italian, Carmina." The door
+opened again while the performer was in full vigour--and Miss Minerva
+appeared.
+
+When she entered the room, Carmina at once saw that Zo had correctly
+observed her governess. Miss Minerva's heavy eyebrows lowered; her lips
+were pale; he head was held angrily erect, "Carmina!" she said sharply,
+"you shouldn't encourage that child." She turned round, in search of
+the truant pupil. Incurably stupid at her lessons, Zo's mind had its
+gleams of intelligence, in a state of liberty. One of those gleams had
+shone propitiously, and had lighted her out of the room.
+
+Miss Minerva took a chair: she dropped into it like a person worn out
+with fatigue. Carmina spoke to her gently. Words of sympathy were
+thrown away on that self-tormenting nature.
+
+"No; I'm not ill," she said. "A night without sleep; a perverse child
+to teach in the morning; and a detestable temper at all times--that's
+what is the matter with me." She looked at Carmina. "You seem to be
+wonderfully better to-day. Has stupid Mr. Null really done you some
+good at last?" She noticed the open writing-desk, and discovered the
+letter. "Or is it good news?"
+
+"I have heard from Ovid," Carmina answered. The photograph was still in
+her hand; but her inbred delicacy of feeling kept the portrait hidden.
+
+The governess's sallow complexion turned little by little to a dull
+greyish white. Her hands, loosely clasped in her lap, tightened when
+she heard Ovid's name. That slight movement over, she stirred no more.
+After waiting a little, Carmina ventured to speak. "Frances," she said,
+"you have not shaken hands with me yet." Miss Minerva slowly looked up,
+keeping her hands still clasped on her lap.
+
+"When is he coming back?" she asked. It was said quietly.
+
+Carmina quietly replied, "Not yet--I am sorry to say."
+
+"I am sorry too."
+
+"It's good of you, Frances, to say that."
+
+"No: it's not good of me. I'm thinking of myself--not of you." She
+suddenly lowered her tone. "I wish you were married to him," she said.
+
+There was a pause. Miss Minerva was the first to speak again.
+
+"Do you understand me?" she asked.
+
+"Perhaps you will help me to understand," Carmina answered.
+
+"If you were married to him, even my restless spirit might be at peace.
+The struggle would be over."
+
+She left her chair, and walked restlessly up and down the room. The
+passionate emotion which she had resolutely suppressed began to get
+beyond her control.
+
+"I was thinking about you last night," she abruptly resumed. "You are a
+gentle little creature--but I have seen you show some spirit, when your
+aunt's cold-blooded insolence roused you. Do you know what I would do,
+if I were in your place? _I_ wouldn't wait tamely till he came back to
+me--I would go to him. Carmina! Carmina! leave this horrible house!"
+She stopped, close by the sofa. "Let me look at you. Ha! I believe you
+have thought of it yourself?"
+
+"I have thought of it."
+
+"What did I say? You poor little prisoner, you _have_ the right spirit
+in you! I wish I could give you some of my strength." The half-mocking
+tone in which she spoke, suddenly failed her. Her piercing eyes grew
+dim; the hard lines in her face softened. She dropped on her knees, and
+wound her lithe arms round Carmina, and kissed her. "You sweet child!"
+she said--and burst passionately into tears.
+
+Even then, the woman's fiercely self-dependent nature asserted itself.
+She pushed Carmina back on the sofa. "Don't look at me! don't speak to
+me!" she gasped. "Leave me to get over it."
+
+She stifled the sobs that broke from her. Still on her knees, she
+looked up, shuddering. A ghastly smile distorted her lips. "Ah, what
+fools we are!" she said. "Where is that lavender water, my dear--your
+favourite remedy for a burning head?" She found the bottle before
+Carmina could help her, and soaked her handkerchief in the lavender
+water, and tied it round her head. "Yes," she went on, as if they had
+been gossiping on the most commonplace subjects, "I think you're right:
+this is the best of all perfumes." She looked at the clock. "The
+children's dinner will be ready in ten minutes. I must, and will, say
+what I have to say to you. It may be the last poor return I can make,
+Carmina, for all your kindness."
+
+She returned to her chair.
+
+"I can't help it if I frighten you," she resumed; "I must tell you
+plainly that I don't like the prospect. In the first place, the sooner
+we two are parted--oh, only for a while!--the better for you. After
+what I went through, last night--no, I am not going to enter into any
+particulars; I am only going to repeat, what I have said already--don't
+trust me. I mean it, Carmina! Your generous nature shall not mislead
+you, if _I_ can help it. When you are a happy married woman--when _he_
+is farther removed from me than he is even now--remember your ugly,
+ill-tempered friend, and let me come to you. Enough of this! I have
+other misgivings that are waiting to be confessed. You know that old
+nurse of yours intimately--while I only speak from a day or two's
+experience of her. To my judgment, she is a woman whose fondness for
+you might be turned into a tigerish fondness, on very small
+provocation. You write to her constantly. Does she know what you have
+suffered? Have you told her the truth?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Without reserve?"
+
+"Entirely without reserve."
+
+"When that old woman comes to London, Carmina--and sees you, and sees
+Mrs. Gallilee--don't you think the consequences may be serious? and
+your position between them something (if you were ten times stronger
+than you are) that no fortitude can endure?"
+
+Carmina started up on the sofa. She was not able to speak. Miss Minerva
+gave her time to recover herself--after another look at the clock.
+
+"I am not alarming you for nothing," she proceeded; "I have something
+hopeful to propose. Your friend Teresa has energies--wild energies.
+Make a good use of them. She will do anything you ask or her. Take her
+with you to Canada!"
+
+"Oh, Frances!"
+
+Miss Minerva pointed to the letter on the desk. "Does he tell you when
+he will be back?"
+
+"No. He feels the importance of completely restoring his health--he is
+going farther and farther away--he has sent to Quebec for his letters."
+
+"Then there is no fear of your crossing each other on the voyage. Go to
+Quebec, and wait for him there."
+
+"I should frighten him."
+
+"Not you!"
+
+"What can I say to him?"
+
+"What you _must_ say, if you are weak enough to wait for him here. Do
+you think his mother will consider his feelings, when he comes back to
+marry you? I tell you again I am not talking at random. I have thought
+it all out: I know how you can make your escape, and defy pursuit. You
+have plenty of money; you have Teresa to take care of you. Go! For your
+own sake, for his sake, go!"
+
+The clock struck the hour. She rose and removed the handkerchief from
+her head. "Hush!" she said, "Do I hear the rustling of a dress on the
+landing below?" She snatched up a bottle of Mr. Null's medicine--as a
+reason for being in the room. The sound of the rustling dress came
+nearer and nearer. Mrs. Gallilee (on her way to the schoolroom dinner)
+opened the door. She instantly understood the purpose which the bottle
+was intended to answer.
+
+"It is my business to give Carmina her medicine," she said. "Your
+business is at the schoolroom table."
+
+She took possession of the bottle, and advanced to Carmina. There were
+two looking-glasses in the room. One, in the usual position, over the
+fireplace; the other opposite, on the wall behind the sofa. Turning
+back, before she left the room, Miss Minerva saw Mrs. Gallilee's face,
+when she and Carmina looked at each other, reflected in the glass.
+
+The girls were waiting for their dinner. Maria received the unpunctual
+governess with her ready smile, and her appropriate speech. "Dear Miss
+Minerva, we were really almost getting alarmed about you. Pardon me for
+noticing it, you look--" She caught the eye of the governess, and
+stopped confusedly.
+
+"Well?" said Miss Minerva. "How do I look?"
+
+Maria still hesitated. Zo spoke out as usual. "You look as if somebody
+had frightened you."
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+After two days of rain, the weather cleared again.
+
+It was a calm, sunshiny Sunday morning. The flat country round
+Benjulia's house wore its brightest aspect on that clear autumn day.
+Even the doctor's gloomy domestic establishment reflected in some
+degree the change for the better. When he rose that morning, Benjulia
+presented himself to his household in a character which they were
+little accustomed to see--the character of a good-humoured master. He
+astonished his silent servant by attempting to whistle a tune. "If you
+ever looked cheerful in your life," he said to the man, "look cheerful
+now. I'm going to take a holiday!"
+
+After working incessantly--never leaving his laboratory; eating at his
+dreadful table; snatching an hour's rest occasionally on the floor--he
+had completed a series of experiments, with results on which he could
+absolutely rely. He had advanced by one step nearer towards solving
+that occult problem in brain disease, which had thus far baffled the
+investigations of medical men throughout the civilised world. If his
+present rate of progress continued, the lapse of another month might
+add his name to the names that remain immortal among physicians, in the
+Annals of Discovery.
+
+So completely had his labours absorbed his mind that he only remembered
+the letters which Mrs. Gallilee had left with him, when he finished his
+breakfast on Sunday morning. Upon examination, there appeared no
+allusion in Ovid's correspondence to the mysterious case of illness
+which he had attended at Montreal. The one method now left, by which
+Benjulia could relieve the doubt that still troubled him, was to
+communicate directly with his friend in Canada. He decided to celebrate
+his holiday by taking a walk; his destination being the central
+telegraph office in London.
+
+But, before he left the house, his domestic duties claimed attention.
+He issued his orders to the cook.
+
+At three o'clock he would return to dinner. That day was to witness the
+celebration of his first regular meat for forty-eight hours past; and
+he expected the strictest punctuality. The cook--lately engaged--was a
+vigourous little woman, with fiery hair and a high colour. She, like
+the man-servant, felt the genial influence of her master's amiability.
+He looked at her, for the first time since she had entered the house. A
+twinkling light showed itself furtively in his dreary gray eyes: he
+took a dusty old hand-screen from the sideboard, and made her a present
+of it! "There," he said with his dry humour, "don't spoil your
+complexion before the kitchen fire." The cook possessed a sanguine
+temperament, and a taste to be honoured and encouraged--the taste for
+reading novels. She put her own romantic construction on the
+extraordinary compliment which the doctor's jesting humour had paid to
+her. As he walked out, grimly smiling and thumping his big stick on the
+floor, a new idea illuminated her mind. Her master admired her; her
+master was no ordinary man--it might end in his marrying her.
+
+On his way to the telegraph office, Benjulia left Ovid's letters at
+Mrs. Gallilee's house.
+
+If he had personally returned them, he would have found the learned
+lady in no very gracious humour. On the previous day she had discovered
+Carmina and Miss Minerva engaged in a private conference--without
+having been able even to guess what the subject under discussion
+between them might be. They were again together that morning. Maria and
+Zo had gone to church with their father; Miss Minerva was kept at home
+by a headache. At that hour, and under those circumstances, there was
+no plausible pretence which would justify Mrs. Gallilee's interference.
+She seriously contemplated the sacrifice of a month's salary, and the
+dismissal of her governess without notice.
+
+When the footman opened the door, Benjulia handed in the packet of
+letters. After his latest experience of Mrs. Gallilee, he had no
+intention of returning her visit. He walked away without uttering a
+word.
+
+The cable took his message to Mr. Morphew in these terms:--"Ovid's
+patient at Montreal. Was the complaint brain disease? Yes or no."
+Having made arrangements for the forwarding of the reply from his club,
+he set forth on the walk back to his house.
+
+At five minutes to three, he was at home again. As the clock struck the
+hour, he rang the bell. The man-servant appeared, without the dinner.
+Benjulia's astonishing amiability--on his holiday--was even equal to
+this demand on its resources.
+
+"I ordered roast mutton at three," he said, with terrifying
+tranquillity. "Where is it?"
+
+"The dinner will be ready in ten minutes, sir."
+
+"Why is it not ready now?"
+
+"The cook hopes you will excuse her, sir. She is a little behindhand
+to-day."
+
+"What has hindered her, if you please?"
+
+The silent servant--on all other occasions the most impenetrable of
+human beings--began to tremble. The doctor had, literally, kicked a man
+out of the house who had tried to look through the laboratory skylight.
+He had turned away a female servant at half an hour's notice, for
+forgetting to shut the door, a second time in one day. But what were
+these highhanded proceedings, compared with the awful composure which,
+being kept waiting for dinner, only asked what had hindered the cook,
+and put the question politely, by saying, "if you please"?
+
+"Perhaps you were making love to her?" the doctor suggested, as gently
+as ever.
+
+This outrageous insinuation stung the silent servant into speech. "I'm
+incapable of the action, sir!" he answered indignantly; "the woman was
+reading a story."
+
+Benjulia bent his head, as if in acknowledgment of a highly
+satisfactory explanation. "Oh? reading a story? People who read stories
+are said to have excitable brains. Should you call the cook excitable?"
+
+"I should, sir! Most cooks are excitable. They say it's the kitchen
+fire."
+
+"Do they? You can go now. Don't hurry the cook--I'll wait."
+
+He waited, apparently following some new train of thought which highly
+diverted him. Ten minutes passed--then a quarter of an hour then
+another five minutes. When the servant returned with the dinner, the
+master's private reflections continued to amuse him: his thin lips were
+still widening grimly, distended by his formidable smile.
+
+On being carved, the mutton proved to be underdone. At other times,
+this was an unpardonable crime in Benjulia's domestic code of laws. All
+he said now was, "Take it away." He dined on potatoes, and bread and
+cheese. When he had done, he was rather more amiable than ever. He
+said, "Ask the cook to come and see me!"
+
+The cook presented herself, with one hand on her palpitating heart, and
+the other holding her handkerchief to her eyes.
+
+"What are you crying about?" Benjulia inquired; "I haven't scolded you,
+have I?" The cook began an apology; the doctor pointed to a chair. "Sit
+down, and recover yourself." The cook sat down, faintly smiling through
+her tears. This otherwise incomprehensible reception of a person who
+had kept the dinner waiting twenty minutes, and who had not done the
+mutton properly even then (taken in connection with the master's
+complimentary inquiries, reported downstairs by the footman), could
+bear but one interpretation. It wasn't every woman who had her
+beautiful hair, and her rosy complexion. Why had she not thought of
+going upstairs first, just to see whether she looked her best in the
+glass? Would he begin by making a confession? or would he begin by
+kissing her?
+
+He began by lighting his pipe. For a while he smoked placidly with his
+eye on the cook. "I hear you have been reading a story," he resumed.
+"What is the name of it?"
+
+"'Pamela; or Virtue Rewarded,' sir."
+
+Benjulia went on with his smoking. The cook, thus far demure and
+downcast, lifted her eyes experimentally. He was still looking at her.
+Did he want encouragement? The cook cautiously offered a little
+literary information,
+
+"The author's name is on the book, sir. Name of Richardson."
+
+The information was graciously received, "Yes; I've heard of the name,
+and heard of the book. Is it interesting?"
+
+"Oh, sir, it's a beautiful story! My only excuse for being late with
+the dinner--"
+
+"Who's Pamela?"
+
+"A young person in service, sir. I'm sure I wish I was more like her! I
+felt quite broken-hearted when you sent the mutton down again; and you
+so kind as to overlook the error in the roasting--"
+
+Benjulia stopped the apology once more. He pursued his own ends with a
+penitent cook, just as he pursued his own ends with a vivisected
+animal. Nothing moved him out of his appointed course, in the one or in
+the other. He returned to Pamela.
+
+"And what becomes of her at the end of the story?" he asked.
+
+The cook simpered. "It's Pamela who is the virtuous young person, sir.
+And so the story comes true--Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded."
+
+"Who rewards her?"
+
+Was there ever anything so lucky as this? Pamela's situation was fast
+becoming the cook's situation. The bosom of the vigourous little woman
+began to show signs of tender agitation--distributed over a large
+surface. She rolled her eyes amorously. Benjulia puffed out another
+mouthful of smoke. "Well," he repeated, "who rewards Pamela?"
+
+"Her master, sir."
+
+"What does he do?"
+
+The cook's eyes sank modestly to her lap. The cook's complexion became
+brighter than ever.
+
+"Her master marries her, sir."
+
+"Oh?"
+
+That was all he said. He was not astonished, or confused, or
+encouraged--he simply intimated that he now knew how Pamela's master
+had rewarded Pamela. And, more dispiriting still, he took the
+opportunity of knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and filled it, and
+lit it again. If the cook had been one of the few miserable wretches
+who never read novels, she might have felt her fondly founded hopes
+already sinking from under her. As it was, Richardson sustained her
+faith in herself; Richardson reminded her that Pamela's master had
+hesitated, and that Pamela's Virtue had not earned its reward on easy
+terms. She stole another look at the doctor. The eloquence of women's
+eyes, so widely and justly celebrated in poetry and prose, now spoke in
+the cook's eyes. They said, "Marry me, dear sir, and you shall never
+have underdone mutton again." The hearts of other savages have been
+known to soften under sufficient influences--why should the scientific
+savage, under similar pressure, not melt a little too? The doctor took
+up the talk again: he made a kind allusion to the cook's family
+circumstances.
+
+"When you first came here, I think you told me you had no relations?"
+
+"I am an orphan, sir."
+
+"And you had been some time out of a situation, when I engaged you?"
+
+"Yes, sir; my poor little savings were nearly at an end!" Could he
+resist that pathetic picture of the orphan's little savings--framed, as
+it were, in a delicately-designed reference to her fellow-servant in
+the story? "I was as poor as Pamela," she suggested softly.
+
+"And as virtuous," Benjulia added.
+
+The cook's eloquent eyes said, "Thank you, sir."
+
+He laid down his pipe. That was a good sign, surely? He drew his chair
+nearer to her. Better and better! His arm was long enough, in the new
+position, to reach her waist. Her waist was ready for him.
+
+"You have nothing in particular to do, this afternoon; and I have
+nothing particular to do." He delivered himself of this assertion
+rather abruptly. At the same time, it was one of those promising
+statements which pave the way for anything. He might say, "Having
+nothing particular to do to-day--why shouldn't we make love?" Or he
+might say, "Having nothing particular to do to-morrow--why shouldn't we
+get the marriage license?" Would he put it in that way? No: he made a
+proposal of quite another kind. He said, "You seem to be fond of
+stories. Suppose I tell you a story?"
+
+Perhaps, there was some hidden meaning in this. There was
+unquestionably a sudden alteration in his look and manner; the cook
+asked herself what it meant.
+
+If she had seen the doctor at his secret work in the laboratory, the
+change in him might have put her on her guard. He was now looking
+(experimentally) at the inferior creature seated before him in the
+chair, as he looked (experimentally) at the other inferior creatures
+stretched under him on the table.
+
+His story began in the innocent, old-fashioned way.
+
+"Once upon a time, there was a master and there was a maid. We will
+call the master by the first letter of the alphabet--Mr. A. And we will
+call the maid by the second letter--Miss B."
+
+The cook drew a long breath of relief. There _was_ a hidden meaning in
+the doctor's story. The unfortunate woman thought to herself, "I have
+not only got fine hair and a beautiful complexion; I am clever as
+well!" On her rare evenings of liberty, she sometimes gratified another
+highly creditable taste, besides the taste for reading novels. She was
+an eager play-goer. That notable figure in the drama--the man who tells
+his own story, under pretence of telling the story of another
+person--was no unfamiliar figure in her stage experience. Her
+encouraging smile made its modest appearance once more. In the very
+beginning of her master's story, she saw already the happy end.
+
+"We all of us have our troubles in life," Benjulia went on; "and Miss
+B. had her troubles. For a long time, she was out of a situation; and
+she had no kind parents to help her. Miss B. was an orphan. Her little
+savings were almost gone."
+
+It was too distressing. The cook took out her handkerchief, and pitied
+Miss B. with all her heart.
+
+The doctor proceeded.
+
+"But virtue, as we know when we read 'Pamela,' is sure of its reward.
+Circumstances occurred in the household of Mr. A. which made it
+necessary for him to engage a cook. He discovered an advertisement in a
+newspaper, which informed him that Miss B. was in search of a
+situation. Mr. A. found her to be a young and charming woman. Mr. A.
+engaged her." At that critical part of the story, Benjulia paused. "And
+what did Mr. A. do next?" he asked.
+
+The cook could restrain herself no longer. She jumped out of her chair,
+and threw her arms round the doctor's neck.
+
+Benjulia went on with his story as if nothing had happened.
+
+"And what did Mr. A. do next?" he repeated. "He put his hand in his
+pocket--he gave Miss B. a month's wages--and he turned her out of the
+house. You impudent hussy, you have delayed my dinner, spoilt my
+mutton, and hugged me round the neck! There is your money. Go."
+
+With glaring eyes and gaping mouth, the cook stood looking at him, like
+a woman struck to stone. In a moment more, the rage burst out of her in
+a furious scream. She turned to the table, and snatched up a knife.
+Benjulia wrenched it from her hand, and dropped back into his chair
+completely overpowered by the success of his little joke. He did what
+he had never done within the memory of his oldest friend--he burst out
+laughing. "This _has_ been a holiday!" he said. "Why haven't I got
+somebody with me to enjoy it?"
+
+At that laugh, at those words, the cook's fury in its fiercest heat
+became frozen by terror. There was something superhuman in the doctor's
+diabolical joy. Even _he_ felt the wild horror in the woman's eyes as
+they rested on him.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" he asked. She muttered and mumbled--and,
+shrinking away from him, crept towards the door. As she approached the
+window, a man outside passed by it on his way to the house. She pointed
+to him; and repeated Benjulia's own words:
+
+"Somebody to enjoy it with you," she said.
+
+She opened the dining-room door. The man-servant appeared in the hall,
+with a gentleman behind him.
+
+The gentleman was a scrupulously polite person. He looked with alarm at
+the ghastly face of the cook as she ran past him, making for the
+kitchen stairs. "I'm afraid I intrude on you at an unfortunate time,"
+he said to Benjulia. "Pray excuse me; I will call again."
+
+"Come in, sir." The doctor spoke absently, looking towards the hall,
+and thinking of something else.
+
+The gentleman entered the room.
+
+"My name is Mool," he said. "I have had the honour of meeting you at
+one of Mrs. Gallilee's parties."
+
+"Very likely. I don't remember it myself. Take a seat."
+
+He was still thinking of something else. Modest Mr. Mool took a seat in
+confusion. The doctor crossed the room, and opened the door.
+
+"Excuse me for a minute," he said. "I will be back directly."
+
+He went to the top of the kitchen stairs, and called to the housemaid.
+"Is the cook down there?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"What is she doing?"
+
+"Crying her heart out."
+
+Benjulia turned away again with the air of a disappointed man. A
+violent moral shock sometimes has a serious effect on the
+brain--especially when it is the brain of an excitable woman. Always a
+physiologist, even in those rare moments when he was amusing himself,
+it had just struck Benjulia that the cook--after her outbreak of
+fury--might be a case worth studying. But, she had got relief in
+crying; her brain was safe; she had ceased to interest him. He returned
+to the dining-room.
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+"You look hot, sir; have a drink. Old English ale, out of the barrel."
+
+The tone was hearty. He poured out the sparkling ale into a big
+tumbler, with hospitable good-will. Mr. Mool was completely, and most
+agreeably, taken by surprise. He too was feeling the influence of the
+doctor's good humour--enriched in quality by pleasant remembrances of
+his interview with the cook.
+
+"I live in the suburbs, Doctor Benjulia, on this side of London," Mr.
+Mool explained; "and I have had a nice walk from my house to yours. If
+I have done wrong, sir, in visiting you on Sunday, I can only plead
+that I am engaged in business during the week--"
+
+"All right. One day's the same as another, provided you don't interrupt
+me. You don't interrupt me now. Do you smoke?"
+
+"No, thank you."
+
+"Do you mind my smoking?"
+
+"I like it, doctor."
+
+"Very amiable on your part, I'm sure. What did you say your name was?"
+
+"Mool."
+
+Benjulia looked at him suspiciously. Was he a physiologist, and a
+rival? "You're not a doctor--are you?" he said.
+
+"I am a lawyer."
+
+One of the few popular prejudices which Benjulia shared with his
+inferior fellow-creatures was the prejudice against lawyers. But for
+his angry recollection of the provocation successfully offered to him
+by his despicable brother, Mrs. Gallilee would never have found her way
+into his confidence. But for his hearty enjoyment of the mystification
+of the cook, Mr. Mool would have been requested to state the object of
+his visit in writing, and would have gone home again a baffled man. The
+doctor's holiday amiability had reached its full development indeed,
+when he allowed a strange lawyer to sit and talk with him!
+
+"Gentlemen of your profession," he muttered, "never pay visits to
+people whom they don't know, without having their own interests in
+view. Mr. Mool, you want something of me. What is it?"
+
+Mr. Mool's professional tact warned him to waste no time on prefatory
+phrases.
+
+"I venture on my present intrusion," he began, "in consequence of a
+statement recently made to me, in my office, by Mrs. Gallilee."
+
+"Stop!" cried Benjulia. "I don't like your beginning, I can tell you.
+Is it necessary to mention the name of that old--?" He used a word,
+described in dictionaries as having a twofold meaning. (First, "A
+female of the canine kind." Second, "A term of reproach for a woman.")
+It shocked Mr. Mool; and it is therefore unfit to be reported.
+
+"Really, Doctor Benjulia!"
+
+"Does that mean that you positively must talk about her?"
+
+Mr. Mool smiled. "Let us say that it may bear that meaning," he
+answered.
+
+"Go on, then--and get it over. She made a statement in your office. Out
+with it, my good fellow. Has it anything to do with me?"
+
+"I should not otherwise, Doctor Benjulia, have ventured to present
+myself at your house." With that necessary explanation, Mr. Mool
+related all that had passed between Mrs. Gallilee and himself.
+
+At the outset of the narrative, Benjulia angrily laid aside his pipe,
+on the point of interrupting the lawyer. He changed his mind; and,
+putting a strong constraint on himself, listened in silence. "I hope,
+sir," Mr. Mool concluded, "you will not take a hard view of my motive.
+It is only the truth to say that I am interested in Miss Carmina's
+welfare. I felt the sincerest respect and affection for her parents.
+You knew them too. They were good people. On reflection you must surely
+regret it, if you have carelessly repeated a false report? Won't you
+help me to clear the poor mother's memory of this horrid stain?"
+
+Benjulia smoked in silence. Had that simple and touching appeal found
+its way to him? He began very strangely, when he consented at last to
+open his lips.
+
+"You're what they call, a middle-aged man," he said. "I suppose you
+have had some experience of women?"
+
+Mr. Mool blushed. "I am a married man, sir," he replied gravely.
+
+"Very well; that's experience--of one kind. When a man's out of temper,
+and a woman wants something of him, do you know how cleverly she can
+take advantage of her privileges to aggravate him, till there's nothing
+he won't do to get her to leave him in peace? That's how I came to tell
+Mrs. Gallilee, what she told you."
+
+He waited a little, and comforted himself with his pipe.
+
+"Mind this," he resumed, "I don't profess to feel any interest in the
+girl; and I never cared two straws about her parents. At the same time,
+if you can turn to good account what I am going to say next--do it, and
+welcome. This scandal began in the bragging of a fellow-student of mine
+at Rome. He was angry with me, and angry with another man, for laughing
+at him when he declared himself to be Mrs. Robert Graywell's lover: and
+he laid us a wager that we should see the woman alone in his room, that
+night. We were hidden behind a curtain, and we did see her in his room.
+I paid the money I had lost, and left Rome soon afterwards. The other
+man refused to pay."
+
+"On what ground?" Mr. Mool eagerly asked.
+
+"On the ground that she wore a thick veil, and never showed her face."
+
+"An unanswerable objection, Doctor Benjulia!"
+
+"Perhaps it might be. I didn't think so myself. Two hours before, Mrs.
+Robert Graywell and I had met in the street. She had on a dress of a
+remarkable colour in those days--a sort of sea-green. And a bonnet to
+match, which everybody stared at, because it was not half the size of
+the big bonnets then in fashion. There was no mistaking the strange
+dress or the tall figure, when I saw her again in the student's room.
+So I paid the bet."
+
+"Do you remember the name of the man who refused to pay?"
+
+"His name was Egisto Baccani."
+
+"Have you heard anything of him since?"
+
+"Yes. He got into some political scrape, and took refuge, like the rest
+of them, in England; and got his living, like the rest of them, by
+teaching languages. He sent me his prospectus--that's how I came to
+know about it."
+
+"Have you got the prospectus?"
+
+"Torn up, long ago."
+
+Mr. Mool wrote down the name in his pocket-book. "There is nothing more
+you can tell me?" he said.
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Accept my best thanks, doctor. Good-day!"
+
+"If you find Baccani let me know. Another drop of ale? Are you likely
+to see Mrs. Gallilee soon?"
+
+"Yes--if I find Baccani."
+
+"Do you ever play with children?"
+
+"I have five of my own to play with," Mr. Mool answered.
+
+"Very well. Ask for the youngest child when you go to Mrs. Gallilee's.
+We call her Zo. Put your finger on her spine--here, just below the
+neck. Press on the place--so. And, when she wriggles, say, With the big
+doctor's love."
+
+Getting back to his own house, Mr. Mool was surprised to find an open
+carriage at the garden gate. A smartly-dressed woman, on the front
+seat, surveyed him with an uneasy look. "If you please, sir," she said,
+"would you kindly tell Miss Carmina that we really mustn't wait any
+longer?"
+
+The woman's uneasiness was reflected in Mr. Mool's face. A visit from
+Carmina, at his private residence, could have no ordinary motive. The
+fear instantly occurred to him that Mrs. Gallilee might have spoken to
+her of her mother.
+
+Before he opened the drawing-room door, this alarm passed away. He
+heard Carmina talking with his wife and daughters.
+
+"May I say one little word to you, Mr. Mool?"
+
+He took her into his study. She was shy and confused, but certainly
+neither angry nor distressed.
+
+"My aunt sends me out every day, when it's fine, for a drive," she
+said. "As the carriage passed close by, I thought I might ask you a
+question."
+
+"Certainly, my dear! As many questions as you please."
+
+"It's about the law. My aunt says she has the authority over me now,
+which my dear father had while he was living. Is that true?"
+
+"Quite true."
+
+"For how long is she my guardian?"
+
+"Until you are twenty-one years old."
+
+The faint colour faded from Carmina's face. "More than three years
+perhaps to suffer!" she said sadly.
+
+"To suffer? What do you mean, my dear?"
+
+She turned paler still, and made no reply. "I want to ask one thing
+more?" she resumed, in sinking tones. "Would my aunt still be my
+guardian--supposing I was married?"
+
+Mr. Mool answered this, with his eyes fixed on her in grave scrutiny.
+
+"In that case, your husband is the only person who has any authority
+over you. These are rather strange questions, Carmina. Won't you take
+me into your confidence?"
+
+In sudden agitation she seized his hand and kissed it. "I must go!" she
+said. "I have kept the carriage waiting too long already."
+
+She ran out, without once looking back.
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's maid looked at her watch, when the carriage left Mr.
+Mool's house. "We shall be nearly an hour late, before we get home,"
+she said.
+
+"It's my fault, Marceline. Tell your mistress the truth, if she
+questions you. I shall not think the worse of you for obeying your
+orders."
+
+"I'd rather lose my place, Miss, than get you into trouble."
+
+The woman spoke truly, Carmina's sweet temper had made her position not
+only endurable, but delightful: she had been treated like a companion
+and a friend. But for that circumstance--so keenly had Marceline felt
+the degradation of being employed as a spy--she would undoubtedly have
+quitted Mrs. Gallilee's service.
+
+On the way home, instead of talking pleasantly as usual, Carmina was
+silent and sad. Had this change in her spirits been caused by the visit
+to Mr. Mool? It was even so. The lawyer had innocently decided her on
+taking the desperate course which Miss Minerva had proposed.
+
+If Mrs. Gallilee's assertion of her absolute right of authority, as
+guardian, had been declared by Mr. Mool to be incorrect, Carmina
+(hopefully forgetful of her aunt's temper) had thought of a compromise.
+
+She would have consented to remain at Mrs. Gallilee's disposal until
+Ovid returned, on condition of being allowed, when Teresa arrived in
+London, to live in retirement with her old nurse. This change of abode
+would prevent any collision between Mrs. Gallilee and Teresa, and would
+make Carmina's life as peaceful, and even as happy, as she could wish.
+
+But now that the lawyer had confirmed her aunt's statement of the
+position in which they stood towards one another, instant flight to
+Ovid's love and protection seemed to be the one choice left--unless
+Carmina could resign herself to a life of merciless persecution and
+perpetual suspense.
+
+The arrangements for the flight were already complete.
+
+That momentary view of Mrs. Gallilee's face, reflected in the glass,
+had confirmed Miss Minerva's resolution to interfere. Closeted with
+Carmina on the Sunday morning, she had proposed a scheme of escape,
+which would even set Mrs. Gallilee's vigilance and cunning at defiance.
+No pecuniary obstacle stood in the way. The first quarterly payment of
+Carmina's allowance of five hundred a year had been already made, by
+Mool's advice. Enough was left--even without the assistance which the
+nurse's resources would render--to purchase the necessary outfit, and
+to take the two women to Quebec. On the day after Teresa's arrival (at
+an hour of the morning while the servants were still in bed) Carmina
+and her companion could escape from the house on foot--and not leave a
+trace behind them.
+
+Meanwhile, Fortune befriended Mrs. Gallilee's maid. No questions were
+put to her; no notice even was taken of the late return.
+
+Five minutes before the carriage drew up at the house, a learned female
+friend from the country called, by appointment, on Mrs. Gallilee. On
+the coming Tuesday afternoon, an event of the deepest scientific
+interest was to take place. A new Professor had undertaken to deliver
+himself, by means of a lecture, of subversive opinions on "Matter." A
+general discussion was to follow; and in that discussion (upon certain
+conditions) Mrs. Gallilee herself proposed to take part.
+
+"If the Professor attempts to account for the mutual action of separate
+atoms," she said, "I defy him to do it, without assuming the existence
+of a continuous material medium in space. And this point of view being
+accepted--follow me here! what is the result? In plain words," cried
+Mrs. Gallilee, rising excitedly to her feet, "we dispense with the idea
+of atoms!"
+
+The friend looked infinitely relieved by the prospect of dispensing
+with atoms.
+
+"Now observe!" Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. "In connection with this part
+of the subject, I shall wait to see if the Professor adopts Thomson's
+theory. You are acquainted with Thomson's theory? No? Let me put it
+briefly. Mere heterogeneity, together with gravitation, is sufficient
+to explain all the apparently discordant laws of molecular action. You
+understand? Very well. If the Professor passes over Thomson, _then,_ I
+rise in the body of the Hall, and take my stand--follow me again!--on
+these grounds."
+
+While Mrs. Gallilee's grounds were being laid out for the benefit of
+her friend, the coachman took the carriage back to the stables; the
+maid went downstairs to tea; and Carmina joined Miss Minerva in the
+schoolroom--all three being protected from discovery, by Mrs.
+Gallilee's rehearsal of her performance in the Comedy of Atoms.
+
+The Monday morning brought with it news from Rome--serious news which
+confirmed Miss Minerva's misgivings.
+
+Carmina received a letter, bearing the Italian postmark, but not
+addressed to her in Teresa's handwriting. She looked to the signature
+before she began to read. Her correspondent was the old priest--Father
+Patrizio. He wrote in these words:
+
+
+"My dear child,--Our good Teresa leaves us to-day, on her journey to
+London. She has impatiently submitted to the legal ceremonies, rendered
+necessary by her husband having died without making a will. He hardly
+left anything in the way of money, after payment of his burial
+expenses, and his few little debts. What is of far greater
+importance--he lived, and died, a good Christian. I was with him in his
+last moments. Offer your prayers, my dear, for the repose of his soul.
+
+"Teresa left me, declaring her purpose of travelling night and day, so
+as to reach you the sooner.
+
+"In her headlong haste, she has not even waited to look over her
+husband's papers; but has taken the case containing them to England--to
+be examined at leisure, in your beloved company. Strong as this good
+creature is, I believe she will be obliged to rest on the road for a
+night at least. Calculating on this, I assume that my letter will get
+to you first. I have something to say about your old nurse, which it is
+well that you should know.
+
+"Do not for a moment suppose that I blame you for having told Teresa of
+the unfriendly reception, which you appear to have met with from your
+aunt and guardian. Who should you confide in--if not in the excellent
+woman who has filled the place of a mother to you? Besides, from your
+earliest years, have I not always instilled into you the reverence of
+truth? You have told the truth in your letters. My child, I commend
+you, and feel for you.
+
+"But the impression produced on Teresa is not what you or I could wish.
+It is one of her merits, that she loves you with the truest devotion;
+it is one of her defects, that she is fierce and obstinate in
+resentment. Your aunt has become an object of absolute hatred to her. I
+have combated successfully, as I hope and believe--this unchristian
+state of feeling.
+
+"She is now beyond the reach of my influence. My purpose in writing is
+to beg you to continue the good work that I have begun. Compose this
+impetuous nature; restrain this fiery spirit. Your gentle influence,
+Carmina, has a power of its own over those who love you--and who loves
+you like Teresa?--of which perhaps you are not yourself aware. Use your
+power discreetly; and, with the blessing of God and his Saints, I have
+no fear of the result.
+
+"Write to me, my child, when Teresa arrives--and let me hear that you
+are happier, and better in health. Tell me also, whether there is any
+speedy prospect of your marriage. If I may presume to judge from the
+little I know, your dearest earthly interests depend on the removal of
+obstacles to this salutary change in your life. I send you my good
+wishes, and my blessing. If a poor old priest like me can be of any
+service, do not forget.
+
+"FATHER PATRIZIO."
+
+
+Any lingering hesitation that Carmina might still have felt, was at an
+end when she read this letter. Good Father Patrizio, like good Mr.
+Mool, had innocently urged her to set her guardian's authority at
+defiance.
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+
+When the morning lessons were over, Carmina showed the priest's letter
+to Miss Minerva. The governess read it, and handed it back in silence.
+
+"Have you nothing to say?" Carmina asked.
+
+"Nothing. You know my opinion already. That letter says what I have
+said--with greater authority."
+
+"It has determined me to follow your advice, Frances."
+
+"Then it has done well."
+
+"And you see," Carmina continued, "that Father Patrizio speaks of
+obstacles in the way of my marriage. Teresa has evidently shown him my
+letters. Do you think he fears, as I do, that my aunt may find some
+means of separating us, even when Ovid comes back?"
+
+"Very likely."
+
+She spoke in faint weary tones--listlessly leaning back in her chair.
+Carmina asked if she had passed another sleepless night.
+
+"Yes," she said, "another bad night, and the usual martyrdom in
+teaching the children. I don't know which disgusts me most--Zoe's
+impudent stupidity, or Maria's unendurable humbug."
+
+She had never yet spoken of Maria in this way. Even her voice seemed to
+be changed. Instead of betraying the usual angry abruptness, her tones
+coldly indicated impenetrable contempt. In the silence that ensued, she
+looked up, and saw Carmina's eyes resting on her anxiously and kindly.
+
+"Any other human being but you," she said, "would find me disagreeable
+and rude--and would be quite right, too. I haven't asked after your
+health. You look paler than usual. Have you, too, had a bad night?"
+
+"I fell asleep towards the morning. And--oh, I had such a delightful
+dream! I could almost wish that I had never awakened from it."
+
+"Who did you dream of?" She put the question mechanically--frowning, as
+if at some repellent thought suggested to her by what she had just
+heard.
+
+"I dreamed of my mother," Carmina answered.
+
+Miss Minerva raised herself at once in the chair. Whatever that passing
+impression might have been, she was free from it now. There was some
+little life again in her eyes; some little spirit in her voice. "Take
+me out of myself," she said; "tell me your dream."
+
+"It is nothing very remarkable, Frances. We all of us sometimes see our
+dear lost ones in sleep. I saw my mother again, as I used to see her in
+the nursery at bedtime--tall and beautiful, with her long dark hair
+failing over her white dressing-gown to the waist. She stooped over me,
+and kissed me; and she looked surprised. She said, 'My little angel,
+why are you here in a strange house? I have come to take you back to
+your own cot, by my bedside.' I wasn't surprised or frightened; I put
+my arms round her neck; and we floated away together through the cool
+starry night; and we were at home again. I saw my cot, with its pretty
+white curtains and pink ribbons. I heard my mother tell me an English
+fairy story, out of a book which my father had given to her--and her
+kind voice grew fainter and fainter, while I grew more and more
+sleepy--and it ended softly, just as it used to end in the happy old
+days. And I woke, crying. Do you ever dream of your mother now?"
+
+"I? God forbid!"
+
+"Oh, Frances, what a dreadful thing to say!"
+
+"Is it? It was the thought in me, when you spoke. And with good reason,
+too. I was the last of a large family--the ugly one; the ill-tempered
+one; the encumbrance that made it harder than ever to find money enough
+to pay the household expenses. My father swore at my mother for being
+my mother. She reviled him just as bitterly in return; and vented the
+rest of her ill-temper on my wretched little body, with no sparing
+hand. Bedtime was her time for beating me. Talk of your mother--not of
+mine! You were very young, were you not, when she died?"
+
+"Too young to feel my misfortune--but old enough to remember the
+sweetest woman that ever lived. Let me show you my father's portrait of
+her again. Doesn't that face tell you what an angel she was? There was
+some charm in her that all children felt. I can just remember some of
+my playfellows who used to come to our garden. Other good mothers were
+with us--but the children all crowded round _my_ mother. They would
+have her in all their games; they fought for places on her lap when she
+told them stories; some of them cried, and some of them screamed, when
+it was time to take them away from her. Oh, why do we live! why do we
+die! I have bitter thoughts sometimes, Frances, like you. I have read
+in poetry that death is a fearful thing. To me, death is a cruel
+thing,--and it has never seemed so cruel as in these later days, since
+I have known Ovid. If my mother had but lived till now, what happiness
+would have been added to my life and to hers! How Ovid would have loved
+her--how she would have loved Ovid!"
+
+Miss Minerva listened in silence. It was the silence of true interest
+and sympathy, while Carmina was speaking of her mother. When her
+lover's name became mingled with the remembrances of her childhood--the
+change came. Once more, the tell-tale lines began to harden in the
+governess's face. She lay back again in her chair. Her fingers
+irritably platted and unplatted the edge of her black apron.
+
+Carmina was too deeply absorbed in her thoughts, too eagerly bent on
+giving them expression, to notice these warning signs.
+
+"I have all my mother's letters to my father," she went on, "when he
+was away from her on his sketching excursions, You have still a little
+time to spare--I should so like to read some of them to you. I was
+reading one, last night--which perhaps accounts for my dream? It is on
+a subject that interests everybody. In my father's absence, a very dear
+friend of his met with a misfortune; and my mother had to prepare his
+wife to hear the bad news--oh, that reminds me! There is something I
+want to say to you first."
+
+"About yourself?" Miss Minerva asked.
+
+"About Ovid. I want your advice."
+
+Miss Minerva was silent. Carmina went on. "It's about writing to Ovid,"
+she explained.
+
+"Write, of course!"
+
+The reply was suddenly and sharply given. "Surely, I have not offended
+you?" Carmina said.
+
+"Nonsense! Let me hear your mother's letter."
+
+"Yes--but I want you to hear the circumstances first."
+
+"You have mentioned them already."
+
+"No! no! I mean the circumstances, in my case." She drew her chair
+closer to Miss Minerva. "I want to whisper--for fear of somebody
+passing on the stairs. The more I think of it, the more I feel that I
+ought to prepare Ovid for seeing me, before I make my escape. You said
+when we talked of it--"
+
+"Never mind what I said."
+
+"Oh, but I do mind! You said I could go to Ovid's bankers at Quebec,
+and then write when I knew where he was. I have been thinking over it
+since--and I see a serious risk. He might return from his inland
+journey, on the very day that I get there; he might even meet me in the
+street. In his delicate health--I daren't think of what the
+consequences of such a surprise might be! And then there is the
+dreadful necessity of telling him, that his mother has driven me into
+taking this desperate step. In my place, wouldn't you feel that you
+could do it more delicately in writing?"
+
+"I dare say!"
+
+"I might write to-morrow, for instance. To-morrow is one of the
+American mail days. My letter would get to Canada (remembering the
+roundabout way by which Teresa and I are to travel, for fear of
+discovery), days and days before we could arrive. I should shut myself
+up in an hotel at Quebec; and Teresa could go every day to the bank, to
+hear if Ovid was likely to send for his letters, or likely to call soon
+and ask for them. Then he would be prepared. Then, when we meet--!"
+
+The governess left her chair, and pointed to the clock.
+
+Carmina looked at her--and rose in alarm. "Are you in pain?" she asked.
+
+"Yes--neuralgia, I think. I have the remedy in my room. Don't keep me,
+my dear. Mrs. Gallilee mustn't find me here again."
+
+The paroxysm of pain which Carmina had noticed, passed over her face
+once more. She subdued it, and left the room. The pain mastered her
+again; a low cry broke from her when she closed the door. Carmina ran
+out: "Frances! what is it?" Frances looked over her shoulder, while she
+slowly ascended the stairs. "Never mind!" she said gently. "I have got
+my remedy."
+
+Carmina advanced a step to follow her, and drew back.
+
+Was that expression of suffering really caused by pain of the body? or
+was it attributable to anything that she had rashly said? She tried to
+recall what had passed between Frances and herself. The effort wearied
+her. Her thoughts turned self-reproachfully to Ovid. If _he_ had been
+speaking to a friend whose secret sorrow was known to him, would he
+have mentioned the name of the woman whom they both loved? She looked
+at his portrait, and reviled herself as a selfish insensible wretch.
+"Will Ovid improve me?" she wondered. "Shall I be a little worthier of
+him, when I am his wife?"
+
+Luncheon time came; and Mrs. Gallilee sent word that they were not to
+wait for her.
+
+"She's studying," said Mr. Gallilee, with awe-struck looks. "She's
+going to make a speech at the Discussion to-morrow. The man who gives
+the lecture is the man she's going to pitch into. I don't know him; but
+how do you feel about it yourself, Carmina?--I wouldn't stand in his
+shoes for any sum of money you could offer me. Poor devil! I beg your
+pardon, my dear; let me give you a wing of the fowl. Boiled fowl--eh?
+and tongue--ha? Do you know the story of the foreigner? He dined out
+fifteen times with his English friends. And there was boiled fowl and
+tongue at every dinner. The fifteenth time, the foreigner couldn't
+stand it any longer. He slapped his forehead, and he said, 'Ah,
+merciful Heaven, cock and bacon again!' You won't mention it, will
+you?--and perhaps you think as I do?--I'm sick of cock and bacon,
+myself."
+
+Mr. Null's medical orders still prescribed fresh air. The carriage came
+to the door at the regular hour; and Mr. Gallilee, with equal
+regularity, withdrew to his club.
+
+Carmina was too uneasy to leave the house, without seeing Miss Minerva
+first. She went up to the schoolroom.
+
+There was no sound of voices, when she opened the door. Miss Minerva
+was writing, and silence had been proclaimed. The girls were ready
+dressed for their walk. Industrious Maria had her book. Idle Zo,
+perched on a high chair, sat kicking her legs. "If you say a word," she
+whispered, as Carmina passed her, "you'll be called an Imp, and stuck
+up on a chair. I shall go to the boy."
+
+"Are you better, Frances?"
+
+"Much better, my dear."
+
+Her face denied it; the look of suffering was there still. She tore up
+the letter which she had been writing, and threw the fragments into the
+waste-paper basket.
+
+"That's the second letter you've torn up," Zo remarked.
+
+"Say a word more--and you shall have bread and water for tea!" Miss
+Minerva was not free from irritation, although she might be free from
+pain. Even Zo noticed how angry the governess was.
+
+"I wish you could drive with me in the carriage," said Carmina. "The
+air would do you so much good."
+
+"Impossible! But you may soothe my irritable nerves in another way, if
+you like."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Relieve me of these girls. Take them out with you. Do you mind?"
+
+Zo instantly jumped off her chair; and even Maria looked up from her
+book.
+
+"I will take them with pleasure. Must we ask my aunt's permission?"
+
+"We will dispense with your aunt's permission. She is shut up in her
+study--and we are all forbidden to disturb her. I will take it on
+myself." She turned to the girls with another outbreak of irritability.
+"Be off!"
+
+Maria rose with dignity, and made one of her successful exits. "I am
+sorry, dear Miss Minerva, if _I_ have done anything to make you angry."
+She pointed the emphasis on "I," by a side-look at her sister. Zo
+bounced out of the room, and performed the Italian boy's dance on the
+landing. "For shame!" said Maria. Zo burst into singing. _"Yah
+yah-yah-bellah-vitah-yah!_ Jolly! jolly! jolly!--we are going out for a
+drive!"
+
+Carmina waited, to say a friendly word, before she followed the girls.
+
+"You didn't think me neglectful, Frances, when I let you go upstairs by
+yourself!" Miss Minerva answered sadly and kindly. "The best thing you
+could do was to leave me by myself."
+
+Carmina's mind was still not quite at ease. "Yes--but you were in
+pain," she said.
+
+"You curious child! I am not in pain now."
+
+"Will you make me comfortable, Frances? Give me a kiss."
+
+"Two, my dear--if you like."
+
+She kissed Carmina on one cheek and on the other. "Now leave me to
+write," she said.
+
+Carmina left her.
+
+The drive ought to have been a pleasant one, with Zo in the carriage.
+To Marceline, it was a time of the heartiest enjoyment. Maria herself
+condescended to smile, now and then. There was only one dull person
+among them. "Miss Carmina was but poor company," the maid remarked when
+they got back.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee herself received them in the hall.
+
+"You will never take the children out again without my leave," she said
+to Carmina. "The person who is really responsible for what you have
+done, will mislead you no more." With those words she entered the
+library, and closed the door.
+
+Maria and Zo, at the sight of their mother, had taken flight. Carmina
+stood alone in the hall. Mrs. Gallilee had turned her cold. After
+awhile, she followed the children as far as her own room. There, her
+resolution failed her. She called faintly upstairs--"Frances!" There
+was no answering voice. She went into her room. A small paper packet
+was on the table; sealed, and addressed to herself. She tore it open. A
+ring with a spinel ruby in it dropped out: she recognised the stone--it
+was Miss Minerva's ring.
+
+Some blotted lines were traced on the paper inside.
+
+"I have tried to pour out my heart to you in writing--and I have torn
+up the letters. The fewest words are the best. Look back at my
+confession--and you will know why I have left you. You shall hear from
+me, when I am more worthy of you than I am now. In the meantime, wear
+my ring. It will tell you how mean I once was. F. M."
+
+Carmina looked at the ring. She remembered that Frances had tried to
+make her accept it as security, in return for the loan of thirty
+pounds.
+
+She referred to the confession. Two passages in it were underlined:
+"The wickedness in me, on which Mrs. Gallilee calculated, may be in me
+still." And, again: "Even now, when you have found me out, I love him.
+Don't trust me."
+
+Never had Carmina trusted her more faithfully than at that bitter
+moment!
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+
+The ordinary aspect of the schoolroom was seen no more.
+
+Installed in a position of temporary authority, the parlour-maid sat
+silently at her needlework. Maria stood by the window, in the new
+character of an idle girl--with her handkerchief in her hand, and her
+everlasting book dropped unnoticed on the floor. Zo lay flat on her
+back, on the hearth-rug, hugging the dog in her arms. At intervals, she
+rolled herself over slowly from side to side, and stared at the ceiling
+with wondering eyes. Miss Minerva's departure had struck the
+parlour-maid dumb, and had demoralized the pupils.
+
+Maria broke the silence at last. "I wonder where Carmina is?" she said.
+
+"In her room, most likely," the parlour-maid suggested.
+
+"Had I better go and see after her?"
+
+The cautious parlour-maid declined to offer advice. Maria's
+well-balanced mind was so completely unhinged, that she looked with
+languid curiosity at her sister. Zo still stared at the ceiling, and
+still rolled slowly from one side to the other. The dog on her breast,
+lulled by the regular motion, slept profoundly--not even troubled by a
+dream of fleas!
+
+While Maria was still considering what it might be best to do, Carmina
+entered the room. She looked, as the servant afterwards described it,
+"like a person who had lost her way." Maria exhibited the feeling of
+the schoolroom, by raising her handkerchief in solemn silence to her
+eyes. Without taking notice of this demonstration, Carmina approached
+the parlour-maid, and said, "Did you see Miss Minerva before she went
+away?"
+
+"I took her message, Miss."
+
+"What message?"
+
+"The message, saying she wished to see my mistress for a few minutes."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, Miss, I was told to show the governess into the library. She
+went down with her bonnet on, ready dressed to go out. Before she had
+been five minutes with my mistress she came out again, and rang the
+hall-bell, and spoke to Joseph. 'My boxes are packed and directed,' she
+says; 'I will send for them in an hour's time. Good day, Joseph.' And
+she stepped into the street, as quietly as if she was going out
+shopping round the corner."
+
+"Have the boxes been sent for?"
+
+"Yes, Miss."
+
+Carmina lifted her head, and spoke in steadier tones.
+
+"Where have they been taken to?"
+
+"To the flower-shop at the back--to be kept till called for."
+
+"No other address?"
+
+"None."
+
+The last faint hope of tracing Frances was at an end. Carmina turned
+wearily to leave the room. Zo called to her from the hearth-rug. Always
+kind to the child, she retraced her steps. "What is it?" she asked.
+
+Zo got on her legs before she spoke, like a member of parliament. "I've
+been thinking about that governess," she announced. "Didn't I once tell
+you I was going to run away? And wasn't it because of Her? Hush! Here's
+the part of it I can't make out--She's run away from Me. I don't bear
+malice; I'm only glad in myself. No more dirty nails. No more bread and
+water for tea. That's all. Good morning." Zo laid herself down again on
+the rug; and the dog laid himself down again on Zo.
+
+Carmina returned to her room--to reflect on what she had heard from the
+parlour-maid.
+
+It was now plain that Mrs. Gallilee had not been allowed the
+opportunity of dismissing her governess at a moment's notice: Miss
+Minerva's sudden departure was unquestionably due to Miss Minerva
+herself.
+
+Thus far, Carmina was able to think clearly--and no farther. The
+confused sense of helpless distress which she had felt, after reading
+the few farewell words that Frances had addressed to her, still
+oppressed her mind. There were moments when she vaguely understood, and
+bitterly lamented, the motives which had animated her unhappy friend.
+Other moments followed, when she impulsively resented the act which had
+thrown her on her own resources, at the very time when she had most
+need of the encouragement that could be afforded by the sympathy of a
+firmer nature than her own. She began to doubt the steadiness of her
+resolution--without Frances to take leave of her, on the morning of the
+escape. For the first time, she was now tortured by distrust of Ovid's
+reception of her; by dread of his possible disapproval of her boldness;
+by morbid suspicion even of his taking his mother's part. Bewildered
+and reckless, she threw herself on the sofa--her heart embittered
+against Frances--indifferent whether she lived or died.
+
+At dinner-time she sent a message, begging to be excused from appearing
+at the table. Mrs. Gallilee at once presented herself, harder and
+colder than ever, to inspect the invalid. Perceiving no immediate
+necessity for summoning Mr. Null, she said, "Ring, if you want
+anything," and left the room.
+
+Mr. Gallilee followed, after an interval, with a little surreptitious
+offering of wine (hidden under his coat); and with a selection of tarts
+crammed into his pocket.
+
+"Smuggled goods, my dear," he whispered, "picked up when nobody
+happened to be looking my way. When we are miserable--has the idea ever
+occurred to you?--it's a sign from kind Providence that we are intended
+to eat and drink. The sherry's old, and the pastry melts in your mouth.
+Shall I stay with you? You would rather not? Just my feeling!
+Remarkable similarity in our opinions--don't you think so yourself? I'm
+sorry for poor Miss Minerva. Suppose you go to bed?"
+
+Carmina was in no mood to profit by this excellent advice.
+
+She was still walking restlessly up and down her room, when the time
+came for shutting up the house. With the sound of closing locks and
+bolts, there was suddenly mingled a sharp ring at the bell; followed by
+another unexpected event. Mr. Gallilee paid her a second visit--in a
+state of transformation. His fat face was flushed: he positively looked
+as if he was capable of feeling strong emotion, unconnected with
+champagne and the club! He presented a telegram to Carmina--and, when
+he spoke, there were thrills of agitation in the tones of his piping
+voice.
+
+"My dear, something very unpleasant has happened. I met Joseph taking
+this to my wife. Highly improper, in my opinion,--what do you say
+yourself?--to take it to Mrs. Gallilee, when it's addressed to you. It
+was no mistake; he was so impudent as to say he had his orders. I have
+reproved Joseph." Mr. Gallilee looked astonished at himself, when he
+made this latter statement--then relapsed into his customary sweetness
+of temper. "No bad news?" he asked anxiously, when Carmina opened the
+telegram.
+
+"Good news! the best of good news!" she answered impetuously.
+
+Mr. Gallilee looked as happy as if the welcome telegram had been
+addressed to himself. On his way out of the room, he underwent another
+relapse. The footman's audacious breach of trust began to trouble him
+once more: this time in its relation to Mrs. Gallilee. The serious part
+of it was, that the man had acted under his mistress's orders. Mr.
+Gallilee said--he actually said, without appealing to anybody--"If this
+happens again, I shall be obliged to speak to my wife."
+
+The telegram was from Teresa. It had been despatched from Paris that
+evening; and the message was thus expressed:
+
+"Too tired to get on to England by to-night's mail. Shall leave by the
+early train to-morrow morning, and be with you by six o'clock."
+
+Carmina's mind was exactly in the state to feel unmingled relief, at
+the prospect of seeing the dear old friend of her happiest days. She
+laid her head on the pillow that night, without a thought of what might
+follow the event of Teresa's return.
+
+VOLUME THREE
+
+CHAPTER XLII.
+
+The next day--the important Tuesday of the lecture on Matter; the
+delightful Tuesday of Teresa's arrival--brought with it special demands
+on Carmina's pen.
+
+Her first letter was addressed to Frances. It was frankly and earnestly
+written; entreating Miss Minerva to appoint a place at which they might
+meet, and assuring her, in the most affectionate terms, that she was
+still loved, trusted, and admired by her faithful friend. Helped by her
+steadier flow of spirits, Carmina could now see all that was worthiest
+of sympathy and admiration, all that claimed loving submission and
+allowance from herself, in the sacrifice to which Miss Minerva had
+submitted. How bravely the poor governess had controlled the jealous
+misery that tortured her! How nobly she had pronounced Carmina's
+friendship for Carmina's sake!
+
+Later in the day, Marceline took the letter to the flower shop, and
+placed it herself under the cord of one of the boxes still waiting to
+be claimed.
+
+The second letter filled many pages, and occupied the remainder of the
+morning.
+
+With the utmost delicacy, but with perfect truthfulness at the same
+time, Carmina revealed to her betrothed husband the serious reasons
+which had forced her to withdraw herself from his mother's care. Bound
+to speak at last in her own defence, she felt that concealments and
+compromises would be alike unworthy of Ovid and of herself. What she
+had already written to Teresa, she now wrote again--with but one
+modification. She expressed herself forbearingly towards Ovid's mother.
+The closing words of the letter were worthy of Carmina's gentle, just,
+and generous nature.
+
+"You will perhaps say, Why do I only hear now of all that you have
+suffered? My love, I have longed to tell you of it! I have even taken
+up my pen to begin. But I thought of you, and put it down again. How
+selfish, how cruel, to hinder your recovery by causing you sorrow and
+suspense to bring you back perhaps to England before your health was
+restored! I don't regret the effort that it has cost me to keep
+silence. My only sorrow in writing to you is, that I must speak of your
+mother in terms which may lower her in her son's estimation."
+
+Joseph brought the luncheon up to Carmina's room.
+
+The mistress was still at her studies; the master had gone to his club.
+As for the girls, their only teacher for the present was the teacher of
+music. When the ordeal of the lecture and the discussion had been
+passed, Mrs. Gallilee threatened to take Miss Minerva's place herself,
+until a new governess could be found. For once, Maria and Zo showed a
+sisterly similarity in their feelings. It was hard to say which of the
+two looked forward to her learned mother's instruction with the
+greatest terror.
+
+Carmina heard the pupils at the piano, while she was eating her
+luncheon. The profanation of music ceased, when she went into the
+bedroom to get ready for her daily drive.
+
+She took her letter, duly closed and stamped, downstairs with her--to
+be sent to the post with the other letters of the day, placed in the
+hall-basket. In the weakened state of her nerves, the effort that she
+had made in writing to Ovid had shaken her. Her heart beat uneasily;
+her knees trembled, as she descended the stairs.
+
+Arrived in sight of the hall, she discovered a man walking slowly to
+and fro. He turned towards her as she advanced, and disclosed the
+detestable face of Mr. Le Frank.
+
+The music-master's last reserves of patience had come to an end. Watch
+for them as he might, no opportunities had presented themselves of
+renewing his investigation in Carmina's room. In the interval that had
+passed, his hungry suspicion of her had been left to feed on itself.
+The motives for that incomprehensible attempt to make a friend of him
+remained hidden in as thick a darkness as ever. Victim of adverse
+circumstances, he had determined (with the greatest reluctance) to take
+the straightforward course. Instead of secretly getting his information
+from Carmina's journals and letters, he was now reduced to openly
+applying for enlightenment to Carmina herself.
+
+Occupying, for the time being, the position of an honourable man, he
+presented himself at cruel disadvantage. He was not master of his own
+glorious voice; he was without the self-possession indispensable to the
+perfect performance of his magnificent bow. "I have waited to have a
+word with you," he began abruptly, "before you go out for your drive."
+
+Already unnerved, even before she had seen him--painfully conscious
+that she had committed a serious error, on the last occasion when they
+had met, in speaking at all--Carmina neither answered him nor looked at
+him. She bent her head confusedly, and advanced a little nearer to the
+house door.
+
+He at once moved so as to place himself in her way.
+
+"I must request you to call to mind what passed between us," he
+resumed, "when we met by accident some little time since."
+
+He had speculated on frightening her. His insolence stirred her spirit
+into asserting itself. "Let me by, if you please," she said; "the
+carriage is waiting for me."
+
+"The carriage can wait a little longer," he answered coarsely. "On the
+occasion to which I have referred, you were so good as to make
+advances, to which I cannot consider myself as having any claim.
+Perhaps you will favour me by stating your motives?"
+
+"I don't understand you, sir."
+
+"Oh, yes--you do!"
+
+She stepped back, and laid her hand on the bell which rang below
+stairs, in the pantry. "Must I ring?" she said.
+
+It was plain that she would do it, if he moved a step nearer to her. He
+drew aside--with a look which made her tremble. On passing the hall
+table, she placed her letter in the post-basket. His eye followed it,
+as it left her hand: he became suddenly penitent and polite. "I am
+sorry if I have alarmed you," he said, and opened the house-door for
+her--without showing himself to Marceline and the coachman outside.
+
+The carriage having been driven away, he softly closed the door again,
+and returned to the hall-table. He looked into the post-basket.
+
+Was there any danger of discovery by the servants? The footman was
+absent, attending his mistress on her way to the lecture. None of the
+female servants were on the stairs. He took up Carmina's letter, and
+looked at the address: _To Ovid Vere, Esq._
+
+His eyes twinkled furtively; his excellent memory for injuries reminded
+him that Ovid Vere had formerly endeavoured (without even caring to
+conceal it) to prevent Mrs. Gallilee from engaging him as her
+music-master. By subtle links of its own forging, his vindictive nature
+now connected his hatred of the person to whom the letter was
+addressed, with his interest in stealing the letter itself for the
+possible discovery of Carmina's secrets. The clock told him that there
+was plenty of time to open the envelope, and (if the contents proved to
+be of no importance) to close it again, and take it himself to the
+post. After a last look round, he withdrew undiscovered, with the
+letter in his pocket.
+
+On its way back to the house, the carriage was passed by a cab, with a
+man in it, driven at such a furious rate that there was a narrow escape
+of collision. The maid screamed; Carmina turned pale; the coachman
+wondered why the man in the cab was in such a hurry. The man was Mr.
+Mool's head clerk, charged with news for Doctor Benjulia.
+
+CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+The mind of the clerk's master had been troubled by serious doubts,
+after Carmina left his house on Sunday.
+
+Her agitated manner, her strange questions, and her abrupt departure,
+all suggested to Mr. Mool's mind some rash project in contemplation--
+perhaps even the plan of an elopement. To most other men, the obvious
+course to take would have been to communicate with Mrs. Gallilee. But
+the lawyer preserved a vivid remembrance of the interview which had
+taken place at his office. The detestable pleasure which Mrs. Gallilee
+had betrayed in profaning the memory of Carmina's mother, had so
+shocked and disgusted him, that he recoiled from the idea of holding
+any further intercourse with her, no matter how pressing the emergency
+might be. It was possible, after what had passed, that Carmina might
+feel the propriety of making some explanation by letter. He decided to
+wait until the next morning, on the chance of hearing from her.
+
+On the Monday, no letter arrived.
+
+Proceeding to the office, Mr. Mool found, in his
+business-correspondence, enough to occupy every moment of his time. He
+had purposed writing to Carmina, but the idea was now inevitably
+pressed out of his mind. It was only at the close of the day's work
+that he had leisure to think of a matter of greater importance--that is
+to say, of the necessity of discovering Benjulia's friend of other
+days, the Italian teacher Baccani. He left instructions with one of his
+clerks to make inquiries, the next morning, at the shops of foreign
+booksellers. There, and there only, the question might be answered,
+whether Baccani was still living, and living in London.
+
+The inquiries proved successful. On Tuesday afternoon, Baccani's
+address was in Mr. Mool's hands.
+
+Busy as he still was, the lawyer set aside his own affairs, in
+deference to the sacred duty of defending the memory of the dead, and
+to the pressing necessity of silencing Mrs. Gallilee's cruel and
+slanderous tongue. Arrived at Baccani's lodgings, he was informed that
+the language-master had gone to his dinner at a neighbouring
+restaurant. Mr. Mool waited at the lodgings, and sent a note to
+Baccani. In ten minutes more he found himself in the presence of an
+elderly man, of ascetic appearance; whose looks and tones showed him to
+be apt to take offence on small provocation, and more than half ready
+to suspect an eminent solicitor of being a spy.
+
+But Mr. Mool's experience was equal to the call on it. Having fully
+explained the object that he had in view, he left the apology for his
+intrusion to be inferred, and concluded by appealing, in his own modest
+way, to the sympathy of an honourable man.
+
+Silently forming his opinion of the lawyer, while he listened, Baccani
+expressed the conclusion at which he had arrived, in these terms:
+
+"My experience of mankind, sir, has been a bitterly bad one. You have
+improved my opinion of human nature since you entered this room. That
+is not a little thing to say, at my age and in my circumstances."
+
+He bowed gravely, and turned to his bed. From under it, he pulled out a
+clumsy tin box. Having opened the rusty lock with some difficulty, he
+produced a ragged pocket-book, and picked out from it a paper which
+looked like an old letter.
+
+"There," he said, handing the paper to Mr. Mool, "is the statement
+which vindicates this lady's reputation. Before you open the manuscript
+I must tell you how I came by it."
+
+He appeared to feel such embarrassment in approaching the subject, that
+Mr. Mool interposed. "I am already acquainted," he said, "with some of
+the circumstances to which you are about to allude. I happen to know of
+the wager in which the calumny originated, and of the manner in which
+that wager was decided. The events which followed are the only events
+that I need trouble you to describe."
+
+Baccani's grateful sense of relief avowed itself without reserve. "I
+feel your kindness," he said, "almost as keenly as I feel my own
+disgraceful conduct, in permitting a woman's reputation to be made the
+subject of a wager. From whom did you obtain your information?"
+
+"From the person who mentioned your name to me--Doctor Benjulia."
+
+Baccani lifted his hand with a gesture of angry protest.
+
+"Don't speak of him again in my presence!" he burst out. "That man has
+insulted me. When I took refuge from political persecution in this
+country, I sent him my prospectus. From my own humble position as a
+teacher of languages, I looked up without envy to his celebrity among
+doctors; I thought I might remind him, not unfavourably, of our early
+friendship--I, who had done him a hundred kindnesses in those past
+days. He has never taken the slightest notice of me; he has not even
+acknowledged the receipt of my prospectus. Despicable wretch! Let me
+hear no more of him."
+
+"Pray forgive me if I refer to him again--for the last time," Mr. Mool
+pleaded. "Did your acquaintance with him continue, after the question
+of the wager had been settled?"
+
+"No, sir!" Baccani answered sternly. "When I was at leisure to go to
+the club at which we were accustomed to meet, he had left Rome. From
+that time to this--I rejoice to say it--I have never set eyes on him."
+
+The obstacles which had prevented the refutation of the calumny from
+reaching Benjulia were now revealed. Mr. Mool had only to hear, next,
+how that refutation had been obtained. A polite hint sufficed to remind
+Baccani of the explanation that he had promised.
+
+"I am naturally suspicious," he began abruptly; "and I doubted the
+woman when I found that she kept her veil down. Besides, it was not in
+my way of thinking to believe that an estimable married lady could have
+compromised herself with a scoundrel, who had boasted that she was his
+mistress. I waited in the street, until the woman came out. I followed
+her, and saw her meet a man. The two went together to a theatre. I took
+my place near them. She lifted her veil as a matter of course. My
+suspicion of foul play was instantly confirmed. When the performance
+was over, I traced her back to Mr. Robert Graywell's house. He and his
+wife were both absent at a party. I was too indignant to wait till they
+came back. Under the threat of charging the wretch with stealing her
+mistress's clothes, I extorted from her the signed confession which you
+have in your hand. She was under notice to leave her place for insolent
+behaviour. The personation which had been intended to deceive me, was
+an act of revenge; planned between herself and the blackguard who had
+employed her to make his lie look like truth. A more shameless creature
+I never met with. She said to me, 'I am as tall as my mistress, and a
+better figure; and I've often worn her fine clothes on holiday
+occasions.' In your country Mr. Mool, such women--so I am told--are
+ducked in a pond. There is one thing more to add, before you read the
+confession. Mrs. Robert Graywell did imprudently send the man some
+money--in answer to a begging letter artfully enough written to excite
+her pity. A second application was refused by her husband. What
+followed on that, you know already."
+
+Having read the confession, Mr. Mool was permitted to take a copy, and
+to make any use of it which he might think desirable. His one remaining
+anxiety was to hear what had become of the person who had planned the
+deception. "Surely," he said, "that villain has not escaped
+punishment?"
+
+Baccani answered this in his own bitter way.
+
+"My dear sir, how can you ask such a simple question? That sort of man
+always escapes punishment. In the last extreme of poverty his luck
+provides him with somebody to cheat. Common respect for Mrs. Robert
+Graywell closed my lips; and I was the only person acquainted with the
+circumstances. I wrote to our club declaring the fellow to be a
+cheat--and leaving it to be inferred that he cheated at cards. He knew
+better than to insist on my explaining myself--he resigned, and
+disappeared. I dare say he is living still--living in clover on some
+unfortunate woman. The beautiful and the good die untimely deaths.
+_He,_ and his kind, last and live."
+
+Mr. Mool had neither time nor inclination to plead in favour of the
+more hopeful view, which believes in the agreeable fiction called
+"Poetical justice." He tried to express his sense of obligation at
+parting. Baccani refused to listen.
+
+"The obligation is all on my side," he said. "As I have already told
+you, your visit has added a bright day to my calendar. In our
+pilgrimage, my friend, through this world of rogues and fools, we may
+never meet again. Let us remember gratefully that we _have_ met.
+Farewell."
+
+So they parted.
+
+Returning to his office, Mr. Mool attached to the copy of the
+confession a brief statement of the circumstances under which the
+Italian had become possessed of it. He then added these lines,
+addressed to Benjulia:--_"You_ set the false report afloat. I leave it
+to your sense of duty, to decide whether you ought not to go at once to
+Mrs. Gallilee, and tell her that the slander which you repeated is now
+proved to be a lie. If you don't agree with me, I must go to Mrs.
+Gallilee myself. In that case please return, by the bearer, the papers
+which are enclosed."
+
+The clerk instructed to deliver these documents, within the shortest
+possible space of time, found Mr. Mool waiting at the office, on his
+return. He answered his master's inquiries by producing Benjulia's
+reply.
+
+The doctor's amiable humour was still in the ascendant. His success in
+torturing his unfortunate cook had been followed by the receipt of a
+telegram from his friend at Montreal, containing this satisfactory
+answer to his question:--"Not brain disease." With his mind now set
+completely at rest, his instincts as a gentleman were at full liberty
+to control him. "I entirely agree with you," he wrote to Mr. Mool. "I
+go back with your clerk; the cab will drop me at Mrs. Gallilee's
+house."
+
+Mr. Mool turned to the clerk.
+
+"Did you wait to hear if Mrs. Gallilee was at home?" he asked.
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee was absent, sir--attending a lecture."
+
+"What did Doctor Benjulia do?"
+
+"Went into the house, to wait her return."
+
+CHAPTER XLIV.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's page (attending to the house-door, in the footman's
+absence) had just shown Benjulia into the library, when there was
+another ring at the bell. The new visitor was Mr. Le Frank. He appeared
+to be in a hurry. Without any preliminary questions, he said, "Take my
+card to Mrs. Gallilee."
+
+"My mistress is out, sir."
+
+The music-master looked impatiently at the hall-clock. The hall-clock
+answered him by striking the half hour after five.
+
+"Do you expect Mrs. Gallilee back soon?"
+
+"We don't know, sir. The footman had his orders to be in waiting with
+the carriage, at five."
+
+After a moment of irritable reflection, Mr. Le Frank took a letter from
+his pocket. "Say that I have an appointment, and am not able to wait.
+Give Mrs. Gallilee that letter the moment she comes in." With those
+directions he left the house.
+
+The page looked at the letter. It was sealed; and, over the address,
+two underlined words were written:--"Private. Immediate." Mindful of
+visits from tradespeople, anxious to see his mistress, and provided
+beforehand with letters to be delivered immediately, the boy took a
+pecuniary view of Mr. Le Frank's errand at the house. "Another of
+them," he thought, "wanting his money."
+
+As he placed the letter on the hall-table, the library door opened, and
+Benjulia appeared--weary already of waiting, without occupation, for
+Mrs. Gallilee's return.
+
+"Is smoking allowed in the library?" he asked.
+
+The page looked up at the giant towering over him, with the envious
+admiration of a short boy. He replied with a discretion beyond his
+years: "Would you please step into the smoking-room, sir?"
+
+"Anybody there?"
+
+"My master, sir."
+
+Benjulia at once declined the invitation to the smoking-room. "Anybody
+else at home?" he inquired.
+
+Miss Carmina was upstairs--the page answered. "And I think," he added,
+"Mr. Null is with her."
+
+"Who's Mr. Null?"
+
+"The doctor, sir."
+
+Benjulia declined to disturb the doctor. He tried a third, and last
+question.
+
+"Where's Zo?"
+
+"Here!" cried a shrill voice from the upper regions. "Who are You?"
+
+To the page's astonishment, the giant gentleman with the resonant bass
+voice answered this quite gravely. "I'm Benjulia," he said.
+
+"Come up!" cried Zo.
+
+Benjulia ascended the stairs.
+
+"Stop!" shouted the voice from above.
+
+Benjulia stopped.
+
+"Have you got your big stick?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Bring it up with you." Benjulia retraced his steps into the hall. The
+page respectfully handed him his stick. Zo became impatient. "Look
+sharp!" she called out.
+
+Benjulia obediently quickened his pace. Zo left the schoolroom (in
+spite of the faintly-heard protest of the maid in charge) to receive
+him on the stairs. They met on the landing, outside Carmina's room. Zo
+possessed herself of the bamboo cane, and led the way in. "Carmina!
+here's the big stick, I told you about," she announced.
+
+"Whose stick, dear?"
+
+Zo returned to the landing. "Come in, Benjulia," she said--and seized
+him by the coat-tails. Mr. Null rose instinctively. Was this his
+celebrated colleague?
+
+With some reluctance, Carmina appeared at the door; thinking of the day
+when Ovid had fainted, and when the great man had treated her so
+harshly. In fear of more rudeness, she unwillingly asked him to come
+in.
+
+Still immovable on the landing, he looked at her in silence.
+
+The serious question occurred to him which had formerly presented
+itself to Mr. Mool. Had Mrs. Gallilee repeated, in Carmina's presence,
+the lie which slandered her mother's memory--the lie which he was then
+in the house to expose?
+
+Watching Benjulia respectfully, Mr. Null saw, in that grave scrutiny,
+an opportunity of presenting himself under a favourable light. He waved
+his hand persuasively towards Carmina. "Some nervous prostration, sir,
+in my interesting patient, as you no doubt perceive," he began. "Not
+such rapid progress towards recovery as I had hoped. I think of
+recommending the air of the seaside." Benjulia's dreary eyes turned on
+him slowly, and estimated his mental calibre at its exact value, in a
+moment. Mr. Null felt that look in the very marrow of his bones. He
+bowed with servile submission, and took his leave.
+
+In the meantime, Benjulia had satisfied himself that the embarrassment
+in Carmina's manner was merely attributable to shyness. She was now no
+longer an object even of momentary interest to him. He was ready to
+play with Zo--but not on condition of amusing himself with the child,
+in Carmina's presence. "I am waiting till Mrs. Gallilee returns," he
+said to her in his quietly indifferent way. "If you will excuse me,
+I'll go downstairs again; I won't intrude."
+
+Her pale face flushed as she listened to him. Innocently supposing that
+she had made her little offer of hospitality in too cold a manner, she
+looked at Benjulia with a timid and troubled smile. "Pray wait here
+till my aunt comes back," she said. "Zo will amuse you, I'm sure." Zo
+seconded the invitation by hiding the stick, and laying hold again on
+her big friend's coattails.
+
+He let the child drag him into the room, without noticing her. The
+silent questioning of his eyes had been again directed to Carmina, at
+the moment when she smiled.
+
+His long and terrible experience made its own merciless discoveries, in
+the nervous movement of her eyelids and her lips. The poor girl,
+pleasing herself with the idea of having produced the right impression
+on him at last, had only succeeded in becoming an object of medical
+inquiry, pursued in secret. When he companionably took a chair by her
+side, and let Zo climb on his knee, he was privately regretting his
+cold reception of Mr. Null. Under certain conditions of nervous
+excitement, Carmina might furnish an interesting case. "If I had been
+commonly civil to that fawning idiot," he thought, "I might have been
+called into consultation."
+
+They were all three seated--but there was no talk. Zo set the example.
+
+"You haven't tickled me yet," she said. "Show Carmina how you do it."
+
+He gravely operated on the back of Zo's neck; and his patient
+acknowledged the process with a wriggle and a scream. The performance
+being so far at an end, Zo called to the dog, and issued her orders
+once more.
+
+"Now make Tinker kick his leg!"
+
+Benjulia obeyed once again. The young tyrant was not satisfied yet.
+
+"Now tickle Carmina!" she said.
+
+He heard this without laughing: his fleshless lips never relaxed into a
+smile. To Carmina's unutterable embarrassment, he looked at her, when
+she laughed, with steadier attention than ever. Those coldly-inquiring
+eyes exercised some inscrutable influence over her. Now they made her
+angry; and now they frightened her. The silence that had fallen on them
+again, became an unendurable infliction. She burst into talk; she was
+loud and familiar--ashamed of her own boldness, and quite unable to
+control it. "You are very fond of Zo!" she said suddenly.
+
+It was a perfectly commonplace remark--and yet, it seemed to perplex
+him.
+
+"Am I?" he answered.
+
+She went on. Against her own will, she persisted in speaking to him.
+"And I'm sure Zo is fond of you."
+
+He looked at Zo. "Are you fond of me?" he asked.
+
+Zo, staring hard at him, got off his knee; retired to a little distance
+to think; and stood staring at him again.
+
+He quietly repeated the question. Zo answered this time--as she had
+formerly answered Teresa in the Gardens. "I don't know."
+
+He turned again to Carmina, in a slow, puzzled way. "I don't know
+either," he said.
+
+Hearing the big man own that he was no wiser than herself, Zo returned
+to him--without, however, getting on his knee again. She clasped her
+chubby hands under the inspiration of a new idea. "Let's play at
+something," she said to Benjulia. "Do you know any games?"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"Didn't you know any games, when you were only as big as me?"
+
+"I have forgotten them."
+
+"Haven't you got children?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Haven't you got a wife?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Haven't you got a friend?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, you _are_ a miserable chap!"
+
+Thanks to Zo, Carmina's sense of nervous oppression burst its way into
+relief. She laughed loudly and wildly--she was on the verge of
+hysterics, when Benjulia's eyes, silently questioning her again,
+controlled her at the critical moment. Her laughter died away. But the
+exciting influence still possessed her; still forced her into the other
+alternative of saying something--she neither knew nor cared what.
+
+"I couldn't live such a lonely life as yours," she said to him--so
+loudly and so confidently that even Zo noticed it.
+
+"I couldn't live such a life either," he admitted, "but for one thing."
+
+"And what is that?"
+
+"Why are you so loud?" Zo interposed. "Do you think he's deaf?"
+
+Benjulia made a sign, commanding the child to be silent--without
+turning towards her. He answered Carmina as if there had been no
+interruption.
+
+"My medical studies," he said, "reconcile me to my life."
+
+"Suppose you got tired of your studies?" she asked.
+
+"I should never get tired of them."
+
+"Suppose you couldn't study any more?"
+
+"In that case I shouldn't live any more."
+
+"Do you mean that it would kill you to leave off?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then what do you mean?"
+
+He laid his great soft fingers on her pulse. She shrank from his touch;
+he deliberately held her by the arm. "You're getting excited," he said.
+"Never mind what I mean."
+
+Zo, left unnoticed and not liking it, saw a chance of asserting
+herself. "I know why Carmina's excited," she said. "The old woman's
+coming at six o'clock."
+
+He paid no attention to the child; he persisted in keeping watch on
+Carmina. "Who is the woman?" he asked.
+
+"The most lovable woman in the world," she cried; "my dear old nurse!"
+She started up from the sofa, and pointed with theatrical exaggeration
+of gesture to the clock on the mantelpiece. "Look! it's only ten
+minutes to six. In ten minutes, I shall have my arms round Teresa's
+neck. Don't look at me in that way! It's your fault if I'm excited.
+It's your dreadful eyes that do it. Come here, Zo! I want to give you a
+kiss." She seized on Zo with a roughness that startled the child, and
+looked wildly at Benjulia. "Ha! you don't understand loving and
+kissing, do you? What's the use of speaking to _you_ about my old
+nurse?"
+
+He pointed imperatively to the sofa. "Sit down again."
+
+She obeyed him--but he had not quite composed her yet. Her eyes
+sparkled; she went on talking. "Ah, you're a hard man! a miserable man!
+a man that will end badly! You never loved anybody. You don't know what
+love is."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+That icy question cooled her in an instant: her head sank on her bosom:
+she suddenly became indifferent to persons and things about her. "When
+will Teresa come?" she whispered to herself. "Oh, when will Teresa
+come!"
+
+Any other man, whether he really felt for her or not, would, as a mere
+matter of instinct, have said a kind word to her at that moment. Not
+the vestige of a change appeared in Benjulia's impenetrable composure.
+She might have been a man--or a baby--or the picture of a girl instead
+of the girl herself, so far as he was concerned. He quietly returned to
+his question.
+
+"Well," he resumed--"and what is love?"
+
+Not a word, not a movement escaped her.
+
+"I want to know," he persisted, waiting for what might happen.
+
+Nothing happened. He was not perplexed by the sudden change. "This is
+the reaction," he thought. "We shall see what comes of it." He looked
+about him. A bottle of water stood on one of the tables. "Likely to be
+useful," he concluded, "in case she feels faint."
+
+Zo had been listening; Zo saw her way to getting noticed again. Not
+quite sure of herself this time, she appealed to Carmina. "Didn't he
+say, just now, he wanted to know?"
+
+Carmina neither heard nor heeded her. Zo tried Benjulia next. "Shall I
+tell you what we do in the schoolroom, when we want to know?" His
+attention, like Carmina's attention, seemed to be far away from her. Zo
+impatiently reminded him of her presence--she laid her hand on his
+knee.
+
+It was only the hand of a child--an idle, quaint, perverse child--but
+it touched, ignorantly touched, the one tender place in his nature,
+unprofaned by the infernal cruelties which made his life acceptable to
+him; the one tender place, hidden so deep from the man himself, that
+even his far-reaching intellect groped in vain to find it out. There,
+nevertheless, was the feeling which drew him to Zo, contending
+successfully with his medical interest in a case of nervous
+derangement. That unintelligible sympathy with a child looked dimly out
+of his eyes, spoke faintly in his voice, when he replied to her.
+"Well," he said, "what do you do in the schoolroom?"
+
+"We look in the dictionary," Zo answered. "Carmina's got a dictionary.
+I'll get it."
+
+She climbed on a chair, and found the book, and laid it on Benjulia's
+lap. "I don't so much mind trying to spell a word," she explained.
+"What I hate is being asked what it means. Miss Minerva won't let me
+off. She says, Look. _I_ won't let _you_ off. I'm Miss Minerva and
+you're Zo. Look!"
+
+He humoured her silently and mechanically--just as he had humoured her
+in the matter of the stick, and in the matter of the tickling. Having
+opened the dictionary, he looked again at Carmina. She had not moved;
+she seemed to be weary enough to fall asleep. The reaction--nothing but
+the reaction. It might last for hours, or it might be at an end in
+another minute. An interesting temperament, whichever way it ended. He
+opened the dictionary.
+
+"Love?" he muttered grimly to himself. "It seems I'm an object of
+compassion, because I know nothing about love. Well, what does the book
+say about it?"
+
+He found the word, and ran his finger down the paragraphs of
+explanation which followed. "Seven meanings to Love," he remarked.
+"First: An affection of the mind excited by beauty and worth of any
+kind, or by the qualities of an object which communicate pleasure.
+Second: Courtship. Third: Patriotism, as the love of country. Fourth:
+Benevolence. Fifth: The object beloved. Sixth: A word of endearment.
+Seventh: Cupid, the god of love."
+
+He paused, and reflected a little. Zo, hearing nothing to amuse her,
+strayed away to the window, and looked out. He glanced at Carmina.
+
+"Which of those meanings makes the pleasure of her life?" he wondered.
+"Which of them might have made the pleasure of mine?" He closed the
+dictionary in contempt. "The very man whose business is to explain it,
+tries seven different ways, and doesn't explain it after all. And yet,
+there is such a thing." He reached that conclusion unwillingly and
+angrily. For the first time, a doubt about himself forced its way into
+his mind. Might he have looked higher than his torture-table and his
+knife? Had he gained from his life all that his life might have given
+to him?
+
+Left by herself, Zo began to grow tired of it. She tried to get Carmina
+for a companion. "Come and look out of window," she said.
+
+Carmina gently refused: she was unwilling to be disturbed. Since she
+had spoken to Benjulia, her thoughts had been dwelling restfully on
+Ovid. In another day she might be on her way to him. When would Teresa
+come?
+
+Benjulia was too preoccupied to notice her. The weak doubt that had got
+the better of his strong reason, still held him in thrall. "Love!" he
+broke out, in the bitterness of his heart. "It isn't a question of
+sentiment: it's a question of use. Who is the better for love?"
+
+She heard the last words, and answered him. "Everybody is the better
+for it." She looked at him with sorrowful eyes, and laid her hand on
+his arm. "Everybody," she added, "but you."
+
+He smiled scornfully. "Everybody is the better for it," he repeated.
+"And who knows what it is?"
+
+She drew away her hand, and looked towards the heavenly tranquillity of
+the evening sky.
+
+"Who knows what it is?" he reiterated.
+
+"God," she said.
+
+Benjulia was silent.
+
+CHAPTER XLV.
+
+The clock on the mantelpiece struck six. Zo, turning suddenly from the
+window, ran to the sofa. "Here's the carriage!" she cried.
+
+"Teresa!" Carmina exclaimed.
+
+Zo crossed the room, on tiptoe, to the door of the bed-chamber. "It's
+mamma," she said. "Don't tell! I'm going to hide."
+
+"Why, dear?"
+
+The answer to this was given mysteriously in a whisper. "She said I
+wasn't to come to you. She's a quick one on her legs--she might catch
+me on the stairs." With that explanation, Zo slipped into the bedroom,
+and held the door ajar.
+
+The minutes passed--and Mrs. Gallilee failed to justify the opinion
+expressed by her daughter. Not a sound was audible on the stairs. Not a
+word more was uttered in the room. Benjulia had taken the child's place
+at the window. He sat there thinking. Carmina had suggested to him some
+new ideas, relating to the intricate connection between human faith and
+human happiness. Slowly, slowly, the clock recorded the lapse of
+minutes. Carmina's nervous anxiety began to forecast disaster to the
+absent nurse. She took Teresa's telegram from her pocket, and consulted
+it again. There was no mistake; six o'clock was the time named for the
+traveller's arrival--and it was close on ten minutes past the hour. In
+her ignorance of railway arrangements, she took it for granted that
+trains were punctual. But her reading had told her that trains were
+subject to accident. "I suppose delays occur," she said to Benjulia,
+"without danger to the passengers?"
+
+Before he could answer--Mrs. Gallilee suddenly entered the room.
+
+She had opened the door so softly, that she took them both by surprise.
+To Carmina's excited imagination, she glided into their presence like a
+ghost. Her look and manner showed serious agitation, desperately
+suppressed. In certain places, the paint and powder on her face had
+cracked, and revealed the furrows and wrinkles beneath. Her hard eyes
+glittered; her laboured breathing was audible.
+
+Indifferent to all demonstrations of emotion which did not
+scientifically concern him, Benjulia quietly rose and advanced towards
+her. She seemed to be unconscious of his presence. He spoke--allowing
+her to ignore him without troubling himself to notice her temper. "When
+you are able to attend to me, I want to speak to you. Shall I wait
+downstairs?" He took his hat and stick--to leave the room; looked at
+Carmina as he passed her; and at once went back to his place at the
+window. Her aunt's silent and sinister entrance had frightened her.
+Benjulia waited, in the interests of physiology, to see how the new
+nervous excitement would end.
+
+Thus far, Mrs. Gallilee had kept one of her hands hidden behind her.
+She advanced close to Carmina, and allowed her hand to be seen. It held
+an open letter. She shook the letter in her niece's face.
+
+In the position which Mrs. Gallilee now occupied, Carmina was hidden,
+for the moment, from Benjulia's view. Biding his time at the window, he
+looked out.
+
+A cab, with luggage on it, had just drawn up at the house.
+
+Was this the old nurse who had been expected to arrive at six o'clock?
+
+The footman came out to open the cab-door. He was followed by Mr.
+Gallilee, eager to help the person inside to alight. The traveller
+proved to be a grey-headed woman, shabbily dressed. Mr. Gallilee
+cordially shook hands with her--patted her on the shoulder--gave her
+his arm--led her into the house. The cab with the luggage on it
+remained at the door. The nurse had evidently not reached the end of
+her journey yet.
+
+Carmina shrank back on the sofa, when the leaves of the letter touched
+her face. Mrs. Gallilee's first words were now spoken, in a whisper.
+The inner fury of her anger, struggling for a vent, began to get the
+better of her--she gasped for breath and speech.
+
+"Do you know this letter?" she said.
+
+Carmina looked at the writing. It was the letter to Ovid, which she had
+placed in the post-basket that afternoon; the letter which declared
+that she could no longer endure his mother's cold-blooded cruelty, and
+that she only waited Teresa's arrival to join him at Quebec.
+
+After one dreadful moment of confusion, her mind realised the outrage
+implied in the stealing and reading of her letter.
+
+In the earlier time of Carmina's sojourn in the house, Mrs. Gallilee
+had accused her of deliberate deceit. She had instantly resented the
+insult by leaving the room. The same spirit in her--the finely-strung
+spirit that vibrates unfelt in gentle natures, while they live in
+peace--steadied those quivering nerves, roused that failing courage.
+She met the furious eyes fixed on her, without shrinking; she spoke
+gravely and firmly. "The letter is mine," she said. "How did you come
+by it?"
+
+"How dare you ask me?"
+
+"How dare _you_ steal my letter?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee tore open the fastening of her dress at the throat, to
+get breath. "You impudent bastard!" she burst out, in a frenzy of rage.
+
+Waiting patiently at the window, Benjulia heard her. "Hold your damned
+tongue!" he cried. "She's your niece."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee turned on him: her fury broke into a screaming laugh. "My
+niece?" she repeated. "You lie--and you know it! She's the child of an
+adulteress! She's the child of her mother's lover!"
+
+The door opened as those horrible words passed her lips. The nurse and
+her husband entered the room.
+
+She was in no position to see them: she was incapable of hearing them.
+The demon in her urged her on: she attempted to reiterate the
+detestable falsehood. Her first word died away in silence. The lean
+brown fingers of the Italian woman had her by the throat--held her as
+the claws of a tigress might have held her. Her eyes rolled in the mute
+agony of an appeal for help. In vain! in vain! Not a cry, not a sound,
+had drawn attention to the attack. Her husband's eyes were fixed,
+horror-struck, on the victim of her rage. Benjulia had crossed the room
+to the sofa, when Carmina heard the words spoken of her mother. From
+that moment, he was watching the case. Mr. Gallilee alone looked
+round--when the nurse tightened her hold in a last merciless grasp;
+dashed the insensible woman on the floor; and, turning back, fell on
+her knees at her darling's feet.
+
+She looked up in Carmina's face.
+
+A ghastly stare, through half-closed eyes, showed death in life,
+blankly returning her look. The shock had struck Carmina with a stony
+calm. She had not started, she had not swooned. Rigid, immovable, there
+she sat; voiceless and tearless; insensible even to touch; her arms
+hanging down; her clenched hands resting on either side of her.
+
+Teresa grovelled and groaned at her feet. Those ferocious hands that
+had laid the slanderer prostrate on the floor, feebly beat her bosom
+and her gray head. "Oh, Saints beloved of God! Oh, blessed Virgin,
+mother of Christ, spare my child, my sweet child!" She rose in wild
+despair--she seized Benjulia, and madly shook him. "Who are you? How
+dare you touch her? Give her to me, or I'll be the death of you. Oh, my
+Carmina, is it sleep that holds you? Wake! wake! wake!"
+
+"Listen to me," said Benjulia, sternly.
+
+She dropped on the sofa by Carmina's side, and lifted one of the cold
+clenched hands to her lips. The tears fell slowly over her haggard
+face. "I am very fond of her, sir," she said humbly. "I'm only an old
+woman. See what a dreadful welcome my child gives to me. It's hard on
+an old woman--hard on an old woman!"
+
+His self-possession was not disturbed--even by this.
+
+"Do you know what I am?" he asked. "I am a doctor. Leave her to me."
+
+"He's a doctor. That's good. A doctor's good. Yes, yes. Does the old
+man know this doctor--the kind old man?" She looked vacantly for Mr.
+Gallilee. He was bending over his wife, sprinkling water on her deathly
+face.
+
+Teresa got on her feet, and pointed to Mrs. Gallilee. "The breath of
+that She-Devil poisons the air," she said. "I must take my child out of
+it. To my place, sir, if you please. Only to my place."
+
+She attempted to lift Carmina from the sofa--and drew back,
+breathlessly watching her. Her rigid face faintly relaxed; her eyelids
+closed, and quivered.
+
+Mr. Gallilee looked up from his wife. "Will one of you help me?" he
+asked. His tone struck Benjulia. It was the hushed tone of sorrow--no
+more.
+
+"I'll see to it directly." With that reply, Benjulia turned to Teresa.
+"Where is your place?" he said. "Far or near?"
+
+"The message," she answered confusedly. "The message says." She signed
+to him to look in her hand-bag--dropped on the floor.
+
+He found Carmina's telegram, containing the address of the lodgings.
+The house was close by. After some consideration, he sent the nurse
+into the bedroom, with instructions to bring him the blankets off the
+bed. In the minute that followed, he examined Mrs. Gallilee. "There's
+nothing to be frightened about. Let her maid attend to her."
+
+Mr. Gallilee again surprised Benjulia. He turned from his wife, and
+looked at Carmina. "For God's sake, don't leave her here!" he broke
+out. "After what she has heard, this house is no place for her. Give
+her to the old nurse!"
+
+Benjulia only answered, as he had answered already--"I'll see to it."
+Mr. Gallilee persisted. "Is there any risk in moving her?" he asked.
+
+"It's the least of two risks. No more questions! Look to your wife."
+
+Mr. Gallilee obeyed in silence.
+
+When he lifted his head again, and rose to ring the bell for the maid,
+the room was silent and lonely. A little pale frightened face peeped
+out through the bedroom door. Zo ventured in. Her father caught her in
+his arms, and kissed her as he had never kissed her yet. His eyes were
+wet with tears. Zo noticed that he never said a word about mamma. The
+child saw the change in her father, as Benjulia had seen it. She shared
+one human feeling with her big friend--she, too, was surprised.
+
+CHAPTER XLVI.
+
+THE first signs of reviving life had begun to appear, when Marceline
+answered the bell. In a few minutes more, it was possible to raise Mrs.
+Gallilee and to place her on the sofa. Having so far assisted the
+servant, Mr. Gallilee took Zo by the hand, and drew back. Daunted by
+the terrible scene which she had witnessed from her hiding-place, the
+child stood by her father's side in silence. The two waited together,
+watching Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+She looked wildly round the room. Discovering that she was alone with
+the members of her family, she became composed: her mind slowly
+recovered its balance. Her first thought was for herself.
+
+"Has that woman disfigured me?" she said to the maid.
+
+Knowing nothing of what had happened, Marceline was at a loss to
+understand her. "Bring me a glass," she said. The maid found a
+hand-glass in the bedroom, and presented it to her. She looked at
+herself--and drew a long breath of relief. That first anxiety at an
+end, she spoke to her husband.
+
+"Where is Carmina?"
+
+"Out of the house--thank God!"
+
+The answer seemed to bewilder her: she appealed to Marceline.
+
+"Did he say, thank God?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am."
+
+"Can _you_ tell me nothing? Who knows where Carmina has gone?"
+
+"Joseph knows, ma'am. He heard Dr. Benjulia give the address to the
+cabman." With that answer, she turned anxiously to her master. "Is Miss
+Carmina seriously ill, sir?"
+
+Her mistress spoke again, before Mr. Gallilee could reply. "Marceline!
+send Joseph up here."
+
+"No," said Mr. Gallilee.
+
+His wife eyed him with astonishment. "Why not?" she asked.
+
+He said quietly, "I forbid it."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee addressed herself to the maid. "Go to my room, and bring
+me another bonnet and a veil. Stop!" She tried to rise, and sank back.
+"I must have something to strengthen me. Get the sal volatile."
+
+Marceline left the room. Mr. Gallilee followed her as far as the
+door--still leading his little daughter.
+
+"Go back, my dear, to your sister in the schoolroom," he said. "I am
+distressed, Zo; be a good girl, and you will console me. Say the same
+to Maria. It will be dull for you, I am afraid. Be patient, my child,
+and try to bear it for a while."
+
+"May I whisper something?" said Zo. "Will Carmina die?"
+
+"God forbid!"
+
+"Will they bring her back here?"
+
+In her eagerness, the child spoke above a whisper. Mrs. Gallilee heard
+the question, and answered it.
+
+"They will bring Carmina back," she said, "the moment I can get out."
+
+Zo looked at her father. "Do _you_ say that?" she asked.
+
+He shook his head gravely, and told her again to go to the schoolroom.
+On the first landing she stopped, and looked back. "I'll be good,
+papa," she said--and went on up the stairs.
+
+Having reached the schoolroom, she became the object of many
+questions--not one of which she answered. Followed by the dog, she sat
+down in a corner. "What are you thinking about?" her sister inquired.
+This time she was willing to reply. "I'm thinking about Carmina."
+
+Mr. Gallilee closed the door when Zo left him. He took a chair, without
+speaking to his wife or looking at her.
+
+"What are you here for?" she asked.
+
+"I must wait," he said.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"To see what you do."
+
+Marceline returned, and administered a dose of sal volatile.
+Strengthened by the stimulant, Mrs. Gallilee was able to rise. "My head
+is giddy," she said, as she took the maid's arm; "but I think I can get
+downstairs with your help."
+
+Mr. Gallilee silently followed them out.
+
+At the head of the stairs the giddiness increased. Firm as her
+resolution might be, it gave way before the bodily injury which Mrs.
+Gallilee had received. Her husband's help was again needed to take her
+to her bedroom. She stopped them at the ante-chamber; still obstinately
+bent on following her own designs. "I shall be better directly," she
+said; "put me on the sofa." Marceline relieved her of her bonnet and
+veil, and asked respectfully if there was any other service required.
+She looked defiantly at her husband, and reiterated the order--"Send
+for Joseph." Intelligent resolution is sometimes shaken; the inert
+obstinacy of a weak creature, man or animal, is immovable. Mr. Gallilee
+dismissed the maid with these words: "You needn't wait, my good
+girl--I'll speak to Joseph myself, downstairs."
+
+His wife heard him with amazement and contempt. "Are you in your right
+senses?" she asked.
+
+He paused on his way out. "You were always hard and headstrong," he
+said sadly; "I knew that. A cleverer man than I am might--I suppose
+it's possible--a clear-headed man might have found out how wicked you
+are." She lay, thinking; indifferent to anything he could say to her.
+"Are you not ashamed?" he asked wonderingly. "And not even sorry?" She
+paid no heed to him. He left her.
+
+Descending to the hall, he was met by Joseph. "Doctor Benjulia has come
+back, sir. He wishes to see you."
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+"In the library."
+
+"Wait, Joseph; I have something to say to you. If your mistress asks
+where they have taken Miss Carmina, you mustn't--this is my order,
+Joseph--you mustn't tell her. If you have mentioned it to any of the
+other servants--it's quite likely they may have asked you, isn't it?"
+he said, falling into his old habit for a moment. "If you have
+mentioned it to the others," he resumed, _"they_ mustn't tell her.
+That's all, my good man; that's all."
+
+To his own surprise, Joseph found himself regarding his master with a
+feeling of respect. Mr. Gallilee entered the library.
+
+"How is she?" he asked, eager for news of Carmina.
+
+"The worse for being moved," Benjulia replied. "What about your wife?"
+
+Answering that question, Mr. Gallilee mentioned the precautions that he
+had taken to keep the secret of Teresa's address.
+
+"You need be under no anxiety about that," said Benjulia. "I have left
+orders that Mrs. Gallilee is not to be admitted. There is a serious
+necessity for keeping her out. In these cases of partial catalepsy,
+there is no saying when the change may come. When it does come, I won't
+answer for her niece's reason, if those two see each other again. Send
+for you own medical man. The girl is his patient, and he is the person
+on whom the responsibility rests. Let the servant take my card to him
+directly. We can meet in consultation at the house."
+
+He wrote a line on one of his visiting cards. It was at once sent to
+Mr. Null.
+
+"There's another matter to be settled before I go," Benjulia proceeded.
+"Here are some papers, which I have received from your lawyer, Mr.
+Moot. They relate to a slander, which your wife unfortunately
+repeated--"
+
+Mr. Gallilee got up from his chair. "Don't take my mind back to
+that--pray don't!" he pleaded earnestly. "I can't bear it, Doctor
+Benjulia--I can't bear it! Please to excuse my rudeness: it isn't
+intentional--I don't know myself what's the matter with me. I've always
+led a quiet life, sir; I'm not fit for such things as these. Don't
+suppose I speak selfishly. I'll do what I can, if you will kindly spare
+me."
+
+He might as well have appealed to the sympathy of the table at which
+they were sitting. Benjulia was absolutely incapable of understanding
+the state of mind which those words revealed.
+
+"Can you take these papers to your wife?" he asked. "I called here this
+evening--being the person to blame--to set the matter right. As it is,
+I leave her to make the discovery for herself. I desire to hold no more
+communication with your wife. Have you anything to say to me before I
+go?"
+
+"Only one thing. Is there any harm in my calling at the house, to ask
+how poor Carmina goes on?"
+
+"Ask as often as you like--provided Mrs. Gallilee doesn't accompany
+you. If she's obstinate, it may not be amiss to give your wife a word
+of warning. In my opinion, the old nurse is not likely to let her off,
+next time, with her life. I've had a little talk with that curious
+foreign savage. I said, 'You have committed, what we consider in
+England, a murderous assault. If Mrs. Gallilee doesn't mind the public
+exposure, you may find yourself in a prison.' She snapped her fingers
+in my face. 'Suppose I find myself with the hangman's rope round my
+neck,' she said, 'what do I care, so long as Carmina is safe from her
+aunt?' After that pretty answer, she sat down by her girl's bedside,
+and burst out crying."
+
+Mr. Gallilee listened absently: his mind still dwelt on Carmina.
+
+"I meant well," he said, "when I asked you to take her out of this
+house. It's no wonder if _I_ was wrong. What I am too stupid to
+understand is--why _you_ allowed her to be moved."
+
+Benjulia listened with a grim smile; Mr. Gallilee's presumption amused
+him.
+
+"I wonder whether there was any room left for memory, when nature
+furnished your narrow little head," he answered pleasantly. "Didn't I
+say that moving her was the least of two risks? And haven't I just
+warned you of what might have happened, if we had left your wife and
+her niece together in the same house? When I do a thing at my time of
+life, Mr. Gallilee--don't think me conceited--I know why I do it."
+
+While he was speaking of himself in these terms, he might have said
+something more. He might have added, that his dread of the loss of
+Carmina's reason really meant his dread of a commonplace termination to
+an exceptionally interesting case. He might also have acknowledged,
+that he was not yielding obedience to the rules of professional
+etiquette, in confiding the patient to her regular medical attendant,
+but following the selfish suggestions of his own critical judgment.
+
+His experience, brief as it had been, had satisfied him that stupid Mr.
+Null's course of action could be trusted to let the instructive
+progress of the malady proceed. Mr. Null would treat the symptoms in
+perfect good faith--without a suspicion of the nervous hysteria which,
+in such a constitution as Carmina's, threatened to establish itself, in
+course of time, as the hidden cause. These motives--not only excused,
+but even ennobled, by their scientific connection with the interests of
+Medical Research--he might have avowed, under more favourable
+circumstances. While his grand discovery was still barely within reach,
+Doctor Benjulia stood committed to a system of diplomatic reserve,
+which even included simple Mr. Gallilee.
+
+He took his hat and stick, and walked out into the hall. "Can I be of
+further use?" he asked carelessly. "You will hear about the patient
+from Mr. Null."
+
+"You won't desert Carmina?" said Mr. Gallilee. "You will see her
+yourself, from time to time--won't you?"
+
+"Don't be afraid; I'll look after her." He spoke sincerely in saying
+this. Carmina's case had already suggested new ideas. Even the
+civilised savage of modern physiology (where his own interests are
+concerned) is not absolutely insensible to a feeling of gratitude.
+
+Mr. Gallilee opened the door for him.
+
+"By the-bye," he added, as he stepped out, "what's become of Zo?"
+
+"She's upstairs, in the schoolroom."
+
+He made one of his dreary jokes. "Tell her, when she wants to be
+tickled again, to let me know. Good-evening!"
+
+Mr. Gallilee returned to the upper part of the house, with the papers
+left by Benjulia in his hand. Arriving at the dressing-room door, he
+hesitated. The papers were enclosed in a sealed envelope, addressed to
+his wife. Secured in this way from inquisitive eyes, there was no
+necessity for personally presenting them. He went on to the schoolroom,
+and beckoned to the parlour-maid to come out, and speak to him.
+
+Having instructed her to deliver the papers--telling her mistress that
+they had been left at the house by Doctor Benjulia--he dismissed the
+woman from duty. "You needn't return," he said; "I'll look after the
+children myself."
+
+Maria was busy with her book; and even idle Zo was employed!
+
+She was writing at her own inky desk; and she looked up in confusion,
+when her father appeared. Unsuspicious Mr. Gallilee took if for granted
+that his favourite daughter was employed on a writing lesson--following
+Maria's industrious example for once. "Good children!" he said, looking
+affectionately from one to the other. "I won't disturb you; go on." He
+took a chair, satisfied--comforted, even--to be in the same room with
+the girls.
+
+If he had placed himself nearer to the desk, he might have seen that Zo
+had been thinking of Carmina to some purpose.
+
+What could she do to make her friend and playfellow well and happy
+again? There was the question which Zo asked herself, after having seen
+Carmina carried insensible out of the room.
+
+Possessed of that wonderful capacity for minute observation of the
+elder persons about them, which is one among the many baffling
+mysteries presented by the minds of children, Zo had long since
+discovered that the member of the household, preferred to all others by
+Carmina, was the good brother who had gone away and left them. In his
+absence, she was always talking of him--and Zo had seen her kiss his
+photograph before she put it back in the case.
+
+Dwelling on these recollections, the child's slowly-working mental
+process arrived more easily than usual at the right conclusion. The way
+to make Carmina well and happy again, was to bring Ovid back. One of
+the two envelopes which he had directed for her still remained--waiting
+for the letter which might say to him, "Come home!"
+
+Zo determined to write that letter--and to do it at once.
+
+She might have confided this design to her father (the one person
+besides Carmina who neither scolded her nor laughed at her) if Mr.
+Gallilee had distinguished himself by his masterful position in the
+house. But she had seen him, as everybody else had seen him, "afraid of
+mamma." The doubt whether he might not "tell mamma," decided her on
+keeping her secret. As the event proved, the one person who informed
+Ovid of the terrible necessity that existed for his return, was the
+little sister whom it had been his last kind effort to console when he
+left England.
+
+When Mr. Gallilee entered the room, Zo had just reached the end of her
+letter. Her system of composition excluded capitals and stops; and
+reduced all the words in the English language, by a simple process of
+abridgment, to words of one syllable.
+
+
+_"dear ov you come back car is ill she wants you be quick be quick
+don't say I writ this miss min is gone I hate books I like you zo."_
+
+
+With the pen still in her hand, the wary writer looked round at her
+father. She had her directed envelope (sadly crumpled) in her pocket;
+but she was afraid to take it out. "Maria," she thought, "would know
+what to do in my place. Horrid Maria!"
+
+Fortune, using the affairs of the household as an instrument,
+befriended Zo. In a minute more her opportunity arrived. The
+parlour-maid unexpectedly returned. She addressed Mr. Gallilee with the
+air of mystery in which English servants, in possession of a message,
+especially delight. "If you please, sir, Joseph wishes to speak to
+you."
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+"Outside, sir."
+
+"Tell him to come in."
+
+Thanks to the etiquette of the servants' hall--which did not permit
+Joseph to present himself, voluntarily, in the regions above the
+drawing-room, without being first represented by an ambassadress--
+attention was now diverted from the children. Zo folded her letter,
+enclosed it in the envelope, and hid it in her pocket.
+
+Joseph appeared. "I beg your pardon, sir, I don't quite know whether I
+ought to disturb my mistress. Mr. Le Frank has called, and asked if he
+can see her."
+
+Mr. Gallilee consulted the parlour-maid. "Was your mistress asleep when
+I sent you to her?"
+
+"No, sir. She told me to bring her a cup of tea."
+
+On those rare former occasions, when Mrs. Gallilee had been ill, her
+attentive husband never left it to the servants to consult her wishes.
+That time had gone by for ever.
+
+"Tell your mistress, Joseph, that Mr. Le Frank is here."
+
+CHAPTER XLVII.
+
+The slander on which Mrs. Gallilee had reckoned, as a means of
+separating Ovid and Carmina, was now a slander refuted by unanswerable
+proof. And the man whose exertions had achieved this result, was her
+own lawyer--the agent whom she had designed to employ, in asserting
+that claim of the guardian over the ward which Teresa had defied.
+
+As a necessary consequence, the relations between Mr. Mool and herself
+were already at an end.
+
+There she lay helpless--her authority set at naught; her person
+outraged by a brutal attack--there she lay, urged to action by every
+reason that a resolute woman could have for asserting her power, and
+avenging her wrong--without a creature to take her part, without an
+accomplice to serve her purpose.
+
+She got on her feet, with the resolution of despair. Her heart
+sank--the room whirled round her--she dropped back on the sofa. In a
+recumbent position, the giddiness subsided. She could ring the
+hand-bell on the table at her side. "Send instantly for Mr. Null," she
+said to the maid. "If he is out, let the messenger follow him, wherever
+he may be."
+
+The messenger came back with a note. Mr. Null would call on Mrs.
+Gallilee as soon as possible. He was then engaged in attendance on Miss
+Carmina.
+
+At that discovery, Mrs. Gallilee's last reserves of independent
+resolution gave way. The services of her own medical attendant were
+only at her disposal, when Carmina had done with him! At the top of his
+letter the address, which she had thus far tried vainly to discover,
+stared her in the face: the house was within five minutes' walk--and
+she was not even able to cross the room! For the first time in her
+life, Mrs. Gallilee's imperious spirit acknowledged defeat. For the
+first time in her life, she asked herself the despicable question: Who
+can I find to help me?
+
+Someone knocked at the door.
+
+"Who is it?" she cried.
+
+Joseph's voice answered her. "Mr. Le Frank has called, ma'am--and
+wishes to know if you can see him."
+
+She never stopped to think. She never even sent for the maid to see to
+her personal appearance. The horror of her own helplessness drove her
+on. Here was the man, whose timely betrayal of Carmina had stopped her
+on her way to Ovid, in the nick of time! Here was the self-devoted
+instrument, waiting to be employed.
+
+"I'll see Mr. Le Frank," she said. "Show him up."
+
+The music-master looked round the obscurely lit room, and bowed to the
+recumbent figure on the sofa.
+
+"I fear I disturb you, madam, at an inconvenient time."
+
+"I am suffering from illness, Mr. Le Frank; but I am able to receive
+you--as you see."
+
+She stopped there. Now, when she saw him, and heard him, some perverse
+hesitation in her began to doubt him. Now, when it was too late, she
+weakly tried to put herself on her guard. What a decay of energy (she
+felt it herself) in the ready and resolute woman, equal to any
+emergency at other times! "To what am I to attribute the favour of your
+visit?" she resumed.
+
+Even her voice failed her: it faltered in spite of her efforts to
+steady it. Mr. Le Frank's vanity drew its own encouraging conclusion
+from this one circumstance.
+
+"I am anxious to know how I stand in your estimation," he replied.
+"Early this evening, I left a few lines here, enclosing a letter--with
+my compliments. Have you received the letter?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Have you read it?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee hesitated. Mr. Le Frank smiled.
+
+"I won't trouble you, madam, for any more direct reply," he said; "I
+will speak plainly. Be so good as to tell me plainly, on your side,
+which I am--a man who has disgraced himself by stealing a letter? or a
+man who has distinguished himself by doing you a service?"
+
+An unpleasant alternative, neatly defined! To disavow Mr. Le Frank or
+to use Mr. Le Frank--there was the case for Mrs. Gallilee's
+consideration. She was incapable of pronouncing judgment; the mere
+effort of decision, after what she had suffered, fatigued and irritated
+her. "I can't deny," she said, with weary resignation, "that you have
+done me a service."
+
+He rose, and made a generous return for the confidence that had been
+placed in him--he repeated his magnificent bow, and sat down again.
+
+"Our position towards each other seems too plain to be mistaken," he
+proceeded. "Your niece's letter--perfectly useless for the purpose with
+which I opened it--offers me a means of being even with Miss Carmina,
+and a chance of being useful to You. Shall I begin by keeping an eye on
+the young lady?"
+
+"Is that said, Mr. Le Frank, out of devotion to me?"
+
+"My devotion to you might wear out," he answered audaciously. "You may
+trust my feeling towards your niece to last--I never forget an injury.
+Is it indiscreet to inquire how you mean to keep Miss Carmina from
+joining her lover in Quebec? Does a guardian's authority extend to
+locking her up in her room?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee felt the underlying familiarity in these
+questions--elaborately concealed as it was under an assumption of
+respect.
+
+"My niece is no longer in my house," she answered coldly.
+
+"Gone!" cried Mr. Le Frank.
+
+She corrected the expression. "Removed," she said, and dropped the
+subject there.
+
+Mr. Le Frank took the subject up again. "Removed, I presume, under the
+care of her nurse?" he rejoined.
+
+The nurse? What did he know about the nurse? "May I ask--?" Mrs.
+Gallilee began.
+
+He smiled indulgently, and stopped her there. "You are not quite
+yourself to-night," he said. "Permit me to remind you that your niece's
+letter to Mr. Ovid Vere is explicit, and that I took the liberty of
+reading it before I left it at your house."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee listened in silence, conscious that she had committed
+another error. She had carefully excluded from her confidence a man who
+was already in possession of her secrets! Mr. Le Frank's courteous
+sympathy forbade him to take advantage of the position of superiority
+which he now held.
+
+"I will do myself the honour of calling again," he said, "when you are
+better able to place the right estimate on my humble offers of service.
+I wouldn't fatigue you, Mrs. Gallilee, for the world! At the same time,
+permit me to put one last question which ought not to be delayed. When
+Miss Carmina left you, did she take away her writing-desk and her
+keys?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Allow me to suggest that she may send for them at any moment."
+
+Before it was possible to ask for an explanation, Joseph presented
+himself again. Mr. Null was waiting downstairs. Mrs. Gallilee arranged
+that he should be admitted when she rang her bell. Mr. Le Frank
+approached the sofa, when they were alone, and returned to his
+suggestion in a whisper.
+
+"Surely, you see the importance of using your niece's keys?" he
+resumed. "We don't know what correspondence may have been going on, in
+which the nurse and the governess have been concerned. After we have
+already intercepted a letter, hesitation is absurd! You are not equal
+to the effort yourself. I know the room. Don't be afraid of discovery;
+I have a naturally soft footfall--and my excuse is ready, if somebody
+else has a soft footfall too. Leave it to me."
+
+He lit a candle as he spoke. But for that allusion to the nurse, Mrs.
+Gallilee might have ordered him to blow it out again. Eager for any
+discovery which might, by the barest possibility, place Teresa at her
+mercy, she silently submitted to Mr. Le Frank. "I'll call to-morrow,"
+he said--and slipped out of the room.
+
+When Mr. Null was announced, Mrs. Gallilee pushed up the shade over the
+globe of the lamp. Her medical attendant's face might be worth
+observing, under a clear light.
+
+His timid look, his confused manner, when he made the conventional
+apologies, told her at once that Teresa had spoken, and that he knew
+what had happened. Even he had never before been so soothing and so
+attentive. But he forgot, or he was afraid, to consult appearances by
+asking what was the matter, before he felt the pulse, and took the
+temperature, and wrote his prescription. Not a word was uttered by Mrs.
+Gallilee, until the medical formalities came to an end. "Is there
+anything more that I can do?" he asked.
+
+"You can tell me," she said, "when I shall be well again."
+
+Mr. Null was polite; Mr. Null was sympathetic. Mrs. Gallilee might be
+herself again in a day or two--or Mrs. Gallilee might be unhappily
+confined to her room for some little time. He had hope in his
+prescription, and hope in perfect quiet and repose--he would suggest
+the propriety of going to bed at once, and would not fail to call early
+the next morning.
+
+"Sit down again," said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+Mr. Null turned pale. He foresaw what was coming.
+
+"You have been in attendance on Miss Carmina. I wish to know what her
+illness is."
+
+Mr. Null began to prevaricate at the outset. "The case causes us
+serious anxiety. The complications are formidable. Doctor Benjulia
+himself--"
+
+"In plain words, Mr. Null, can she be moved?"
+
+This produced a definite answer. "Quite impossible."
+
+She only ventured to put her next question after waiting a little to
+control herself.
+
+"Is that foreign woman, the nurse--the only nurse--in attendance?"
+
+"Don't speak of her, Mrs. Gallilee! A dreadful woman; coarse, furious,
+a perfect savage. When I suggested a second nurse--"
+
+"I understand. You asked just now if you could do anything for me. You
+can do me a great service--you can recommend me a trustworthy lawyer."
+
+Mr. Null was surprised. As the old medical attendant of the family, he
+was not unacquainted with the legal adviser. He mentioned Mr. Mool's
+name.
+
+"Mr. Mool has forfeited my confidence," Mrs. Gallilee announced. "Can
+you, or can you not, recommend a lawyer?"
+
+"Oh, certainly! My own lawyer."
+
+"You will find writing materials on the table behind me. I won't keep
+you more than five minutes. I want you to write from my dictation."
+
+"My dear lady, in your present condition--"
+
+"Do as I tell you! My head is quiet while I lie down. Even a woman in
+my condition can say what she means to do. I shall not close my eyes
+tonight, unless I can feel that I have put that wretch in her right
+place. Who are your lawyers?"
+
+Mr. Null mentioned the names, and took up his pen.
+
+"Introduce me in the customary form," Mrs. Gallilee proceeded; "and
+then refer the lawyers to my brother's Will. Is it done?"
+
+In due time it was done.
+
+"Tell them next, how my niece has been taken away from me, and where
+she has been taken to."
+
+To the best of his ability, Mr. Null complied.
+
+"Now," said Mrs. Gallilee, "write what I mean to do!"
+
+The prospect of being revenged on Teresa revived her. For the moment,
+at least, she almost looked like herself again.
+
+Mr. Null turned over to a new leaf, with a hand that trembled a little.
+The dictating voice pronounced these words:
+
+"I forbid the woman Teresa to act in the capacity of nurse to Miss
+Carmina, and even to enter the room in which that young lady is now
+lying ill. I further warn this person, that my niece will be restored
+to my care, the moment her medical attendants allow her to be removed.
+And I desire my legal advisers to assert my authority, as guardian,
+to-morrow morning."
+
+Mr. Null finished his task in silent dismay. He took out his
+handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
+
+"Is there any very terrible effort required in saying those few
+words--even to a shattered creature like me?" Mrs. Gallilee asked
+bitterly. "Let me hear that the lawyers have got their instructions,
+when you come to-morrow; and give me the name and address of a nurse
+whom you can thoroughly recommend. Good-night!"
+
+At last, Mr. Null got away. As he softly closed the dressing-room door,
+the serious question still dwelt on his mind: What would Teresa do?
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII.
+
+Even in the welcome retirement of the school-room, Mr. Gallilee's mind
+was not at ease. He was troubled by a question entirely new to him--the
+question of himself, in the character of husband and father.
+
+Accustomed through long years of conjugal association to look up to his
+wife as a superior creature, he was now conscious that her place in his
+estimation had been lost, beyond recovery. If he considered next what
+ought to be done with Maria and Zo, he only renewed his perplexity and
+distress. To leave them (as he had hitherto left them) absolutely
+submitted to their mother's authority, was to resign his children to
+the influence of a woman, who had ceased to be the object of his
+confidence and respect. He pondered over it in the schoolroom; he
+pondered over it when he went to bed. On the next morning, he arrived
+at a conclusion in the nature of a compromise. He decided on applying
+to his good friend, Mr. Mool, for a word of advice.
+
+His first proceeding was to call at Teresa's lodgings, in the hope of
+hearing better news of Carmina.
+
+The melancholy report of her was expressed in two words: No change. He
+was so distressed that he asked to see the landlady; and tried, in his
+own helpless kindhearted way, to get a little hopeful information by
+asking questions--useless questions, repeated over and over again in
+futile changes of words. The landlady was patient: she respected the
+undisguised grief of the gentle modest old man; but she held to the
+hard truth. The one possible answer was the answer which her servant
+had already given. When she followed him out, to open the door, Mr.
+Gallilee requested permission to wait a moment in the hall. "If you
+will allow me, ma'am, I'll wipe my eyes before I go into the street."
+
+Arriving at the office without an appointment, he found the lawyer
+engaged. A clerk presented to him a slip of paper, with a line written
+by Mr. Mool: "Is it anything of importance?" Simple Mr. Gallilee wrote
+back: "Oh, dear, no; it's only me! I'll call again." Besides his
+critical judgment in the matter of champagne, this excellent man
+possessed another accomplishment--a beautiful handwriting. Mr. Mool,
+discovering a crooked line and some ill-formed letters in the reply,
+drew his own conclusions. He sent word to his old friend to wait.
+
+In ten minutes more they were together, and the lawyer was informed of
+the events that had followed the visit of Benjulia to Fairfield
+Gardens, on the previous day.
+
+For a while, the two men sat silently meditating--daunted by the
+prospect before them. When the time came for speaking, they exercised
+an influence over each other, of which both were alike unconscious. Out
+of their common horror of Mrs. Gallilee's conduct, and their common
+interest in Carmina, they innocently achieved between them the creation
+of one resolute man.
+
+"My dear Gallilee, this is a very serious thing."
+
+"My dear Mool, I feel it so--or I shouldn't have disturbed you."
+
+"Don't talk of disturbing me! I see so many complications ahead of us,
+I hardly know where to begin."
+
+"Just my case! It's a comfort to me that you feel it as I do."
+
+Mr. Mool rose and tried walking up and down his room, as a means of
+stimulating his ingenuity.
+
+"There's this poor young lady," he resumed. "If she gets better--"
+
+"Don't put it in that way!" Mr. Gallilee interposed. "It sounds as if
+you doubted her ever getting well--you see it yourself in that light,
+don't you? Be a little more positive, Mool, in mercy to me."
+
+"By all means," Mr. Mool agreed. "Let us say, _when_ she gets better.
+But the difficulty meets us, all the same. If Mrs. Gallilee claims her
+right, what are we to do?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee rose in his turn, and took a walk up and down the room.
+That well-meant experiment only left him feebler than ever.
+
+"What possessed her brother to make her Carmina's guardian?" he
+asked--with the nearest approach to irritability of which he was
+capable.
+
+The lawyer was busy with his own thoughts. He only enlightened Mr.
+Gallilee after the question had been repeated.
+
+"I had the sincerest regard for Mr. Robert Graywell," he said. "A
+better husband and father--and don't let me forget it, a more charming
+artist--never lived. But," said Mr. Mool, with the air of one
+strong-minded man appealing to another: "weak, sadly weak. If you will
+allow me to say so, your wife's self-asserting way--well, it was so
+unlike her brother's way, that it had its effect on him! If Lady
+Northlake had been a little less quiet and retiring, the matter might
+have ended in a very different manner. As it was (I don't wish to put
+the case offensively) Mrs. Gallilee imposed on him--and there she is,
+in authority, under the Will. Let that be. We must protect this poor
+girl. We must act!" cried Mr. Mool with a burst of energy.
+
+"We must act!" Mr. Gallilee repeated--and feebly clenched his fist, and
+softly struck the table.
+
+"I think I have an idea," the lawyer proceeded; "suggested by something
+said to me by Miss Carmina herself. May I ask if you are in her
+confidence?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee's face brightened at this. "Certainly," he answered. "I
+always kiss her when we say good-night, and kiss her again when we say
+good-morning."
+
+This proof of his friend's claims as Carmina's chosen adviser, seemed
+rather to surprise Mr. Mool. "Did she ever hint at an idea of hastening
+her marriage?" he inquired.
+
+Plainly as the question was put, it thoroughly puzzled Mr. Gallilee.
+His honest face answered for him--he was _not_ in Carmina's confidence.
+Mr. Mool returned to his idea.
+
+"The one thing we can do," he said, "is to hasten Mr. Ovid's return.
+There is the only course to take--as I see it."
+
+"Let's do it at once!" cried Mr. Gallilee.
+
+"But tell me," Mr. Mool insisted, greedy for encouragement--"does my
+suggestion relieve your mind?"
+
+"It's the first happy moment I've had to-day!" Mr. Gallilee's weak
+voice piped high: he was getting firmer and firmer with every word he
+uttered.
+
+One of them produced a telegraph-form; the other seized a pen. "Shall
+we send the message in your name?" Mr. Mool asked.
+
+If Mr. Gallilee had possessed a hundred names he would have sent them
+(and paid for them) all. "John Gallilee, 14 Fairfield Gardens, London,
+To--" There the pen stopped. Ovid was still in the wilds of Canada.
+The one way of communicating with him was through the medium of the
+bankers at Quebec, To the bankers, accordingly, the message was sent.
+"Please telegraph Mr. Ovid Vere's address, the moment you know it."
+
+When the telegram had been sent to the office, an interval of inaction
+followed. Mr. Gallilee's fortitude suffered a relapse. "It's a long
+time to wait," he said.
+
+His friend agreed with him. Morally speaking, Mr. Mool's strength lay
+in points of law. No point of law appeared to be involved in the
+present conference: he shared Mr. Gallilee's depression of spirits. "We
+are quite helpless," he remarked, "till Mr. Ovid comes back. In the
+interval, I see no choice for Miss Carmina but to submit to her
+guardian; unless--" He looked hard at Mr. Gallilee, before he finished
+his sentence. "Unless," he resumed, "you can get over your present
+feeling about your wife."
+
+"Get over it?" Mr. Gallilee repeated.
+
+"It seems quite impossible now, I dare say," the worthy lawyer
+admitted. "A very painful impression has been produced on you.
+Naturally! naturally! But the force of habit--a married life of many
+years--your own kind feeling--"
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Gallilee, bewildered, impatient, almost
+angry.
+
+"A little persuasion on your part, my good friend--at the interesting
+moment of reconciliation--might be followed by excellent results. Mrs.
+Gallilee might not object to waive her claims, until time has softened
+existing asperities. Surely, a compromise is possible, if you could
+only prevail on yourself to forgive your wife."
+
+"Forgive her? I should be only too glad to forgive her!" cried Mr.
+Gallilee, bursting into violent agitation. "How am I to do it? Good
+God! Mool, how am I to do it? _You_ didn't hear those infamous words.
+_You_ didn't see that dreadful death-struck look of the poor girl. I
+declare to you I turn cold when I think of my wife! I can't go to her
+when I ought to go--I send the servants into her room. My children,
+too--my dear good children--it's enough to break one's heart--think of
+their being brought up by a mother who could say what she said, and
+do--What will they see, I ask you what will they see, if she gets
+Carmina back in the house, and treats that sweet young creature as she
+_will_ treat her? There were times last night, when I thought of going
+away for ever--Lord knows where--and taking the girls with me. What am
+I talking about? I had something to say, and I don't know what it is; I
+don't know my own self! There, there; I'll keep quiet. It's my poor
+stupid head, I suppose--hot, Mool, burning hot. Let's be reasonable.
+Yes, yes, yes; let's be reasonable. You're a lawyer. I said to myself,
+when I came here, 'I want Mool's advice.' Be a dear good fellow--set my
+mind at ease. Oh, my friend, my old friend, what can I do for my
+children?"
+
+Amazed and distressed--utterly at a loss how to interfere to any good
+purpose--Mr. Mool recovered his presence of mind, the moment Mr.
+Gallilee appealed to him in his legal capacity. "Don't distress
+yourself about your children," he said kindly. "Thank God, we stand on
+firm ground, there."
+
+"Do you mean it, Mool?"
+
+"I mean it. Where your daughters are concerned, the authority is yours.
+Be firm, Gallilee! be firm!"
+
+"I will! You set me the example--don't you? _You're_ firm--eh?"
+
+"Firm as a rock. I agree with you. For the present at least, the
+children must be removed."
+
+"At once, Mool!"
+
+"At once!" the lawyer repeated.
+
+They had wrought each other up to the right pitch of resolution, by
+this time. They were almost loud enough for the clerks to hear them in
+the office.
+
+"No matter what my wife may say!" Mr. Gallilee stipulated.
+
+"No matter what she may say," Mr. Mool rejoined, "the father is
+master."
+
+"And _you_ know the law."
+
+"And I know the law. You have only to assert yourself."
+
+"And _you_ have only to back me."
+
+"For your children's sake, Gallilee!"
+
+"Under my lawyer's advice, Mool!"
+
+The one resolute Man was produced at last--without a flaw in him
+anywhere. They were both exhausted by the effort. Mr. Mool suggested a
+glass of wine.
+
+Mr. Gallilee ventured on a hint. "You don't happen to have a drop of
+champagne handy?" he said.
+
+The lawyer rang for his housekeeper. In five minutes, they were
+pledging each other in foaming tumblers. In five minutes more, they
+plunged back into business. The question of the best place to which the
+children could be removed, was easily settled. Mr. Mool offered his own
+house; acknowledging modestly that it had perhaps one drawback--it was
+within easy reach of Mrs. Gallilee. The statement of this objection
+stimulated his friend's memory. Lady Northlake was in Scotland. Lady
+Northlake had invited Maria and Zo, over and over again, to pass the
+autumn with their cousins; but Mrs. Gallilee's jealousy had always
+contrived to find some plausible reason for refusal. "Write at once,"
+Mr. Mool advised. "You may do it in two lines. Your wife is ill; Miss
+Carmina is ill; you are not able to leave London--and the children are
+pining for fresh air." In this sense, Mr. Gallilee wrote. He insisted
+on having the letter sent to the post immediately. "I know it's long
+before post-time," he explained. "But I want to compose my mind."
+
+The lawyer paused, with his glass of wine at his lips. "I say! You're
+not hesitating already?"
+
+"No more than you are," Mr. Gallilee answered.
+
+"You will really send the girls away?"
+
+"The girls shall go, on the day when Lady Northlake invites them."
+
+"I'll make a note of that," said Mr. Mool.
+
+He made the note; and they rose to say good-bye. Faithful Mr. Gallilee
+still thought of Carmina. "Do consider it again!" he said at parting.
+"Are you sure the law won't help her?"
+
+"I might look at her father's Will," Mr. Mool replied.
+
+Mr. Gallilee saw the hopeful side of this suggestion, in the brightest
+colours. "Why didn't you think of it before?" he asked.
+
+Mr. Mool gently remonstrated. "Don't forget how many things I have on
+my mind," he said. "It only occurs to me now that the Will may give us
+a remedy--if there is any _open_ opposition to the ward's marriage
+engagement, on the guardian's part."
+
+There he stopped; knowing Mrs. Gallilee's methods of opposition too
+well to reckon hopefully on such a result as this. But he was a
+merciful man--and he kept his misgivings to himself.
+
+On the way home, Mr. Gallilee encountered his wife's maid. Marceline
+was dropping a letter into the pillar-post-box at the corner of the
+Square; she changed colour, on seeing her master. "Corresponding with
+her sweetheart," Mr. Gallilee concluded.
+
+Entering the house with an unfinished cigar in his mouth, he made
+straight for the smoking-room--and passed his youngest daughter, below
+him, waiting out of sight on the kitchen stairs.
+
+"Have you done it?" Zo whispered, when Marceline returned by the
+servants' entrance.
+
+"It's safe in the post, dear. Now tell me what you saw yesterday, when
+you were hidden in Miss Carmina's bedroom."
+
+The tone in which she spoke implied a confidential agreement. With
+honourable promptitude Zo, perched on her friend's knee, exerted her
+memory, and rewarded Marceline for posting her letter to Ovid.
+
+CHAPTER XLIX.
+
+It was past the middle of the day, before Mr. Le Frank paid his
+promised visit to Mrs. Gallilee. He entered the room with gloomy looks;
+and made his polite inquiries, as became a depressed musician, in the
+minor key.
+
+"I am sorry, madam, to find you still on the sofa. Is there no
+improvement in your health?"
+
+"None whatever."
+
+"Does your medical attendant give you any hope?"
+
+"He does what they all do--he preaches patience. No more of myself! You
+appear to be in depressed spirits."
+
+Mr. Le Frank admitted with a sigh that appearances had not
+misrepresented him. "I have been bitterly disappointed," he said. "My
+feelings as an artist are wounded to the quick. But why do I trouble
+you with my poor little personal affairs? I humbly beg your pardon."
+
+His eyes accompanied this modest apology with a look of uneasy
+anticipation: he evidently expected to be asked to explain himself.
+Events had followed her instructions to Mr. Null, which left Mrs.
+Gallilee in need of employing her music-master's services. She felt the
+necessity of exerting herself; and did it--with an effort.
+
+"You have no reason, I hope, to complain of your pupils?" she said.
+
+"At this time of year, madam, I have no pupils. They are all out of
+town."
+
+She was too deeply preoccupied by her own affairs to trouble herself
+any further. The direct way was the easy way. She said wearily, "Well,
+what is it?"
+
+He answered in plain terms, this time.
+
+"A bitter humiliation, Mrs. Gallilee! I have been made to regret that I
+asked you to honour me by accepting the dedication of my Song. The
+music-sellers, on whom the sale depends, have not taken a tenth part of
+the number of copies for which we expected them to subscribe. Has some
+extraordinary change come over the public taste? My composition has
+been carefully based on fashionable principles--that is to say, on the
+principles of the modern German school. As little tune as possible; and
+that little strictly confined to the accompaniment. And what is the
+result? Loss confronts me, instead of profit--my agreement makes me
+liable for half the expenses of publication. And, what is far more
+serious in my estimation, your honoured name is associated with a
+failure! Don't notice me--the artist nature--I shall be better in a
+minute." He took out a profusely-scented handkerchief, and buried his
+face in it with a groan.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's hard common sense understood the heart-broken composer
+to perfection.
+
+"Stupid of me not to have offered him money yesterday," she thought:
+"this waste of time need never have happened." She set her mistake
+right with admirable brevity and directness. "Don't distress yourself,
+Mr. Le Frank. Now my name is on it, the Song is mine. If your
+publisher's account is not satisfactory--be so good as to send it to
+_me."_ Mr. Le Frank dropped his dry handkerchief, and sprang
+theatrically to his feet. His indulgent patroness refused to hear him:
+to this admirable woman, the dignity of Art was a sacred thing. "Not a
+word more on that subject," she said. "Tell me how you prospered last
+night. Your investigations cannot have been interrupted, or I should
+have heard of it. Come to the result! Have you found anything of
+importance in my niece's room?"
+
+Mr. Le Frank had again been baffled, so far as the confirmation of his
+own suspicions was concerned. But the time was not favourable to a
+confession of personal disappointment. He understood the situation; and
+made himself the hero of it, in three words.
+
+"Judge for yourself," he said--and held out the letter of warning from
+Father Patrizio.
+
+In silence, Mrs. Gallilee read the words which declared her to be the
+object of Teresa's inveterate resentment, and which charged Carmina
+with the serious duty of keeping the peace.
+
+"Does it alarm you?" Mr. Le Frank asked.
+
+"I hardly know what I feel," she answered. "Give me time to think."
+
+Mr. Le Frank went back to his chair. He had reason to congratulate
+himself already: he had shifted to other shoulders the pecuniary
+responsibility involved in the failure of his Song. Observing Mrs.
+Gallilee, he began to see possibilities of a brighter prospect still.
+Thus far she had kept him at a certain distance. Was the change of mind
+coming, which would admit him to the position (with all its solid
+advantages) of a confidential friend?
+
+She suddenly took up Father Patrizio's letter, and showed it to him.
+
+"What impression does it produce on you," she asked, "knowing no more
+than you know now?"
+
+"The priest's cautious language, madam, speaks for itself. You have an
+enemy who will stick at nothing."
+
+She still hesitated to trust him.
+
+"You see me here," she went on, "confined to my room; likely, perhaps,
+to be in this helpless condition for some time to come. How would you
+protect yourself against that woman, in my place?"
+
+"I should wait."
+
+"For what purpose?"
+
+"If you will allow me to use the language of the card-table, I should
+wait till the woman shows her hand."
+
+"She _has_ shown it."
+
+"May I ask when?"
+
+"This morning."
+
+Mr. Le Frank said no more. If he was really wanted, Mrs. Gallilee had
+only to speak. After a last moment of hesitation, the pitiless
+necessities of her position decided her once more. "You see me too ill
+to move," she said; "the first thing to do, is to tell you why."
+
+She related the plain facts; without a word of comment, without a sign
+of emotion. But her husband's horror of her had left an impression,
+which neither pride nor contempt had been strong enough to resist. She
+allowed the music-master to infer, that contending claims to authority
+over Carmina had led to a quarrel which provoked the assault. The
+secret of the words that she had spoken, was the one secret that she
+kept from Mr. Le Frank.
+
+"While I was insensible," she proceeded, "my niece was taken away from
+me. She has been suffering from nervous illness; she was naturally
+terrified--and she is now at the nurse's lodgings, too ill to be moved.
+There you have the state of affairs, up to last night."
+
+"Some people might think," Mr. Le Frank remarked, "that the easiest way
+out of it, so far, would be to summon the nurse for the assault."
+
+"The easiest way compels me to face a public exposure," Mrs. Gallilee
+answered. "In my position that is impossible."
+
+Mr. Le Frank accepted this view of the case as a matter of course.
+"Under the circumstances," he said, "it's not easy to advise you. How
+can you make the woman submit to your authority, while you are lying
+here?"
+
+"My lawyers have made her submit this morning."
+
+In the extremity of his surprise, Mr. Le Frank forgot himself. "The
+devil they have!" he exclaimed.
+
+"They have forbidden her, in my name," Mrs. Gallilee continued, "to act
+as nurse to my niece. They have informed her that Miss Carmina will be
+restored to my care, the moment she can be moved. And they have sent me
+her unconditional submission in writing, signed by herself."
+
+She took it from the desk at her side, and read it to him, in these
+words:
+
+"I humbly ask pardon of Mrs. Gallilee for the violent and unlawful acts
+of which I have been guilty. I acknowledge, and submit to, her
+authority as guardian of Miss Carmina Graywell. And I appeal to her
+mercy (which I own I have not deserved) to spare me the misery of
+separation from Miss Carmina, on any conditions which it may be her
+good will and pleasure to impose."
+
+"Now," Mrs. Galilee concluded, "what do you say?"
+
+Speaking sincerely for once, Mr. Le Frank made a startling reply.
+
+"Submit on your side," he said. "Do what she asks of you. And when you
+are well enough to go to her lodgings, decline with thanks if she
+offers you anything to eat or drink."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee raised herself on the sofa. "Are you insulting me, sir,"
+she asked, "by making this serious emergency the subject of a joke?"
+
+"I never was more in earnest, madam, in my life."
+
+"You think--you really think--that she is capable of trying to poison
+me?"
+
+"Most assuredly I do."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee sank back on the pillow. Mr. Le Frank stated his reasons;
+checking them off, one by one, on his fingers.
+
+"Who is she?" he began. "She is an Italian woman of the lower orders.
+The virtues of the people among whom she had been born and bred, are
+not generally considered to include respect for the sanctity of human
+life. What do we know already that she has done? She has alarmed the
+priest, who keeps her conscience, and knows her well; and she has
+attacked you with such murderous ferocity that it is a wonder you have
+escaped with your life. What sort of message have you sent to her,
+after this experience of her temper? You have told the tigress that you
+have the power to separate her from her cub, and that you mean to use
+it. On those plain facts, as they stare us in the face, which is the
+soundest conclusion? To believe that she really submits--or to believe
+that she is only gaining time, and is capable (if she sees no other
+alternative) of trying to poison you?"
+
+"What would you advise me to do?" In those words Mrs. Gallilee--never
+before reduced to ask advice of anybody--owned that sound reasoning was
+not thrown away on her.
+
+Mr. Le Frank answered the demand made on him without hesitation.
+
+"The nurse has not signed that act of submission," he said, "without
+having her own private reasons for appearing to give way. Rely on it,
+she is prepared for you--and there is at least a chance that some proof
+of it may be found. Have all her movements privately watched--and
+search the room she lives in, as I searched Miss Carmina's room last
+night."
+
+"Well?" said Mrs. Gallilee.
+
+"Well?" Mr. Le Frank repeated.
+
+She angrily gave way. "Say at once that you are the man to do it for
+me!" she answered. "And say next--if you can--how it is to be done."
+
+Mr. Le Frank's manner softened to an air of gentle gallantry.
+
+"Pray compose yourself!" he said. "I am so glad to be of service to
+you, and it is so easily done!"
+
+"Easily?"
+
+"Dear madam, quite easily. Isn't the house a lodging-house; and, at
+this time of year, have I anything to do?" He rose, and took his hat.
+
+"Surely, you see me in my new character now? A single gentleman wants a
+bedroom. His habits are quiet, and he gives excellent references. The
+address, Mrs. Gallilee--may I trouble you for the address?"
+
+CHAPTER L.
+
+Towards seven o'clock on the evening of Thursday, Carmina recognised
+Teresa for the first time.
+
+Her half-closed eyes opened, as if from a long sleep: they rested on
+the old nurse without any appearance of surprise. "I am so glad to see
+you, my dear," she said faintly. "Are you very tired after you
+journey?" None of the inquiries which might have been anticipated
+followed those first words. Not the slightest allusion to Mrs. Gallilee
+escaped her; she expressed no anxiety about Miss Minerva; no sign of
+uneasiness at finding herself in a. strange room, disturbed her quiet
+face. Contentedly reposing, she looked at Teresa from time to time and
+said, "You will stay with me, won't you?" Now and then, she confessed
+that her head felt dull and heavy, and asked Teresa to take her hand.
+"I feel as if I was sinking away from you," she said; "keep hold of my
+hand and I shan't be afraid to go to sleep." The words were hardly
+spoken, before she sank into slumber. Occasionally, Teresa felt her
+hand tremble and kissed it. She seemed to be conscious of the kiss,
+without waking--she smiled in her sleep.
+
+But, when the first hours of the morning came, this state of passive
+repose was disturbed. A violent attack of sickness came on. It was
+repeated again and again. Teresa sent for Mr. Null. He did what he
+could to relieve the new symptom; and he despatched a messenger to his
+illustrious colleague.
+
+Benjulia lost no time in answering personally the appeal that had been
+made to him.
+
+Mr. Null said, "Serious derangement of the stomach, sir." Benjulia
+agreed with him. Mr. Null showed his prescription. Benjulia sanctioned
+the prescription. Mr. Null said, "Is there anything you wish to
+suggest, sir?" Benjulia had nothing to suggest.
+
+He waited, nevertheless, until Carmina was able to speak to him. Teresa
+and Mr. Null wondered what he would say to her. He only said, "Do you
+remember when you last saw me?" After a little consideration, she
+answered, "Yes, Zo was with us; Zo brought in your big stick; and we
+talked--" She tried to rouse her memory. "What did we talk about?" she
+asked. A momentary agitation brought a flush to her face. "I can't
+remember it," she said; "I can't remember when you went away: does it
+matter?" Benjulia replied, "Not the least in the world. Go to sleep."
+
+But he still remained in the room--watching her as she grew drowsy.
+"Great weakness," Mr. Null whispered. And Benjulia answered, "Yes; I'll
+call again."
+
+On his way out, he took Teresa aside.
+
+"No more questions," he said--"and don't help her memory if she asks
+you."
+
+"Will she remember, when she gets better?" Teresa inquired.
+
+"Impossible to say, yet. Wait and see."
+
+He left her in a hurry; his experiments were waiting for him. On the
+way home, his mind dwelt on Carmina's case. Some hidden process was at
+work there: give it time--and it would show itself. "I hope that ass
+won't want me," he said, thinking of his medical colleague, "for at
+least a week to come."
+
+The week passed--and the physiologist was not disturbed.
+
+During that interval, Mr. Null succeeded in partially overcoming the
+attacks of sickness: they were less violent, and they were succeeded by
+longer intervals of repose. In other respects, there seemed (as Teresa
+persisted in thinking) to be some little promise of improvement. A
+certain mental advance was unquestionably noticeable in Carmina. It
+first showed itself in an interesting way: she began to speak of Ovid.
+
+Her great anxiety was, that he should know nothing of her illness. She
+forbade Teresa to write to him; she sent messages to Mr. and Mrs.
+Gallilee, and even to Mr. Mool, entreating them to preserve silence.
+
+The nurse engaged to deliver the messages--and failed to keep her word.
+This breach of promise (as events had ordered it) proved to be
+harmless. Mrs. Gallilee had good reasons for not writing. Her husband
+and Mr. Mool had decided on sending their telegram to the bankers. As
+for Teresa herself, she had no desire to communicate with Ovid. His
+absence remained inexcusable, from her point of view. Well or ill, with
+or without reason, it was the nurse's opinion that he ought to have
+remained at home, in Carmina's interests. No other persons were in the
+least likely to write to Ovid--nobody thought of Zo as a
+correspondent--Carmina was pacified.
+
+Once or twice, at this later time, the languid efforts of her memory
+took a wider range.
+
+She wondered why Mrs. Gallilee never came near her; owning that her
+aunt's absence was a relief to her, but not feeling interest enough in
+the subject to ask for information. She also mentioned Miss Minerva.
+"Do you know where she has gone? Don't you think she ought to write to
+me?" Teresa offered to make inquiries. She turned her head wearily on
+the pillow, and said, "Never mind!" On another occasion, she asked for
+Zo, and said it would be pleasant if Mr. Gallilee would call and bring
+her with him. But she soon dropped the subject, not to return to it
+again.
+
+The only remembrance which seemed to dwell on her mind for more than a
+few minutes, was her remembrance of the last letter which she had
+written to Ovid.
+
+She pleased herself with imagining his surprise, when he received it;
+she grew impatient under her continued illness, because it delayed her
+in escaping to Canada; she talked to Teresa of the clever manner in
+which the flight had been planned--with this strange failure of memory,
+that she attributed the various arrangements for setting discovery at
+defiance, not to Miss Minerva, but to the nurse.
+
+Here, for the first time, her mind was approaching dangerous ground.
+The stealing of the letter, and the events that had followed it, stood
+next in the order of remembrance--if she was capable of a continued
+effort. Her weakness saved her. Beyond the writing of the letter, her
+recollections were unable to advance. Not the faintest allusion to any
+later circumstances escaped her. The poor stricken brain still sought
+its rest in frequent intervals of sleep. Sometimes, she drifted back
+into partial unconsciousness; sometimes, the attacks of sickness
+returned. Mr. Null set an excellent example of patience and
+resignation. He believed as devoutly as ever in his prescriptions; he
+placed the greatest reliance on time and care. The derangement of the
+stomach (as he called it) presented something positive and tangible to
+treat: he had got over the doubts and anxieties that troubled him, when
+Carmina was first removed to the lodgings. Looking confidently at the
+surface--without an idea of what was going on below it--he could tell
+Teresa, with a safe conscience, that he understood the case. He was
+always ready to comfort her, when her excitable Italian nature passed
+from the extreme of hope to the extreme of despair. "My good woman, we
+see our way now: it's a great point gained, I assure you, to see our
+way."
+
+"What do you mean by seeing your way?" said the downright nurse. "Tell
+me when Carmina will be well again."
+
+Mr. Null's medical knowledge was not yet equal to this demand on it.
+"The progress is slow," he admitted, "still Miss Carmina is getting
+on."
+
+"Is her aunt getting on?" Teresa asked abruptly. "When is Mistress
+Gallilee likely to come here?"
+
+"In a few days--" Mr. Null was about to add "I hope;" but he thought of
+what might happen when the two women met. As it was, Teresa's face
+showed signs of serious disturbance: her mind was plainly not prepared
+for this speedy prospect of a visit from Mrs. Gallilee. She took a
+letter out of her pocket.
+
+"I find a good deal of sly prudence in you," she said to Mr. Null. "You
+must have seen something, in your time, of the ways of deceitful
+Englishwomen. What does that palaver mean in plain words?" She handed
+the letter to him.
+
+With some reluctance he read it.
+
+"Mrs. Gallilee declines to contract any engagement with the person
+formerly employed as nurse, in the household of the late Mr. Robert
+Graywell. Mrs. Gallilee so far recognises the apology and submission
+offered to her, as to abstain from taking immediate proceedings. In
+arriving at this decision, she is also influenced by the necessity of
+sparing her niece any agitation which might interfere with the medical
+treatment. When the circumstances appear to require it, she will not
+hesitate to exert her authority."
+
+The handwriting told Mr. Null that this manifesto had not been written
+by Mrs. Gallilee herself. The person who had succeeded him, in the
+capacity of that lady's amanuensis, had been evidently capable of
+giving sound advice. Little did he suspect that this mysterious
+secretary was identical with an enterprising pianist, who had once
+prevailed on him to take a seat at a concert; price five shillings.
+
+"Well?" said Teresa.
+
+Mr. Null hesitated.
+
+The nurse stamped impatiently on the floor. "Tell me this! When she
+does come here, will she part me from Carmina? Is that what she means?"
+
+"Possibly," said prudent Mr. Null.
+
+Teresa pointed to the door. "Good-morning! I want nothing more of you.
+Oh, man, man, leave me by myself!"
+
+The moment she was alone, she fell on her knees. Fiercely whispering,
+she repeated over and over again the words of the Lord's Prayer: "'Lead
+us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.' Christ, hear me!
+Mother of Christ, hear me! Oh, Carmina! Carmina!"
+
+She rose and opened the door which communicated with the bedroom.
+Trembling pitiably, she looked for a while at Carmina, peacefully
+asleep--then turned away to a corner of the room, in which stood an old
+packing-case, fitted with a lock. She took it up; and, returning with
+it to the sitting-room, softly closed the bedroom door again.
+
+After some hesitation, she decided to open the case. In the terror and
+confusion that possessed her, she tried the wrong key. Setting this
+mistake right, she disclosed--strangely mingled with the lighter
+articles of her own dress--a heap of papers; some of them letters and
+bills; some of them faded instructions in writing for the preparation
+of artists' colours.
+
+She recoiled from the objects which her own act had disclosed. Why had
+she not taken Father Patrizio's advice? If she had only waited another
+day; if she had only sorted her husband's papers, before she threw the
+things that her trunk was too full to hold into that half-empty case,
+what torment might have been spared to her! Her eyes turned mournfully
+to the bedroom door. "Oh, my darling, I was in such a hurry to get to
+You!"
+
+At last, she controlled herself, and put her hand into the case.
+Searching it in one corner, she produced a little tin canister. A dirty
+label was pasted on the canister, bearing this quaint inscription in
+the Italian language:
+
+"If there is any of the powder we employ in making some of our
+prettiest colours, left in here, I request my good wife, or any other
+trustworthy person in her place, to put a seal on it, and take it
+directly to the manufactory, with the late foreman's best respects. It
+looks like nice sugar. Beware of looks--or you may taste poison."
+
+On the point of opening the canister she hesitated. Under some strange
+impulse, she did what a child might have done: she shook it, and
+listened.
+
+The rustle of the rising and falling powder--renewing her
+terror--seemed to exercise some irresistible fascination over her. "The
+devil's dance," she said to herself, with a ghastly smile. "Softly
+up--and softly down--and tempting me to take off the cover all the
+time! Why don't I get rid of it?"
+
+That question set her thinking of Carmina's guardian.
+
+If Mr. Null was right, in a day or two Mrs. Gallilee might come to the
+house. After the lawyers had threatened Teresa with the prospect of
+separation from Carmina, she had opened the packing-case, for the first
+time since she had left Rome--intending to sort her husband's papers as
+a means of relief from her own thoughts. In this way, she had
+discovered the canister. The sight of the deadly powder had tempted
+her. There were the horrid means of setting Mrs. Gallilee's authority
+at defiance! Some women in her place, would use them. Though she was
+not looking into the canister now, she felt that thought stealing back
+into her mind. There was but one hope for her: she resolved to get rid
+of the poison.
+
+How?
+
+At that period of the year, there was no fire in the grate. Within the
+limits of the room, the means of certain destruction were slow to
+present themselves. Her own morbid horror of the canister made her
+suspicious of the curiosity of other people, who might see it in her
+hand if she showed herself on the stairs. But she was determined, if
+she lit a fire for the purpose, to find the way to her end. The
+firmness of her resolution expressed itself by locking the case again,
+without restoring the canister to its hiding-place.
+
+Providing herself next with a knife, she sat down in a corner--between
+the bedroom door on one side, and a cupboard in an angle of the wall on
+the other--and began the work of destruction by scraping off the paper
+label. The fragments might be burnt, and the powder (if she made a vow
+to the Virgin to do it) might be thrown into the fire next--and then
+the empty canister would be harmless.
+
+She had made but little progress in the work of scraping, when it
+occurred to her that the lighting of a fire, on that warm autumn day,
+might look suspicious if the landlady or Mr. Null happened to come in.
+It would be safer to wait till night-time, when everybody would be in
+bed.
+
+Arriving at this conclusion, she mechanically suspended the use of her
+knife.
+
+In the moment of silence that followed, she heard someone enter the
+bedroom by the door which opened on the stairs. Immediately afterwards,
+the person turned the handle of the second door at her side. She had
+barely time enough to open the cupboard, and hide the canister in
+it--when the landlady came in.
+
+Teresa looked at her wildly. The landlady looked at the cupboard: she
+was proud of her cupboard.
+
+"Plenty of room there," she said boastfully: "not another house in the
+neighbourhood could offer you such accommodation as that! Yes--the lock
+is out of order; I don't deny it. The last lodger's doings! She spoilt
+my tablecloth, and put the inkstand over it to hide the place. Beast!
+there's her character in one word. You didn't hear me knock at the
+bedroom door? I am so glad to see her sleeping nicely, poor dear! Her
+chicken broth is ready when she wakes. I'm late to-day in making my
+inquiries after our young lady. You see we have been hard at work
+upstairs, getting the bedroom ready for a new lodger. Such a contrast
+to the person who has just left. A perfect gentleman, this time--and so
+kind in waiting a week till I was able to accommodate him. My ground
+floor rooms were vacant, as you know--but he said the terms were too
+high for him. Oh, I didn't forget to mention that we had an invalid in
+the house! Quiet habits (I said) are indeed an essential qualification
+of any new inmate, at such a time as this. He understood. 'I've been an
+invalid myself' (he said); 'and the very reason I am leaving my present
+lodgings is that they are not quiet enough.' Isn't that just the sort
+of man we want? And, let me tell you, a handsome man too. With a
+drawback, I must own, in the shape of a bald head. But such a beard,
+and such a thrilling voice! Hush! Did I hear her calling?"
+
+At last, the landlady permitted other sounds to be audible, besides the
+sound of her own voice. It became possible to discover that Carmina was
+now awake. Teresa hurried into the bedroom.
+
+Left by herself in the sitting-room, the landlady--"purely out of
+curiosity," as she afterwards said, in conversation with her new
+lodger--opened the cupboard, and looked in.
+
+The canister stood straight before her, on an upper shelf. Did Miss
+Carmina's nurse take snuff? She examined the canister: there was a
+white powder inside. The mutilated label spoke in an unknown tongue.
+She wetted her finger and tasted the powder. The result was so
+disagreeable that she was obliged to use her handkerchief. She put the
+canister back, and closed the cupboard.
+
+"Medicine, undoubtedly," the landlady said to herself. "Why should she
+hurry to put it away, when I came in?"
+
+CHAPTER LI.
+
+In eight days from the date of his second interview with Mrs. Gallilee,
+Mr. Le Frank took possession of his new bedroom.
+
+He had arranged to report his proceedings in writing. In Teresa's state
+of mind, she would certainly distrust a fellow-lodger, discovered in
+personal communication with Mrs. Gallilee. Mr. Le Frank employed the
+first day after his arrival in collecting the materials for a report.
+In the evening, he wrote to Mrs. Gallilee--under cover to a friend, who
+was instructed to forward the letter.
+
+
+"Private and confidential. Dear Madam,--I have not wasted my time and
+my opportunities, as you will presently see.
+
+"My bedroom is immediately above the floor of the house which is
+occupied by Miss Carmina and her nurse. Having some little matters of
+my own to settle, I was late in taking possession of my room. Before
+the lights on the staircase were put out, I took the liberty of looking
+down at the next landing.
+
+"Do you remember, when you were a child learning to write, that one of
+the lines in your copy-books was, 'Virtue is its own reward'? This
+ridiculous assertion was actually verified in my case! Before I had
+been five minutes at my post, I saw the nurse open her door. She looked
+up the staircase (without discovering me, it is needless to say), and
+she looked down the staircase--and, seeing nobody about, returned to
+her rooms.
+
+"Waiting till I heard her lock the door, I stole downstairs, and
+listened outside.
+
+"One of my two fellow-lodgers (you know that I don't believe in Miss
+Carmina's illness) was lighting a fire--on such a warm autumn night,
+that the staircase window was left open! I am absolutely sure of what I
+say: I heard the crackle of burning wood--I smelt coal smoke.
+
+"The motive of this secret proceeding it seems impossible to guess at.
+If they were burning documents of a dangerous and compromising kind, a
+candle would have answered their purpose. If they wanted hot water,
+surely a tin kettle and a spirit lamp must have been at hand in an
+invalid's bedroom? Perhaps, your superior penetration may be able to
+read the riddle which baffles my ingenuity.
+
+"So much for the first night.
+
+"This afternoon, I had some talk with the landlady. My professional
+avocations having trained me in the art of making myself agreeable to
+the sex, I may say without vanity that I produced a favourable
+impression. In other words, I contrived to set my fair friend talking
+freely about the old nurse and the interesting invalid.
+
+"Out of the flow of words poured on me, one fact of very serious
+importance has risen to the surface. There is a suspicious canister in
+the nurse's possession. The landlady calls the powder inside, medicine.
+I say, poison.
+
+"Am I rushing at a fanciful conclusion? Please wait a little.
+
+"During the week of delay which elapsed, before the lodger in
+possession vacated my room, you kindly admitted me to an interview. I
+ventured to put some questions, relating to Teresa's life in Italy and
+to the persons with whom she associated. Do you remember telling me,
+when I asked what you knew of her husband, that he was foreman in a
+manufactory of artists' colours? and that you had your information from
+Miss Carmina herself, after she had shown you the telegram announcing
+his death?
+
+"A lady, possessed of your scientific knowledge, does not require to be
+told that poisons are employed in making artists' colours. Remember
+what the priest's letter says of Teresa's feeling towards you, and then
+say--Is it so very unlikely that she has brought with her to England
+one of the poisons used by her husband in his trade? and is it quite
+unreasonable to suppose (when she looks at her canister) that she may
+be thinking of you?
+
+"I may be right or I may be wrong. Thanks to the dilapidated condition
+of a lock, I can decide the question, at the first opportunity offered
+to me by the nurse's absence from the room.
+
+"My next report shall tell you that I have contrived to provide myself
+with a sample of the powder--leaving the canister undisturbed. The
+sample shall be tested by a chemist. If he pronounces it to be poison,
+I have a bold course of action to propose.
+
+"As soon as you are well enough to go to the house, give the nurse her
+chance of poisoning you.
+
+"Dear madam, don't be alarmed! I will accompany you; and I will answer
+for the result. We will pay our visit at tea-time. Let her offer you a
+cup--and let me (under pretence of handing it) get possession of the
+poisoned drink. Before she can cry Stop!--I shall be on my way to the
+chemist.
+
+"The penalty for attempted murder is penal servitude. If you still
+object to a public exposure, we have the chemist's report, together
+with your own evidence, ready for your son on his return. How will he
+feel about his marriage-engagement, when he finds that Miss Carmina's
+dearest friend and companion has tried--_perhaps, with her young lady's
+knowledge_--to poison his mother?
+
+"Before concluding, I may mention that I had a narrow escape, only two
+hours since, of being seen by Teresa on the stairs.
+
+"I was of course prepared for this sort of meeting, when I engaged my
+room; and I have therefore not been foolish enough to enter the house
+under an assumed name. On the contrary, I propose (in your interests)
+to establish a neighbourly acquaintance--with time to help me. But the
+matter of the poison admits of no delay. My chance of getting at it
+unobserved may be seriously compromised, if the nurse remembers that
+she first met with me in your house, and distrusts me accordingly. Your
+devoted servant, L. F"
+
+
+Having completed his letter, he rang for the maid, and gave it to her
+to post.
+
+On her way downstairs, she was stopped on the next landing by Mr. Null.
+He too had a letter ready: addressed to Doctor Benjulia. The fierce old
+nurse followed him out, and said, "Post it instantly!" The civil maid
+asked if Miss Carmina was better. "Worse!"--was all the rude foreigner
+said. She looked at poor Mr. Null, as if it was his fault.
+
+Left in the retirement of his room, Mr. Le Frank sat at the
+writing-table, frowning and biting his nails.
+
+Were these evidences of a troubled mind connected with the infamous
+proposal which he had addressed to Mrs. Gallilee? Nothing of the sort!
+Having sent away his letter, he was now at leisure to let his personal
+anxieties absorb him without restraint. He was thinking of Carmina. The
+oftener his efforts were baffled, the more resolute he became to
+discover the secret of her behaviour to him. For the hundredth time he
+said to himself, "Her devilish malice reviles me behind my back, and
+asks me before my face to shake hands and be friends." The more
+outrageously unreasonable his suspicions became, under the exasperating
+influence of suspense, the more inveterately his vindictive nature held
+to its delusion. After meeting her in the hall at Fairfield Gardens, he
+really believed Carmina's illness to have been assumed as a means of
+keeping out of his way. If a friend had said to him, "But what reason
+have you to think so?"--he would have smiled compassionately, and have
+given that friend up for a shallow-minded man.
+
+He stole out again, and listened, undetected, at their door. Carmina
+was speaking; but the words, in those faint tones, were inaudible.
+Teresa's stronger voice easily reached his ears. "My darling, talking
+is not good for you. I'll light the night-lamp--try to sleep."
+
+Hearing this, he went back to his bedroom to wait a little. Teresa's
+vigilance might relax if Carmina fell asleep. She might go downstairs
+for a gossip with the landlady.
+
+After smoking a cigar, he tried again. The lights on the staircase were
+now put out: it was eleven o'clock.
+
+She was not asleep: the nurse was reading to her from some devotional
+book. He gave it up, for that night. His head ached; the ferment of his
+own abominable thoughts had fevered him. A cowardly dread of the
+slightest signs of illness was one of his special weaknesses. The whole
+day, to-morrow, was before him. He felt his own pulse; and determined,
+in justice to himself, to go to bed.
+
+Ten minutes later, the landlady, on her way to bed, ascended the
+stairs. She too heard the voice, still reading aloud--and tapped softly
+at the door. Teresa opened it.
+
+"Is the poor thing not asleep yet?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Has she been disturbed in some way?"
+
+"Somebody has been walking about, overhead," Teresa answered.
+
+"That's the new lodger!" exclaimed the landlady. "I'll speak to Mr. Le
+Frank."
+
+On the point of closing the door, and saying good-night, Teresa
+stopped, and considered for a moment.
+
+"Is he your new lodger?" she said.
+
+"Yes. Do you know him?"
+
+"I saw him when I was last in England."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Nothing more," Teresa answered. "Good-night!"
+
+CHAPTER LII.
+
+Watching through the night by Carmina's bedside, Teresa found herself
+thinking of Mr. Le Frank. It was one way of getting through the weary
+time, to guess at the motive which had led him to become a lodger in
+the house.
+
+Common probabilities pointed to the inference that he might have
+reasons for changing his residence, which only concerned himself. But
+common probabilities--from Teresa's point of view--did not apply to Mr.
+Le Frank. On meeting him, at the time of her last visit to England, his
+personal appearance had produced such a disagreeable impression on her,
+that she had even told Carmina "the music-master looked like a rogue."
+With her former prejudice against him now revived, and with her serious
+present reasons for distrusting Mrs. Gallilee, she rejected the idea of
+his accidental presence under her landlady's roof. To her mind, the
+business of the new lodger in the house was, in all likelihood, the
+business of a spy.
+
+While Mr. Le Frank was warily laying his plans for the next day, he had
+himself become an object of suspicion to the very woman whose secrets
+he was plotting to surprise.
+
+This was the longest and saddest night which the faithful old nurse had
+passed at her darling's bedside.
+
+For the first time, Carmina was fretful, and hard to please: patient
+persuasion was needed to induce her to take her medicine. Even when she
+was thirsty, she had an irritable objection to being disturbed, if the
+lemonade was offered to her which she had relished at other times. Once
+or twice, when she drowsily stirred in her bed, she showed symptoms of
+delusion. The poor girl supposed it was the eve or her wedding-day, and
+eagerly asked what Teresa had done with her new dress. A little later,
+when she had perhaps been dreaming, she fancied that her mother was
+still alive, and repeated the long-forgotten talk of her childhood.
+"What have I said to distress you?" she asked wonderingly, when she
+found Teresa crying.
+
+Soon after sunrise, there came a long interval of repose.
+
+At the later time when Benjulia arrived, she was quiet and
+uncomplaining. The change for the worse which had induced Teresa to
+insist on sending for him, was perversely absent. Mr. Null expected to
+be roughly rebuked for having disturbed the great man by a false alarm.
+He attempted to explain: and Teresa attempted to explain. Benjulia paid
+not the slightest attention to either of them. He made no angry
+remarks--and he showed, in his own impenetrable way, as gratifying an
+interest in the case as ever.
+
+"Draw up the blind," he said; "I want to have a good look at her."
+
+Mr. Null waited respectfully, and imposed strict silence on Teresa,
+while the investigation was going on. It lasted so long that he
+ventured to say, "Do you see anything particular, sir?"
+
+Benjulia saw his doubts cleared up: time (as he had anticipated) had
+brought development with it, and had enabled him to arrive at a
+conclusion. The shock that had struck Carmina had produced complicated
+hysterical disturbance, which was now beginning to simulate paralysis.
+Benjulia's profound and practised observation detected a trifling
+inequality in the size of the pupils of the eyes, and a slightly
+unequal action on either side of the face--delicately presented in the
+eyelids, the nostrils, and the lips. Here was no common affection of
+the brain, which even Mr. Null could understand! Here, at last, was
+Benjulia's reward for sacrificing the precious hours which might
+otherwise have been employed in the laboratory! From that day, Carmina
+was destined to receive unknown honour: she was to take her place,
+along with the other animals, in his note-book of experiments.
+
+He turned quietly to Mr. Null, and finished the consultation in two
+words.
+
+"All right!"
+
+"Have you nothing to suggest, sir?" Mr. Null inquired.
+
+"Go on with the treatment--and draw down the blind, if she complains of
+the light. Good-day!"
+
+"Are you sure he's a great doctor?" said Teresa, when the door had
+closed on him.
+
+"The greatest we have!" cried Mr. Null with enthusiasm.
+
+"Is he a good man?"
+
+"Why do you ask?"
+
+"I want to know if we can trust him to tell us the truth?"
+
+"Not a doubt of it!" (Who could doubt it, indeed, after he had approved
+of Mr. Null's medical treatment?)
+
+"There's one thing you have forgotten," Teresa persisted. "You haven't
+asked him when Carmina can be moved."
+
+"My good woman, if I had put such a question, he would have set me down
+as a fool! Nobody can say when she will be well enough to be moved."
+
+He took his hat. The nurse followed him out.
+
+"Are you going to Mrs. Gallilee, sir?"
+
+"Not to-day."
+
+"Is she better?"
+
+"She is almost well again."
+
+CHAPTER LIII.
+
+Left alone, Teresa went into the sitting-room: she was afraid to show
+herself at the bedside.
+
+Mr. Null had destroyed the one hope which had supported her thus
+far--the hope of escaping from England with Carmina, before Mrs.
+Gallilee could interfere. Looking steadfastly at that inspiriting
+prospect, she had forced herself to sign the humble apology and
+submission which the lawyers had dictated. What was the prospect now?
+Heavily had the merciless hand of calamity fallen on that brave old
+soul--and, at last, it had beaten her down! While she stood at the
+window, mechanically looking out, the dreary view of the back street
+trembled and disappeared. Teresa was crying. Happily for herself, she
+was unable to control her own weakness; the tears lightened her heavy
+heart. She waited a little, in the fear that her eyes might betray her,
+before she returned to Carmina. In that interval, she heard the sound
+of a closing door, on the floor above.
+
+"The music-master!" she said to herself.
+
+In an instant, she was at the sitting-room door, looking through the
+keyhole. It was the one safe way of watching him--and that was enough
+for Teresa.
+
+His figure appeared suddenly within her narrow range of view--on the
+mat outside the door. If her distrust of him was without foundation, he
+would go on downstairs. No! He stopped on the mat to listen--he
+stooped--his eye would have been at the keyhole in another moment.
+
+She seized a chair, and moved it. The sound instantly drove him away.
+He went on, down the stairs.
+
+Teresa considered with herself what safest means of protection--and, if
+possible, of punishment as well--lay within her reach. How, and where,
+could the trap be set that might catch him?
+
+She was still puzzled by that question, when the landlady made her
+appearance--politely anxious to hear what the doctors thought of their
+patient. Satisfied so far, the wearisome woman had her apologies to
+make next, for not having yet cautioned Mr. Le Frank.
+
+"Thinking over it, since last night," she said confidentially, "I
+cannot imagine how you heard him walking overhead. He has such a soft
+step that he positively takes me by surprise when he comes into my
+room. He has gone out for an hour; and I have done him a little favour
+which I am not in the habit of conferring on ordinary lodgers--I have
+lent him my umbrella, as it threatens rain. In his absence, I will ask
+you to listen while I walk about in his room. One can't be too
+particular, when rest is of such importance to your young lady--and it
+has struck me as just possible, that the floor of his room may be in
+fault. My dear, the boards may creak! I'm a sad fidget, I know; but, if
+the carpenter can set things right--without any horrid hammering, of
+course!--the sooner he is sent for, the more relieved I shall feel."
+
+Through this harangue, the nurse had waited, with a patience far from
+characteristic of her, for an opportunity of saying a timely word. By
+some tortuous mental process, that she was quite unable to trace, the
+landlady's allusion to Mr. Le Frank had suggested the very idea of
+which, in her undisturbed solitude, she had been vainly in search.
+Never before, had the mistress of the house appeared to Teresa in such
+a favourable light.
+
+"You needn't trouble yourself, ma'am," she said, as soon as she could
+make herself heard; "it _was_ the creaking of the boards that told me
+somebody was moving overhead."
+
+"Then I'm not a fidget after all? Oh, how you relieve me! Whatever the
+servants may have to do, one of them shall be sent instantly to the
+carpenter. So glad to be of any service to that sweet young creature!"
+
+Teresa consulted her watch before she returned to the bedroom.
+
+The improvement in Carmina still continued: she was able to take some
+of the light nourishment that was waiting for her. As Benjulia had
+anticipated, she asked to have the blind lowered a little. Teresa drew
+it completely over the window: she had her own reasons for tempting
+Carmina to repose. In half an hour more, the weary girl was sleeping,
+and the nurse was at liberty to set her trap for Mr. Le Frank.
+
+Her first proceeding was to dip the end of a quill pen into her bottle
+of salad oil, and to lubricate the lock and key of the door that gave
+access to the bedroom from the stairs. Having satisfied herself that
+the key could now be used without making the slightest sound, she
+turned to the door of communication with the sitting-room next.
+
+This door was covered with green baize. It had handles but no lock; and
+it swung inwards, so as to allow the door of the cupboard (situated in
+the angle of the sitting-room wall) to open towards the bedroom freely.
+Teresa oiled the hinges, and the brass bolt and staple which protected
+the baize door on the side of the bedroom. That done, she looked again
+at her watch.
+
+Mr. Le Frank's absence was expected to last for an hour. In five
+minutes more, the hour would expire.
+
+After bolting the door of communication, she paused in the bedroom, and
+wafted a kiss to Carmina, still at rest. She left the room by the door
+which opened on the stairs, and locked it, taking away the key with
+her.
+
+Having gone down the first flight of stairs, she stopped and went back.
+The one unsecured door, was the door which led into the sitting-room
+from the staircase. She opened it and left it invitingly ajar. "Now,"
+she said to herself, "the trap will catch him!"
+
+The hall clock struck the hour when she entered the landlady's room.
+
+The woman of many words was at once charmed and annoyed. Charmed to
+hear that the dear invalid was resting, and to receive a visit from the
+nurse: annoyed by the absence of the carpenter, at work somewhere else
+for the whole of the day. "If my dear husband had been alive, we should
+have been independent of carpenters; he could turn his hand to
+anything. Now do sit down--I want you to taste some cherry brandy of my
+own making."
+
+As Teresa took a chair, Mr. Le Frank returned. The two secret
+adversaries met, face to face.
+
+"Surely I remember this lady?" he said.
+
+Teresa encountered him, on his own ground. She made her best curtsey,
+and reminded him of the circumstances under which they had formerly
+met. The hospitable landlady produced her cherry brandy. "We are going
+to have a nice little chat; do sit down, sir, and join us." Mr. Le
+Frank made his apologies. The umbrella which had been so kindly lent to
+him, had not protected his shoes; his feet were wet; and he was so
+sadly liable to take cold that he must beg permission to put on his dry
+things immediately.
+
+Having bowed himself out, he stopped in the passage, and, standing on
+tiptoe, peeped through a window in the wall, by which light was
+conveyed to the landlady's little room. The two women were comfortably
+seated together, with the cherry brandy and a plate of biscuits on a
+table between them. "In for a good long gossip," thought Mr. Le Frank.
+"Now is my time!"
+
+Not five minutes more had passed, before Teresa made an excuse for
+running upstairs again. She had forgotten to leave the bell rope, in
+case Carmina woke, within the reach of her hand. The excellent heart of
+the hostess made allowance for natural anxiety. "Do it, you good soul,"
+she said; "and come back directly!" Left by herself, she filled her
+glass again, and smiled. Sweetness of temper (encouraged by cherry
+brandy) can even smile at a glass--unless it happens to be empty.
+
+Approaching her own rooms, Teresa waited, and listened, before she
+showed herself. No sound reached her through the half open sitting-room
+door. She noiselessly entered the bedroom, and then locked the door
+again. Once more she listened; and once more there was nothing to be
+heard. Had he seen her on the stairs?
+
+As the doubt crossed her mind, she heard the boards creak on the floor
+above. Mr. Le Frank was in his room.
+
+Did this mean that her well-laid plan had failed? Or did it mean that
+he was really changing his shoes and stockings? The last inference was
+the right one.
+
+He had made no mere excuse downstairs. The serious interests that he
+had at stake, were not important enough to make him forget his precious
+health. His chest was delicate; a cold might settle on his lungs. The
+temptation of the half-open door had its due effect on this prudent
+man; but it failed to make him forget that his feet were wet.
+
+The boards creaked again; the door of his room was softly closed--then
+there was silence. Teresa only knew when he had entered the
+sitting-room by hearing him try the bolted baize door. After that, he
+must have stepped out again. He next tried the door of the bedchamber,
+from the stairs.
+
+There was a quiet interval once more. Teresa noiselessly drew back the
+bolt; and, opening the baize door by a mere hair's-breadth, admitted
+sound from the sitting-room. She now heard him turning the key in a
+chiffonier, which only contained tradesmen's circulars, receipted
+bills, and a few books.
+
+(Even with the canister in the cupboard, waiting to be opened, his
+uppermost idea was to discover Carmina's vindictive motive in Carmina's
+papers!)
+
+The contents of the chiffonier disappointed him--judging by the tone in
+which he muttered to himself. The next sound startled Teresa; it was a
+tap against the lintel of the door behind which she was standing. He
+had thrown open the cupboard.
+
+The rasping of the cover, as he took it off, told her that he was
+examining the canister. She had put it back on the shelf, a harmless
+thing now--the poison and the label having been both destroyed by fire.
+Nevertheless, his choosing the canister, from dozens of other things
+scattered invitingly about it, inspired her with a feeling of
+distrustful surprise. She was no longer content to find out what he was
+doing by means of her ears. Determined to see him, and to catch him in
+the fact, she pulled open the baize door--at the moment when he must
+have discovered that the canister was empty. A faint thump told her he
+had thrown it on the floor.
+
+The view of the sitting-room was still hidden from her. She had
+forgotten the cupboard door.
+
+Now that it was wide open, it covered the entrance to the bedroom, and
+completely screened them one from the other. For the moment she was
+startled, and hesitated whether to show herself or not. His voice
+stopped her.
+
+"Is there another canister?" he said to himself. "The dirty old savage
+may have hidden it--"
+
+Teresa heard no more. "The dirty old savage" was an insult not to be
+endured! She forgot her intention of stealing on him unobserved; she
+forgot her resolution to do nothing that could awaken Carmina. Her
+fierce temper urged her into furious action. With both hands outspread,
+she flew at the cupboard door, and banged it to in an instant.
+
+A shriek of agony rang through the house. The swiftly closing door had
+caught, and crushed, the fingers of Le Frank's right hand, at the
+moment when he was putting it into the cupboard again.
+
+Without stopping to help him, without even looking at him, she ran back
+to Carmina.
+
+The swinging baize door fell to, and closed of itself. No second cry
+was heard. Nothing happened to falsify her desperate assertion that the
+shriek was the delusion of a vivid dream. She took Carmina in her arms,
+and patted and fondled her like a child. "See, my darling, I'm with you
+as usual; and I have heard nothing. Don't, oh, don't tremble in that
+way! There--I'll wrap you up in my shawl, and read to you. No! let's
+talk of Ovid."
+
+Her efforts to compose Carmina were interrupted by a muffled sound of
+men's footsteps and women's voices in the next room.
+
+She hurriedly opened the door, and entreated them to whisper and be
+quiet. In the instant before she closed it again, she saw and heard. Le
+Frank lay in a swoon on the floor. The landlady was kneeling by him,
+looking at his injured hand; and the lodgers were saying, "Send him to
+the hospital."
+
+CHAPTER LIV.
+
+On Monday morning, the strain on Mrs. Gallilee's powers of patient
+endurance came to an end. With the help of Mr. Null's arm, she was able
+to get downstairs to the library. On Tuesday, there would be no
+objection to her going out for a drive. Mr. Null left her, restored to
+her equable flow of spirits. He had asked if she wished to have
+somebody to keep her company--and she had answered briskly, "Not on any
+account! I prefer being alone."
+
+On the morning of Saturday, she had received Mr. Le Frank's letter; but
+she had not then recovered sufficiently to be able to read it through.
+She could now take it up again, and get to the end.
+
+Other women might have been alarmed by the atrocious wickedness of the
+conspiracy which the music-master had planned. Mrs. Gallilee was only
+offended. That he should think her capable--in her social position--of
+favouring such a plot as he had suggested, was an insult which she was
+determined neither to forgive nor forget. Fortunately, she had not
+committed herself in writing; he could produce no proof of the
+relations that had existed between them. The first and best use to make
+of her recovery would be to dismiss him--after paying his expenses,
+privately and prudently, in money instead of by cheque.
+
+In the meantime, the man's insolence had left its revolting impression
+on her mind. The one way to remove it was to find some agreeable
+occupation for her thoughts.
+
+Look at your library table, learned lady, and take the appropriate
+means of relief that it offers. See the lively modern parasites that
+infest Science, eager to invite your attention to their little crawling
+selves. Follow scientific inquiry, rushing into print to proclaim its
+own importance, and to declare any human being, who ventures to doubt
+or differ, a fanatic or a fool. Respect the leaders of public opinion,
+writing notices of professors, who have made discoveries not yet tried
+by time, not yet universally accepted even by their brethren, in terms
+which would be exaggerated if they were applied to Newton or to Bacon.
+Submit to lectures and addresses by dozens which, if they prove nothing
+else, prove that what was scientific knowledge some years since; is
+scientific ignorance now--and that what is scientific knowledge now,
+may be scientific ignorance in some years more. Absorb your mind in
+controversies and discussions, in which Mr. Always Right and Mr. Never
+Wrong exhibit the natural tendency of man to believe in himself, in the
+most rampant stage of development that the world has yet seen. And when
+you have done all this, doubt not that you have made a good use of your
+time. You have discovered what the gentle wisdom of FARADAY saw and
+deplored, when he warned the science of his day in words which should
+live for ever: "The first and last step in the education of the
+judgment is--Humility." Having agreeably occupied her mind with
+subjects that were worthy of it, Mrs. Gallilee rose to seek a little
+physical relief by walking up and down the room.
+
+Passing and repassing the bookcases, she noticed a remote corner
+devoted to miscellaneous literature. A volume in faded binding of
+sky-blue, had been placed upside down. She looked at the book before
+she put it in its right position. The title was "Gallery of British
+Beauty." Among the illustrations--long since forgotten--appeared her
+own portrait, when she was a girl of Carmina's age.
+
+A faintly contemptuous smile parted her hard lips, provoked by the
+recollections of her youth.
+
+What a fool she had been, at that early period of her life! In those
+days, she had trembled with pleasure at the singing of a famous Italian
+tenor; she had flown into a passion when a new dress proved to be a
+misfit, on the evening of a ball; she had given money to beggars in the
+street; she had fallen in love with a poor young man, and had terrified
+her weak-minded hysterical mother, by threatening to commit suicide
+when the beloved object was forbidden the house. Comparing the girl of
+seventeen with the matured and cultivated woman of later years, what a
+matchless example Mrs. Gallilee presented of the healthy influence of
+education, directed to scientific pursuits! "Ah!" she thought, as she
+put the book back in its place, "my girls will have reason to thank me
+when they grow up; they have had a mother who has done her duty."
+
+She took a few more turns up and down the room. The sky had cleared
+again; a golden gleam of sunlight drew her to the window. The next
+moment she regretted even this concession to human weakness. A
+disagreeable association presented itself, and arrested the pleasant
+flow of her thoughts. Mr. Gallilee appeared on the door-step; leaving
+the house on foot, and carrying a large brown-paper parcel under his
+arm.
+
+With servants at his disposal, why was he carrying the parcel himself?
+The time had been, when Mrs. Gallilee would have tapped at the window,
+and would have insisted on his instantly returning and answering the
+question. But his conduct, since the catastrophe in Carmina's room, had
+produced a complete estrangement between the married pair. All his
+inquiries after his wife's health had been made by deputy. When he was
+not in the schoolroom with the children, he was at his club. Until he
+came to his senses, and made humble apology, no earthly consideration
+would induce Mrs. Gallilee to take the slightest notice of him.
+
+She returned to her reading.
+
+The footman came in, with two letters--one arriving by post; the other
+having been dropped into the box by private messenger. Communications
+of this latter sort proceeded, not unfrequently, from creditors. Mrs.
+Gallilee opened the stamped letter first.
+
+It contained nothing more important than a few lines from a daily
+governess, whom she had engaged until a successor to Miss Minerva could
+be found. In obedience to Mrs. Gallilee's instructions, the governess
+would begin her attendance at ten o'clock on the next morning.
+
+The second letter was of a very different kind. It related the disaster
+which had befallen Mr. Le Frank.
+
+Mr. Null was the writer. As Miss Carmina's medical attendant, it was
+his duty to inform her guardian that her health had been unfavourably
+affected by an alarm in the house. Having described the nature of the
+alarm, he proceeded in these words: "You will, I fear, lose the
+services of your present music-master. Inquiries made this morning at
+the hospital, and reported to me, appear to suggest serious results.
+The wounded man's constitution is in an unhealthy state; the surgeons
+are not sure of being able to save two of the fingers. I will do myself
+the honour of calling to-morrow before you go out for your drive."
+
+The impression produced by this intelligence on the lady to whom it was
+addressed, can only be reported in her own words. She--who knew, on the
+best scientific authority, that the world had created itself--
+completely lost her head, and actually said, "Thank God!"
+
+For weeks to come--perhaps for months if the surgeons' forebodings were
+fulfilled--Mrs. Gallilee had got rid of Mr. Le Frank. In that moment of
+infinite relief, if her husband had presented himself, it is even
+possible that he might have been forgiven.
+
+As it was, Mr. Gallilee returned late in the afternoon; entered his own
+domain of the smoking-room; and left the house again five minutes
+afterwards. Joseph officiously opened the door for him; and Joseph was
+surprised, precisely as his mistress had been surprised. Mr. Gallilee
+had a large brown paper parcel under his arm--the second which he had
+taken out of the house with his own hands! Moreover, he looked
+excessively confused when the footman discovered him. That night, he
+was late in returning from the club. Joseph (now on the watch) observed
+that he was not steady on his legs--and drew his own conclusions
+accordingly.
+
+Punctual to her time, on the next morning, the new governess arrived.
+Mrs. Gallilee received her, and sent for the children.
+
+The maid in charge of them appeared alone. She had no doubt that the
+young ladies would be back directly. The master had taken them out for
+a little walk, before they began their lessons. He had been informed
+that the lady who had been appointed to teach them would arrive at ten
+o'clock. And what had he said? He had said, "Very good."
+
+The half-hour struck--eleven o'clock struck--and neither the father nor
+the children returned. Ten minutes later, someone rang the door bell.
+The door being duly opened, nobody appeared on the house-step. Joseph
+looked into the letter-box, and found a note addressed to his mistress,
+in his master's handwriting. He immediately delivered it.
+
+Hitherto, Mrs. Gallilee had only been anxious. Joseph, waiting for
+events outside the door, heard the bell rung furiously; and found his
+mistress (as he forcibly described it) "like a woman gone distracted."
+Not without reason--to do her justice. Mr. Gallilee's method of
+relieving his wife's anxiety was remarkable by its brevity. In one
+sentence, he assured her that there was no need to feel alarmed. In
+another, he mentioned that he had taken the girls away with him for a
+change of air. And then he signed his initials--J. G.
+
+Every servant in the house was summoned to the library, when Mrs.
+Gallilee had in some degree recovered herself.
+
+One after another they were strictly examined; and one after another
+they had no evidence to give--excepting the maid who had been present
+when the master took the young ladies away. The little she had to tell,
+pointed to the inference that he had not admitted the girls to his
+confidence before they left the house. Maria had submitted, without
+appearing to be particularly pleased at the prospect of so early a
+walk. Zo (never ready to exert either her intelligence or her legs) had
+openly declared that she would rather stay at home. To this the master
+had answered, "Get your things on directly!"--and had said it so
+sharply that Miss Zoe stared at him in astonishment. Had they taken
+anything with them--a travelling bag for instance? They had taken
+nothing, except Mr. Gallilee's umbrella. Who had seen Mr. Gallilee
+last, on the previous night? Joseph had seen him last. The lower
+classes in England have one, and but one, true feeling of sympathy with
+the higher classes. The man above them appeals to their hearts, and
+merits their true service, when he is unsteady on his legs. Joseph
+nobly confined his evidence to what he had observed some hours
+previously: he mentioned the parcel. Mrs. Gallilee's keen perception,
+quickened by her own experience at the window, arrived at the truth.
+Those two bulky packages must have contained clothes--left, in
+anticipation of the journey, under the care of an accomplice. It was
+impossible that Mr. Gallilee could have got at the girls' dresses and
+linen, and have made the necessary selections from them, without a
+woman's assistance. The female servants were examined again. Each one
+of them positively asserted her innocence. Mrs. Gallilee threatened to
+send for the police. The indignant women all cried in chorus, "Search
+our boxes!" Mrs. Gallilee took a wiser course. She sent to the lawyers
+who had been recommended to her by Mr. Null. The messenger had just
+been despatched, when Mr. Null himself, in performance of yesterday's
+engagement, called at the house.
+
+He, too, was agitated. It was impossible that he could have heard what
+had happened. Was he the bearer of bad news? Mrs. Gallilee thought of
+Carmina first, and then of Mr. Le Frank.
+
+"Prepare for a surprise," Mr. Null began, "a joyful surprise, Mrs.
+Gallilee! I have received a telegram from your son."
+
+He handed it to her as he spoke.
+
+"September 6th. Arrived at Quebec, and received information of
+Carmina's illness. Shall catch the Boston steamer, and sail to-morrow
+for Liverpool. Break the news gently to C. For God's sake send telegram
+to meet me at Queenstown."
+
+It was then the 7th of September. If all went well, Ovid might be in
+London in ten days more.
+
+CHAPTER LV.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee read the telegram--paused--and read it again. She let it
+drop on her lap; but her eyes still rested mechanically on the slip of
+paper. When she spoke, her voice startled Mr. Null. Usually loud and
+hard, her tones were strangely subdued. If his back had been turned
+towards her, he would hardly have known who was speaking to him.
+
+"I must ask you to make allowances for me," she began, abruptly; "I
+hardly know what to say. This surprise comes at a time when I am badly
+prepared for it. I am getting well; but, you see, I am not quite so
+strong as I was before that woman attacked me. My husband has gone
+away--I don't know where--and has taken my children with him. Read his
+note: but don't say anything. You must let me be quiet, or I can't
+think."
+
+She handed the letter to Mr. Null. He looked at her--read the few words
+submitted to him--and looked at her again. For once, his stock of
+conventional phrases failed him. Who could have anticipated such
+conduct on the part of her husband? Who could have supposed that she
+herself would have been affected in this way, by the return of her son?
+
+Mrs. Gallilee drew a long heavy breath. "I have got it now," she said.
+"My son is coming home in a hurry because of Carmina's illness. Has
+Carmina written to him?"
+
+Mr. Null was in his element again: this question appealed to his
+knowledge of his patient. "Impossible, Mrs. Gallilee--in her present
+state of health."
+
+"In her present state of health? I forgot that. There was something
+else. Oh, yes! Has Carmina seen the telegram?"
+
+Mr. Null explained. He had just come from Carmina. In his medical
+capacity, he had thought it judicious to try the moral effect on his
+patient of a first allusion to the good news. He had only ventured to
+say that Mr. Ovid's agents in Canada had heard from him on his travels,
+and had reason to believe that he would shortly return to Quebec. Upon
+the whole, the impression produced on the young lady--
+
+It was useless to go on. Mrs. Gallilee was pursuing her own thoughts,
+without even the pretence of listening to him.
+
+"I want to know who wrote to my son," she persisted. "Was it the
+nurse?"
+
+Mr. Null considered this to be in the last degree unlikely. The nurse's
+language showed a hostile feeling towards Mr. Ovid, in consequence of
+his absence.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee looked once more at the telegram. "Why," she asked, "does
+Ovid telegraph to You?"
+
+Mr. Null answered with his customary sense of what was due to himself.
+"As the medical attendant of the family, your son naturally supposed,
+madam, that Miss Carmina was under my care."
+
+The implied reproof produced no effect. "I wonder whether my son was
+afraid to trust us?" was all Mrs. Gallilee said. It was the chance
+guess of a wandering mind--but it had hit the truth. Kept in ignorance
+of Carmina's illness by the elder members of the family, at what other
+conclusion could Ovid arrive, with Zo's letter before him? After a
+momentary pause, Mrs. Gallilee went on. "I suppose I may keep the
+telegram?" she said.
+
+Prudent Mr. Null offered a copy--and made the copy, then and there. The
+original (he explained) was his authority for acting on Mr. Ovid's
+behalf, and he must therefore beg leave to keep it. Mrs. Gallilee
+permitted him to exchange the two papers. "Is there anything more?" she
+asked. "Your time is valuable of course. Don't let me detain you."
+
+"May I feel your pulse before I go?"
+
+She held out her arm to him in silence.
+
+The carriage came to the door while he was counting the beat of the
+pulse. She glanced at the window, and said, "Send it away." Mr. Null
+remonstrated. "My dear lady, the air will do you good." She answered
+obstinately and quietly, "No"--and once more became absorbed in
+thought.
+
+It had been her intention to combine her first day of carriage exercise
+with a visit to Teresa's lodgings, and a personal exertion of her
+authority. The news of Ovid's impending return made it a matter of
+serious importance to consider this resolution under a new light. She
+had now, not only to reckon with Teresa, but with her son. With this
+burden on her enfeebled mind--heavily laden by the sense of injury
+which her husband's flight had aroused--she had not even reserves
+enough of energy to spare for the trifling effort of dressing to go
+out. She broke into irritability, for the first time. "I am trying to
+find out who has written to my son. How can I do it when you are
+worrying me about the carriage? Have you ever held a full glass in your
+hand, and been afraid of letting it overflow? That's what I'm afraid
+of--in my mind--I don't mean that my mind is a glass--I mean--" Her
+forehead turned red. _"Will_ you leave me?" she cried.
+
+He left her instantly.
+
+The change in her manner, the difficulty she found in expressing her
+thoughts, had even startled stupid Mr. Null. She had herself alluded to
+results of the murderous attack made on her by Teresa, which had not
+perhaps hitherto sufficiently impressed him. In the shock inflicted on
+the patient's body, had there been involved some subtly-working
+influence that had disturbed the steady balance of her mind? Pondering
+uneasily on that question, he spoke to Joseph in the hall.
+
+"Do you know about your master and the children?" he said.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"I wish you had told me of it, when you let me in."
+
+"Have I done any harm, sir?"
+
+"I don't know yet. If you want me, I shall be at home to dinner at
+seven."
+
+The next visitor was one of the partners in the legal firm, to which
+Mrs. Gallilee had applied for advice. After what Mr. Null had said,
+Joseph hesitated to conduct this gentleman into the presence of his
+mistress. He left the lawyer in the waiting-room, and took his card.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's attitude had not changed. She sat looking down at the
+copied telegram and the letter from her husband, lying together on her
+lap. Joseph was obliged to speak twice, before he could rouse her.
+
+"To-morrow," was all she said.
+
+"What time shall I say, ma'am?"
+
+She put her hand to her head--and broke into anger against Joseph.
+"Settle it yourself, you wretch!" Her head drooped again over the
+papers. Joseph returned to the lawyer. "My mistress is not very well,
+sir. She will be obliged if you will call to-morrow, at your own time."
+
+About an hour later, she rang her bell--rang it unintermittingly, until
+Joseph appeared. "I'm famished," she said. "Something to eat! I never
+was so hungry in my life. At once--I can't wait."
+
+The cook sent up a cold fowl, and a ham. Her eyes devoured the food,
+while the footman was carving it for her. Her bad temper seemed to have
+completely disappeared. She said, "What a delicious dinner! Just the
+very things I like." She lifted the first morsel to her mouth--and laid
+the fork down again with a weary sigh. "No: I can't eat; what has come
+to me?" With those words, she pushed her chair away from the table, and
+looked slowly all round her. "I want the telegram and the letter."
+Joseph found them. "Can you help me?" she said. "I am trying to find
+out who wrote my son. Say yes, or no, at once; I hate waiting."
+
+Joseph left her in her old posture, with her head down and the papers
+on her lap.
+
+The appearance of the uneaten dinner in the kitchen produced a
+discussion, followed by a quarrel.
+
+Joseph was of the opinion that the mistress had got more upon her mind
+than her mind could well bear. It was useless to send for Mr. Null; he
+had already mentioned that he would not be home until seven o'clock..
+There was no superior person in the house to consult. It was not for
+the servants to take responsibility on themselves. "Fetch the nearest
+doctor, and let _him_ be answerable, if anything serious happens." Such
+was Joseph's advice.
+
+The women (angrily remembering that Mrs. Gallilee had spoken of sending
+for the police) ridiculed the footman's cautious proposal--with one
+exception. When the others ironically asked him if he was not
+accustomed to the mistress's temper yet, Mrs. Gallilee's own maid
+(Marceline) said, "What do we know about it? Joseph is the only one of
+us who has seen her, since the morning."
+
+This perfectly sensible remark had the effect of a breath of wind on a
+smouldering fire. The female servants, all equally suspected of having
+assisted Mr. Gallilee in making up his parcels, were all equally
+assured that there was a traitress among them--and that Marceline was
+the woman. Hitherto suppressed, this feeling now openly found its way
+to expression. Marceline lost her temper; and betrayed herself as her
+master's guilty confederate.
+
+"I'm a mean mongrel--am I?" cried the angry maid, repeating the cook's
+allusion to her birthplace in the Channel Islands. "The mistress shall
+know, this minute, that I'm the woman who did it!"
+
+"Why didn't you say so before?" the cook retorted.
+
+"Because I promised my master not to tell on him, till he got to his
+journey's end."
+
+"Who'll lay a wager?" asked the cook. "I bet half-a-crown she changes
+her mind, before she gets to the top of the stairs."
+
+"Perhaps she thinks the mistress will forgive her," the parlour-maid
+suggested ironically.
+
+"Or perhaps," the housemaid added, "she means to give the mistress
+notice to leave."
+
+"That's exactly what I'm going to do!" said Marceline.
+
+The women all declined to believe her. She appealed to Joseph. "What
+did I tell you, when the mistress first sent me out in the carriage
+with poor Miss Carmina? Didn't I say that I was no spy, and that I
+wouldn't submit to be made one? I would have left the house--I
+would!--but for Miss Carmina's kindness. Any other young lady would
+have made me feel my mean position. _She_ treated me like a friend--and
+I don't forget it. I'll go straight from this place, and help to nurse
+her!"
+
+With that declaration, Marceline left the kitchen.
+
+Arrived at the library door, she paused. Not as the cook had suggested,
+to "change her mind;" but to consider beforehand how much she should
+confess to her mistress, and how much she should hold in reserve.
+
+Zo's narrative of what had happened, on the evening of Teresa's
+arrival, had produced its inevitable effect on the maid's mind.
+Strengthening, by the sympathy which it excited, her grateful
+attachment to Carmina, it had necessarily intensified her dislike of
+Mrs. Gallilee--and Mrs. Gallilee's innocent husband had profited by
+that circumstance!
+
+Unexpectedly tried by time, Mr. Gallilee's resolution to assert his
+paternal authority, in spite of his wife, had failed him. The same
+timidity which invents a lie in a hurry, can construct a stratagem at
+leisure. Marceline had discovered her master putting a plan of escape,
+devised by himself, to its first practical trial before the open
+wardrobe of his daughters--and had asked slyly if she could be of any
+use. Never remarkable for presence of mind in emergencies, Mr. Gallilee
+had helplessly admitted to his confidence the last person in the house,
+whom anyone else (in his position) would have trusted. "My good soul, I
+want to take the girls away quietly for change of air--you have got
+little secrets of your own, like me, haven't you?--and the fact is, I
+don't quite know how many petticoats--." There, he checked himself;
+conscious, when it was too late, that he was asking his wife's maid to
+help him in deceiving his wife. The ready Marceline helped him through
+the difficulty. "I understand, sir: my mistress's mind is much
+occupied--and you don't want to trouble her about this little journey."
+Mr. Gallilee, at a loss for any other answer, pulled out his purse.
+Marceline modestly drew back at the sight of it. "My mistress pays me,
+sir; I serve _you_ for nothing." In those words, she would have
+informed any other man of the place which Mrs. Gallilee held in her
+estimation. Her master simply considered her to be the most
+disinterested woman he had ever met with. If she lost her situation
+through helping him, he engaged to pay her wages until she found
+another place. The maid set his mind at rest on that subject. "A woman
+who understands hairdressing as I do, sir, can refer to other ladies
+besides Mrs. Gallilee, and can get a place whenever she wants one."
+
+Having decided on what she should confess, and on what she should
+conceal, Marceline knocked at the library door. Receiving no answer,
+she went in.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was leaning back in her chair: her hands hung down on
+either side of her; her eyes looked up drowsily at the ceiling.
+Prepared to see a person with an overburdened mind, the maid (without
+sympathy, to quicken her perceptions) saw nothing but a person on the
+point of taking a nap.
+
+"Can I speak a word, ma'am?"
+
+Mrs. Gallilee's eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. "Is that my maid?"
+she asked.
+
+Treated--to all appearance--with marked contempt, Marceline no longer
+cared to assume the forms of respect either in language or manner. "I
+wish to give you notice to leave," she said abruptly; "I find I can't
+get on with my fellow-servants."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee slowly raised her head, and looked at her maid--and said
+nothing.
+
+"And while I'm about it," the angry woman proceeded, "I may as well own
+the truth. You suspect one of us of helping my master to take away the
+young ladies' things--I mean some few of their things. Well! you
+needn't blame innocent people. I'm the person."
+
+Mrs. Gallilee laid her head back again on the chair--and burst out
+laughing.
+
+For one moment, Marceline looked at her mistress in blank surprise.
+Then, the terrible truth burst on her. She ran into the hall, and
+called for Joseph.
+
+He hurried up the stairs. The instant he presented himself at the open
+door, Mrs. Gallilee rose to her feet. "My medical attendant," she said,
+with an assumption of dignity; "I must explain myself." She held up one
+hand, outstretched; and counted her fingers with the other. "First my
+husband. Then my son. Now my maid. One, two, three. Mr. Null, do you
+know the proverb? 'It's the last hair that breaks the camel's back.'"
+She suddenly dropped on her knees. "Will somebody pray for me?" she
+cried piteously. "I don't know how to pray for myself. Where is God?"
+
+Bareheaded as he was, Joseph ran out. The nearest doctor lived on the
+opposite side of the Square. He happened to be at home. When he reached
+the house, the women servants were holding their mistress down by main
+force.
+
+CHAPTER LVI.
+
+On the next day, Mr. Mool--returning from a legal consultation to an
+appointment at his office--found a gentleman, whom he knew by sight,
+walking up and down before his door; apparently bent on intercepting
+him. "Mr. Null, I believe?" he said, with his customary politeness.
+
+Mr. Null answered to his name, and asked for a moment of Mr. Mool's
+time. Mr. Mool looked grave, and said he was late for an appointment
+already. Mr. Null admitted that the clerks in the office had told him
+so, and said at last, what he ought to have said at first: "I am Mrs.
+Gallilee's medical attendant--there is serious necessity for
+communicating with her husband."
+
+Mr. Mool instantly led the way into the office.
+
+The chief clerk approached his employer, with some severity of manner.
+"The parties have been waiting, sir, for more than a quarter of an
+hour." Mr. Mool's attention wandered: he was thinking of Mrs. Gallilee.
+"Is she dying?" he asked. "She is out of her mind," Mr. Null answered.
+Those words petrified the lawyer: he looked helplessly at the
+clerk--who, in his turn, looked indignantly at the office clock. Mr.
+Mool recovered himself. "Say I am detained by a most distressing
+circumstance; I will call on the parties later in the day, at their own
+hour." Giving those directions to the clerk, he hurried Mr. Null
+upstairs into a private room. "Tell me about it; pray tell me about it.
+Stop! Perhaps, there is not time enough. What can I do?"
+
+Mr. Null put the question, which he ought to have asked when they met
+at the house door. "Can you tell me Mr. Gallilee's address?"
+
+"Certainly! Care of the Earl of Northlake--"
+
+"Will you please write it in my pocket-book? I am so upset by this
+dreadful affair that I can't trust my memory."
+
+Such a confession of helplessness as this, was all that was wanted to
+rouse Mr. Mool. He rejected the pocket-book, and wrote the address on a
+telegram. "Return directly: your wife is seriously ill." In five
+minutes more, the message was on its way to Scotland; and Mr. Null was
+at liberty to tell his melancholy story--if he could.
+
+With assistance from Mr. Mool, he got through it. "This morning," he
+proceeded, "I have had the two best opinions in London. Assuming that
+there is no hereditary taint, the doctors think favourably of Mrs.
+Gallilee's chances of recovery."
+
+"Is it violent madness?" Mr. Mool asked.
+
+Mr. Null admitted that two nurses were required. "The doctors don't
+look on her violence as a discouraging symptom," he said. "They are
+inclined to attribute it to the strength of her constitution. I felt it
+my duty to place my own knowledge of the case before them. Without
+mentioning painful family circumstances--"
+
+"I happen to be acquainted with the circumstances," Mr. Mool
+interposed. "Are they in any way connected with this dreadful state of
+things?"
+
+He put that question eagerly, as if he had some strong personal
+interest in hearing the reply.
+
+Mr. Null blundered on steadily with his story. "I thought it right
+(with all due reserve) to mention that Mrs. Gallilee had been subjected
+to--I won't trouble you with medical language--let us say, to a severe
+shock; involving mental disturbance as well as bodily injury, before
+her reason gave way."
+
+"And they considered that to be the cause--?"
+
+Mr. Null asserted his dignity. "The doctors agreed with Me, that it had
+shaken her power of self-control."
+
+"You relieve me, Mr. Null--you infinitely relieve me! If our way of
+removing the children had done the mischief, I should never have
+forgiven myself."
+
+He blushed, and said no more. Had Mr. Null noticed the slip of the
+tongue into which his agitation had betrayed him? Mr. Null did
+certainly look as if he was going to put a question. The lawyer
+desperately forestalled him.
+
+"May I ask how you came to apply to me for Mr. Gallilee's address? Did
+you think of it yourself?"
+
+Mr. Null had never had an idea of his own, from the day of his birth,
+downward. "A very intelligent man," he answered, "reminded me that you
+were an old friend of Mr. Gallilee. In short, it was Joseph--the
+footman at Fairfield Gardens."
+
+Joseph's good opinion was of no importance to Mr. Mool's professional
+interests. He could gratify Mr. Null's curiosity without fear of
+lowering himself in the estimation of a client.
+
+"I had better, perhaps, explain that chance allusion of mine to the
+children," he began. "My good friend, Mr. Gallilee, had his own reasons
+for removing his daughters from home for a time--reasons, I am bound to
+add, in which I concur. The children were to be placed under the care
+of their aunt, Lady Northlake. Unfortunately, her ladyship was away
+with my lord, cruising in their yacht. They were not able to receive
+Maria and Zoe at once. In the interval that elapsed--excuse my entering
+into particulars--our excellent friend had his own domestic reasons for
+arranging the--the sort of clandestine departure which did in fact take
+place. It was perhaps unwise on my part to consent--in short, I
+permitted some of the necessary clothing to be privately deposited
+here, and called for on the way to the station. Very unprofessional, I
+am aware. I did it for the best; and allowed my friendly feeling to
+mislead me. Can I be of any use? How is poor Miss Carmina? No better?
+Oh, dear! dear! Mr. Ovid will hear dreadful news, when he comes home.
+Can't we prepare him for it, in any way?"
+
+Mr. Null announced that a telegram would meet Ovid at Queenstown--with
+the air of a man who had removed every obstacle that could be suggested
+to him. The kind-hearted lawyer shook his head.
+
+"Is there no friend who can meet him there?" Mr. Mool suggested. "I
+have clients depending on me--cases, in which property is concerned,
+and reputation is at stake--or I would gladly go myself. You, with your
+patients, are as little at liberty as I am. Can't you think of some
+other friend?"
+
+Mr. Null could think of nobody, and had nothing to propose. Of the
+three weak men, now brought into association by the influence of
+domestic calamity, he was the feeblest, beyond all doubt. Mr. Mool had
+knowledge of law, and could on occasion be incited to energy. Mr.
+Gallilee had warm affections, which, being stimulated, could at least
+assert themselves. Mr. Null, professionally and personally, was
+incapable of stepping beyond his own narrow limits, under any
+provocation whatever. He submitted to the force of events as a
+cabbage-leaf submits to the teeth of a rabbit.
+
+After leaving the office, Carmina's medical attendant had his patient
+to see. Since the unfortunate alarm in the house, he had begun to feel
+doubtful and anxious about her again.
+
+In the sitting-room, he found Teresa and the landlady in consultation.
+In her own abrupt way, the nurse made him acquainted with the nature of
+the conference.
+
+"We have two worries to bother us," she said; "and the music-master is
+the worst of the two. There's a notion at the hospital (set agoing, I
+don't doubt, by the man himself), that I crushed his fingers on
+purpose. That's a lie! With the open cupboard door between us, how
+could I see him, or he see me? When I gave it a push-to, I no more knew
+where his hand was, than you do. If I meant anything, I meant to slap
+his face for prying about in my room. We've made out a writing between
+us, to show to the doctors. You shall have a copy, in case you're asked
+about it. Now for the other matter. You keep on telling me I shall fall
+ill myself, if I don't get a person to help me with Carmina. Make your
+mind easy--the person has come."
+
+"Where is she?"
+
+Teresa pointed to the bedroom.
+
+"Recommended by me?" Mr. Null inquired.
+
+"Recommended by herself. And we don't like her. That's the other
+worry."
+
+Mr. Null's dignity declined to attach any importance to the "other
+worry." "No nurse has any business here, without my sanction! I'll send
+her away directly."
+
+He pushed open the baize door. A lady was sitting by Carmina's bedside.
+Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking _that_ face. Mr. Null
+recognised--Miss Minerva.
+
+She rose, and bowed to him. He returned the bow stiffly. Nature's
+protecting care of fools supplies them with an instinct which distrusts
+ability. Mr. Null never liked Miss Minerva. At the same time, he was a
+little afraid of her. This was not the sort of nurse who could be
+ordered to retire at a moment's notice.
+
+"I have been waiting anxiously to see you," she said--and led the way
+to the farther end of the room. "Carmina terrifies me," she added in a
+whisper. "I have been here for an hour. When I entered the room her
+face, poor dear, seemed to come to life again; she was able to express
+her joy at seeing me. Even the jealous old nurse noticed the change for
+the better. Why didn't it last? Look at her--oh, look at her!"
+
+The melancholy relapse that had followed the short interval of
+excitement was visible to anyone now.
+
+There was the "simulated paralysis," showing itself plainly in every
+part of the face. She lay still as death, looking vacantly at the foot
+of the bed. Mr. Null was inclined to resent the interference of a
+meddling woman, in the discharge of his duty. He felt Carmina's pulse,
+in sulky silence. Her eyes never moved; her hand showed no
+consciousness of his touch. Teresa opened the door, and looked
+in--impatiently eager to see the intruding nurse sent away. Miss
+Minerva invited her to return to her place at the bedside. "I only ask
+to occupy it," she said considerately, "when you want rest." Teresa was
+ready with an ungracious reply, but found no opportunity of putting it
+into words. Miss Minerva turned quickly to Mr. Null. "I must ask you to
+let me say a few words more," she continued; "I will wait for you in
+the next room."
+
+Her resolute eyes rested on him with a look which said plainly, "I mean
+to be heard." He followed her into the sitting-room, and waited in
+sullen submission to hear what she had to say.
+
+"I must not trouble you by entering into my own affairs," she began. "I
+will only say that I have obtained an engagement much sooner than I had
+anticipated, and that the convenience of my employers made it necessary
+for me to meet them in Paris. I owed Carmina a letter; but I had
+reasons for not writing until I knew whether she had, or had not, left
+London. With that object, I called this morning at her aunt's house.
+You now see me here--after what I have heard from the servants. I make
+no comment, and I ask for no explanations. One thing only, I must know.
+Teresa refers me to you. Is Carmina attended by any other medical man?"
+
+Mr. Null answered stiffly, "I am in consultation with Doctor Benjulia;
+and I expect him to-day."
+
+The reply startled her. "Dr. Benjulia?" she repeated.
+
+"The greatest man we have!" Mr. Null asserted in his most positive
+manner.
+
+She silently determined to wait until Doctor Benjulia arrived.
+
+"What is the last news of Mr. Ovid?" she said to him, after an interval
+of consideration.
+
+He told her the news, in the fewest words possible. Even he observed
+that it seemed to excite her.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Null! who is to prepare him for what he will see in that room?
+Who is to tell him what he must hear of his mother?"
+
+There was a certain familiarity in the language of this appeal, which
+Mr. Null felt it necessary to discourage. "The matter is left in my
+hands," he announced. "I shall telegraph to him at Queenstown. When he
+comes home, he will find my prescriptions on the table. Being a medical
+man himself, my treatment of the case will tell Mr. Ovid Vere
+everything."
+
+The obstinate insensibility of his tone stopped her on the point of
+saying what Mr. Mool had said already. She, too, felt for Ovid, when
+she thought of the cruel brevity of a telegram. "At what date will the
+vessel reach Queenstown?" she asked.
+
+"By way of making sure," said Mr. Null, "I shall telegraph in a week's
+time."
+
+She troubled him with no more inquiries. He had purposely remained
+standing, in the expectation that she would take the hint, and go; and
+he now walked to the window, and looked out. She remained in her chair,
+thinking. In a few minutes more, there was a heavy step on the stairs.
+Benjulia had arrived.
+
+He looked hard at Miss Minerva, in unconcealed surprise at finding her
+in the house. She rose, and made an effort to propitiate him by shaking
+hands. "I am very anxious," she said gently, "to hear your opinion."
+
+"Your hand tells me that," he answered. "It's a cold hand, on a warm
+day. You're an excitable woman."
+
+He looked at Mr. Null, and led the way into the bedroom.
+
+Left by herself, Miss Minerva discovered writing materials (placed
+ready for Mr. Null's next prescription) on a side table. She made use
+of them at once to write to her employer. "A dear friend of mine is
+seriously ill, and in urgent need of all that my devotion can do for
+her. If you are willing to release me from my duties for a short time,
+your sympathy and indulgence will not be thrown away on an ungrateful
+woman. If you cannot do me this favour, I ask your pardon for putting
+you to inconvenience, and leave some other person, whose mind is at
+ease, to occupy the place which I am for the present unfit to fill."
+Having completed her letter in those terms, she waited Benjulia's
+return.
+
+There was sadness in her face, but no agitation, as she looked
+patiently towards the bedroom door. At last--in her inmost heart, she
+knew it--the victory over herself was a victory won. Carmina could
+trust her now; and Ovid himself should see it!
+
+Mr. Null returned to the sitting-room alone. Doctor Benjulia had no
+time to spare: he had left the bedroom by the other door.
+
+"I may say (as you seem anxious) that my colleague approves of a
+proposal, on my part, to slightly modify the last prescription. We
+recognise the new symptoms, without feeling alarm." Having issued this
+bulletin, Mr. Null sat down to make his feeble treatment of his patient
+feebler still.
+
+When he looked up again, the room was empty. Had she left the house?
+No: her travelling hat and her gloves were on the other table. Had she
+boldly confronted Teresa on her own ground?
+
+He took his modified prescription into the bedroom. There she was, and
+there sat the implacable nurse, already persuaded into listening to
+her! What conceivable subject could there be, which offered two such
+women neutral ground to meet on? Mr. Null left the house without the
+faintest suspicion that Carmina might be the subject.
+
+"May I try to rouse her?"
+
+Teresa answered by silently resigning her place at the bedside. Miss
+Minerva touched Carmina's hand, and spoke. "Have you heard the good
+news, dear? Ovid is coming back in little more than a week."
+
+Carmina looked--reluctantly looked--at her friend, and said, with an
+effort, "I am glad."
+
+"You will be better," Miss Minerva continued, "the moment you see him."
+
+Her face became faintly animated. "I shall be able to say good-bye,"
+she answered.
+
+"Not good-bye, darling. He is returning to you after a long journey."
+
+"I am going, Frances, on a longer journey still." She closed her eyes,
+too weary or too indifferent to say more.
+
+Miss Minerva drew back, struggling against the tears that fell fast
+over her face. The jealous old nurse quietly moved nearer to her, and
+kissed her hand. "I've been a brute and a fool," said Teresa; "you're
+almost as fond of her as I am."
+
+A week later, Miss Minerva left London, to wait for Ovid at Queenstown.
+
+CHAPTER LVII.
+
+Mr. Mool was in attendance at Fairfield Gardens, when his old friend
+arrived from Scotland, to tell him what the cautiously expressed
+message in the telegram really meant.
+
+But one idea seemed to be impressed on Mr. Gallilee's mind--the idea of
+reconciliation. He insisted on seeing his wife. It was in vain to tell
+him that she was utterly incapable of reciprocating or even of
+understanding his wishes. Absolute resistance was the one alternative
+left--and it was followed by distressing results. The kind-hearted old
+man burst into a fit of crying, which even shook the resolution of the
+doctors. One of them went upstairs to warn the nurses. The other said,
+"Let him see her."
+
+The instant he showed himself in the room, Mrs. Gallilee recognised him
+with a shriek of fury. The nurses held her back--while Mr. Mool dragged
+him out again, and shut the door. The object of the doctors had been
+gained. His own eyes had convinced him of the terrible necessity of
+placing his wife under restraint. She was removed to a private asylum.
+
+Maria and Zo had been left in Scotland--as perfectly happy as girls
+could be, in the society of their cousins, and under the affectionate
+care of their aunt. Mr. Gallilee remained in London; but he was not
+left alone in the deserted house. The good lawyer had a spare room at
+his disposal; and Mrs. Mool and her daughters received him with true
+sympathy. Coming events helped to steady his mind. He was comforted in
+the anticipation of Ovid's return, and interested in hearing of the
+generous motive which had led Miss Minerva to meet his stepson.
+
+"I never agreed with the others when they used to abuse our governess,"
+he said. "She might have been quick-tempered, and she might have been
+ugly--I suppose I saw her in some other light myself." He had truly
+seen her under another light. In his simple affectionate nature, there
+had been instinctive recognition of that great heart.
+
+He was allowed to see Carmina, in the hope that pleasant associations
+connected with him might have a favourable influence. She smiled
+faintly, and gave him her hand when she saw him at the bedside--but
+that was all.
+
+Too deeply distressed to ask to see her again, he made his inquiries
+for the future at the door. Day after day, the answer was always the
+same.
+
+Before she left London, Miss Minerva had taken it on herself to engage
+the vacant rooms, on the ground floor of the lodging-house, for Ovid.
+She knew his heart, as she knew her own heart. Once under the same roof
+with Carmina, he would leave it no more--until life gave her back to
+him, or death took her away. Hearing of what had been done, Mr.
+Gallilee removed to Ovid's rooms the writing-desk and the books, the
+favourite music and the faded flowers, left by Carmina at Fairfield
+Gardens. "Anything that belongs to her," he thought, "will surely be
+welcome to the poor fellow when he comes back."
+
+On one afternoon--never afterwards to be forgotten--he had only begun
+to make his daily inquiry, when the door on the ground floor was
+opened, and Miss Minerva beckoned to him.
+
+Her face daunted Mr. Gallilee: he asked in a whisper, if Ovid had
+returned.
+
+She pointed upwards, and answered, "He is with her now."
+
+"How did he bear it?"
+
+"We don't know; we were afraid to follow him into the room."
+
+She turned towards the window as she spoke. Teresa was sitting
+there--vacantly looking out. Mr. Gallilee spoke to her kindly: she made
+no answer; she never even moved. "Worn out!" Miss Minerva whispered to
+him. "When she thinks of Carmina now, she thinks without hope."
+
+He shuddered. The expression of his own fear was in those words--and he
+shrank from it. Miss Minerva took his hand, and led him to a chair.
+"Ovid will know best," she reminded him; "let us wait for what Ovid
+will say."
+
+"Did you meet him on board the vessel?" Mr. Gallilee asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How did he look?"
+
+"So well and so strong that you would hardly have known him again--till
+he asked about Carmina. Then he turned pale. I knew that I must tell
+him the truth--but I was afraid to take it entirely on myself.
+Something Mr. Null said to me, before I left London, suggested that I
+might help Ovid to understand me if I took the prescriptions to
+Queenstown. I had not noticed that they were signed by Doctor Benjulia,
+as well as by Mr. Null. Don't ask me what effect the discovery had on
+him! I bore it at the time--I can't speak of it now."
+
+"You good creature! you dear good creature! Forgive me if I have
+distressed you; I didn't meant it."
+
+"You have not distressed me. Is there anything else I can tell you?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee hesitated. "There is one thing more," he said. "It isn't
+about Carmina this time--"
+
+He hesitated again. Miss Minerva understood. "Yes," she answered; "I
+spoke to Ovid of his mother. In mercy to himself and to me, he would
+hear no details. 'I know enough,' he said, 'if I know that she is the
+person to blame. I was prepared to hear it. My mother's silence could
+only be accounted for in one way, when I had read Zo's letter.'--Don't
+you know, Mr. Gallilee, that the child wrote to Ovid?"
+
+The surprise and delight of Zo's fond old father, when he heard the
+story of the letter, forced a smile from Miss Minerva, even at that
+time of doubt and sorrow. He declared that he would have returned to
+his daughter by the mail train of that night, but for two
+considerations. He must see his stepson before he went back to
+Scotland; and he must search all the toy-shops in London for the most
+magnificent present that could be offered to a young person of ten
+years old. "Tell Ovid, with my love, I'll call again to-morrow," he
+said, looking at his watch. "I have just time to write to Zo by
+to-day's post." He went to his club, for the first time since he had
+returned to London. Miss Minerva thought of bygone days, and wondered
+if he would enjoy his champagne.
+
+A little later Mr. Null called--anxious to know if Ovid had arrived.
+
+Other women, in the position of Miss Minerva and Teresa, might have
+hesitated to keep the patient's room closed to the doctor. These two
+were resolved. They refused to disturb Ovid, even by sending up a
+message. Mr. Null took offence. "Understand, both of you," he said,
+"when I call to-morrow morning, I shall insist on going upstairs--and
+if I find this incivility repeated, I shall throw up the case." He left
+the room, triumphing in his fool's paradise of aggressive self-conceit.
+
+They waited for some time longer--and still no message reached them
+from upstairs. "We may be wrong in staying here," Miss Minerva
+suggested; "he may want to be alone when he leaves her--let us go."
+
+She rose to return to the house of her new employers. They respected
+her, and felt for her: while Carmina's illness continued, she had the
+entire disposal of her time. The nurse accompanied her to the door;
+resigned to take refuge in the landlady's room. "I'm afraid to be by
+myself," Teresa said. "Even that woman's chatter is better for me than
+my own thoughts."
+
+Before parting for the night they waited in the hall, looking towards
+the stairs, and listening anxiously. Not a sound disturbed the
+melancholy silence.
+
+CHAPTER LVIII.
+
+Among many vain hopes, one hope had been realised: they had met again.
+
+In the darkened room, her weary eyes could hardly have seen the
+betrayal of what he suffered--even if she had looked up in his face.
+She was content to rest her head on his breast, and to feel his arm
+round her. "I am glad, dear," she said, "to have lived long enough for
+this."
+
+Those were her first words--after the first kiss. She had trembled and
+sighed, when he ran to her and bent over her: it was the one expression
+left of all her joy and all her love. But it passed away as other
+lesser agitations had passed away. One last reserve of energy obeyed
+the gentle persuasion of love. Silent towards all other friends, she
+was able to speak to Ovid.
+
+"You used to breathe so lightly," she said. "How is it that I hear you
+now. Oh, Ovid, don't cry! I couldn't bear that."
+
+He answered her quietly. "Don't be afraid, darling; I won't distress
+you."
+
+"And you will let me say, what I want to say?"
+
+"Oh, yes!"
+
+This satisfied her. "I may rest a little now," she said.
+
+He too was silent; held down by the heavy hand of despair.
+
+The time had been, in the days of his failing health, when the solemn
+shadows of evening falling over the fields--the soaring song of the
+lark in the bright heights of the midday sky--the dear lost
+remembrances that the divine touch of music finds again--brought tears
+into his eyes. They were dry eyes now! Those once tremulous nerves had
+gathered steady strength, on the broad prairies and in the roving life.
+Could trembling sorrow, seeking its way to the sources of tears,
+overbear the robust vitality that rioted in his blood, whether she
+lived or whether she died? In those deep breathings that had alarmed
+her, she had indeed heard the struggle of grief, vainly urging its way
+to expression against the masterful health and strength that set moral
+weakness at defiance. Nature had remade this man--and Nature never
+pities.
+
+It was an effort to her to collect her thoughts--but she did collect
+them. She was able to tell him what was in her mind.
+
+"Do you think, Ovid, your mother will care much what becomes of me,
+when I die?"
+
+He started at those dreadful words--so softly, so patiently spoken.
+"You will live," he said. "My Carmina, what am I here for but to bring
+you back to life?"
+
+She made no attempt to dispute with him. Quietly, persistently, she
+returned to the thought that was in her.
+
+"Say that I forgive your mother, Ovid--and that I only ask one thing in
+return. I ask her to leave me to you, when the end has come. My dear,
+there is a feeling in me that I can't get over. Don't let me be buried
+in a great place all crowded with the dead! I once saw a picture--it
+was at home in Italy, I think--an English picture of a quiet little
+churchyard in the country. The shadows of the trees rested on the
+lonely graves. And some great poet had written--oh, such beautiful
+words about it. _The red-breast loves to build and warble there, And
+little footsteps lightly print the ground._ Promise, Ovid, you will
+take me to some place, far from crowds and noise--where children may
+gather the flowers on my grave."
+
+He promised--and she thanked him, and rested again.
+
+"There was something else," she said, when the interval had passed. "My
+head is so sleepy. I wonder whether I can think of it?"
+
+After a while, she did think of it.
+
+"I want to make you a little farewell present. Will you undo my gold
+chain? Don't cry, Ovid! oh, don't cry!"
+
+He obeyed her. The gold chain held the two lockets--the treasured
+portraits of her father and her mother. "Wear them for my sake," she
+murmured. "Lift me up; I want to put them round your neck myself." She
+tried, vainly tried, to clasp the chain. Her head fell back on his
+breast. "Too sleepy," she said; "always too sleepy now! Say you love
+me, Ovid."
+
+He said it.
+
+"Kiss me, dear."
+
+He kissed her.
+
+"Now lay me down on the pillow. I'm not eighteen yet--and I feel as old
+as eighty! Rest; all I want is rest." Looking at him fondly, her eyes
+closed little by little--then softly opened again. "Don't wait in this
+dull room, darling; I will send for you, if I wake."
+
+It was the only wish of hers that he disobeyed. From time to time, his
+fingers touched her pulse, and felt its feeble beat. From time to time,
+he stooped and let the faint coming and going of her breath flutter on
+his cheek. The twilight fell, and darkness began to gather over the
+room. Still, he kept his place by her, like a man entranced.
+
+CHAPTER LIX.
+
+The first trivial sound that broke the spell, was the sound of a match
+struck in the next room.
+
+He rose, and groped his way to the door. Teresa had ventured upstairs,
+and had kindled a light. Some momentary doubt of him kept the nurse
+silent when he looked at her. He stammered, and stared about him
+confusedly, when he spoke.
+
+"Where--where--?" He seemed to have lost his hold on his thoughts--he
+gave it up, and tried again. "I want to be alone," he said; recovering,
+for the moment, some power of expressing himself.
+
+Teresa's first fear of him vanished. She took him by the hand like a
+child, and led him downstairs to his rooms. He stood silently watching
+her, while she lit the candles.
+
+"When Carmina sleeps now," he asked, "does it last long?"
+
+"Often for hours together," the nurse answered.
+
+He said no more; he seemed to have forgotten that there was another
+person in the room.
+
+She found courage in her pity for him. "Try to pray," she said, and
+left him.
+
+He fell on his knees; but still the words failed him. He tried to quiet
+his mind by holy thoughts. No! The dumb agony in him was powerless to
+find relief. Only the shadows of thoughts crossed his mind; his eyes
+ached with a burning heat. He began to be afraid of himself. The active
+habits of the life that he had left, drove him out, with the instincts
+of an animal, into space and air. Neither knowing nor caring in what
+direction he turned his steps, he walked on at the top of his speed. On
+and on, till the crowded houses began to grow more rare--till there
+were gaps of open ground, on either side of him--till the moon rose
+behind a plantation of trees, and bathed in its melancholy light a
+lonely high road. He followed the road till he was tired of it, and
+turned aside into a winding lane. The lights and shadows, alternating
+with each other, soothed and pleased him. He had got the relief in
+exercise that had been denied him while he was in repose. He could
+think again; he could feel the resolution stirring in him to save that
+dear one, or to die with her. Now at last, he was man enough to face
+the terrible necessity that confronted him, and fight the battle of Art
+and Love against Death. He stopped, and looked round; eager to return,
+and be ready for her waking. In that solitary place, there was no hope
+of finding a person to direct him. He turned, to go back to the high
+road.
+
+At that same moment, he became conscious of the odour of tobacco wafted
+towards him on the calm night air. Some one was smoking in the lane.
+
+He retraced his steps, until he reached a gate--with a barren field
+behind it. There was the man, whose tobacco smoke he had smelt, leaning
+on the gate, with his pipe in his mouth.
+
+The moonlight fell full on Ovid's face, as he approached to ask his
+way. The man suddenly stood up--stared at him--and said, "Hullo! is it
+you or your ghost?"
+
+His face was in shadow, but his voice answered for him. The man was
+Benjulia.
+
+"Have you come to see me?" he asked.
+
+"No."
+
+"Won't you shake hands?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What's wrong?"
+
+Ovid waited to answer until he had steadied his temper.
+
+"I have seen Carmina," he said.
+
+Benjulia went on with his smoking. "An interesting case, isn't it?" he
+remarked.
+
+"You were called into consultation by Mr. Null," Ovid continued; "and
+you approved of his ignorant treatment--you, who knew better."
+
+"I should think I did!" Benjulia rejoined.
+
+"You deliberately encouraged an incompetent man; you let that poor girl
+go on from bad to worse--for some vile end of your own."
+
+Benjulia good-naturedly corrected him. "No, no. For an excellent
+end--for knowledge."
+
+"If I fail to remedy the mischief, which is your doing, and yours
+alone--"
+
+Benjulia took his pipe out of his mouth. "How do you mean to cure her?"
+he eagerly interposed. "Have you got a new idea?"
+
+"If I fail," Ovid repeated, "her death lies at your door. You merciless
+villain--as certainly as that moon is now shining over us, your life
+shall answer for hers."
+
+Astonishment--immeasurable astonishment--sealed Benjulia's lips. He
+looked down the lane when Ovid left him, completely stupefied. The one
+imaginable way of accounting for such language as he had heard--spoken
+by a competent member of his own profession!--presented the old
+familiar alternative. "Drunk or mad?" he wondered while he lit his pipe
+again. Walking back to the house, his old distrust of Ovid troubled him
+once more. He decided to call at Teresa's lodgings in a day or two, and
+ascertain from the landlady (and the chemist) how Carmina was being
+cured.
+
+Returning to the high road, Ovid was passed by a tradesman, driving his
+cart towards London. The man civilly offered to take him as far as the
+nearest outlying cabstand.
+
+Neither the landlady nor Teresa had gone to their beds when he
+returned. Their account of Carmina, during his absence, contained
+nothing to alarm him. He bade them goodnight--eager to be left alone in
+his room.
+
+In the house and out of the house, there was now the perfect silence
+that helps a man to think. His mind was clear; his memory answered,
+when he called on it to review that part of his own medical practice
+which might help him, by experience, in his present need. But he
+shrank--with Carmina's life in his hands--from trusting wholly to
+himself. A higher authority than his was waiting to be consulted. He
+took from his portmanteau the manuscript presented to him by the poor
+wretch, whose last hours he had soothed in the garret at Montreal.
+
+The work opened with a declaration which gave it a special value, in
+Ovid's estimation.
+
+"If this imperfect record of experience is ever read by other eyes than
+mine, I wish to make one plain statement at the outset. The information
+which is presented in these pages is wholly derived from the results of
+bedside practice; pursued under miserable obstacles and interruptions,
+and spread over a period of many years. Whatever faults and failings I
+may have been guilty of as a man, I am innocent, in my professional
+capacity, of ever having perpetrated the useless and detestable
+cruelties which go by the name of Vivisection. Without entering into
+any of the disputes on either side, which this practice has provoked, I
+declare my conviction that no asserted usefulness in the end, can
+justify deliberate cruelty in the means. The man who seriously
+maintains that any pursuit in which he can engage is independent of
+moral restraint, is a man in a state of revolt against God. I refuse to
+hear him in his own defense, on that ground."
+
+Ovid turned next to the section of the work which was entitled "Brain
+Disease." The writer introduced his observations in these prefatory
+words:
+
+"A celebrated physiologist, plainly avowing the ignorance of doctors in
+the matter of the brain and its diseases, and alluding to appearances
+presented by post-mortem examination, concludes his confession thus:
+'We cannot even be sure whether many of the changes discovered are the
+cause or the result of the disease, or whether the two are the conjoint
+results of a common cause.'
+
+"So this man writes, after experience in Vivisection.
+
+"Let my different experience be heard next. Not knowing into what hands
+this manuscript may fall, or what unexpected opportunities of
+usefulness it may encounter after my death, I purposely abstain from
+using technical language in the statement which I have now to make.
+
+"In medical investigations, as in all other forms of human inquiry, the
+result in view is not infrequently obtained by indirect and unexpected
+means. What I have to say here on the subject of brain disease, was
+first suggested by experience of two cases, which seemed in the last
+degree unlikely to help me. They were both cases of young women; each
+one having been hysterically affected by a serious moral shock;
+terminating, after a longer or shorter interval, in simulated
+paralysis. One of these cases I treated successfully. While I was still
+in attendance on the other, (pursuing the same course of treatment
+which events had already proved to be right), a fatal accident
+terminated my patient's life, and rendered a post-mortem examination
+necessary. From those starting points, I arrived--by devious ways which
+I am now to relate--at deductions and discoveries that threw a new
+light on the nature and treatment of brain disease."
+
+Hour by hour, Ovid studied the pages that followed, until his mind and
+the mind of the writer were one. He then returned to certain
+preliminary allusions to the medical treatment of the two
+girls--inexpressibly precious to him, in Carmina's present interests.
+The dawn of day found him prepared at all points, and only waiting
+until the lapse of the next few hours placed the means of action in his
+hands.
+
+But there was one anxiety still to be relieved, before he lay down to
+rest.
+
+He took off his shoes, and stole upstairs to Carmina's door. The
+faithful Teresa was astir, earnestly persuading her to take some
+nourishment. The little that he could hear of her voice, as she
+answered, made his heart ache--it was so faint and so low. Still she
+could speak; and still there was the old saying to remember, which has
+comforted so many and deceived so many: While there's life, there's
+hope.
+
+CHAPTER LX.
+
+After a brief interview with his step-son, Mr. Gallilee returned to his
+daughters in Scotland.
+
+Touched by his fatherly interest in Carmina, Ovid engaged to keep him
+informed of her progress towards recovery. If the anticipation of
+saving her proved to be the sad delusion of love and hope, silence
+would signify what no words could say.
+
+In ten days' time, there was a happy end to suspense. The slow process
+of recovery might extend perhaps to the end of the year. But, if no
+accident happened, Ovid had the best reasons for believing that
+Carmina's life was safe.
+
+Freed from the terrible anxieties that had oppressed him, he was able
+to write again, a few days later, in a cheerful tone, and to occupy his
+pen at Mr. Gallilee's express request, with such an apparently trifling
+subject as the conduct of Mr. Null.
+
+"Your old medical adviser was quite right in informing you that I had
+relieved him from any further attendance on Carmina. But his lively
+imagination (or perhaps I ought to say, his sense of his own
+consequence) has misled you when he also declares that I purposely
+insulted him. I took the greatest pains not to wound his self-esteem.
+He left me in anger, nevertheless.
+
+"A day or two afterwards, I received a note from him; addressing me as
+'Sir,' and asking ironically if I had any objection to his looking at
+the copies of my prescriptions in the chemist's book. Though he was old
+enough to be my father (he remarked) it seemed that experience counted
+for nothing; he had still something to learn from his junior, in the
+treatment of disease--and so on.
+
+"At that miserable time of doubt and anxiety, I could only send a
+verbal reply, leaving him to do what he liked. Before I tell you of the
+use that he made of his liberty of action, I must confess something
+relating to the prescriptions themselves. Don't be afraid of long and
+learned words, and don't suppose that I am occupying your attention in
+this way, without a serious reason for it which you will presently
+understand.
+
+"A note in the manuscript--to my study of which, I owe, under God, the
+preservation of Carmina's life--warned me that chemists, in the
+writer's country, had either refused to make up certain prescriptions
+given in the work, or had taken the liberty of altering the new
+quantities and combinations of some of the drugs prescribed.
+
+"Precisely the same thing happened here, in the case of the first
+chemist to whom I sent. He refused to make up the medicine, unless I
+provided him with a signed statement taking the whole responsibility on
+myself.
+
+"Having ascertained the exact nature of his objection, I dismissed him
+without his guarantee, and employed another chemist; taking care (in
+the interests of my time and my temper) to write my more important
+prescriptions under reserve. That is to say, I followed the
+conventional rules, as to quantities and combinations, and made the
+necessary additions or changes from my own private stores when the
+medicine was sent home.
+
+"Poor foolish Mr. Null, finding nothing to astonish him in my course of
+medicine--as represented by the chemist--appears by his own confession,
+to have copied the prescriptions with a malicious object in view. 'I
+have sent them, (he informs me, in a second letter) to Doctor Benjulia;
+in order that he too may learn something in his profession from the
+master who has dispensed with our services.' This new effort of irony
+means that I stand self-condemned of vanity, in presuming to rely on my
+own commonplace resources--represented by the deceitful evidence of the
+chemist's book!
+
+"But I am grateful to Mr. Null, notwithstanding: he has done me a
+service, in meaning to do me an injury.
+
+"My imperfect prescriptions have quieted the mind of the man to whom he
+sent them. This wretch's distrust has long since falsely suspected me
+of some professional rivalry pursued in secret; the feeling showed
+itself again, when I met with him by accident on the night of my return
+to London. Since Mr. Null has communicated with him, the landlady is no
+longer insulted by his visits, and offended by his questions--all
+relating to the course of treatment which I was pursuing upstairs.
+
+"You now understand why I have ventured to trouble you on a purely
+professional topic. To turn to matters of more interest--our dear
+Carmina is well enough to remember you, and to send her love to you and
+the girls. But even this little effort is followed by fatigue.
+
+"I don't mean only fatigue of body: that is now a question of time and
+care. I mean fatigue of mind--expressing itself by defect of memory.
+
+"On the morning when the first positive change for the better appeared,
+I was at her bedside when she woke. She looked at me in amazement. 'Why
+didn't you warn me of your sudden return?' she asked, 'I have only
+written to you to-day--to your bankers at Quebec! What does it mean?'
+
+"I did my best to soothe her, and succeeded. There is a complete lapse
+in her memory--I am only too sure of it! She has no recollection of
+anything that has happened since she wrote her last letter to me--a
+letter which must have been lost (perhaps intercepted?), or I should
+have received it before I left Quebec. This forgetfulness of the
+dreadful trials through which my poor darling has passed, is, in
+itself, a circumstance which we must all rejoice over for her sake. But
+I am discouraged by it, at the same time; fearing it may indicate some
+more serious injury than I have yet discovered.
+
+"Miss Minerva--what should I do without the help and sympathy of that
+best of true women?--Miss Minerva has cautiously tested her memory in
+other directions, with encouraging results, so far. But I shall not
+feel easy until I have tried further experiments, by means of some
+person who does not exercise a powerful influence over her, and whose
+memory is naturally occupied with what we older people call trifles.
+
+"When you all leave Scotland next month, bring Zo here with you. My
+dear little correspondent is just the sort of quaint child I want for
+the purpose. Kiss her for me till she is out of breath--and say that is
+what I mean to do when we meet."
+
+The return to London took place in the last week in October.
+
+Lord and Lady Northlake went to their town residence, taking Maria and
+Zo with them. There were associations connected with Fairfield Gardens,
+which made the prospect of living there--without even the society of
+his children--unendurable to Mr. Gallilee. Ovid's house, still waiting
+the return of its master, was open to his step-father. The poor man was
+only too glad (in his own simple language) "to keep the nest warm for
+his son."
+
+The latest inquiries made at the asylum were hopefully answered. Thus
+far, the measures taken to restore Mrs. Gallilee to herself had
+succeeded beyond expectation. But one unfavourable symptom remained.
+She was habitually silent. When she did speak, her mind seemed to be
+occupied with scientific subjects: she never mentioned her husband, or
+any other member of the family. Time and attention would remove this
+drawback. In two or three months more perhaps, if all went well, she
+might return to her family and her friends, as sane a woman as ever.
+
+Calling at Fairfield Gardens for any letters that might be waiting
+there, Mr. Gallilee received a circular in lithographed writing;
+accompanied by a roll of thick white paper. The signature revealed the
+familiar name of Mr. Le Frank.
+
+The circular set forth that the writer had won renown and a moderate
+income, as pianist and teacher of music. "A terrible accident, ladies
+and gentlemen, has injured my right hand, and has rendered amputation
+of two of my fingers necessary. Deprived for life of my professional
+resources, I have but one means of subsistence left--_viz:_---
+collecting subscriptions for a song of my own composition. N.B.--The
+mutilated musician leaves the question of terms in the hands of the
+art-loving public, and will do himself the honour of calling to-
+morrow."
+
+Good-natured Mr. Gallilee left a sovereign to be given to the victim of
+circumstances--and then set forth for Lord Northlake's house. He and
+Ovid had arranged that Zo was to be taken to see Carmina that day.
+
+On his way through the streets, he was met by Mr. Mool. The lawyer
+looked at the song under his friend's arm. "What's that you're taking
+such care of?" he asked. "It looks like music. A new piece for the
+young ladies--eh?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee explained. Mr. Mool struck his stick on the pavement, as
+the nearest available means of expressing indignation.
+
+"Never let another farthing of your money get into that rascal's
+pocket! It's no merit of his that the poor old Italian nurse has not
+made her appearance in the police reports."
+
+With this preface, Mr. Mool related the circumstances under which Mr.
+Le Frank had met with his accident. "His first proceeding when they
+discharged him from the hospital," continued the lawyer, "was to summon
+Teresa before a magistrate. Fortunately she showed the summons to me. I
+appeared for her, provided with a plan of the rooms which spoke for
+itself; and I put two questions to the complainant. What business had
+he in another person's room? and why was his hand in that other
+person's cupboard? The reporter kindly left the case unrecorded; and
+when the fellow ended by threatening the poor woman outside the court,
+we bound him over to keep the peace. I have my eye on him--and I'll
+catch him yet, under the Vagrant Act!"
+
+CHAPTER LXI.
+
+Aided by time, care, and skill, Carmina had gained strength enough to
+pass some hours of the day in the sitting-room; reclining in an
+invalid-chair invented for her by Ovid. The welcome sight of
+Zo--brightened and developed by happy autumn days passed in
+Scotland--brought a deep flush to her face, and quickened the pulse
+which Ovid was touching, under pretence of holding her hand. These
+signs of excessive nervous sensibility warned him to limit the child's
+visit to a short space of time. Neither Miss Minerva nor Teresa were in
+the room: Carmina could have Zo all to herself.
+
+"Now, my dear," she said, in a kiss, "tell me about Scotland."
+
+"Scotland," Zo answered with dignity, "belongs to uncle Northlake. He
+pays for everything; and I'm Missus."
+
+"It's true," said Mr. Gallilee, bursting with pride. "My lord says it's
+no use having a will of your own where Zo is. When he introduces her to
+anybody on the estate, he says, 'Here's the Missus.'"
+
+Mr. Gallilee's youngest daughter listened critically to the parental
+testimony. "You see he knows," she said to Ovid. "There's nothing to
+laugh at."
+
+Carmina tried another question. "Did you think of me, dear, when you
+were far away?"
+
+"Think of you?" Zo repeated. "You're to sleep in my bedroom when we go
+back to Scotland--and I'm to be out of bed, and one of 'em, when you
+eat your first Scotch dinner. Shall I tell you what you'll see on the
+table? You'll see a big brown steaming bag in a dish--and you'll see me
+slit it with a knife--and the bag's fat inside will tumble out, all
+smoking hot and stinking. That's a Scotch dinner. Oh!" she cried,
+losing her dignity in the sudden interest of a new idea, "oh, Carmina,
+do you remember the Italian boy, and his song?"
+
+Here was one of those tests of her memory for trifles, applied with a
+child's happy abruptness, for which Ovid had been waiting. He listened
+eagerly. To his unutterable relief, Carmina laughed.
+
+"Of course I remember it!" she said. "Who could forget the boy who
+sings and grins and says _Gimmeehaypenny?"_
+
+"That's it!" cried Zo. "The boy's song was a good one in its way. I've
+learnt a better in Scotland. You've heard of Donald, haven't you?"
+
+"No."
+
+Zo turned indignantly to her father. "Why didn't you tell her of
+Donald?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee humbly admitted that he was in fault. Carmina asked who
+Donald was, and what he was like. Zo unconsciously tested her memory
+for the second time.
+
+"You know that day," she said, "when Joseph had an errand at the
+grocer's and I went along with him, and Miss Minerva said I was a
+vulgar child?"
+
+Carmina's memory recalled this new trifle, without an effort. "I know,"
+she answered; "you told me Joseph and the grocer weighed you in the
+great scales."
+
+Zo delighted Ovid by trying her again. "When they put me into the
+scales, Carmina, what did I weigh?"
+
+"Nearly four stone, dear."
+
+"Quite four stone. Donald weighs fourteen.' What do you think of that?"
+
+Mr. Gallilee once more offered his testimony. "The biggest Piper on my
+lord's estate," he began, "comes of a Highland family, and was removed
+to the Lowlands by my lord's father. A great player--"
+
+"And _my_ friend," Zo explained, stopping her father in full career.
+"He takes snuff out of a cow's horn. He shovels it up his fat nose with
+a spoon, like this. His nose wags. He says, 'Try my sneeshin.'
+Sneeshin's Scotch for snuff. He boos till he's nearly double when uncle
+Northlake speaks to him. Boos is Scotch for bows. He skirls on the
+pipes--skirls means screeches. When you first hear him, he'll make your
+stomach ache. You'll get used to that--and you'll find you like him. He
+wears a purse and a petticoat; he never had a pair of trousers on in
+his life; there's no pride about him. Say you're my friend and he'll
+let you smack his legs--"
+
+Here, Ovid was obliged to bring the biography of Donald to a close.
+Carmina's enjoyment of Zo was becoming too keen for her strength; her
+bursts of laughter grew louder and louder--the wholesome limit of
+excitement was being rapidly passed. "Tell us about your cousins," he
+said, by way of effecting a diversion.
+
+"The big ones?" Zo asked.
+
+"No; the little ones, like you."
+
+"Nice girls--they play at everything I tell 'em. Jolly boys--when they
+knock a girl down, they pick her up again, and clean her."
+
+Carmina was once more in danger of passing the limit. Ovid made another
+attempt to effect a diversion. Singing would be comparatively harmless
+in its effect--as he rashly supposed. "What's that song you learnt in
+Scotland?" he asked.
+
+"It's Donald's song," Zo replied. _"He_ taught me."
+
+At the sound of Donald's dreadful name, Ovid looked at his watch, and
+said there was no time for the song. Mr. Gallilee suddenly and
+seriously sided with his step-son. "How she got among the men after
+dinner," he said, "nobody knows. Lady Northlake has forbidden Donald to
+teach her any more songs; and I have requested him, as a favour to me,
+not to let her smack his legs. Come, my dear, it's time we were home
+again."
+
+Well intended by both gentlemen--but too late. Zo was ready for the
+performance; her hat was cocked on one side; her plump little arms were
+set akimbo; her round eyes opened and closed facetiously in winks
+worthy of a low comedian. "I'm Donald," she announced: and burst out
+with the song: _"We're gayly yet, we're gayly yet; We're not very fou,
+but we're gayly yet: Then sit ye awhile, and tipple a bit; For we're
+not very fou, but we're gayly yet."_ She snatched up Carmina's medicine
+glass, and waved it over her head with a Bacchanalian screech. "Fill a
+brimmer, Tammie! Here's to Redshanks!"
+
+"And pray who is Redshanks?" asked a lady, standing in the doorway. Zo
+turned round--and instantly collapsed. A terrible figure, associated
+with lessons and punishments, stood before her. The convivial friend of
+Donald, the established Missus of Lord Northlake, disappeared--and a
+polite pupil took their place. "If you please, Miss Minerva, Redshanks
+is nickname for a Highlander." Who would have recognised the singer of
+"We're gayly yet," in the subdued young person who made that reply?
+
+The door opened again. Another disastrous intrusion? Yes, another!
+Teresa appeared this time--caught Zo up in her arms--and gave the child
+a kiss that was heard all over the room. "Ah, mia Giocosa!" cried the
+old nurse--too happy to speak in any language but her own. "What does
+that mean?" Zo asked, settling her ruffled petticoats. "It means," said
+Teresa, who prided herself on her English, "Ah, my Jolly." This to a
+young lady who could slit a haggis! This to the only person in
+Scotland, privileged to smack Donald's legs! Zo turned to her father,
+and recovered her dignity. Maria herself could hardly have spoken with
+more severe propriety. "I wish to go home," said Zo.
+
+Ovid had only to look at Carmina, and to see the necessity of immediate
+compliance with his little sister's wishes. No more laughing, no more
+excitement, for that day. He led Zo out himself, and resigned her to
+her father at the door of his rooms on the ground floor.
+
+Cheered already by having got away from Miss Minerva and the nurse, Zo
+desired to know who lived downstairs; and, hearing that these were
+Ovid's rooms, insisted on seeing them. The three went in together.
+
+Ovid drew Mr. Gallilee into a corner. "I'm easier about Carmina now,"
+he said. "The failure of her memory doesn't extend backwards. It begins
+with the shock to her brain, on the day when Teresa removed her to this
+house--and it will end, I feel confident, with the end of her illness."
+
+Mr. Gallilee's attention suddenly wandered. "Zo!" he called out, "don't
+touch your brother's papers."
+
+The one object that had excited the child's curiosity was the
+writing-table. Dozens of sheets of paper were scattered over it,
+covered with writing, blotted and interlined. Some of these leaves had
+overflowed the table, and found a resting-place on the floor. Zo was
+amusing herself by picking them up. "Well!" she said, handing them
+obediently to Ovid, "I've had many a rap on the knuckles for writing
+not half as bad as yours."
+
+Hearing his daughter's remark, Mr. Gallilee became interested in
+looking at the fragments of manuscript. "What an awful mess!" he
+exclaimed. "May I try if I can read a bit?" Ovid smiled. "Try by all
+means; you will make one useful discovery at least--you will see that
+the most patient men on the face of the civilised earth are Printers!"
+
+Mr. Gallilee tried a page--and gave it up before he turned giddy. "Is
+it fair to ask what this is?"
+
+"Something easy to feel, and hard to express," Ovid answered. "These
+ill-written lines are my offering of gratitude to the memory of an
+unknown and unhappy man."
+
+"The man you told me of, who died at Montreal?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You never mentioned his name."
+
+"His last wishes forbade me to mention it to any living creature. God
+knows there were pitiable, most pitiable, reasons for his dying
+unknown! The stone over his grave only bears his initials, and the date
+of his death. But," said Ovid, kindling with enthusiasm, as he laid his
+hand on his manuscript, "the discoveries of this great physician shall
+benefit humanity! And my debt to him shall be acknowledged, with the
+admiration and the devotion that I truly feel!"
+
+"In a book?" asked Mr. Gallilee.
+
+"In a book that is now being printed. You will see it before the New
+Year."
+
+Finding nothing to amuse her in the sitting-room, Zo had tried the
+bedroom next. She now returned to Ovid, dragging after her a long white
+staff that looked like an Alpen-stock. "What's this?" she asked. "A
+broomstick?"
+
+"A specimen of rare Canadian wood, my dear. Would you like to have it?"
+
+Zo took the offer quite seriously. She looked with longing eyes at the
+specimen, three times as tall as herself--and shook her head. "I'm not
+big enough for it, yet," she said. "Look at it, papa! Benjulia's stick
+is nothing to this."
+
+That name--on the child's lips--had a sound revolting to Ovid. "Don't
+speak of him!" he said irritably.
+
+"Mustn't I speak of him," Zo asked, "when I want him to tickle me?"
+Ovid beckoned to her father. "Take her away now," he whispered--"and
+never let her see that man again."
+
+The warning was needless. The man's destiny had decreed that he and Zo
+were never more to meet.
+
+CHAPTER LXII.
+
+Benjulia's servants had but a dull time of it, poor souls, in the
+lonely house. Towards the end of December, they subscribed among
+themselves to buy one of those wonderful Christmas Numbers--presenting
+year after year the same large-eyed ladies, long-legged lovers,
+corpulent children, snow landscapes, and gluttonous merry-makings--
+which have become a national institution: say, the pictorial plum
+puddings of the English nation.
+
+The servants had plenty of time to enjoy their genial newspaper, before
+the dining-room bell disturbed them.
+
+For some weeks past, the master had again begun to spend the whole of
+his time in the mysterious laboratory. On the rare occasions when he
+returned to the house, he was always out of temper. If the servants
+knew nothing else, they knew what these signs meant--the great man was
+harder at work than ever; and in spite of his industry, he was not
+getting on so well as usual.
+
+On this particular evening, the bell rang at the customary time--and
+the cook (successor to the unfortunate creature with pretensions to
+beauty and sentiment) hastened to get the dinner ready.
+
+The footman turned to the dresser, and took from it a little heap of
+newspapers; carefully counting them before he ventured to carry them
+upstairs. This was Doctor Benjulia's regular weekly supply of medical
+literature; and here, again, the mysterious man presented an
+incomprehensible problem to his fellow-creatures. He subscribed to
+every medical publication in England--and he never read one of them!
+The footman cut the leaves; and the master, with his forefinger to help
+him, ran his eye up and down the pages; apparently in search of some
+announcement that he never found--and, still more extraordinary,
+without showing the faintest sign of disappointment when he had done.
+Every week, he briskly shoved his unread periodicals into a huge
+basket, and sent them downstairs as waste paper.
+
+The footman took up the newspapers and the dinner together--and was
+received with frowns and curses. He was abused for everything that he
+did in his own department, and for everything that the cook had done
+besides. "Whatever the master's working at," he announced, on returning
+to the kitchen, "he's farther away from hitting the right nail on the
+head than ever. Upon my soul, I think I shall have to give warning!
+Let's relieve our minds. Where's the Christmas Number?"
+
+Half an hour later, the servants were startled by a tremendous bang of
+the house-door which shook the whole building. The footman ran
+upstairs: the dining-room was empty; the master's hat was not on its
+peg in the hall; and the medical newspapers were scattered about in the
+wildest confusion. Close to the fender lay a crumpled leaf, torn out.
+Its position suggested that it had narrowly missed being thrown into
+the fire. The footman smoothed it out, and looked at it.
+
+One side of the leaf contained a report of a lecture. This was dry
+reading. The footman tried the other side, and found a review of a new
+medical work.
+
+This would have been dull reading too, but for an extract from a
+Preface, stating how the book came to be published, and what wonderful
+discoveries, relating to peoples' brains, it contained. There were some
+curious things said here--especially about a melancholy deathbed at a
+place called Montreal--which made the Preface almost as interesting as
+a story. But what was there in this to hurry the master out of the
+house, as if the devil had been at his heels?
+
+Doctor Benjulia's nearest neighbour was a small farmer named Gregg. He
+was taking a nap that evening, when his wife bounced into the room, and
+said, "Here's the big doctor gone mad!" And there he was truly, at Mrs.
+Gregg's heels, clamouring to have the horse put to in the gig, and to
+be driven to London instantly. He said, "Pay yourself what you
+please"--and opened his pocket-book, full of bank-notes. Mr. Gregg
+said, "It seems, sir, this is a matter of life or death." Whereupon he
+looked at Mr. Gregg--and considered a little--and, becoming quiet on a
+sudden, answered, "Yes, it is."
+
+On the road to London, he never once spoke--except to himself--and then
+only from time to time.
+
+It seemed, judging by what fell from him now and then, that he was
+troubled about a man and a letter. He had suspected the man all along;
+but he had nevertheless given him the letter--and now it had ended in
+the letter turning out badly for Doctor Benjulia himself. Where he went
+to in London, it was not possible to say. Mr. Gregg's horse was not
+fast enough for him. As soon as he could find one, he took a cab.
+
+The shopman of Mr. Barrable, the famous publisher of medical works, had
+just put up the shutters, and was going downstairs to his tea, when he
+heard a knocking at the shop door. The person proved to be a very tall
+man, in a violent hurry to buy Mr. Ovid Vere's new book. He said, by
+way of apology, that he was in that line himself, and that his name was
+Benjulia. The shopman knew him by reputation, and sold him the book. He
+was in such a hurry to read it, that he actually began in the shop. It
+was necessary to tell him that business hours were over. Hearing this,
+he ran out, and told the cabman to drive as fast as possible to Pall
+Mall.
+
+The library waiter at Doctor Benjulia's Club found him in the library,
+busy with a book.
+
+He was quite alone; the members, at that hour of the evening, being
+generally at dinner, or in the smoking-room. The man whose business it
+was to attend to the fires, went in during the night, from time to
+time, and always found him in the same corner. It began to get late. He
+finished his reading; but it seemed to make no difference. There he
+sat--wide awake--holding his closed book on his knee, seemingly lost in
+his own thoughts. This went on till it was time to close the Club. They
+were obliged to disturb him. He said nothing; and went slowly down into
+the hall, leaving his book behind him. It was an awful night, raining
+and sleeting--but he took no notice of the weather. When they fetched a
+cab, the driver refused to take him to where he lived, on such a night
+as that. He only said, "Very well; go to the nearest hotel."
+
+The night porter at the hotel let in a tall gentleman, and showed him
+into one of the bedrooms kept ready for persons arriving late. Having
+no luggage, he paid the charges beforehand. About eight o'clock in the
+morning, he rang for the waiter--who observed that his bed had not been
+slept in. All he wanted for breakfast was the strongest coffee that
+could be made. It was not strong enough to please him when he tasted
+it; and he had some brandy put in. He paid, and was liberal to the
+waiter, and went away.
+
+The policeman on duty, that day, whose beat included the streets at the
+back of Fairfield Gardens, noticed in one of them, a tall gentleman
+walking backwards and forwards, and looking from time to time at one
+particular house. When he passed that way again, there was the
+gentleman still patrolling the street, and still looking towards the
+same house. The policeman waited a little, and watched. The place was a
+respectable lodging house, and the stranger was certainly a gentleman,
+though a queer one to look at. It was not the policeman's business to
+interfere on suspicion, except in the case of notoriously bad
+characters. So, though he did think it odd, he went on again.
+
+Between twelve and one o'clock in the afternoon, Ovid left his
+Lodgings, to go to the neighbouring livery stables, and choose an open
+carriage. The sun was shining, and the air was brisk and dry, after the
+stormy night. It was just the day when he might venture to take Carmina
+out for a drive.
+
+On his way down the street, he heard footsteps behind him, and felt
+himself touched on the shoulder. He turned--and discovered Benjulia. On
+the point of speaking resentfully, he restrained himself. There was
+something in the wretch's face that struck him with horror.
+
+Benjulia said, "I won't keep you long; I want to know one thing. Will
+she live or die?"
+
+"Her life is safe--I hope."
+
+"Through your new mode of treatment?"
+
+His eyes and his voice said more than his words. Ovid instantly knew
+that he had seen the book; and that the book had forestalled him in the
+discovery to which he had devoted his life. Was it possible to pity a
+man whose hardened nature never pitied others? All things are possible
+to a large heart. Ovid shrank from answering him.
+
+Benjulia spoke again.
+
+"When we met that night at my garden gate," he said, "you told me my
+life should answer for her life, if she died. My neglect has not killed
+her--and you have no need to keep your word. But I don't get off, Mr.
+Ovid Vere, without paying the penalty. You have taken something from
+me, which was dearer than life, I wished to tell you that--I have no
+more to say."
+
+Ovid silently offered his hand.
+
+Benjulia's head drooped in thought. The generous protest of the man
+whom he had injured, spoke in that outstretched hand. He looked at
+Ovid.
+
+"No!" he said--and walked away.
+
+Leaving the street, he went round to Fairfield Gardens, and rang the
+bell at Mr. Gallilee's door. The bell was answered by a polite old
+woman--a stranger to him among the servants.
+
+"Is Zo in the house?" he inquired.
+
+"Nobody's in the house, sir. It's to be let, if you please, as soon as
+the furniture can be moved."
+
+"Do you know where Zo is? I mean, Mr. Gallilee's youngest child."
+
+"I'm sorry to say, sir, I'm not acquainted with the family."
+
+He waited at the door, apparently hesitating what to do next. "I'll go
+upstairs," he said suddenly; "I want to look at the house. You needn't
+go with me; I know my way."
+
+"Thank you kindly, sir!"
+
+He went straight to the schoolroom.
+
+The repellent melancholy of an uninhabited place had fallen on it
+already. The plain furniture was not worth taking care of: it was
+battered and old, and left to dust and neglect. There were two common
+deal writing desks, formerly used by the two girls. One of them was
+covered with splashes of ink: varied here and there by barbarous
+caricatures of faces, in which dots and strokes represented eyes,
+noses, and mouths. He knew whose desk this was, and opened the cover of
+it. In the recess beneath were soiled tables of figures, torn maps, and
+dogs-eared writing books. The ragged paper cover of one of these last,
+bore on its inner side a grotesquely imperfect inscription:--_my cop
+book zo._ He tore off the cover, and put it in the breast pocket of his
+coat.
+
+"I should have liked to tickle her once more," he thought, as he went
+down stairs again. The polite old woman opened the door, curtsying
+deferentially. He gave her half a crown. "God bless you, sir!" she
+burst out, in a gush of gratitude.
+
+He checked himself, on the point of stepping into the street, and
+looked at her with some curiosity. "Do you believe in God?" he asked.
+
+The old woman was even capable of making a confession of faith
+politely. "Yes, sir," she said, "if you have no objection."
+
+He stepped into the street. "I wonder whether she is right?" he
+thought. "It doesn't matter; I shall soon know."
+
+The servants were honestly glad to see him, when he got home. They had
+taken it in turn to sit up through the night; knowing his regular
+habits, and feeling the dread that some accident had happened. Never
+before had they seen him so fatigued. He dropped helplessly into his
+chair; his gigantic body shook with shivering fits. The footman begged
+him to take some refreshment. "Brandy, and raw eggs," he said. These
+being brought to him, he told them to wait until he rang--and locked
+the door when they went out.
+
+After waiting until the short winter daylight was at an end, the
+footman ventured to knock, and ask if the master wanted lights. He
+replied that he had lit the candles for himself. No smell of tobacco
+smoke came from the room; and he had let the day pass without going to
+the laboratory. These were portentous signs. The footman said to his
+fellow servants, "There's something wrong." The women looked at each
+other in vague terror. One of them said, "Hadn't we better give notice
+to leave?" And the other whispered a question: "Do you think he's
+committed a crime?"
+
+Towards ten o'clock, the bell rang at last. Immediately afterwards they
+heard him calling to them from the hall. "I want you, all three, up
+here."
+
+They went up together--the two women anticipating a sight of horror,
+and keeping close to the footman.
+
+The master was walking quietly backwards and forwards in the room: the
+table had pen and ink on it, and was covered with writings. He spoke to
+them in his customary tones; there was not the slightest appearance of
+agitation in his manner.
+
+"I mean to leave this house, and go away," he began. "You are dismissed
+from my service, for that reason only. Take your written characters
+from the table; read them, and say if there is anything to complain
+of." There was nothing to complain of. On another part of the table
+there were three little heaps of money. "A month's wages for each of
+you," he explained, "in place of a month's warning. I wish you good
+luck." One of the women (the one who had suggested giving notice to
+leave) began to cry. He took no notice of this demonstration, and went
+on. "I want two of you to do me a favour before we part. You will
+please witness the signature of my Will." The sensitive servant drew
+back directly. "No!" she said, "I couldn't do it. I never heard the
+Death-Watch before in winter time--I heard it all last night."
+
+The other two witnessed the signature. They observed that the Will was
+a very short one. It was impossible not to notice the only legacy left;
+the words crossed the paper, just above the signatures, and only
+occupied two lines: "I leave to Zoe, youngest daughter of Mr. John
+Gallilee, of Fairfield Gardens, London, everything absolutely of which
+I die possessed." Excepting the formal introductory phrases, and the
+statement relating to the witnesses--both copied from a handy book of
+law, lying open on the table--this was the Will.
+
+The female servants were allowed to go downstairs; after having been
+informed that they were to leave the next morning. The footman was
+detained in the dining-room.
+
+"I am going to the laboratory," the master said; "and I want a few
+things carried to the door."
+
+The big basket for waste paper, three times filled with letters and
+manuscripts; the books; the medicine chest; and the stone jar of oil
+from the kitchen--these, the master and the man removed together;
+setting them down at the laboratory door. It was a still cold starlight
+winter's night. The intermittent shriek of a railway whistle in the
+distance, was the only sound that disturbed the quiet of the time.
+
+"Good night!" said the master.
+
+The man returned the salute, and walked back to the house, closing the
+front door. He was now more firmly persuaded than ever that something
+was wrong. In the hall, the women were waiting for him. "What does it
+mean?" they asked. "Keep quiet," he said; "I'm going to see."
+
+In another minute he was posted at the back of the house, behind the
+edge of the wall. Looking out from this place, he could see the light
+of the lamps in the laboratory streaming through the open door, and the
+dark figure of the master coming and going, as he removed the objects
+left outside into the building. Then the door was shut, and nothing was
+visible but the dim glow that found its way to the skylight, through
+the white blind inside.
+
+He boldly crossed the open space of ground, resolved to try what his
+ears might discover, now that his eyes were useless. He posted himself
+at the back of the laboratory, close to one of the side walls.
+
+Now and then, he heard--what had reached his ears when he had been
+listening on former occasions--the faint whining cries of animals.
+These were followed by new sounds. Three smothered shrieks, succeeding
+each other at irregular intervals, made his blood run cold. Had three
+death-strokes been dealt on some suffering creatures, with the same
+sudden and terrible certainty? Silence, horrible silence, was all that
+answered. In the distant railway there was an interval of peace.
+
+The door was opened again; the flood of light streamed out on the
+darkness. Suddenly the yellow glow was spotted by the black figures of
+small swiftly-running creatures--perhaps cats, perhaps rabbits--
+escaping from the laboratory. The tall form of the master followed
+slowly, and stood revealed watching the flight of the animals. In a
+moment more, the last of the liberated creatures came out--a large dog,
+limping as if one of its legs was injured. It stopped as it passed the
+master, and tried to fawn on him. He threatened it with his hand. "Be
+off with you, like the rest!" he said. The dog slowly crossed the flow
+of light, and was swallowed up in darkness.
+
+The last of them that could move was gone. The death shrieks of the
+others had told their fate.
+
+But still, there stood the master alone--a grand black figure, with its
+head turned up to the stars. The minutes followed one another: the
+servant waited, and watched him. The solitary man had a habit, well
+known to those about him, of speaking to himself; not a word escaped
+him now; his upturned head never moved; the bright wintry heaven held
+him spellbound.
+
+At last, the change came. Once more the silence was broken by the
+scream of the railway whistle.
+
+He started like a person suddenly roused from deep sleep, and went back
+into the laboratory. The last sound then followed--the locking and
+bolting of the door.
+
+The servant left his hiding-place: his master's secret, was no secret
+now. He hated himself for eating that master's bread, and earning that
+master's money. One of the ignorant masses, this man! Mere sentiment
+had a strange hold on his stupid mind; the remembrance of the poor
+wounded dog, companionable and forgiving under cruel injuries, cut into
+his heart like a knife. His thought at that moment, was an act of
+treason to the royalty of Knowledge,--"I wish to God I could lame
+_him,_ as he has lamed the dog!" Another fanatic! another fool! Oh,
+Science, be merciful to the fanatics, and the fools!
+
+When he got back to the house, the women were still on the look-out for
+him. "Don't speak to me now," he said. "Get to your beds. And, mind
+this--let's be off to-morrow morning before _he_ can see us."
+
+There was no sleep for him when he went to his own bed.
+
+The remembrance of the dog tormented him. The other lesser animals were
+active; capable of enjoying their liberty and finding shelter for
+themselves. Where had the maimed creature found a refuge, on that
+bitter night? Again, and again, and again, the question forced its way
+into his mind. He could endure it no longer. Cautiously and quickly--in
+dread of his extraordinary conduct being perhaps discovered by the
+women--he dressed himself, and opened the house door to look for the
+dog.
+
+Out of the darkness on the step, there rose something dark. He put out
+his hand. A persuasive tongue, gently licking it, pleaded for a word of
+welcome. The crippled animal could only have got to the door in one
+way; the gate which protected the house-enclosure must have been left
+open. First giving the dog a refuge in the kitchen, the
+footman--rigidly performing his last duties--went to close the gate.
+
+At his first step into the enclosure he stopped panic-stricken.
+
+The starlit sky over the laboratory was veiled in murky red. Roaring
+flame, and spouting showers of sparks, poured through the broken
+skylight. Voices from the farm raised the first cry--"Fire! fire!"
+
+At the inquest, the evidence suggested suspicion of incendiarism and
+suicide. The papers, the books, the oil betrayed themselves as
+combustible materials, carried into the place for a purpose. The
+medicine chest was known (by its use in cases of illness among the
+servants) to contain opium. Adjourned inquiry elicited that the
+laboratory was not insured, and that the deceased was in comfortable
+circumstances. Where were the motives? One intelligent man, who had
+drifted into the jury, was satisfied with the evidence. He held that
+the desperate wretch had some reason of his own for first poisoning
+himself, and then setting fire to the scene of his labours. Having a
+majority of eleven against him, the wise juryman consented to a
+merciful verdict of death by misadventure. The hideous remains of what
+had once been Benjulia, found Christian burial. His brethren of the
+torture-table, attended the funeral in large numbers. Vivisection had
+been beaten on its own field of discovery. They honoured the martyr who
+had fallen in their cause.
+
+CHAPTER LXIII.
+
+The life of the New Year was still only numbered by weeks, when a
+modest little marriage was celebrated--without the knowledge of the
+neighbours, without a crowd in the church, and even without a
+wedding-breakfast.
+
+Mr. Gallilee (honoured with the office of giving away the bride) drew
+Ovid into a corner before they left the house. "She still looks
+delicate, poor dear," he said. "Do you really consider her to be well
+again?"
+
+"As well as she will ever be," Ovid answered. "Before I returned to
+her, time had been lost which no skill and no devotion can regain. But
+the prospect has its bright side. Past events which might have cast
+their shadow over all her life to come, have left no trace in her
+memory. I will make her a happy woman. Leave the rest to me."
+
+Teresa and Mr. Mool were the witnesses; Maria and Zo were the
+bridesmaids: they had only waited to go to church, until one other
+eagerly expected person joined them. There was a general inquiry for
+Miss Minerva. Carmina astonished everybody, from the bride-groom
+downwards, by announcing that circumstances prevented her best and
+dearest friend from being present. She smiled and blushed as she took
+Ovid's arm. "When we are man and wife, and I am quite sure of you," she
+whispered, "I will tell _you,_ what nobody else must know. In the
+meantime, darling, if you can give Frances the highest place in your
+estimation--next to me--you will only do justice to the noblest woman
+that ever lived."
+
+She had a little note hidden in her bosom, while she said those words.
+It was dated on the morning of her marriage: "When you return from the
+honeymoon, Carmina, I shall be the first friend who opens her arms and
+her heart to you. Forgive me if I am not with you to-day. We are all
+human, my dear--don't tell your husband."
+
+It was her last weakness. Carmina had no excuses to make for an absent
+guest, when the first christening was celebrated. On that occasion the
+happy young mother betrayed a conjugal secret to her dearest friend. It
+was at Ovid's suggestion that the infant daughter was called by Miss
+Minerva's christian name.
+
+But when the married pair went away to their happy new life, there was
+a little cloud of sadness, which vanished in sunshine--thanks to Zo.
+Polite Mr. Mool, bent on making himself agreeable to everybody, paid
+his court to Mr. Gallilee's youngest daughter. "And who do you mean to
+marry, my little Miss, when you grow up?" the lawyer asked with feeble
+drollery.
+
+Zo looked at him in grave surprise. "That's all settled," she said;
+"I've got a man waiting for me."
+
+"Oh, indeed! And who may he be?"
+
+"Donald!"
+
+"That's a very extraordinary child of yours," Mr. Mool said to his
+friend, as they walked away together.
+
+Mr. Gallilee absently agreed. "Has my message been given to my wife?"
+he asked.
+
+Mr. Mool sighed and shook his head. "Messages from her husband are as
+completely thrown away on her," he answered, "as if she was still in
+the asylum. In justice to yourself, consent to an amicable separation,
+and I will arrange it."
+
+"Have you seen her?"
+
+"I insisted on it, before I met her lawyers. She declares herself to be
+an infamously injured woman--and, upon my honour, she proves it, from
+her own point of view. 'My husband never came near me in my illness,
+and took my children away by stealth. My children were so perfectly
+ready to be removed from their mother, that neither of them had the
+decency to write me a letter. My niece contemplated shamelessly
+escaping to my son, and wrote him a letter vilifying his mother in the
+most abominable terms. And Ovid completes the round of ingratitude by
+marrying the girl who has behaved in this way.' I declare to you,
+Gallilee, that was how she put it! 'Am I to blame,' she said, 'for
+believing that story about my brother's wife? It's acknowledged that
+she gave the man money--the rest is a matter of opinion. Was I wrong to
+lose my temper, and say what I did say to this so-called niece of mine?
+Yes, I was wrong, there: it's the only case in which there is a fault
+to find with me. But had I no provocation? Have I not suffered? Don't
+try to look as if you pitied me. I stand in no need of pity. But I owe
+a duty to my own self-respect; and that duty compels me to speak
+plainly. I will have nothing more to do with the members of my
+heartless family. The rest of my life is devoted to intellectual
+society, and the ennobling pursuits of science. Let me hear no more,
+sir, of you or your employers.' She rose like a queen, and bowed me out
+of the room. I declare to you, my flesh creeps when I think of her."
+
+"If I leave her now," said Mr. Gallilee, "I leave her in debt."
+
+"Give me your word of honour not to mention what I am going to tell
+you," Mr. Mool rejoined. "If she needs money, the kindest man in the
+world has offered me a blank cheque to fill in for her--and his name is
+Ovid Vere."
+
+     * * * * *
+
+As the season advanced, two social entertainments which offered the
+most complete contrast to each other, were given in London on the same
+evening.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Ovid Vere had a little dinner party to celebrate their
+return. Teresa (advanced to the dignity of housekeeper) insisted on
+stuffing the tomatoes and cooking the macaroni with her own hand. The
+guests were Lord and Lady Northlake; Maria and Zo; Miss Minerva and Mr.
+Mool. Mr. Gallilee was present as one of the household. While he was in
+London, he and his children lived under Ovid's roof. When they went to
+Scotland, Mr. Gallilee had a cottage of his own (which he insisted on
+buying) in Lord Northlake's park. He and Zo drank too much champagne at
+dinner. The father made a speech; and the daughter sang, "We're gayly
+yet."
+
+In another quarter of London, there was a party which filled the street
+with carriages, and which was reported in the newspapers the next
+morning.
+
+Mrs. Gallilee was At Home to Science. The Professors of the civilised
+universe rallied round their fair friend. France, Italy, and Germany
+bewildered the announcing servants with a perfect Babel of names--and
+Great Britain was grandly represented. Those three superhuman men, who
+had each had a peep behind the veil of creation, and discovered the
+mystery of life, attended the party and became centres of three
+circles--the circle that believed in "protoplasm," the circle that
+believed in "bioplasm," and the circle that believed in "atomized
+charges of electricity, conducted into the system by the oxygen of
+respiration." Lectures and demonstrations went on all through the
+evening, all over the magnificent room engaged for the occasion. In one
+corner, a fair philosopher in blue velvet and point lace, took the Sun
+in hand facetiously. "The sun's life, my friends, begins with a
+nebulous infancy and a gaseous childhood." In another corner, a
+gentleman of shy and retiring manners converted "radiant energy into
+sonorous vibrations"--themselves converted into sonorous poppings by
+waiters and champagne bottles at the supper table. In the centre of the
+room, the hostess solved the serious problem of diet; viewed as a
+method of assisting tadpoles to develop themselves into frogs--with
+such cheering results that these last lively beings joined the guests
+on the carpet, and gratified intelligent curiosity by explorations on
+the stairs. Within the space of one remarkable evening, three hundred
+illustrious people were charmed, surprised, instructed, and amused; and
+when Science went home, it left a conversazione (for once) with its
+stomach well filled. At two in the morning, Mrs. Gallilee sat down in
+the empty room, and said to the learned friend who lived with her,
+
+"At last, I'm a happy woman!"
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Heart and Science, by Wilkie Collins
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEART AND SCIENCE ***
+
+This file should be named heart10.txt or heart10.zip
+Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, heart11.txt
+VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, heart10a.txt
+
+Produced by James Rusk
+
+Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we usually do not
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
+of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
+Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
+even years after the official publication date.
+
+Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
+midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
+The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
+Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
+preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
+and editing by those who wish to do so.
+
+Most people start at our Web sites at:
+http://gutenberg.net or
+http://promo.net/pg
+
+These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
+Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
+eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).
+
+
+Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
+can get to them as follows, and just download by date.  This is
+also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
+indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
+announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.
+
+http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or
+ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03
+
+Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90
+
+Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
+as it appears in our Newsletters.
+
+
+Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
+
+We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
+time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
+to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
+searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.   Our
+projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If the value
+per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
+million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
+files per month:  1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
+We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
+If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
+will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.
+
+The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks!
+This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
+which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.
+
+Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated):
+
+eBooks Year Month
+
+    1  1971 July
+   10  1991 January
+  100  1994 January
+ 1000  1997 August
+ 1500  1998 October
+ 2000  1999 December
+ 2500  2000 December
+ 3000  2001 November
+ 4000  2001 October/November
+ 6000  2002 December*
+ 9000  2003 November*
+10000  2004 January*
+
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
+to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.
+
+We need your donations more than ever!
+
+As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people
+and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut,
+Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois,
+Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts,
+Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
+Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio,
+Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South
+Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West
+Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.
+
+We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones
+that have responded.
+
+As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
+will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
+Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.
+
+In answer to various questions we have received on this:
+
+We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
+request donations in all 50 states.  If your state is not listed and
+you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
+just ask.
+
+While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
+not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
+donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
+donate.
+
+International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
+how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
+deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
+ways.
+
+Donations by check or money order may be sent to:
+
+Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+PMB 113
+1739 University Ave.
+Oxford, MS 38655-4109
+
+Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
+method other than by check or money order.
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
+the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
+[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154.  Donations are
+tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law.  As fund-raising
+requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
+made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states.
+
+We need your donations more than ever!
+
+You can get up to date donation information online at:
+
+http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html
+
+
+***
+
+If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
+you can always email directly to:
+
+Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>
+
+Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.
+
+We would prefer to send you information by email.
+
+
+**The Legal Small Print**
+
+
+(Three Pages)
+
+***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START***
+Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
+They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
+your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from
+someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
+fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
+disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
+you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to.
+
+*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK
+By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
+eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
+this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
+a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by
+sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
+you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical
+medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.
+
+ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS
+This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks,
+is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
+through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
+Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
+on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
+distribute it in the United States without permission and
+without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
+below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook
+under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.
+
+Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
+any commercial products without permission.
+
+To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable
+efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
+works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any
+medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
+things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
+intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
+disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer
+codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
+
+LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
+But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
+[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
+receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims
+all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
+legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
+UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
+INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
+OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
+POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.
+
+If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of
+receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
+you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
+time to the person you received it from. If you received it
+on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
+such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
+copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
+choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
+receive it electronically.
+
+THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
+TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
+LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
+PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
+
+Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
+the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
+above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
+may have other legal rights.
+
+INDEMNITY
+You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
+and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
+with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
+texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
+legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
+following that you do or cause:  [1] distribution of this eBook,
+[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook,
+or [3] any Defect.
+
+DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
+You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by
+disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
+"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
+or:
+
+[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
+     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
+     eBook or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
+     if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable
+     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
+     including any form resulting from conversion by word
+     processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
+     *EITHER*:
+
+     [*]  The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
+          does *not* contain characters other than those
+          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
+          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
+          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
+          author, and additional characters may be used to
+          indicate hypertext links; OR
+
+     [*]  The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at
+          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
+          form by the program that displays the eBook (as is
+          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
+          OR
+
+     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
+          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
+          eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
+          or other equivalent proprietary form).
+
+[2]  Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this
+     "Small Print!" statement.
+
+[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
+     gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
+     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
+     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
+     payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
+     the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
+     legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
+     periodic) tax return.  Please contact us beforehand to
+     let us know your plans and to work out the details.
+
+WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
+Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
+public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
+in machine readable form.
+
+The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
+public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
+Money should be paid to the:
+"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
+software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
+hart@pobox.com
+
+[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only
+when distributed free of all fees.  Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by
+Michael S. Hart.  Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be
+used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be
+they hardware or software or any other related product without
+express permission.]
+
+*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END*
+
diff --git a/old/heart10.zip b/old/heart10.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b0444c9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/heart10.zip