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CIHM/ICMH 
 
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 Series. 
 
 CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
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 Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 
 
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 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 1 
 
 4 
 
AN ODD MAN'S STORY 
 
 I!Y 
 
 ISIDORE G. ASCHER, 
 
 Al'THOK OK 
 
 .-i// OU Maids Confession; ' A Misers Story,' ' Voices from 
 the Hearth; etc. 
 
 ' I will a round, unvaruish'd tale deliver 
 Of my whole course of love,' 
 
 ShAKESPJ'ARE. 
 
 LONDON : 
 ELLIOT SrOCK, 62. PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 MONTREAL : 
 
 WM. FOSTER BROWN AND CO. 
 
 1889. 
 
ff^ifo:^? 1^9554 
 
 ■"'""''"■""'"Tfflt 
 
 f)^^ o 3 
 
TO 
 MV TRUEST CRITIC AND BEST FRIEND, 
 
 MV WIFE. 
 
AN ODD MANS STORY. 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I AM what people call an odd man. I 
 firmly believe that I ha^-e nothing in 
 common with any other living- person on 
 this 'great globe we inhabit.' 
 
 There are peculiarities in my appear- 
 ance and character unlike anyone else's. 
 Men often think that they possess idiosyn- 
 crasies not shared by their neighbours ; 
 but, as a rule, this fact is only apparent to 
 themselves. Nobody else seems aware 
 
 I 
 
AN ODD man's STOkV. 
 
 \ 
 
 ot it ; but my case is diflerent, for every- 
 body designates me an odd man. 
 
 Some of my eccentricities are natural, 
 whilst others have grown out of certain 
 episodes in my life, which will form the 
 subject of this narrative. 
 
 Let me introduce myself. Fancy a tall, 
 ungainly, oldish-lookiug man, whose general 
 appearance is slovenly, and whose clothes 
 give one the idea that they do not belong to 
 him, but to someone else very unlike him, 
 and you have a rough etching of my exterior. 
 Imagine a brown -skinned, weather- 
 beaten, care-scarred, big-featured face, 
 covered with wiry, gray hair ; an irre- 
 gular, white beard, solemn brown eyes 
 and a somewhat large, though well-shaped 
 mouth, hardly visible through the thick 
 moustaches ; and you may then form a 
 faint idea of my visage. 
 
A\ ODD man's story. 
 
 In the house, I always wear a particular 
 Old coat, somewhat patched and greasy, 
 preserved with sedulous care through many 
 years, the lining of which hides, not bank- 
 notes, but something which I shall men- 
 tion in its place. Although this garment 
 alone would be sufficient to give any 
 civilized being of the nineteenth century 
 an odd aspect, still certain other sino-u- 
 larities [n my dress make me appear 
 still more peculiar. I always wear a 
 stock, fitting closely to my throat and 
 reaching to ^my chin. I may observe 
 here, that 1 am w^l -afford a tetter 
 coat; nor have I any throat disease to 
 warrant the use of the stock. Yet, the 
 whim that once urged me and still 
 urges me to adopt so strange a dress 
 is by no means a causeless whim. 
 Instead of the * apparel proclaiming 
 
4 AN OIJI) MAN S STOKV. 
 
 the man,' my story shall proclaim tlu! 
 apparel. 
 
 In order that my appearance may not 
 mislead my readers into wrono^ impressions 
 as to what I am, let me inform them that 
 I am not a miser, nor an old-clothes man ; 
 nor am I a decayed soldier or sailor in 
 receipt of a munificent pension allowed 
 by a grateful Government for long and 
 tri(*d services. 
 
 I\Ty name is Timothy Dunn. I am a 
 solicitor, and I am now living upon a very 
 moderate independence secured by my 
 past industry. Nevertheless, I have an 
 office in Crooke Court, leading out of one 
 of the main streets in the City of London, 
 and I also possess a very pleasant suburban 
 retreat, not many miles from Richmond. 
 
 My household is not very large ; alto- 
 gether, we number seven living creatures. 
 
AN ODD man's STOKV. 5 
 
 which include a parrot, a canary, a cat, 
 and a dog. Besides myself, there are 
 two human beings, a very old servant, 
 and a young lady who is so dear to me 
 that I hardly like to profane my feelings 
 ior her by giving then, expression in 
 print. 
 
 Yet, she alone gives a reality to a past 
 which, without her, would only be a dis- 
 tempered v'sion. Her living presence takes 
 the dark out of Time's waning memories, 
 until its aching sorrows become transmuted 
 into sacred joys. 
 
 Life to me v'ould only be as a 'sleep 
 and a forgetting ' without her. 
 
 She keeps together the leaves of the 
 by-gone years, which otherwise would 
 have long ago crumbled into dust. She 
 binds me to those days which I would 
 fain forget, but whose rem.embrance now, 
 
" AN ODD MAN S S'l'OR\-. 
 
 hovering wherever she is, seems ahnost 
 to have become *a trailing cloud of 
 glory; 
 
 These words may seem enigmatical, 
 but the pages that are to follow will 
 elucidate them. 
 
 Of course, we are all very companion- 
 able. The old servant, a very angular- 
 looking creature, with terrible, assertive 
 front teeth, has lived with us so long, and 
 has served us so faithfully, that she seems 
 like one of ourselves. We bear with her 
 faults, submit to her gossip, and allow her 
 to do as she pleases. 
 
 Our household pets, the birds and 
 quadrupeds have also a very f^ist hold on 
 us. In fact, I could not endure existence 
 without them. 
 
 Sometimes, on a winter's evening, when 
 all in the house are at rest, and I linger 
 
AN ODD MAN S STOF'IY. *J 
 
 over the firc, the do^; cnjLiching at my feet 
 seems to know my thoughts ; and in his 
 honest, glowing eyes, I can read his 
 suppressed sympathy. 
 
 And when I doff my coat, and place it 
 on a chair, iMdo at once scampers to 
 keep ' watch and ward ' over it, as if the 
 brute's fine instincts had divined its con- 
 tents. The parrot is also a special object 
 of my regard ; but as these birds always 
 take more kindly to men than to women, I 
 have to thank its instincts rather than my- 
 self for being its favourite. 
 
 It is not a bit like ' Foe's raven,' or 
 ' Buchanan's starling ;' for it is neither a 
 croaker nor a misanthrope. The very 
 flutter of its wings, as it flies towards me 
 and perches on my shoulder, is a pleasant 
 sound ; nor do I hear any discord in the 
 voice that screams the various odd sentences 
 
wwinnni 
 
 vuu 
 
 8 
 
 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 I have taucrht it, such as ' Tim wake up !' 
 ' Tim never regret !' and so on. 
 
 Of course the canary is Mary's pet, 
 and Bridget McWaddle, the old servant, 
 neglectful as she is of us sometimes, never 
 forgets to minister to the v/ants of the 
 cat, a magnificent, large, sleek, black 
 creature, with splendid, green shining eyes. 
 Such is my household— and now to my 
 story, which I narrate for Mary's benefit, 
 in order that she may have a full and 
 complete knowledge of certain matters 
 which, I dare say, by this time she may 
 only have partially guessed. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 I WAS born in a little village on the Devon- 
 shire coast. I am the youn^^er of two 
 sons. I have hardly any recollection of 
 my mother, whom I must have lost when 
 I was very young. 
 
 My father I shall never forget. 
 Our memory does not always obey our 
 behests ; it often hoards forms which we 
 would rather ' devouring Time ' had de- 
 stroyed. On the other hand, it sometimes 
 generously keeps images which, impalpable 
 as they may be, only die with ourselves. 
 
 May the remembrance of my father 
 never fade ! In the silence of my thoughts 
 
lO 
 
 AN ODD man's STOKV. 
 
 my mental vision sees him now very dis- 
 tinctly: a man under the middle height 
 of a spare, wiry, active temperament, 
 with bright, genial hazel eyes, thin com- 
 pressed lips, and thick masses of iron- 
 gray hair. 
 
 I have often thought that, for a man, 
 there was too much tenderness in his eyes 
 and that his mouth was too refined. 
 
 Of a larje-souled and tolerant nature, 
 he sometimes carried kindness to excess, 
 which often made him weak when he 
 ought to have been strong. And yet, on 
 forming a strong impression, no power 
 on earth could eradicate it; so that his 
 dogged obstinacy would sometimes make 
 his kind nature unjust and merciless. 
 Unfortunately, I have good reasons to re- 
 member this trait. 
 
 My brother Godfrey, unlike my father or 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORV. I I 
 
 myself in appearance or disposition, was the 
 former's favourite. 
 
 I must speak of him now as I recollect 
 him when we were boys. As a lad, he 
 must have inherited our mother's delicate 
 charms of person, grace of manner, and 
 gentleness of speech, which no doubt 
 accounted for my father's strange fondness 
 lor him, evincing itself in an over-indulgence 
 for his whims, and in a forgetfulness of his 
 faults. 
 
 There was quite a chasm of difference 
 between my brother's disposition and my 
 own. I was an odd-minded boy; he was 
 an even-minded one. 
 
 I not only felt I was differently constituted 
 to those around me, but I always endea- 
 voured to make this difference apparent. 
 Determined to have a conduct of life of 
 my own, I resolved I would never be the 
 
12 
 
 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 slave of conformity. On the other hand, 
 my brother, taking his cue from the world, 
 always abjectly bowed to its rules and 
 usages. In fact, he was one * whose sole 
 word, thought, and deed, are built on what 
 the world may say of him.' 
 
 In consequence, then, of our dissimilar 
 dispositions, we did not fraternize ; and as 
 there was not much in common between 
 my father and myself, I did not force 
 myself on his notice. Thus, at the a<Tc 
 of eighteen, ^ was estranged from my 
 family, and lived a somewhat lonely and 
 moody existence. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 My father was a doctor of medicine, and 
 havincT an excellent practice in and around 
 the neinrhboLirhood of the sea-port town 
 where we resided, he had amassed a small 
 fortune before I had attained my majority. 
 At certain times, when he was disposed 
 to be generally communicative to me, he 
 would say : 
 
 ' I never advise anyone to choose mv 
 profession, as to be a successful physician 
 one must be an arrant humbug. Half the 
 ills of mankind are imaginary ; when we 
 don't cure we humour, and when we can't 
 cure we also humour. I divide my patients 
 
14 AN ODD man's STOkV. 
 
 into two classes — those who think theni- 
 sclvcs ill, and those who want themselves 
 to be ill. To the former I administer the 
 restorative of pleasant talk and innocuous 
 pills ; to the latter, the balm of encourage- 
 ment and innocuous draughts ; and I can 
 assure you, that by thus skilfully adminis- 
 tering to the fanciful ailments of my kind, 
 1 can command the esteem and admiration 
 of my patients.' 
 
 1 never could quite understand this face- 
 tious satire, for his really wonderful cures 
 were proverbial, and consequently, his suc- 
 cess was well merited. 
 
 For my own part, I always looked upon 
 the medical profession as an ennobling one 
 —since it incited the physician ' to preserve 
 life, by curing life's ills.' It never occurred 
 to me then, that to be a successful doctor 
 one must be somewhat of a charlatan, and 
 
AN ODD MANS S'l'URV. I 5 
 
 that complete; success in any of life's walks 
 always calls forth (jiialities of mind and 
 dispositions independent of the calling;" 
 itself. 
 
 After 1 left college, I lived a purposeless 
 and desultory life. I had vague ambitions, 
 which took no definite outline, never shap- 
 ing themselves into clear purposes. My 
 father s means enabled me to do as I liked; 
 my own inclinations led me to do nothing. 
 And yet I was not idle ; I acquired a 
 smattering of one or two Asiatic languages ; 
 I had a partial knowledge of botany and 
 natural history; I dabbled in metaphysics; 
 I formed a theory of life on paper. 
 
 During all this time, I held aloof from 
 my brother's companionship, and my father 
 seemed always too much engrossed in his 
 practice to devote himself to me. So my 
 loneliness fostered my odd pursuits. 
 
l6 AN (HU) man's SlOkN". 
 
 Godfrey, in his way, was also a triller 
 and an idk'r : he lolled away his hours 
 with boon companions, and wasted his 
 j^'-olden days in frivolities. His society 
 was courted b)- the nc;i^hbourin^ families ; 
 he reigned supreme at balls, picnics and 
 assemblies ; and his affable presence and 
 witty converse made him a favourite every- 
 where. Of course, he was an expert at 
 riding and billiards ; while he often severely 
 exercised his mind in endeavouring to 
 stake successfully upon a favourite horse. 
 
 Giving my brother his due, I must say 
 he was very generous, particularly with 
 other people's money. His purse was 
 always open, and was therefore generally 
 empty. 
 
 Our father made him an excellent 
 allowance, which he managed to spend, 
 besides being always in debt. He often 
 
 1' I 
 
A.\ ODD man's STOkV. 
 
 •7 
 
 lent to the uiideservin^r ; rigidly paid his 
 gambling debts, and lived in happy igno- 
 rance of the amount of his tailors' hills, and 
 of the time they had been running. In 
 short, he was one of those careless spend- 
 thrifts who never seem to know the value 
 of money. 
 
 \ 
 

 CHAI'TI'.K IV. 
 
 ' To his faults a little blind, 
 To his virtues very kind.' 
 
 TiiESK lines express my father's feelings 
 towards my brother. He yielded to his 
 whims, and was not cognizant of his faults ; 
 and to crown all, he allowed him to choose 
 a profession, the very worst for one of his 
 temperament and disposition. My father 
 bought him a commission in her Majesty's 
 — th regiment, then quartered in the town 
 of Woodcombe, in Devonshire, my native 
 place, and where the incidents of this 
 story took place. 
 
 For my own part, as my father would 
 
AN ODD MAX S STUkV. 1 9 
 
 not permit nic to impose; upon the crediilil) 
 of mankind by cndcavoiirin'^ to cure; ilu-ir 
 bodies ; and as I earnestly believed that 
 attemptinnr to cure souls mi^^dit be very 
 laudable, but at the same time must [)rove 
 a very complex and difficult undertaking, 1 
 resolved to mystify mankind : to reanimate 
 doubtful wron^^^s, stultify harassc:d minds, 
 confuse knotty questions by attempting to 
 loosen them, propound solutions uj)on 
 nothing at all, learn the conjuror's art of 
 hair-splitting; in short, I made up my mind 
 to thread the never-ending mazes of the law. 
 
 Accordingly, 1 was articled and entered 
 the office of Messrs. Bobbins and Henly, 
 solicitors. 
 
 I have not a distinct recollection of 
 Henly — a meek, unobtrusive man, never 
 forcing himself on any one's notice. But 
 I have a vivid remembrance of Bobbins — 
 
 2 — 2 
 
20 AN ODD man's STORY. 
 
 a fussy, uneasy-looking person, who had a 
 nervous twitch in his eyes, and a restless 
 jerk in his shoulders. He always seemed 
 to me a jagged, crooked creature ; not that 
 his limbs were distorted, but all his 
 motions seemed aslant. There was no 
 harmonious development in his person, 
 speech, or manner ; his conversation made 
 one nervous ; his jerky movements made 
 one feel ill at ease. 
 
 One evening, after I had been about a 
 month in the office, I was informed that 
 my father desired particularly to see me. As 
 he had never made me his confidant I 
 could not conjecture the reason of this 
 especial interview. I was summontd into 
 his surgery. The lapse of many years 
 has not effaced the memory of that inter- 
 view. The whole scene is plainly photo- 
 graphed on my mind as I now write. 
 
AN ODD man's story. 
 
 21 
 
 The darkened, small room, with its bay- 
 curtained window, overlooking a smooth, 
 well-trimmed lawn ; the half bookcase, half 
 escritoire, littered with well-thumbed vol- 
 umes, and odd scraps of paper dotted with 
 the hieroglyphics of prescriptions ; broken 
 pens, an odd bottle or so, evidently there 
 by accident : piles of books so shut in as 
 almost to be out of sight ; the laboratory 
 of bottles on shelves ; phials of all sizes, 
 filled with various coloured compounds ; a 
 pestle and mortar, odd pill-boxes strewn 
 about ; and my dear lather himself stand- 
 ing against the fireplace, looking more 
 serious than his wont. All this flashes 
 upon me now, as vividly as if I had seen 
 it an hour aofo. 
 
 'Tim,' my father commenced, 'Mr. 
 Henly says you are doing very well.' 
 
 As I considered that these words were 
 
2 2 AN ODD MAN S STOkV. 
 
 only a prelude to soinethino- else I made 
 no answer. 
 
 ' Tim, my boy,' and my father's tones 
 suddenly changed, ' I hope you don't heed 
 every gossiping remark you hear.' 
 
 At a loss to understand the full purport 
 of his speech, I merely remarked — 
 
 ' I never gossip, sir.' 
 
 ' No, I don't suppose you do,' continued 
 my father. ' Only we must not believe all 
 we hear. And, Tim,' and here my father's 
 hazel eyes glimmered with a sad tender- 
 ness, ' we must endeavour to still these 
 nasty reports about Godfrey, for, of course, 
 they are not true.' And this apparent 
 falsehood was uttered so gently. 'Cer- 
 tainly he might have told me before he 
 left his regiment ; but I suppose he 
 lacked the courage. And Tim, don't 
 you heed what is said ; and when your 
 
 1 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORY. 23 
 
 brother's fair fame is attacked, defend him 
 and tell the folks they gossip without 
 reason. This is all I have to tell you, 
 1 im. 
 
 Quite overcome with astonishment at my 
 father's word, I left his presence, merely 
 bowing" a-jsent to his wish. 
 
 I soon learnt what the ' rash things' 
 about my brother meant. 
 
 This new life in the army had encouraged 
 his follies. Always careless with his money, 
 he had become a downright prodigal, until 
 his debts outstripped his means of paying 
 them. 
 
 He had drawn on his father for very 
 large sums, and had used the proceeds of 
 the bills, without settling his liabilities. 
 And Doctor Dunn had not only paid all 
 his creditors, but had also endeavoured to 
 screen his conduct. 
 
24 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORY . 
 
 Of course I was very much incensed 
 against my brother. We all 
 
 ' Compound for faults we are inclined to, 
 By damning those we have no mind to.' 
 
 Perhaps I condemned my brother's 
 faults all the more, because my own 
 temperament led me to avoid them. Had 
 I been prone to err like him, I might easily 
 have condoned them. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 My odd story dates its commencement 
 from the time my prodigal broliier left his 
 native place, and when I was making- 
 myself master of * cases,' 'tenures,' and 
 'tricks,' as Shakespeare ci.us them. 
 
 Some weeks after the conversation 
 referred to, I received the following note • 
 
 ' Dear Tim, 
 
 ' For once in the way, I am acting 
 oddly in your style. I am leaving for 
 London without apprising anyone of my 
 intention : nor can I even inform you of 
 the very serious business which has taken 
 
26 AN ODD man's STORV. 
 
 me there. You will know it in good time. 
 Give any excuses you like to my friends. 
 I have arrani^^ed with Dr. Gumpy to look 
 after my patients. I shall not write, nor 
 need you do so. — With love, )Our affec- 
 tionate father, 
 
 ' TiMOTiiv Dunn.' 
 
 A few days after the receipt of this 
 letter, my father returned, but his journey 
 seemed to have suddenly aged him. There 
 was a droop in his gait ; a wan haggardness 
 in his looks, and a melancliolv meanincf in 
 his smile; and I afterwards discovered 
 what had caused this change. The honour 
 of our family had been outraged ; a 
 pampered son had taken advantage of 
 an indulgent fiither. I need not enter into 
 particulars : the history of my brother's 
 doings in London — that hotbed of vice 
 
AN (JDl) man's story. 
 
 27 
 
 and t()ll\-, — his wiKl cxtrav;ioanc<e, mad 
 follies, riotous living-, and wanton excesses 
 of every kind anion !;j^st thos(; whose business 
 it is to entice and rob youth. The history 
 of all this is recounted (tvery day by heart- 
 stricken parents. My father's visit had 
 just been in time to save my brother's 
 name from lasting- disgrace in the eyes of 
 the world. Many years afterwards, I learnt 
 how the dear Doctor had taken my brother's 
 acceptances out of the hands of those men 
 whose riches How from the misfortunes and 
 despairs of their fellow beings, whose gains 
 are derived from the tears and blood of 
 humanity — the usurers. I can picture my 
 father among those cold-blooded men, not 
 bandying compliments to their fawning 
 speech, but politely pa)'ing principal 
 and usurious interest to the uttermost 
 farthing. Is it any wonder then, that his 
 
28 
 
 AN ODD MAX S STOKV. 
 
 susceptible: naturt' received a shock that 
 saddened that kind face ? Yet he never 
 told me all these things : his pride made 
 him sil(.'nt even to me, and I think 
 my father's reticence distressed me more 
 than my brother's follies. I vearned for, 
 but did not like to seek his confidence, 
 and thc^refo'e this shadow of wronLrdoini: 
 so dulled my life as to affect the routine 
 of my tasks and recreations. Always 
 capricious in my moods and changeable 
 in my humours, the oddities of mv manner 
 and conduct increased about this period. 
 Time, which generally smooths the ruts 
 and breaks in life, did not, in my case, 
 efface this shadow ; instead of which, 
 another event broke like a flash of lio-ht- 
 ning on my days. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A YEAR must have elapsed since the 
 
 occurrences mentioned in the last chapter. 
 
 When intent one evening over the laws 
 
 of bailor and bailee, and endeavouring 
 
 to make notes thereon, in a manner 
 
 peculiarly my own, I was startled by a 
 
 loud and energetic tap at the door. In 
 
 answer to my ' Come in ' there entered, 
 
 a tall, slim, finely proportioned young 
 
 woman, with a graceful carriage and 
 
 affable manner ; she was dressed with a 
 
 due regard to fashion, and her face was 
 
 deeply veiled. 
 
 With rapid steps she walked to where 
 
30 A\ ()l)|> MAN S S'l'OKV. 
 
 I was sitting, and said very decidedly : 
 'So INIr. IlenK is not in — when do you 
 expect him ?* 
 
 There was a mild, authoritative tone in 
 her voice, as if she had a rii^dit to know his 
 movements. I stammered out an answer ; 
 she then said,' So yo7i are Mr. Timothy 
 Dunn, jun. !' There was a pleasant fami- 
 liarity in h(;r tones, as if she had a right to 
 make this remark. I can hardlv remember 
 the purport of my reply now. Then, 
 quietly, without being asked, she took a 
 seat, and commenced to read a newspaper. 
 Before doing so, she removed her veil, 
 which disclosed le of the most beautiful 
 and fascinating faces. Vainly 1 endea- 
 voured to confine my attention to a nice, 
 though rather mystified case arising out of 
 certain laws regulating bailor and bailee ; 
 but my attention refusing to be arrested on 
 
 ; 
 
AN ODD MAN S S'l'OKV 
 
 31 
 
 the case, asscTted itself in .na/in^- on my 
 beautiful visitor. She was a hriineite, 
 with a (lark search iii^r and ^lowini^- face, 
 harmony in every f(.'ature : in the outline 
 of the f(;rehead. in the arch of die eye- 
 brows, in the dimples of her cheeks in 
 the pouting curve of her lips, and in the 
 splendid wreaths of rich black hair ; hut 
 abov(; all, it revealed itself in the fervid 
 lustre of her eloquent eyes. In these, ni)- 
 fancy seemed to read music— deep passion- 
 ate strains, to move and subdue and 
 conquer. Pardon the raptures of an odd 
 man, who cannot help recalling now, when 
 the feelings which that face evoked has 
 passed away, all that loveliness, as it then 
 impressed him. I averted my gaze from 
 her, and strove to ponder on another 
 interesting point of the law I was 
 studying; but I only saw the flashing 
 
32 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STOUY, 
 
 light of those wonderful eyes, coniinj^ 
 between me and my book h'ke a sudden 
 glory ! 
 
 I kept on rcadinj^r as a madman or a 
 drunkard mii^dit read, when his wanderinjr 
 mind can only invoke disturbed sense and 
 scan incoherent thouo;hts. I strove to 
 understand the intricate reasv ning of my 
 book, but instead I only conned a jumble 
 of words over and over again. 
 
 I closed the book, hoping to hear her 
 speak. She put aside the paper, and 
 said : 
 
 * I will call another time,' and rose to 
 depart. 
 
 I looked at her with an admiring wonder, 
 as she stood erect, amidst the shadows of 
 the room, casting a trail of light over its 
 sombre gloom, as she left it. 
 
 There is a bright, red flower called a 
 
A.\ ODT MAN S STOKV. 
 
 33 
 
 zinnia, vvhicli in shadow looks like a llame. 
 In thc! j^^athcrinii darkness as I then beheld 
 her, she seemed this human (lower. I h '.j 
 not the couraL»(; to bid her remain longer 
 to await Mr. Henley's arrival, and I only 
 vvatcheci her descend the dark stairs, and 
 heard her shut th(! door sharply and 
 (juickly, quietly bidding me good-day be- 
 fore doing so. 
 
 When she had gone, a strange feelinL'" 
 took possession of me, which I cannot 
 transcribe into words. It was not a hopeful 
 nor a happy sensation ; it was hardly a de- 
 sponding or a sad one ; it was a sort of 
 vague, wondering, and yrx a ^rcad feeling. 
 I was bewildered, excited, startled, and, 
 more than all, I was depressed. Had I 
 suddenly fallen in love with this beautiful 
 face ? if so, how could the spell which she 
 had strangely exorcised arouse feelings at 
 
34 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 variance with love ? Did the coming 
 fut'ire cast its shadow before ne then, to 
 warn me ? Did a subtle intelligence within 
 me keener than sight, deeper than imagina- 
 tion, truer than reason, arouse a pre- 
 monition or a presentiment ? 
 
 On arriving home, I could not banish 
 her remembrance. She tioated through 
 my thoughts like a weird, haunting strain 
 of music. At nioht, when the house was 
 still, her remembrance filled the silence. 
 She came between me and the darkness 
 to charm away sleep ; slie sank into my 
 dreams, and rounded them with direful 
 beauty. Yet somehow, she always ap- 
 peared as an appalling loveliness to 
 oppress, never to brighten or glad. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 And yet, resisting the influence she cast 
 upon me as much as possible, with the 
 usual contradiction of my odd nature, I 
 longed to see her again ; and my wishes 
 were destined to be soon gratified ; for a 
 few days after her appearance at the office, 
 I met her at a ball given by the Mayor 
 of our town. I was not very fond of the 
 gaud and glitter of a ballroom, and yet on 
 this particular evening, I allowed myself to 
 be carried awav by the gaiety of the 
 scene. The rhythmic beat of the music 
 incited me to danc^. I yielded without 
 reserve to the allurements and attractions 
 
 
36 
 
 A\ ODD MAN S STORV. 
 
 of the place. And In doini^ so, 1 en- 
 deavoured to throw off the spell which had 
 taken possession of me. I hardly attempted 
 to conve^'se with any of the fair enslavers 
 whom fashion had o^iven me the rio^ht to 
 whirl round in mazy fif^ures. The sen- 
 suous delio^ht of the dance was sufficient 
 enjoyment. Once durino- the eveninL,^ 
 being on the look-out for a partner, I 
 asked my hostess to present me' to one, 
 and to my surprise I found myself suddenly 
 confronted by my beautiful visitor, who 
 was introduced to me as ' Miss Gwendoline 
 Effingham.' 
 
 After we had mutuallv bowed, accord- 
 ing to the usual inane manner on 
 these occasions, she gently took my 
 arm, and having exchanged some vapid 
 commonplaces, I found myself whirl- 
 ing my enchantress through the wild 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORY. T)? 
 
 t^voliitions of the modern waltz. On a 
 former occasion I had only stolen a 
 glimpse of her loveliness ; now, in close 
 proximity to me, I could revel in it. How 
 well I remember the dress she wore on 
 that evening, a pale, maize- coloured satin, 
 trimmed with tulle of a deeper tint, and 
 dotted here and there with dark crimson 
 roses; her magnificent hair gathered into a 
 massive coil and entwined with pearls ; the 
 rounded outline of her shapely form, grace- 
 ful in every undulating movement; the 
 strangely tender light of her flashing eyes 
 looking into mine ; the touch of her hand, 
 the thrilling tones of her modulated 
 voice — all maddened and intoxicated my 
 senses. 
 
 Under no apparent constraint, with a 
 perfectly easy manner, she smiled com- 
 placendy whenever I addressed her, 
 
38 
 
 A\ ODD man's STOkV. 
 
 and answered mc with perfect affa- 
 bility. 
 
 Later in the evening, she dar. ed a qu id- 
 rille with me. More and more, and to the 
 detriment of my dancing, I yielded to the 
 weird fascination of her company. How I 
 bungled through the figures, turning in 
 the wrong place, moving when I ou^ht 
 to have stood still, gazing on her instead of 
 bowing to my vis-a-vis, and how relieved I 
 was when the dance was over and I could 
 lead her to a seat and endeavour to interest 
 her in conversation — all this is vividly im- 
 pressed on my mind. She did not speak 
 much, but somehow, all my pent-up conver- 
 sation, stagnant during the evening, burst 
 its channels and overflowed. To please 
 her, I dare say I said lots of silly, vapid 
 things. At the same time I must have 
 grown passionately earnest in my serious 
 
AN ODD MANS STORY. 
 
 39 
 
 remarks. I tried, and perhaps did not fail, 
 to interest her ; and if no responsive, sym- 
 pathetic replies fell from her lips, the 
 unspeakable lustre of her eyes anel the 
 exquisite light of her smile were enough, 
 were more than sufficient bliss for me. It 
 was only when I had said irood-nip-ht to 
 her and when I was left alone with my own 
 thoughts, that the reaction cam I was 
 dazed under the potent spell of her beauty, 
 and I thus easily succumbed to its influ- 
 ence. 
 
 Away from her, all the dread feelings 
 which her former visit had aroused 
 possessed me anew, with fuller and greater 
 power. I could not shake them off. 
 They followed me in the shadows of the 
 night as I returned homewards. They 
 haunted me as I laid my head on my 
 pillow. Resisdess as the ocean came this 
 
40 
 
 Ai\ ODD MAN S STORV. 
 
 surge of doubt and mistrust to break on 
 my love dream ! I battled with its in- 
 fluence, but I could not overcome it : and 
 thus the influence which this woman was 
 to have on my life asserted itself after the 
 evening of the ball, as it had done on the 
 day of her visit to the office. 
 
 Mii 
 
CHAPTER VIIl. 
 
 The days vvor:- on. I triecl vainly to 
 apply myself to my daily tasks with 
 diligent zeal ; for the vision of Miss 
 Effingham would, in spite of all my efforts 
 to banish it, obtrude itself on all occasions, 
 until secretly I felt quite ashamed of my- 
 self. And in proportion as her image 
 filled my mind, so the unpleasant im- 
 pressions which had grown out of it 
 partially vanished, and in tbuir place there 
 only arose the remembrance of her loveli- 
 ness, and I longed to see and talk to her 
 again. Dare I renew the acquaintance 
 without being asked to do so ? Could I 
 
42 AN 01)1) man's STOkN. 
 
 muster coiiraL^^c enough to call on her ? 
 Dare I trust myself to be near her again ? 
 I was not certain of my own feelingrs to- 
 wards her, and I was also in entire 
 ii^norance of hers, but a certain infatuation 
 linked her memory with every passing 
 thou<(ht ; and often from the miso-ivincrs 
 which assailed me, from the doubts which 
 tortured me, a sudden, strong resolve would 
 often arise, a resolve at all hazards to 
 prove and test her feelings towards me. 
 I might, or I might not, have acted on 
 these resolutions, when again Fate, or 
 Chance — choose your own word — decided 
 for me. I was spending the evening at a 
 mutual friend's house, when the servant 
 announced Miss Effingham. The sombre 
 tints of her evening dress seemed to 
 add to her stateliness and beauty. She 
 smiled ravishingly on everybody present ; 
 
 ( 
 
 't 
 
 i 
 
AX ODD MAN S STOkV. 
 
 43 
 
 advanced to mc, shook IkukIs, and si)okc! 
 with a pleasant assurance as if she had 
 determined, even a^^ainsL my will, to set 
 me at my ease ; and, stran<rc to say, she 
 almost succeeded. There were not man)' 
 guests present, but her appearance an-- oni^^st 
 them at once acted like a charm. The 
 usual dulness of a friendly evening in a 
 country town suddenly vanished, and a 
 spirit of liveliness and pleasantness pre- 
 vailed. At once, silent ton<:ues became 
 agreeably voluble ; matter-of-fact con- 
 versations were charged with point and 
 brilliancy, and merry laughter filled every 
 pause and break. And Miss Effincrham 
 seemed quile unconscious of beino- the 
 cause of all this chanp-e. 
 
 She never attempted to lead any conver- 
 sation nor endeavoured to thrust herself 
 forward to provoke merriment, and yet 
 
44 •\^' <'i>i' man's sTC)k\-. 
 
 she alotie (liffuscil the pleasantness around 
 us. Iweryone acknowlcid'-cMl h(;r briixht 
 inlluence, and I felt convinced of it. By- 
 a!id-l>y, she went to the piano and phiyed 
 Schumann's ' Novelette,' that mystic piece, 
 full ot unaccountable chani>^(^s .md weird 
 modulations. 
 
 Nowadays, as a ruh^ a lady's [performance 
 on the piano is only a signal for a babbU" 
 ot noisy voices ; in order to preserve a 
 record of the pcjliteness of the guests 
 assembled on this particular evening, I am 
 glad to say, that a discreet and universal 
 silence reigned when Miss Effingham 
 played. Of course everyone listened 
 attentively and applauded generously ; for 
 my own part, I was somewhat disappointed 
 with her playing. Certainly, her rendering 
 of the music was marked with severe 
 correctness, and her execution was rigidly 
 
 ^mim 
 
AN ODD man's srokv. 
 
 45 
 
 clear, but there was an ahsencc of a/iaui/on 
 in luM* playln<r vvliich lacked WAm and 
 shade, and all those nameless (traces which 
 constitute what is termed musical ex- 
 pressic n. In short, her interjiretation of 
 the music lacked tliat which alom^ renders 
 all art beautiful, namely, son/. Ahvx 
 awhile, I had an opportunit) ol a iclc~a-lcle 
 conversation with her, and any restraint 
 which I micrht have felt at bein(( vvith one 
 whose remembrance now had become *a 
 portion and parcel ' of my present life was 
 completely banished by her extreme self- 
 possession. As the hours imperceptibly 
 glided away in her company, I felt posi- 
 tively assured of one things, that. bein«^r 
 still uncertain of the extent of my feelin<>s 
 towards her, I still could not resist the 
 magnetic influence of her presence, in 
 the meantime, the guests were all departin- 
 
46 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 one by one, and Miss I'llTinj^ im showed 
 no siirn of lakinn her Icavt*. I^^r the; first 
 time she; i^huiccd uneasily at her watch. 
 
 ' I can't make out,' she said, 'why father 
 has not called for me ; I hope he is not ill.' 
 
 ' Detained on some business, doubtless,' 
 I chimed in ; 'I would not worry myself if 
 I were you.' 
 
 ' But father is precision and regularity 
 personified,' she answered ; * and since he 
 promised to call for me and has not done ^ 
 
 so, I am afraid there is something amiss,' 
 and a shade of anxiety filled the depths of 
 her dark, lustrous eyes. 
 
 I tried to soften the edge of her dis- 
 quietude, when she exclaimed, ' I cannot 
 wait any longer ; I must go.' 
 
 Whereupon I offered to escort her home. 
 
 ' Under the circumstances, I gladly ac- 
 cept your offer,' she said unhesitatingly. 
 
AN ODD man's story. 
 
 47 
 
 And so vvc left the house. 
 
 It was a fine moonlight nl^ht, and the 
 quaint streets of our old-fashioned town 
 were quite deserted. 
 
 I experienced the rapture of feeling her 
 arm clini^^ to mine ; the joy of being able 
 to allay her anxiety was mine ; and 
 despite the long, jagged shadows which 
 the buildings cast before us, the dark 
 glow of her lovely face, so near my own, 
 was the light that fed my hopes. 
 
 • I trust I am not taking you out of your 
 way,' was her first re-mark. 
 
 This useless and purposeless phrase, as 
 she uttered it, appeared to me to have a 
 sweet signification of its own. 
 
 • If you only knew how I like a walk, 
 3specially under these circumstances,' I 
 replied, ' you would not apologize for taking 
 me out.' 
 
1 1 
 
 
 ^!i: 
 i,-- 
 
 11, 
 
 48 AN ODD man's ST0R\'. 
 
 ' I suppose my father is detained some- 
 where,' she said, the subject being- evidently 
 uppermost in her mind. 
 
 ' I hope you will find him on your return 
 home,' I continued, hazarding a hope for 
 her sake. 
 
 ' I hope so too,' she answered ; 'but you 
 don't know my father, Mr. Dunn.' 
 
 ' I certainly have not that honour.' 
 
 * He never breaks an appointment. He is 
 such a high-principled man in this respect.' 
 
 ' He can't be otherwise if he is the father 
 of such a daughter,' 1 was about to say. 
 On consideration, however, I thought this 
 might only seem a ridiculous compliment ; 
 and so I asked a question instead : ' Does 
 he intend to reside here permanently ?' 
 
 ' We have not quite made up our minds; 
 but we shall stay, at any rate, some little 
 time.' 
 
AX ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 49 
 
 \ 
 
 * I am glad you arc not going away yet ; 
 our small social [ itherings won't like to 
 part with their favourites so soon/ 
 
 ' Nonsense !' she answered. ' People 
 are not missed much in this world, even 
 if they happen to be favourites, which 
 may or may not be the case in our in- 
 stance.' 
 
 ' Without speaking in the name of our 
 community, let me speak for myself. / 
 shall miss you.' 
 
 ' Vo^^ ! miss me — and I have only seen 
 you three times, to my knowledge !' And 
 she laughed, not unkindly, and yet not 
 pleasantly. 
 
 'Yes, Miss Effingham. Is it a matter 
 of so much wonder that I should miss 
 you .-^ Are you displeased because I am 
 so frank as to tell you I shall certainly 
 miss you ?' 
 
so AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 I was approaching a dangerous subject, 
 and I was getting rather earnest. 
 
 ' Mr. Dunn,' she replied, * I am not dis- 
 pleased, and I suppose I ought to believe 
 all you tell me ; but never mind sentiment 
 — it is getting late, and I am rather anxious 
 about father.' 
 
 I certainly had experienced a rebuff. 
 My rising ardour was suddenly chilled. 
 For a while I said nothing ; afterwards, 
 we conversed about indifferent subjects : 
 but the conversation was as unsatisfactory 
 as my state of mind. It approached and 
 veered about many subjects, and rested on 
 none. And when it died out altoofether, 
 2S it often did, the joy of being alone with 
 her made me still happy, despite her ap- 
 parent indifference. I therefore secretly 
 wished that our walk would lengthen itself 
 !■! out— that the happy moments would linger 
 
 ij 
 
AN ODD man's story. 
 
 51 
 
 and linirer, before the irrevocable ' <rood- 
 nicrht ' was spoken. But the words came 
 at last. As I doffed my hat and pressed 
 her hand, I think I reverently raised it 
 to my lips. And her clear utterance of 
 ' Thank you very much, Mr. Dunn,' seemed 
 to ring through the night air like a dying 
 chord of music. 
 
 ^^ -"- * * 4fr 
 
 Was it, then, my fancy ? or did a human 
 shadow suddenly appear to emerge from 
 the darkness into the moonlight — hovering 
 near where she passed ! For an instant I 
 saw it. It then disappeared. But its re- 
 membrance seemed to haunt me on my way 
 home, and exorcised that vague, dread feel- 
 ing which sooner or later seemed always to 
 associate itself with her remembrance. 
 
 4—2 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Again, when I sought sleep, incoherent 
 and unpleasant visions surrounded me. In 
 my restlessness I could not shake them 
 off. Their very unreality dazed and 
 startled me. Monstrous shapes and un- 
 natural sounds were the stuff that com- 
 posed my dreams, all of which seemed to 
 crush and torture me. And strange to 
 say, every shape that haunted me bore 
 some impalpable, indefinite likeness to 
 her ! and every sound that rang in my 
 ears seemed false echoes of the music she 
 played ! 
 
 I was glad when the daylight banished 
 
AN ODD man's STORV. 
 
 53 
 
 these distempered visions. Hut these 
 impressions still clung to me in the busy 
 moments of my working da}-. How 
 could anything so lovely as my idol 
 provoke distorted dreams? How could 
 anything so soul-subduing as Schumann's 
 music evoke discordant sounds ? I pon- 
 dered upon the mystery ; but my common 
 sense could not furnish any clue to it. 
 But then, you perceive, as an odd man, I 
 was destined to undergo odd experiences. 
 At one time I felt as if I should like to 
 shake off these fancies for ever : to rend 
 asunder the ties that bound me to the life 
 I was leading, by emigrating. Some subtle 
 influence, over which my mind had no 
 control, seemed to bid me take this step. 
 Would that I had done so ! 
 
 Again, who were these people that had 
 so suddenly come in our midst ? No one 
 
ii: 
 
 'i i 
 
 54 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 knew anything of their antecedents or 
 their business beyond the fact that Mr. 
 Effingham had brought a letter of intro- 
 duction to the Mayor, which at all events 
 proved his respectability. Miss Effingham 
 had certainly won golden opinions from 
 everybody : the charm of her person and 
 society had taken our circle by storm. But 
 her father, as yet, was a mystery ; he 
 seldom made his appearance In public, and 
 evidently lived in the strictest seclusion 
 with his daughter. She had once spoken 
 of him to me as a man of a speculative 
 turn of mind. Did she mean that he was 
 a speculator by profession ? If so, were 
 his transactions confined to the turf, the 
 Stock Exchange, mines, or companies ? 
 And what speculative business had brought 
 him to our village ? 
 
 Whilst I was wondering about all these 
 
 ' S'i'i 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 55 
 
 matters, Mr. B(3l)bins expressed a wish to 
 see me ; and accord ini^^ly, I found myself 
 in the private office of the head of the 
 firm. His enormous table was crowded 
 with le^al cases in rolls of parchment ; 
 folios of papers lay thickly around him, 
 and there was a pen behind each of his ears. 
 Immersed as he was in his business, he 
 rose when I entered, and welcomed me. 
 As he did so, the nervous twitch in his eyes 
 and the horrible jerk of his shoulders, so 
 significantly apparent, made me as uncom- 
 fortable as possible. When he spoke, his 
 voice halted before it reached the end of 
 the sentence, and then, after a pause, seemed 
 as if it were a lono- way off, uttering the 
 concluding word with a spasmodic jerk, as 
 if to keep it close and prevent it escaping. 
 
 * I have noticed lately, Mr. Dunn,' he 
 said, ' that you have been rather preoccu- 
 
56 
 
 AiN ODD iMAN S STOKV. 
 
 pied, so that your work has fallen into — 
 ahem — disturbance. I hope there is 
 nothing amiss : nothing of a serious 
 nature which has disturbed your — ahem 
 — equanimity.' 
 
 Colouring a little, and feeling rather 
 under a certain restraint, I assured Mr. 
 Bobbins that there was nothing amiss. 
 I may as well mention that this gentleman, 
 in his frantic, though silent mental endea- 
 vours to find an appropriate word to finish a 
 sentence, often chose an inappropriate one. 
 
 ' I am pleased to hear it,' he continued. 
 ' Perhaps there is a distraction ; if so, dis- 
 tractions are fatal to legal work, and often 
 conduce — ahem — to idle hands. I f you wish 
 to dream away your time, do so In the open 
 air, and let physical exertion of some kind be 
 the concomitant of the — ahem — visionary. 
 Assuring Mr. Bobbins that I was not 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 57 
 
 givtiti to distractions, I waited for the con- 
 tinuation of his remarks. 
 
 ' Under these circumstances,' he pro- 
 ceeded to say, 'and bearing in mind the 
 high esteem in which I hold you and 
 your valuable services, I should recom- 
 mend a two weeks' holiday to refresh 
 your spirits, taking care not to forget the 
 open air —physical exercise.' 
 
 Then Mr. Bobbins, having evidently 
 said all he intended to say, jerked his 
 shoulder in his usual unnatural manner, 
 and resumed his occupation. 
 
 And as I was convinced that in my un- 
 settled state of mind a holiday devoted to 
 physical sports would prove beneficial to 
 me, I thanked Mr. Bobbins, and resolved 
 to take his advice. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 As I was a law student, and not a paid 
 clerk, Mr. Bobbins was very indulgent to 
 me, and consequently, proposed this holi- 
 day for my special benefit. And I deter- 
 mined that his thoughtful hints should not 
 be thrown away. Accordingly, I resolved 
 to take lots of exercise. If anything can 
 banish the cobwebs of the brain, it is fresh 
 air, a game of cricket, a row on the water, 
 a ride on horseback, or a long ramble 
 away from monotonous streets to a breezy 
 down or wooded lane, or on precipitous 
 cliffs, within sight of the solemn ever- 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORV. 
 
 59 
 
 chan^L^ini; sea, and within reach of its 
 mystc:rioiK5 sobbinj^ voice. 
 
 Our little town, called Woodcombe, was 
 situated within the shadow of chalk hills, 
 that stretched themselves onward till they 
 reached the sea. It was a lazy-looking- 
 little place, crowned on nearly all sides 
 by majestic heights. Had it been nearer 
 the sea, it might have gradually fashioned 
 itself into a modern waterinj^-place ; as it 
 was, we were spared the infliction of bath- 
 ing machines, lodging-houses, and idlers 
 who thrive materially during the winter 
 on the spoils of those unhappy families 
 who seek uncomfortable recreation at the 
 seaside during the summer. When once 
 you could summon courage to ascend these 
 hills, and pursue your way beyond them, 
 scenery, very diverse in its aspects, 
 rewarded the effort. There were wooded 
 
6o AN ODD man's SIOKV. 
 
 knolls, pl^'iisant ' aths, where the trees 
 interlaced themselves over your head ; 
 in many places there were plantations 
 of brushwood and younij^ pines, that 
 you mij^dit fancy were interminable, or 
 situated in the heart of a forest. Escap- 
 ing these, a stretch of rich upland and 
 undulating woods surprised you ; while in 
 another direction, thc! heii^^hts that bordered 
 the town lessened themselves gradually 
 for several miles, till the sea burst upon 
 you. I had always enjoyed aimless 
 rambles for their own sake, and I 
 treasured their remembrance not as 
 fleeting impressions, but as lasting plea- 
 sures. It so happened I was destined 
 to keep a still more indelible recollection 
 of them. A week elapsed. In my own 
 way, I enjoyed my holiday. I thoroughly 
 tired myself with outdoor pastime ; and I 
 
AN ODD MAN S S I'ORV. 
 
 6i 
 
 heard nothiiv': of the; woman who had so 
 strangely captivated me. But, as she had 
 not honoured me with an invitation, I felt 
 I had no right to call and see her. Re- 
 viewing over in my mind everything that 
 occurred, une conviction always arrested 
 my thoughts; which was the conviction 
 that we were destined to meet again. 
 
 On the eighth day of my holiday, I 
 walked far beyond the usual confines of 
 my rambles. Leaving behind me the mag- 
 nificent reach of champagne country, I 
 already caught a glimpse of the seashore. 
 A mystic silence reigned around me, 
 broken only by the far-off, dying cadences 
 of the ceaseless waves. Engrossed entirely 
 in my own thoughts, I hardl) noticed any- 
 thing, until two human figures in the 
 distance arrested my attention. At first 
 they seemed like specks, then like shadows, 
 
62 AN ODD man's STORY. 
 
 until their outline took form and substance. 
 As they approached, and gradually neared 
 me, I found myself face to face with Miss 
 Effingham, who was leaning on the arm 
 of a strange-looking and remarkable old 
 man. 
 
 1 beheld a broadly-built, big-limbed, 
 tall man, who walked with a straight 
 soldierly tread, and whose pronounced 
 features struck me as being of almost 
 chiselled regularity ; whilst his thick eye- 
 brows, moustaches, and snowy white beard, 
 clipped close almost gave his face an 
 artist-like aspect. But his eyes, of a cold 
 gray, without expression, and not in keep- 
 ing with his other features, were rather 
 disappointing, whilst his forehead, narrow, 
 and almost retreating, seemed to contradict 
 the pleasing intellectual expression of his 
 face. As far as I could trace, there was 
 
AN ODD man's story. 63 
 
 not the faintest likeness to her, who, on 
 meeting me, introduced her companion as 
 her father. 
 
 She hes'tated as she did so, watching 
 very closely the effect the introduction 
 would have on him. 
 
 'This is Mr. Timothy Dunn, father; 
 don't you recollect my speaking to you 
 about him ?' 
 
 There was a sweet reverence in the 
 tones of her voice as she said these 
 words, a rate smile mantling her lovely 
 face, and adding a fresh lustre to her 
 eloquent eyes. 
 
 The old man doffed his hat, and merely 
 said : 
 
 ' I am pleased to make this gentlt^man's 
 acquaintance.' 
 
 Then I hesitated as to whether I should 
 leave thcxn, or walk with thens, Did they 
 
64 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 desire my company or not ? I at first 
 wavered, as I had done all along, but 
 soon yielded to her influence. And so 
 we all three proceeded towards the town. 
 
 ' Yes, child, I am convinced that the 
 silence of the country aids me materially 
 in my pavement project.' 
 
 He spoke slowly and resolutely, but his 
 remark completely puzzled me. What did 
 he mean by a ' pavement project ? 
 
 Luckily she came to my aid. 
 
 * Father's plans/ she remarked, ' contain 
 so much research, and are so involved, that 
 the quiet contemplation of nature aids 
 them : doesn't it, father ?' 
 
 Uttering these words, she pressed his 
 arm so confidingly, and sought his gray, 
 absent eyes with such ardent sympathy 
 in her own, that I wished I was her father 
 at that moment. 
 
 riiji: 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 65 
 
 ' Yes, child,' he replied to her, ap- 
 parently icrnorincr me altocrether. ' The 
 tranquillity around me develops and 
 strengthens my ideas, and I may almost 
 say completes my pavement project.' 
 
 My curiosity being rather aroused, I 
 questioned him about this project. 
 
 ' Young man,' he retorted at last, and his 
 speech, which hitherto had lacked earnest- 
 ness, now seemed to become violently 
 animated, * we live in a world of mistakes, 
 and the study of my life is to rectify these 
 mistakes. I come here to your trumpery 
 little town — what do I find in it ? Why, 
 everything wrung; bad drainage, bad 
 water-supply, bad ventilation, and bad pave- 
 ments—horribly bad pavements. I nearly 
 broke my leg, sir, treading your horrible 
 streets, Now, what was my duty under 
 these circumstances ? Why, to remedy 
 
 5 
 
66 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 this defect : and I have devised a scheme, 
 a glorious scheme, to repave your town at 
 a very trifling cost.' 
 
 I did not know whether he was in jest 
 or in earnest, but I sought her eyes, asking 
 her in my glance to solve my doubts. 
 
 ' I see father surprises you,' she said ; 
 * his plans may seem impracticable to you ; 
 to me they are clear, and easily carried out.' 
 
 During our return walk, Mr. Effingham, 
 always in silent dreamy thought, never in- 
 terrupted our converse, which touched on 
 many subjects, and the rapture of again 
 being in her company awoke every tender 
 feeling which the magic of her presence 
 had formerly evoked. 
 
 •it 
 
 •>f 
 
 It 
 
 ! I 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The town of Woodcombe possessed what 
 is common to every other similar one in 
 the United Kingdom, namely, public- 
 houses of early and recent date. One of 
 these— originally an old inn— called the 
 ' Bell,' had lately been purchased by one of 
 our townsfolk, who had made a tidy sum as 
 a butcher, and had invest -d some of it in 
 the purchase of this hostelry, which he had 
 refurnished and redecorated, with a view 
 of making it a profitable concern. Since 
 his purchase it had almost assumed the 
 significance of an hotel. There was a wing 
 attached to it which contained a spacious 
 
 5—2 
 
.ill I ! 
 
 11 
 
 68 AN ODD man's STOKV. 
 
 coffee-room and billiard-room very much 
 frequented by the time-ki'^ rs of the 
 place. The house, in fact, had grown so 
 important as occasionally to lodge distant 
 travellers who honoured our sleepy town 
 with their lively company. It had even 
 been whispered that some distinguished 
 archaeologists — on an exploring expedi- 
 tion to discover the ancient fossils of pre- 
 adamite man, supposed to be hidden some- 
 where in the excavations of an old and de- 
 cayed church, had on the memorable 
 occasion of their visit enofaized all the 
 serviceable and redecorated bedrooms for a 
 week, and had expressed themselves so 
 gratified with their lodgings as to present 
 the proprietor of the inn with a flattering 
 but unsubstantial testimonial In the form of 
 a letter of appreciation immediately ontheir 
 departure, which he took good care to show 
 
AX ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 69 
 
 boastfully to everybody. On the (iay 
 following the meetinir I have described, 
 contrary to my usual habits, I assumed the 
 character of an idle lounger, and dropped 
 into the billiard-room of the Bell. 
 
 This room presented an appearance ch? 
 racteristic of all billiard-rooms — there were 
 louncrinor men who smoked and drank and 
 looked on at the cfame, and lounijinof men 
 who smoked and played ; there was the 
 usual cadaverous-looking boyish marker 
 who scored the game, and an oppressive 
 atmosphere of smoke and buzz of conver- 
 sation quite sufficient to disconcert one 
 unaccustomed to indulge in this favourite 
 pastime of idle youth. I talked to several 
 men I knew, smoked, and for the nonce, I 
 was one of the idle loungers who looked on.. 
 Not taking very great interest in the game, 
 I soon grew tired and was about to leave, 
 
yO AN ODD MAN S STOKY. 
 
 when some person whom I had not pre- 
 viously noticed culled my name. 
 
 ' Timothy, my boy, is that you ?* and 
 before I was aware my brother Godfrey, 
 whom I had not seen for a Iopl^ time, 
 heartily grasped my hand. 
 
 I hardly knew him, he was so altered ; 
 the refined-lookin;:^, handsome boy had 
 developed into a somewhat coarse, yet 
 fine specimen of manhood : to my mind 
 his person had improved and yet dete- 
 riorated. Tall, witb. a dashing; manner, 
 dressed in the height of the then pre- 
 vailing fashion, wich fine features and 
 searching eyes, with a winning smile that 
 played over his well-shaped mouth, and at 
 times lighted up a face stamped with a 
 look of hard resolve ; all this would have 
 made him a remarkably attractive man 
 everywhere ; and yet there was a certain 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 71 
 
 sensualism coinhined with cynicism in his 
 appearance which may not have been 
 observed by others, but was nevertheless 
 singularly apparent to me. 
 
 I returned his j^reetinors as affectionately 
 as possible, and asked him what had 
 broui^dn him to Woodcombe. 
 
 'Just for a chanL^e, old fellow, and to 
 have a peep at the governor,' was his reply ; 
 and he laiiglu^d heartily, showing a 
 splendid set of teeth as he did so; though 
 why his visit should have furnished 
 any jocular idea to him was amazing to 
 me. Then he asked me about all the 
 news, and I informed him about the recent 
 arrivals. He did not seem to take much 
 interest in them or in anything else, but 
 treated every subject lightly, and seasoned 
 his rem u'ks with pheasant raillery. In 
 fact, he looked at everything from a mirth- 
 
72 AN ODD man's STORY. 
 
 ful point of view, as if life and its belong 
 ings could be nothing to him but a [pro- 
 digious joke. Of cuurse, I did not make 
 him a confidant of my feelin^^s towards 
 the strangers. In the state of my mind it 
 would have seemed like a sacrilege to have 
 done so. My love-dream was my own. 
 No one could share it with me. It was 
 too hallowed to be made a jest of by my 
 brother. 
 
 Accordingly, we took a walk and spent 
 a portion of the next day toi^ether, and 
 before parting he informed me that he 
 would return to London on the following 
 morning. The recollection of my meeting 
 with Godfrey on this occasion is a plea- 
 sant one. His affability thawed my 
 reserve. His bonJiomie called forth 
 reciprocal thoughts, and his mirth-pro- 
 voking converse often evoked merri- 
 
 I ( 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 7^ 
 
 ment r\\\n from such an odd-minded, 
 serious character as myself. Could I 
 only have peeped into the horoscope of 
 the near future, my impressions of him 
 would have been char^^ed with other 
 
 meanmgs. 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 My holiday was approach i no- its end. 
 Intent upon meeting Miss Effingham, I 
 had hopelessly wandered in the direction 
 where I had previously met her. My 
 solitary walks then did not afford me the 
 same pleasure as of yore. Nature and 
 self-communion were wont to be my usual 
 solaces ; now the restless longing to be 
 again with her destroyed them. The 
 spiritual hunger of my soul could only be 
 appeased by her smile. Those unsatisfied 
 yearnnigs, belonging to dreamers, poets 
 and lovers, were mine. Who can define 
 that state of rapturous being which comes 
 
AN ODD man's STOKY. 
 
 75 
 
 even to the most prosiiic person — at any 
 rate, once in a liA.;tinic-- which is called 
 love ? 
 
 Yes, I had to admit the fact at list, I 
 was madly in love with Gvvendoh'ne 
 Effingham. Had I any reason to hope 
 she was aware of my fcclino-s, or that she 
 returned them ? Her beliaviour as yet 
 had given me no clue. Besides, I was not 
 clever enough to solve the mystery of a 
 woman's heart. The suspense of doubt 
 was torture to me already ; and therefore, 
 I inwardly resolved when next I met her 
 to know my fate. 
 
 Chance again favoured me. 
 Threading my way one morninor throuo-h 
 the interstices of the leafy woodlands 
 spoken of, the well-beloved figure of my 
 dreams accosted me, and to my pleasur- 
 able surprise, she was not accompanied 
 
j6 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 by her father. The shadows of the 
 trees as they fell on her supple form 
 and eloquently lustrous face seemed to 
 make her loveliness more visible ! A faint 
 delicious wind shook the branches and 
 lightly stirred the leaves of the trees, which 
 sounded to me like the sighs of my anxious 
 heart ! Weii^hed down almost with the 
 burden of my thoughts, and yet calm in 
 the steadfastness of my resolve, I still 
 could hardly summon courage to speak to 
 her. I warmly grasped her hand, gazed 
 upon her ardently, and stood in jilence 
 by her side. 
 
 The tranquillity of the tangled wood, 
 hardly broken by the rustle of the trees, 
 all favoured me, and yet I had no words 
 to say to her. To know she was near 
 me, and to hop>e she might be mine 
 to love and protect for ever, was rap- 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 n 
 
 ture ! I was dumb with excess of 
 
 emotion. 
 
 A few dear moments of quietude elapsed, 
 when, woman-like, she came to my aid. 
 
 'Well met, Mr. Dunn. Precious weather 
 like this we should make the most of. 
 And I see it has invited you as well as 
 myself to this charming spot.' 
 
 As usual, there ^vas an absence of all 
 restraint in her flucmt speech, which at 
 once strengthened my waning courage. 
 
 ' Yes, I am fond of this neighbour- 
 hood, Miss Effingham, and lately I 
 have w^andered about here more than 
 ever.' 
 
 ' \ ou could not have chosen a prettier 
 spot,* she answered. ' Lots of people walk 
 here for a purpose — to seek specimens, or 
 paint scenes. Are you one of these, or 
 merr'y an aimless wanderer like myself ?' 
 
78 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 Was this a chance question, or was she 
 deliberately leading my thoiicrhts ? 
 
 ' I used to roam about aimlessly — pro- 
 ceedlniT where my whim dictated me — 
 merely for the joy of holding converse with 
 Nature : to feast my eyes on her beauties. 
 Lately, however, I have wandered with a 
 purpose, with a growing, eager purpose. 
 Can you not guess it ?' 
 
 Exultant in my speech, as I was de- 
 pressed in my silence, I waited for her 
 reply. 
 
 A radiant smile spread over her face as 
 I asked this question, and she laughingly 
 answered : 
 
 * I am such a poor hand at guessing 
 that you must an^jwer your own question.' 
 
 Her words, coupled with her request, in- 
 spired me with fresh courage. 
 
 ' I have been here every day, hoping 
 
 Urn 
 
AN ODD ATAN S STORY. 
 
 79 
 
 anxiously to see you again ; to hear you 
 speak ; to see you smile ; to be with you — 
 near you. Can you not guess the rest ? — 
 I must tell you — I cannot live without you 
 — I love you.' 
 
 I said this wildly and passionatel)^, and 
 in my fervour I did what any other man 
 in a similar situation to my own would 
 have done. I madly grasped her hands, 
 and strove to draw her to me. 
 
 At first her face blanched and then red- 
 dened, till hastily freeing herself from my 
 grasp, she stood before me in her speech- 
 less loveliness, resolute in her angry 
 defiance. 
 
 • Mr. Dunn — you forget yourself.' 
 
 ' Forgive me,' I answered. * Let my 
 earnestness plead for me ; let my great 
 love excuse me ; only let me — hope!' 
 
 I think my fervour softened her anger ; 
 
80 AN ODD man's STOKV. 
 
 for her speech was soni(::what subdued as 
 she replied : 
 
 ' Mr. Dunn, you positively frighten me. 
 I am not accustomed to such strange ebul- 
 litions of feeling. You speak thoughtlessly.' 
 
 Hating myself for having allowed feel- 
 ing to master reason, I said : 
 
 * How could I speak without thought, 
 when all my thoughts are bound up in 
 you ? I may have been premature in dis- 
 closing them, but sooner or later my pent- 
 up feelings for your sake would be certain 
 to overpower me.' 
 
 ' Altogether a young man's fancies/ she 
 answered, * which may soon fly away.' 
 
 ' If everything on earth was as real as 
 my love for you, Gwendoline, there would 
 be no such word as fancy. Let i..y 
 devotion plead for me. Give me one 
 word of encouragement' 
 
 ^la^lBita 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 8 I 
 
 As I said these words, her defiant look 
 fled, and in its place appeared that inex- 
 pressibly sweet expression which had so 
 often charmed me. 
 
 * Well, Mr. Dunn, Til forgive you if you 
 promise me to talk about something 
 else.' 
 
 ' Is there no hope at all ?' I asked. 
 * May I not ask you again ?' 
 
 * I cannot promise you anything. I have 
 other matters to think of besides love and 
 marriage ; so do not recur to the subject — 
 and let us be friends as before.' 
 
 And then she shook hands warmly with 
 me. The touch of her hand was forgive- 
 ness ; her rare expressive voice whispered 
 hope, and the warm radiance of her glance 
 shone on my heart like a sun-ray brighten- 
 ing an arid spot ! 
 
 I fortified myself with the thought that 
 
 6 
 
82 AN ODD MAX's STORV. 
 
 thoiii^^h she hcid not accepted me, still she 
 had not absolutely refused me. Doubtless, 
 I had been precipitate, and had merited 
 her anger; and I was sure excellent reasons 
 must have urged her to silence my love- 
 making. 
 
 Reasoning thus, like a hopeful lover, I 
 was almost confident that my love was 
 requited. Accordingly, our conversation 
 ran into other channels ; and on leaving 
 me she gave me an invitation from her 
 father to call on them. 
 
 You can well imagine that I resolved 
 to accept it with as little delay as 
 possible. 
 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The Effinghams had taken a small fur- 
 nished house, situated on the outsLirts of 
 the town. On approaching it, you left 
 the narrow, tortuous little streets so far 
 behind, that the house was even separated 
 from the vicinity of the last new public- 
 house and the latest new church. It stood 
 alone, off the road, and was sheltered from 
 the view of vulgar oazers by the thick 
 fir-trees which gave it a dark, solemn 
 appearance. It was hardly a cottage ornc\ 
 and it certainly was not a pretentious 
 villa, but was an odd, antiquated tene- 
 ment. Its rooms were small and low, 
 
 6—2 
 
84 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 and its staircases spiral, and the furniture 
 rather the worse for wear. Hardly the 
 dwelling - place of so bright a creature 
 as Gwendoline ; it seemed set in shadow, 
 and had a disconsolate, dull look. 
 
 When I called, a painfully minute 
 servant dressed in a sombre print of a 
 chess-board pattern opened the door, and 
 on my inquiring if the inmates were at 
 home, bade me walk in. 
 
 'I'll see, sir,' said the minute servant. 
 
 I entered the sitting-room, which was 
 hardly a cheerful, and yet not an entirely 
 comfortless apartment. Evidently its 
 present occupant had done her best to 
 brighten its somewhat shabby look, and 
 had signally failed in her efforts. 
 
 There were some fresh-cut flowers in 
 a disconsolate-looking green vase on the 
 table, a cottage piano, and a bird-cage in 
 
AN ODD man's STORV. 
 
 85 
 
 a corner; but the bird was a bullfinch 
 who piped * Old Dog Tray ' in dolorous 
 and very irregular accents. 
 
 ' Miss Effingham and master will be here 
 soon, sir,' said the tiny maiden. 'Please 
 wait' 
 
 Accordingly I waited. 
 
 I glanced around until my eyes rested 
 on an old tapestried picture over the fire- 
 place—subject, wretched - looking Jonah, 
 very red in the face, asleep under the 
 unwholesome gourd. Admiring Jonah's 
 magnificent black beard, my ears were 
 assailed by the two first bars of ' Old Doo- 
 Tray.' A pause ensued, and the unhappy 
 bird ineffectually commenced to sing this 
 delicious melody again. And still no one 
 made an appearance. 
 
 I gazed upon another old scriptural 
 picture opposite the fireplace, which 
 
X6 AN ODD man's STOKV. 
 
 was a brown Hagar in a green wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 Wondering where these works of art were 
 purchased, and who were the artists, again 
 the doleful bullfinch grew almost frantic in 
 its endeavours to reach the third bar of 
 ' Old Dog Tray' ; and still there was no 
 sign of my friends. 
 
 To be kept waiting for no ostensible 
 reason is never pleasant, and now my 
 anxiety to see Gwendoline again made 
 me quite impatient. 
 
 A half-hour passed, and I was still 
 alone. 
 
 If they were out, why was I not told so.^* 
 li they were at home, why was I kept wait- 
 ing so long ? 
 
 Disconcerted, and almost annoyed, I was 
 actually about to ring the bell when a noise 
 outside of footsteps grated on my ears, and 
 
AN ODD man's story. 
 
 <V 
 
 suddenly the door was opened by Mr. 
 lifiingham. 
 
 .\lthough his figure stooped, he walked 
 with a stately, martial tread, and welcomed 
 me in his usual dreamy manner. 
 
 Looking around him, he appeared 
 puzzled. 
 
 * VVhy, I thought Gwendoline, my 
 daughter, was here T 
 
 ' I have not yet had the pleasure of 
 seeing her,' 1 answered. 
 
 ' iMost extraordinary ! Why, 1 made 
 sure she was here. Really, Mr. Dunn, 
 you must pardon our apparent rudeness,' 
 Mr. Effingham remarked. 
 
 ' It does not at all matter,' I rejoined. 
 • Miss Effingham will, I presume, be here 
 presently.' 
 
 Then he opened the window and looked 
 out, and having directed an absent gaze 
 
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88 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 upon the picture over the fireplace, he 
 immediately asked me the following ques- 
 tion : 
 
 ' Do you take an interest in sanitary 
 appliances ?' 
 
 On assuring him, for the sake of polite- 
 ness, that I did so, he commenced : 
 
 * Well, sir, I have invented an appliance 
 — a tangible appliance, to ventilate every 
 house in the United Kingdom. The ne- 
 cessity of such an invention is paramount. 
 If there is a proper ingress for the sweet 
 air, why should there not be a proper 
 egress for the foul air ? What are the 
 consequences of breathing a tainted atmo- 
 sphere ? — headaches and discontent. What 
 happens in a purer atmosphere ? — head- 
 aches and happiness.' 
 
 As on our first meeting, at first his 
 speech was broken and careless ; but the 
 
AN ODD man's story. 89 
 
 interest taken In this subject soon imparted, 
 as before, warmth and energy to his words. 
 He descanted very lengthily on this project, 
 until I grew very weary and impatient. 
 Only anxious to see her, I could not brook 
 this delay. But the time sped on, and 
 the interminable ventilating subject pro- 
 gressed. 
 
 I was getting so impatient that I 
 
 resolved to go — when I am positive 
 
 I heard the tread of feet, a rustlino- 
 
 sound, and the banging of an outside 
 gate. 
 
 Just then the door was opened and the 
 subject of my thoughts and hopes made 
 her appearance. 
 
 There was a flurried, troubled look about 
 her face. But in a moment my annoyance 
 vanished as I rose to meet her. Despite 
 the efforts to appear at her ease, an un- 
 
90 
 
 AN ODD MAX S STORY. 
 
 usual absence of her wonted self-possession 
 was very apparent. 
 
 Secretly wondering what had disturbed 
 her, 1 still did not betray any curiosity; 
 instead, I strove by every possible means 
 to amuse and interest her. 
 
 Of course she soon regained her natural 
 calm demeanour, so that there were no 
 traces of the disturbing influences which 
 had evidently taxed her. Nevertheless, I 
 soon brought my visit to an end, feeling 
 that it had disappointed me. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The next day I was astonished to receive 
 the following letter : 
 
 ' Dear Mr. Dunn, 
 
 ' Papa sends his compliments, and 
 wishes to have another chat with you. So 
 come to-morrow evening and take tea with 
 
AN ODD man's story. 91 
 
 US, and don't be surprised to hear that I 
 have a favour to ask of you. 
 * With kind remembrances, 
 
 ' BeHeve me very truly yours, 
 
 ' Gwendoline.' 
 
 I read these lines with avidity, with all 
 the rapture of a lover who has received 
 the first note from the woman he adores. 
 The words were mental honey to me, 
 full of delicious meanings and unknown 
 joy. Above all, its friendly tone made me 
 exultant. Her wishing to ask a favour of 
 me delighted me, and at the same time 
 also set me wondering. What was it ? 
 What was its nature ? How could a non- 
 entity like myself be of use to such a glorious 
 creature.? Hopelessly I racked my brr'n 
 with extraordinary guesses. And this 
 note released my mind of any doubt as 
 
92 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 to her not returning my love. Indiffer- 
 ence could never have urged such confi- 
 dence on her part. 
 
 In the joy that possessed me then, the 
 disappointment of my visit also passed 
 away, and all my hopes were set again in 
 renewed brightness. 
 
 ! 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 I TAKE an odd man's privilege to pause 
 now in my narrative ; not that there is 
 any break in it. Inditing these recollections 
 in the calm atmosphere of my present home, 
 I strive to verify all the events as they 
 occurred in their natural order. The record 
 may seem strange, but realities as well 
 as fancies are sometimes starding. Do I 
 falter already.? Do I lack courage to 
 proceed ?— Well, if not for my own, this 
 revelation has to be made for another's 
 sake — let me continue. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 * 
 
 As you may suppose, I joyfully accepted 
 
94 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 the invitation accorded me in the note. I 
 was not kept waiting this time. To my 
 surprise, GwendoHne opened the door her- 
 self, and led me into the room with the 
 freedom of an old friend. Never had her 
 loveliness appeared more radiant than 
 when she welcomed me with a smile that 
 seemed to thrill me. 
 
 ' Papa is very tired with a lung 
 day's work and is taking a nap. He 
 desired me to make his apologies to 
 you — I know you will excuse him, won't 
 you ?' 
 
 In my gratitude I secretly blessed Pro- 
 vidence for the mercy of his absence. 
 Looking around me, I perceived the room 
 had undergone some indefinable transform- 
 ation since last I was in it ; the exasperat- 
 ing bullfinch had vanished, there were 
 water-colour paintings on the walls, which 
 
 I 1 
 
AX ODD MAx's STORV. 
 
 95 
 
 I evidently had not noticed belore, llowers 
 had been arranired In baskets, and every- 
 thiniT around wore a certain air of neatness 
 and refinement. 
 
 As yet she had not alluded to the favour, 
 and my curiosity had not dared to shape 
 itself into an inquiry. 
 
 ' Do you know.' she said, ' that papa has 
 been very busy to-day ?' 
 
 'Indeed,' I answered; 'and I suppose 
 you take an interest in all his schemes ?' 
 
 • Naturally I enter into them thoroughly 
 and understand them perfectly.' 
 
 I was about to say, ' That is more than 
 I do ;' but I suppressed the remark. 
 
 ' Does he ever carry them into practice ?' 
 I ventured to ask. 
 
 ' He generally sells his patents, and other 
 people reap the profits. I dare say you have 
 heard of his ventilating apparatus; it is 
 
96 
 
 AX ODD MAN S STORV. 
 
 nearly finished, but he can't perfect his 
 idea.' 
 
 'What a I'ity,' I said; 'are the dififi- 
 culticis so insurmountable?' 
 
 ' Oh dear no ; his scientific brain can 
 ov('rcome all obstacles ; in fact, he has 
 finished it, but he has devised a plan now 
 to make the idea a profitable one, and he 
 requires some assistance to do it.' 
 
 At last the idea dawned on me that my 
 aid might be required. This, then, was the 
 favour. 
 
 ' Let me know all particulars/ I said ; 
 'perhaps I may be of use.' 
 
 ' Yes, Mr. Dunn, you can.' 
 
 The scheme as she explained it was as 
 follows : 
 
 Mr. Effingham was about to form a com- 
 pany for the purpose of giving the public 
 the use and benefit of his great invention. 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 97 
 
 It was to be called * The Eflln^ham 
 Patent Ventilating Co., Limited.' A long- 
 headed monetary genius from London 
 had commenced to fmance it. A list 
 of high-sounding directors, including the 
 Mayor of our town, had already been 
 enrolled. There were to be five thousand 
 shares at ten pounds each, which the public 
 would take up. Some capital was required 
 at once to commence operations, just as 
 earnest money, and four thousand five 
 hundred pounds had been found. But 
 anoiher five hundred pounds was wanted. 
 Such was the scheme in its bare out- 
 lines. 
 
 * Papa intended to have explained all this 
 to you, but as he is asleep I know he will be 
 pleased that I have performed the duty for 
 him,' said iMiss Effingham. 
 
 She did not apply to me in vain, for at 
 
 7 
 
98 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STCjkV. 
 
 once I orave my iindivi'lcd attention to her 
 lucid explanations. 
 
 The subject of ventilation, which had not 
 yesterday interested me in the slightest 
 degree, suddenly appeared the uost impor- 
 tant question under the sun, and before I left 
 that evenin(T I was master of every detail, 
 and I promised to help her l)y every means 
 in my power, and so I determined to leave 
 no stone unturned to procure this money ; 
 I assured her that her interest or her father's 
 was my interest, and that she could not 
 have tried my devotion better than by 
 allowing me to do her this service. 
 
 The next day I was in a desperate hurry 
 to carry out my purpose. I took another 
 week's holiday. I explained the project to 
 several Influential and wealthy men in our 
 town ; but who somehow did not view it 
 
AN ODD MAN h> STORY. 
 
 99 
 
 as hopefully as they mij^ht have done. 
 Ventilating schemes were hardly required by 
 the public, they said ; besides, where was the 
 security for the money ? You must remem- 
 ber the inhabitants of our old-fashioned 
 town had limited ideas of expo iments, and 
 were hardly venturesome enough to meet 
 the requirements of modern, expanding 
 ideas of business. The security seemed all 
 right to me, although 1 could not have satis- 
 factorily expL Med what it consisted of. It 
 was quite sufficient for me that she wanted 
 the money to aid her father's scheme. 
 And would she not eventually be my wife ? 
 Certainly, she had not positively accepted 
 me ; but the mere fact of her having 
 enlisted my services in her behalf forged 
 a new link between us. Her father's 
 success was hers, and her success was 
 mine — was most assuredly mine. 
 
 7—2 
 
lOO 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 Reasoning thus, I determined to sell out 
 a portion of th(; small property bequ(;athcd 
 to me by my mother, the interest of which 
 had helped me to live, and to lend the five 
 hundred pounds myself, and I also deter- 
 mined to keep the matter a profound secret. 
 
 ' Can 1 ever thank you sufficiently for 
 this?' she said to me, her lovely face 
 beaming- with gladness, when on a later 
 occasion I handed her the money. 
 
 ' Don't speak of thanks,' I replied ; ' to 
 know that I have been of some little use to 
 you has sweetened my life. In reality, you 
 have benefiled me ; so say not^nng more 
 about it.* 
 
 But she said lots more about it. With a 
 masterly knowledge of the details of the 
 scheme, she proved to me how the five 
 hundred pounds would yield me twenty 
 
AN ODD MAN S STOkV. 
 
 lOI 
 
 per cent., and that at any time I could 
 liavc the* capital returned. I did not en- 
 tirely <^rasp the idea. The dry calcula- 
 tion of profits hardly interested me ; but 
 her sweet speech and sunny glances 
 elated me instead. I cursed the arith- 
 metic, but I lilessed the chance that 
 bound me to her side. 
 
 And yet at her earnest solicitation, 
 des[)Ite a refusal on my part, she forced me 
 to write a receipt, which she signed for her 
 father. 
 
 ' I insist upon giving you this acknow- 
 ledgment,' she said ; and accordingly, I had 
 to reluctantly accept it. I then wrote it out 
 for her to sign. On reading it, she re- 
 marked in a very low tone : ' How extra- 
 ordinary !' 
 
 ' What is extraordinary ?' I asked, sur- 
 prised at her ejaculation. 
 
I02 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 * Why,' she unhesitatingly reph'ed, in the 
 old sweet, subdued voice, ' the fact of our 
 sudden acquaintance and the kindness of 
 your service.' 
 
 ' How could it be otherwise ?' I rejoined ; 
 ' my good fortune directed my steps to- 
 wards you, and fate has ordained all that 
 has happened or may happen !' 
 
 I did not know then that this utterance 
 of mine, in every sense a prophetic one, 
 would possess a meaning which I could 
 not then foresee. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Weeks sped on, and I saw Gwendoline 
 every day. It was a happy time for me. 
 And yet sometimes, in the midst of a 
 pleasant conversation, some chance remark 
 of mine would suddenly silence her speech, 
 and for a moment summon a look of 
 dismay or sadness. At other times, at the 
 close of some fanciful sentence or droll 
 exposition, a faint sigh would unknowingly 
 escape her lips. And often these changes 
 of mood broke on my supreme happiness 
 and somewhit jarred it. It never occurred 
 to me that there was anything unusual in 
 them. No shadow of doubt came between 
 
I04 
 
 AN ODD MANS STORY. 
 
 US to dull my intense happiness. The 
 loyal reverence I paid her had no room for 
 any misgiving. 
 
 One evening I screwed my courage up 
 to the sticking-point, by making a frank 
 avowal of my love. 
 
 ' I can't help breaking my promise,' 1 
 said ; * ! can wait no lunger; give me the 
 right to call you mine.' 
 
 She did not this time withdraw her 
 hand, but held i kindly for a moment 
 before she dropped it. 
 
 ' Don't speak to me of engagements or 
 marriage,' she said somewhat sadly. ' Let 
 us be dear friends for a little while longer ; 
 and, besides, you have to pass your ex- 
 aminations, and all my time is devoted to 
 father.' 
 
 Her will was law to me and I yielded 
 to it. 
 
 Ilili 
 
AN ODD man's story. 105 
 
 Am I dwellino- too long- on my love 
 episode ? Do I lin^^er too fondly on this 
 portion of my narrative ? When you read 
 what is to follow you will readily excuse 
 these long-drawn-out confessions. Would 
 that I could now close them ! P jt the 
 sequel was not in my hands, and I must 
 pause no longer in my narrative. 
 
 ** * # # 
 
 Being under the impression that our 
 engagement was only deferred, I had now 
 a further incentive to work at my studies 
 with unflagging energy. My love-dream 
 se-med more of an assured joy than it 
 ever had been. My infatuation had re- 
 ceived its response; and so nearly every 
 evening was passed with Gwendoline. On 
 one of these occasions, i ventured to ask 
 her how the Ventilating Company was 
 progressing. 
 
io6 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 • Not SO well as miglu have been 
 expected,' she replied. 'We are again in 
 want of funds.' 
 
 ' How is this ?' I answered. 
 
 ' One of our friends, on whom we de- 
 pended, unfortunately died when every- 
 thing was near completion ; and but for 
 this contretemps, the company would have 
 been launched.' 
 
 ' I am so sorry,' I said ; ' but the scheme 
 must not di(i out for the want of a hundred or 
 two, more or less. Let me help you again.' 
 
 As I deemed myself Gwendoline's hus- 
 band in the future, I felt bound to aid 
 her in the present. How could I help 
 doing so ? Besides, even with my limited 
 knowledge of the subject, it certainly 
 seemed a profitable speculation. And 
 how could I resist the influence of her 
 words ? The spell she had woven around 
 
AN ODD man's story. IO7 
 
 me held grown strong^er now tliat she was 
 almost my own for life. At first she re- 
 fused my proposed assistance, nor could 
 I penuade her to accept the two hundred 
 pounds- in cash. After some discussion, 
 the matter was compromised by her con- 
 sentinor to receive my promissory note 
 at three months for the amount, in lieu of 
 the money. Before it matured, I was 
 assured that the undcrtakincr would be in 
 full swing, so that the amount would be 
 refunded tome. In my secret thought, I 
 resolved that Gwendoline should become 
 my wife before the bill became due ; 
 and doLibtless, the consciousness of this 
 resolve urged me to give this bill. It 
 is sometimes difficult to Gfucss one's secret 
 motives. An)h()w, I was the slave of her 
 whims and wishes ; and accordingly, I did 
 what any man, placed in my position, wouid 
 
io8 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 have (lone. She L^ave me a receipt for the 
 bill which I hastily [)ut in my pocket. The 
 next clay I arranged it all. And afterwards, 
 placing business matters on one side, I 
 chatted to her in true lover fashion of my 
 hopes, plans, intentions and prospects. 
 The remembrance of that eveninor even 
 now, after the lapse of very many years, 
 haunts me. The joy of those hours still 
 lives as I strive to transcribe their impres- 
 sion ; the recollection has lost none of its 
 sweeti^ess in its portrayal. The mirror of 
 the future then only reflected rosy hopes, 
 and no breath of possible shadows dulled 
 its surface. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 On the following clay, lookincr in my pocket, 
 
 I missed the receipt ; but I thought nothincr 
 
 more about it at the time. Aftarvvards, 1 
 
 was summoned on some office business, 
 
 requiring my personal attention, to a town 
 
 about sixty miles distant from VVoodcombe. 
 
 Knowing that the business would occupy 
 
 me some time, I wrote to Gwendoline, 
 
 informing her of my departure and of 
 
 the date of my probable return. 
 
 ' Even a few days' separation is torment 
 to me,' I wrote in my note ; 'all my feelings 
 are merged into one hope, the hope of 
 again being with you.' And I begged her 
 
I lO 
 
 AN Ol [) MAN S STORN'. 
 
 to write to mc io the pvjst-ofiicc ol the 
 town where I was bound. In clue course 
 I received a reply, which, although couched 
 in affection.'ite terms, did not altogetht^r 
 satisfy me ; it seemed restrained and 
 forced, lacking the ring of genuine 
 fervour. Still, as lovers are often cxigcant^ 
 1 may have been so in this instance. On 
 my return, my first thought was to pay her 
 a visit, and accordingly 1 set out immedi- 
 ately with this intention. On arriving at 
 the house, and in the act of rifiging the 
 bell, to my utter consternation the follow- 
 ing placard on the walls met my 
 
 gaze : 
 
 * House to Let.' 
 
 In my wild dismay I seemed rooted to 
 the spot, my sight almost failing me as I 
 read the om^inous * House to Let.' And 
 
AN ODD man's story. I I I 
 
 then I hardly believed the evideiicr* of my 
 own senses. 
 
 Was it possible ihat Gwendoline, my 
 promised wife, would have! left the place 
 suddenly without a word of notice or ex- 
 planation ? 
 
 ' It cannot be! there must be some mis- 
 take. I mentally ari^ued. To satisfy myself, 
 I w(*nt to the nearest house-a^^cnt. It so 
 happened that the house in (Question had 
 been let by him to Mr. Effingham, and I 
 learnt that it had been given up at the 
 expiration of six months. Of course the 
 aofent did not know their movements. I 
 therefore could L^lean nothint^ about them 
 from him. 
 
 Stil! I buoyed myself with a hope that 
 their sudden flight would be explained by 
 letter. 
 
 But no letter awaited me. And days 
 
I 12 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STOKV. 
 
 [):\ss(:d on, and still no word from her. 
 What dill it all nu-nn ? Were they 
 suddenly suninioned to London on un- 
 foreseen business ? If so, why did she 
 not write? Iliid troubles arisen in con- 
 nection with the financial plan which had 
 ur^^ed their immediate departure ? If this 
 was the cause, I, of all people, ought to 
 have been appealed to at this juncture. 
 Ouj^ht she not by this time to have been 
 assured of my friendly aid in any possible 
 trial ? Had my loan and the proceeds of 
 the bill been swallowed up in some unfore- 
 seen pecuniary calamity ? Even then, what 
 did it matter ? What was even the possible 
 loss of my money in comparison with the 
 lack of confidence in me, proved by her 
 extraordinary departure ? It was more 
 than unkina on her part ; it was positively 
 cruel. 
 
A\ ODD MAX S STORY. 
 
 I'3 
 
 I'crhaps, those; were only idle conjec- 
 tures. Had the sutlden iUness, or death, 
 of some absent relation or friend sum- 
 i.'oned them away ? Perhaps she was 
 SLifferini]^ whilst I was iJly broodini^ about 
 her ; and this idea was more terrible than 
 all the others. I knew not what to think ; 
 I was perplexed and anxious. 
 
 And the weary days sped on, and still 
 no written word of explanation reached 
 me. I made all possible inquiries. I tried 
 to trace them by every means in my power ; 
 but all to no purpose. Then I felt certain 
 that some dreadful calamity had overtaken 
 them, and, for some inexplicable reason, I 
 vi^as not to be told of it. And in the mean- 
 time, suspense was torturing me, since I 
 could positively do nothing to ascertain the 
 mystery of their sudden and unexplained 
 
 fliofht. 
 
 8 
 
114 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 Then a misery which I could not banish 
 gradually and imperceptibly crept into my 
 heart. My situation seemed utterly hopeless. 
 I seemed overwhelmed with a calamity 
 whose very mystery crushed me. But 
 often, from the depths of my dark despair, 
 there would arise a hope that the pictures of 
 misfortune I had conjured up might have no 
 foundation. Perhaps, after all, they might 
 only be distorted visions, and one day or 
 the other the revelation of the truth would 
 prove on what a baseless fabric they 
 rested. And in the meantime I could 
 only ardently long for that day to arrive, 
 and could do nothing now but wait and 
 hope. And yet, as I afterwards found, 
 my wildest fears were as far off from the 
 truth as is the brilliant sunset from the 
 black night that afterwards enshrouds it. 
 Every hour that passed was like a dis- 
 
AN ODD man's STOkV. I 15 
 
 tempered dream, and there was still no 
 word from the fugitives, no break in my 
 suspense, no calm to my anxiety. I 
 bravely strove to wrestle with this, my 
 first great trouble in life. But I could never 
 wholly shake off the feelings of unrest and 
 despair that clung to me, like sullen wintry 
 mists clasping the earth. And now the 
 shadow which had commenced to fall on 
 my life, hovering near the love which had 
 beautified it, assumed terrible proportions. 
 I had just tasted of the cup of misery ; I 
 was destined to drink it to its very dre<>^s. 
 
 8- 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 iir 
 
 Shortly after my strange experience, on 
 my way to the office one morning, a 
 servant from my father's house accosted 
 me. 
 
 ' Please, sir, I have a message from Dr. 
 Dunn, who wishes to see you at once, 
 and he begged me to tell you not to lose a 
 moment's time.' 
 
 I had been brooding gloomily over late 
 events when this message reached me, and 
 somehow its urgent tone flurried and 
 alarmed me. 
 
 ' Is the Doctor ill — is anything wrong ?' 
 
 I asked. 
 
AN ODD man's STORV. i i 7 
 
 ' The Doctor Is quite well, sir ; but he 
 wished me to tell you to come to him at 
 once,' was the servant's reply. 
 
 I could not account for this hasty 
 summons. And as I hurried to obey it, a 
 strange, indefinable dread seized me. A 
 fear of some unexplained horror shaped 
 itself within m, mind, which made me 
 almost stagger when I found myself within 
 the Doctor's sanctum. 
 
 He presented the same aspect as on a 
 former memorable occasion, when he sum- 
 moned me to his side for the purpose of 
 hushing up my brother's delinquencies, 
 only his looks were sterner and sadder. 
 As I approached him. to shake hands, to 
 my utter consternation, he refused. 
 
 * Timothy,' he said coldly and strangely, 
 ' I have sent for you to save your honour 
 and your name. I forget, I can't save one 
 
 rii 
 
Il8 AN ODD man's STORV. 
 
 or the other, as they are both irretrievably 
 disgraced ; but I wish to save my name 
 and viy honour.' 
 
 Utterly astounded by these extra- 
 ordinary words, I could hardly summon 
 courage to ask what in Heaven's name he 
 meant by them. 
 
 ' You have behaved worse than your 
 profligate brother,' he replied ; ' you have 
 disgraced yourself, and by so doing have 
 heaped disgrace on me. Don't stand there 
 feigning astonishment ; hear what I have 
 to say, and go.' 
 
 My bewilderment now changed into 
 anger. 
 
 ' I do not know what you mean ; your 
 words are enigmas. Be so good as to ex- 
 plain,' I answered. 
 
 ' You do not know what I mean !' re- 
 torted my father, angry in his turn. ' Your 
 
AN ODD man's story. H9 
 
 effrontery is worse than your wickedness. 
 If you wanted money, why did you not 
 apply to me ? I would have beggared my- 
 self sooner than see you in the position you 
 have placed yourself in. A profligate son 
 is bad enough, but a forger is a thousand- 
 fold worse.' Even these words brought no 
 suspicion of the truth, as I hotly answered : 
 ' How dare you apply this vile term 
 to me .^ la fo7^ger ./—you must be mad 
 to say so.' 
 
 ' I mean what I say,' he answered ; ' a 
 bill signed in imitation of my handwriting 
 was discounted at my banker's last week. 
 The clerk, on looking at it more closely, 
 had some doubt as to the exactness of 
 the signature, then sent for me, and I at 
 once detected it as a forgery. As this 
 might again be attempted, and the next 
 time may be for a larger amount, a 
 
I 20 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 detective was at once set to work to find 
 out the forger. By degrees the bill was 
 traced into the possession of a woman. 
 As she had disappeared, all trace of it 
 seemed lost, when, as chance would have 
 it, I found the receipt for the identical 
 bill in the public library in this town. 
 This receipt was addressed to you, sir, my 
 son, the forger of his father's name.' As 
 this narrative proceeded, a horrible light 
 flashed on me ; I grasped in an instant 
 its apparent truthfulness. 
 
 My own bill which I had given to her ; 
 the identity of my own name, Timothy, 
 with my father's ; the complete resemblance 
 of our caligraphy ; its negotiation as my 
 father's instrument by someone ; and now 
 the climax of this dismal business, mark- 
 ing me as its victim — all these things 
 in an instant broke luridly over my 
 
AN ODD MAX S STORY. 
 
 121 
 
 vision, i\iv\ rendered me speccliless with 
 horror. 
 
 ' Your silence accuses you as well as my 
 words,' continued my father vehemently ; 
 ' you have nothing to say ; let me then tell 
 you what I have to say before you leave 
 this house for ever.' 
 
 But I felt no shame, because I had done 
 
 4 
 
 no wrong. My father's words had stung 
 me ; but I resolved to hear them, to bear 
 all consequences, for Gwendoline's sake. 
 She had never, I felt assured, wilfully 
 placed me in this terrible position ; to con- 
 fess the truth would be to blame her. 
 When I had heard //^r explanations, then, 
 and then only, would I tender my own. 
 Until then, my lips should be sealed. 
 Alas ! when the time came to explain, it 
 was too late to reinstate myself in my 
 father's favour. I could only during our 
 
122 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 interview assure him, on my honour, th:it 1 
 was accused falsely, that I had never 
 tampered with his signature ; I implored 
 him to trust me, and wait until 1 could 
 prove my innocence. It was of no use ; he 
 was obdurate. 
 
 ' I don't wish to save your name, but I 
 must endeavour to save my own ; I shall 
 certainly stifle inquiry, so that no accusing 
 hand shall ever be pointed at you. In the 
 meantime, go ; never let me behold your 
 face aoain.' 
 
 These were my father's words. 
 
 'You misjudge me, father,' was the 
 answer I gasped. * God help you ; the 
 day will come when you will recall your 
 unjust words, and your love. I obey you. 
 Good-bye.' And I hurried from the 
 home of my childhood, heart-broken and 
 yet buoyed up with a resolve to suffer 
 
A\ ODD man's story. 12; 
 
 for her sake. It minrht not be for long. 
 Tlie shadow that hovered over me would 
 soon depart ; and was not my beloved one 
 worth this resolution ? I was mad or 
 foolish, you will exclaim, to make myself a 
 martyr for her sake ; perchance I can plead 
 guilty to both these accusations. And the 
 thouirht of my passion for Gwendoline 
 seemed now to throw a halo over the mis- 
 fortune that dogged my footsteps. Accord- 
 ingly, although I rushed from my father's 
 presence bewildered, feeling almost that 
 all hope had fled from my life, stricken 
 with a despair which seemed to blight 
 everything around me, I nevertheless felt 
 assured that the tangled skein of these un- 
 toward circumstances would one day be 
 clearly unravelled ; that the clear wind of 
 truth would destroy the web of mystery 
 that held me in its meshes. And the 
 
'24 
 
 AX ODD MAX S STOKV. 
 
 sclf-siuiic love which c;\uscd nv.' this 
 misery would in due course banish it 
 jind surround mt; with happiness. Alas ! 
 the climax to my misfortun(.' was yet 
 to come, in a manner unthou<^ht-of by 
 me. In the m^'antimc, should I face 
 the ordeal of public contumely which 
 might await me ? In the event of my 
 father accidentally revealing my supposed 
 guilt, strong in my own innocence, 
 conscious of my own rectitude, what had I 
 to fear? And would not my father for his 
 own sake keep his promise ? On the 
 other hand, how could I ever prove my 
 innocence without cc promising Gwen- 
 doline ? 
 
 I liked travelling ; a trip to France would 
 be a change, so I resolved to start for 
 Paris without delay. 
 
CHAPTKR XVIII 
 
 In the excitement of travellinir, I tried to 
 throw off the wretchedness that compassed 
 me; and when I reached the beautiful 
 capital of France, the impression it made 
 on me stirred into fresh activity all those 
 feelings which ahva)s arise on beholding 
 new scenes. I had left a dull, sleepy 
 town, and now Paris in all its witchery of 
 architectural beaut)' shone on me ! The 
 boulevards astonished me with their brio-ht 
 grandeur, their splendid extent, their superb 
 display of all that charms the eye and 
 rivets the senses. 
 
 Everything around me seemed so litdu, 
 
126 
 
 AX ODD MAN S STORV. 
 
 pleasant, and aerial ! Kvcvy house looked 
 lik(2 a palace; all the shoi)s like wond(;rfiil 
 emtoriiiins, where onlv fairv irifts were 
 dispkiyed ! The sumptuous cafes always 
 looked inviting, while the monster hotels 
 almost awed one with tlunr ornate beauty ! 
 And life, amusement, gaiety and mirth 
 pervaded the atmosphere : every da} was 
 a i^ala day, and everyone seemed to take 
 existence merrily and easily. 
 
 But the delight of being in this magical 
 city did not drive care and gloom away — I 
 wandered about excited and enthralled, 
 and yet depressed and heartbroken ; for 
 when the impressions of the hour some- 
 what wore off, then my thoughts dwelt 
 bitterly on the misery of the past, on the 
 uncertainty of the present, and on the 
 mystery of the future. It seemed as if 
 love had throwm a curse around me — 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 127 
 
 as if its spfill had only produced evil, and 
 its sweetness— bitterness. 
 
 I had fled from my home in apparent 
 disgrace, allowing myself to be vilely ac- 
 cused, without hewing able to prove my 
 innocence. My father's heart was steeled 
 against me, believing me a hardened re- 
 probate. I was a wanderer, with a criminal 
 brand upon me — alone, in a city of revelry 
 and mirth and beauty. 
 
 When would it all be cleared up ? When 
 should I hear the explanation that I craved 
 for from her lips, which would set every- 
 thing right again ? or else receive the 
 letter which would exculpate everybody 
 and even disarm suspicion. 
 
 Burdened with these hopes, doubts, and 
 misgivings, one evening, I was seated 
 in one of those pleasant restaurants, in a 
 favourite arcade, enjoying my dinner. 
 
128 AN ODD man's STORV. 
 
 and slppinq^ my Maroaiix. The room 
 was partitioned off into little compart- 
 ments, ea-h one having its own t^ble, 
 which was screened from the other by 
 curtains. I was in that mood when the 
 noise of boisterous laughter and excitable 
 discourse, peculiar to the place, jarred 
 painfully on me. And as the people in 
 the next compartment were asserting these 
 peculiarities in a very marked degree, I 
 asked the garden to rcmov*^. my wine and 
 dessert to another table, 1 followed him, 
 and sat down, when a murmur of voices 
 in dispute, in the next compartment, caught 
 my ear and arrested my attention. 
 
 Had my wretchedness made me de- 
 mented ? — for surely I recognised the tones 
 of those voices ! I listened in a wild tremor 
 of maddening thoughts. Yes, there could 
 not be any mistake — the English words 
 
AN ODD man's STORV. 
 
 129 
 
 that assailed my ears, like the sounds 
 of hissinnr serpents, were as famih'ar to 
 me as my own senses. Stupefied, as 
 if maornetized to the place, I strove 
 with all my might to listen to the con- 
 versation. 
 
 • How cruel of you,' said the woman's 
 voice, ' not to tell me this before !' 
 
 * You must allow me to manacre thino-.s 
 my own way. What was the good of his 
 bill } And how could we live without 
 money !' answered the man. 
 
 ' It was enough to deceive him as I did,* 
 she replied ; ' but I never told you to add 
 to the wickedne. s. Good God ! what must 
 he think of me ! In his eyes I must be a 
 perjurer— -a liar, and my infamy may be his 
 ruin.' 
 
 'What the devil do I care what he 
 thinks of you ! What is he to you, or 
 
130 AN ODD MANS STORY. 
 
 you to him ?' he repHed in hot and angry- 
 accents. 
 
 • Hush !' she retorted. ' Don't bring 
 the horrible past before me. Pity me I 
 If I am degraded in my own eyes, I ought 
 to be sacred in yours. If I have disgraced 
 mv womanhood, it has been for your sake. 
 If I craftily plotted, it was all on your 
 account. If I have sacrificed all that 
 ennobles my sex, it has been for you, and 
 you know it. Yes ! and you know it — 
 only too well.' 
 
 And then, in answer to these words, I 
 heard what seemed to me only a savage, 
 merciless laugh. 
 
 I did not catch his reply ; for they rose 
 from their seats and left the place. 
 ^ But I could contain myself no longer. 
 
 Wrought up to a frenzied pitch of rage at 
 what I had heard — my blood on fire with 
 
AN ODD man's story. 13 1 
 
 the madness of the terrible discovery— I 
 rushed from my table, threw down a piece 
 of gold to the garfon, and followed them. 
 I soon confronted them. In the glare of 
 the fitful gaslight they stood revealed— 
 Gzuendoline Effingham and my brother 
 Godfrey. She turned as white as a corpse, 
 and clung closely to his arm. as if involun- 
 tarily seeking protection from me. He 
 looked at me with a most surprising un- 
 concern and with the old leer on his lips. 
 
 ' Where on earth have you sprung from "> 
 What in the world brings you to Paris T 
 And he asked the question in his usual 
 jaunty manner. 
 
 'On what pretence are you with my 
 
 future affianced wife.?' I asked. And I 
 
 strove by all means in my power to calm 
 
 the hot vengeance that leapt within me like 
 
 a flame. 
 
 9—2 
 
132 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 ' Your future affianced wife ?' replied 
 Godfrey mockingly, repeating my words, 
 'You are dreaming. This lady can't be 
 anything to you — she is my wife.' 
 
 ' You lie !' I retorted. * You have de- 
 coyed her!' And then in an agony of 
 despair I placed my hand on the arm of 
 the woman ! once and still so frantically 
 loved. 
 
 * Heaven help me ! Tell me, Gwendo- 
 line, that this man is making sport of me ; 
 assure me that his words are false.' 
 
 But she neither moved nor spoke. 
 
 ' Tim, you have been drinking a little 
 too much French — so called — light wines. 
 I don't want a scene, and I have no wish 
 to make you acquainted with a sergent- 
 de-ville. Take my advice and go home.' 
 
 On hearing these words, the frenzy that 
 was gradually mastering me asserted itself. 
 
AN ODD man's story. 
 
 '33 
 
 With a spring I rushed on him with all my 
 force. I planted a blow on his forehead. 
 Then I was conscious of his defending 
 himself A flash of light passed before 
 my eyes— I felt a grasp on my throat— I 
 heard a piercing shriek— and afterwards I 
 lost all consciousness of everything and 
 everybody. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 My first, dim return of consciousness 
 brought with it a succession of vague and 
 horrible dreams. All the scenes of the past, 
 and the beings who peopled them, crowded 
 in a phantasmagoria upon my half-sus- 
 pended senses, assuming dreadful shapes 
 and horrible proportions, and over all of 
 them hovered her figure, no longer beauti- 
 ful but wearing the look of a fiend, and 
 the lurid shadow of evil which on former 
 occasions oppressed me, in the first stages 
 of my intoxicating love, now blackened 
 the atmosphere of my visions ; then the 
 darkness seemed to rend and choke me, 
 
AN ODD man's story. 135 
 
 until, partially awaking to the physical 
 sensations of bodily pain, I again felt 
 the hideous nightmare grasping me 
 like a vice. Sometimes the personages 
 assumed odd disguises. I saw my father 
 denouncing me, but his face wore the 
 aspect of Godfrey's when he mocked and 
 taunted me outside the restaurant. I be- 
 held my brother, but his features bore a 
 strange resemblance to Gwendoline's father 
 when he was propounding his schemes. 
 And all the scenes of the past were 
 hideously transformed as well as the actors 
 m them, and she followed me everywhere 
 like an appalling horror. I tried to shake 
 her presence off ; I tried to fly from her; 
 I implored her to let me alone; I 
 shrieked, I raved— but she was merciless 
 and relentless— until I felt a grasp around 
 my throat and awoke as before, lacerated 
 
 1m 
 
1^6 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 with physical torture. Then total oblivion 
 ensued. As I gradually recovered, I could 
 not realize the fact of my own existence. 
 I did not know where I was ; but the re- 
 membrance of the distempered visions 
 somewhat paled, as I found myself in a high 
 bedstead in the alcove of the quaint and 
 tasteful bedroom of my French hotel, 
 whilst a gentle figure of a sister of mercy, 
 in quiet attendance on me, sitting near my 
 bedside, soothed and comforted me. I 
 afterwards ascertained that on my being 
 brought senseless to the hotel, my brother 
 having almost strangled me in the fierce 
 struggle between us, the kind landlord had 
 sent for the best doctor and the best 
 nurse. 
 
 The mental shock I had sustained, com- 
 bined with the physical injuries, threw me 
 into a delirious fever, and for many weeks 
 
1 
 
 i 
 
 AN ODD man's story. 137 
 
 my life was despaired of. As I grew 
 gradually convalescent, my mind soon re- 
 covered its equipoise ; but the terrible 
 ordeal which I had faced, culminating in 
 the bitter quarrel with my brother, left 
 Its impress on my memory, which to 
 this day has never been effaced, and 
 worse than this, that Cain-like grasp on 
 my throat imprinted an indelible seal. 
 When afterwards I tried to throw off the 
 dread mental impressions, I resolved 
 to hide this horrible mark by wearing 
 the stock around my throat to which I 
 have alluded in the first chapter of my 
 narrative. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 I THEN calmly reviewed the situation in 
 which an unhappy concatenation of cir- 
 cumstances had placed me. I had been 
 duped, betrayed and deceived. The 
 woman I had idolized, and whom I had 
 hoped to make my wife, belonged to 
 another. I had evidently been a tool 
 in her hands, to serve a long-concocted 
 and well-matured design. The conver- 
 sation I had listened to on that fatal night 
 left no possible doubt of this. Whether 
 her father was privy to the plot or not, I 
 did not know ; though his sudden, unex- 
 plained departure almost proved that he 
 
AN ODD man's STORV. 1 39 
 
 had conspired with her to rob mr of 
 my happiness and honour. Certainly, all 
 the circumstances, particularly the matter 
 of the forged bill, were not perfecdy 
 elucidated ; still, the fact of my having 
 been betrayed by the one dearer than 
 Ufe to me, was very palpable ; there was 
 no mystery in this, and yet, such is 
 human nature, that although so grievously 
 wronged, I still made excuses for her ; 
 imagining that perhaps she had fallen a 
 victim to my brother's villainy, and that 
 he had cajoled and enticed her to evil. 
 Perhaps he had blackened my character 
 in her eyes, for who can fathom the 
 depth of man's t.eachery to attain his 
 own ends ? In the past I had almost 
 hoped against hope that all mystery in 
 connection with her would be clearly ex- 
 plained ; in the present, even with the 
 
140 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 damning- evidence of her falseness 1 'fore 
 me, I still hoped, that if ever brought 
 face to face with her again, she would 
 by some means, which I could not then 
 fathom, be able to clear her own conduct. 
 Alas ! I must have loved her still. 
 
 This may seem strange to you, gentle 
 reader, but did I not tell you on the first 
 page of this record that I was an odd man? 
 and I shall remain an odd man to the end of 
 my life. And now I felt I was a wander- 
 ing outcast, my life blighted, for no fault of 
 my own, nor could I battle with the crown- 
 ing misery which had reached its climax on 
 t' .atal night. With whom or with 
 
 .lat could I combat ? I could never un- 
 do the mischief of the past. I could not 
 transform falsehood into truth. The love 
 I had foolishly lavished had turned into a 
 curse ; the very thought of it was torture. 
 
AX ODD MAN S STORV. 
 
 141 
 
 She was now only associated in my mind 
 with him. And his very remembrance 
 was a bane, a haunting evil to rack me 
 anew with revengeful desire ! No, on no 
 account would I track their footsteps ; 
 never again would I face his mocking 
 leer, his defiant gibes. I could never for- 
 give him ; and so I strove to drown my 
 maddening thoughts in forgetfulness. 
 
 Should I at once return to my native 
 town, and proclaim the truth as far as I knew 
 it, and by so doing vindicate my honour in 
 my father's eyes ? No ! I could not under- 
 take this ; my vindication would be Jicr 
 aspersion and shame. By righting myself, 
 I should only vilify her. What need, then, 
 to parade her guilt ? If my love-dream 
 had been shattered, why should I scatter 
 the fragments about ? If I had been 
 foolish enough to love so unworthily. 
 
142 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 of what use was it to bare my folly, when 
 my confession would only heap ignominy 
 on the one I had loved and lost ? — 
 and my love embraced so wide a limit 
 that it had ample space for pity and 
 pardon. 
 
 A few weeks after my complete restora- 
 tion to health, I received a letter from Mr. 
 Henley, the contents of which threw me into 
 an agony of despair. It informed me of 
 the sudden death of my dear father. * I 
 saw him before he died/ wrote Mr. Hen- 
 ley ; ' and I am sorry to say he never men- 
 tioned Godfrey's nor your own name. I 
 knew your brother had incurred his severe 
 displeasure, but I did not guess that you 
 were also in his bad books ; I always 
 imagined you were his favoured son. This 
 eccentric conduct towards you both has 
 puzzled me ; for, with the exception of a 
 
AN ODD man's STOKV. j 43 
 
 ievv triflinor legacies, he has bequeathed all 
 his money to a charitable institution. A 
 letter addressed to y. j in his handwrit- 
 ing was found amoncrst his papers, which 
 I now enclose you. I write all this to you 
 with a sad heart. I have never performed 
 a more unpleasant duty during the whole 
 course of my legal career, than inditino- 
 this letter; still, you are young, and you 
 must be brave ; never mind the loss of a 
 competence ; do as I have done, make a 
 competence for yourself— - Z^^^r omma 
 vincitr These are trite, but very true pro- 
 verbs, my friend ; I know you well enough 
 to be assured that they will form the sub- 
 strata of your future career. In case you 
 feel reluctant under present circumstances 
 to relurn to VVoodcombe, I enclose you 
 two letters of introduction to correspond- 
 ents of mine m London. You can finish 
 
144 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STOKN'. 
 
 your curriculum with cither of th(!sc two 
 gentlemen, when you will be able to pass 
 your examination and start for yourself. 
 If you decide to adopt this course, be 
 certain to write and inform me of vour 
 pro(j^ress.' 
 
 The letter from my father, which I have 
 not the h(*art to copy, was concise and un- 
 loving ; it informed me that the unfortunate 
 bill had been honoured by him, and that 
 the matter remained a profound secret to 
 everybody ; it assured me of his forgive- 
 ness; it implored me to keep away from evil 
 ways and evil companions and to repent 
 in time. When I had finished it, a new 
 despair seized me, and the agony of this 
 fresh trouble almost bereft me of reason^ 
 for I had no one to solace or soothe 
 me In the solitude of my lonely chamber, 
 within sight of the bright and beautiful 
 
AN ODD MANS STORY. 1 45 
 
 Streets, within hearing of the mirthful stir 
 and light revelry of the queen of cities, 
 I sat desolate and hopeless. I did not 
 grieve because my father had disinheriteid 
 me; but I Ui\i a bitter despair in the thought 
 that his only memory of me should have 
 been a memory of my supposed guilt. 
 Whilst he lived, there always remain('d 
 the hope that I might eventually clear my 
 character in his ej „s ; never more now, on 
 this side of eternity, could I do so. This 
 thought worked like madness in my brain, 
 It obtruded itself on all occasions. The 
 gay city only seemed to mock me. The 
 licjht revelries around me were hollow 
 echoes of my misery. 
 
 In the calm of the present, dispassion- 
 ately reviewing those days of the past 
 burdened with so much pain, I wonder 
 now to myself how I lived through them ; 
 
 10 
 
146 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 how I could have passed through their 
 terrible ordeal unscathed, or why I did 
 not seek refuge from my woes in death, 
 seems a mystery to me now. And what 
 turned me from suicide, saved my reason, 
 stole like a sun-ray through the darkness 
 of the present, and renewed my interest 
 in life ? Only a little note left at my hotel 
 by some unknown person, and written by 
 the one who had betrayed me. 
 
 ' If ever you think of me again, do so 
 with forgiveness ; consign my name to 
 obloquy and oblivion if you will, but try 
 and pity me, for I am not altogether to 
 blame.' 
 
 This note to a certain extent relieved 
 my mind, since it assured me that she 
 had not wilfully betrayed me. And with- 
 out wishing to know more, 1 felt I could 
 give her what had been withheld from me 
 
AX ODD MANS STORY. I47 
 
 — foi'f^iveness ; and, as I ungrud<j[ingly 
 pardoned her, with a dim consciousness in 
 my mind of her terrible suffering as yet 
 unrevealed to me, perchance greater than 
 my own, I summoned fortitude to Hve 
 and conquer my bitter fate, and seize 
 opportunities to make me try and forget 
 the past. Thus I wrestled with despair, 
 and, thank God, I vanquished it. 
 
 Carrying my resolves into immediate 
 action, I left Paris for London. I presented 
 my letter of introduction, which Mr. Henley 
 had kindly furnished me, to a celebrated 
 firm of solicitors, and set to work again in 
 real earnest. Knowing that my future 
 success depended now, since I had no 
 fortune to expect, on my own resolute per- 
 severance, I must acknowledge that my 
 industry was indefatigable. Besides, I soon 
 felt convinced that there is no panacea for 
 
 10 — 2 
 
148 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 a rooted sorrow, like hard work. And 
 after a while I finished my course 
 of studies satisfactorily, passed my legal 
 examination with eclat, and established 
 myself as a solicitor in Crook Court, 
 already mentioned in the first chapter of 
 this narration. Let me record here that 
 I owe my first successes entirely to Mr. 
 Henley, who handed his London business 
 over to me ; ait reste, I prospered in my 
 career for many and sufficient reasons — 
 I always took advantage of every possible 
 opportunity, I served my clients well, I 
 nearly always won my actions because I 
 never took up a doubtful case. In the 
 fray of a lawsuit, instead of being relent- 
 less as a victor, I was so moderate and 
 gracious to the defeated opponent as to 
 often enlist him afterwards as a client. 
 Again, I often acted as a mediator between 
 
AN ODD man's STOKV. j .q 
 
 hostile men, and thus often settled a case 
 without the expensive and comphcated 
 machinery of the law. 
 
 I was thus looked upon as a kind of 
 Solon, and a bill of costs which would 
 have certainly been grudged to anyone 
 else in a long-delayed and perhaps un- 
 fortunate lawsuit, was freely and plea- 
 santly accorded me, after settling a tangled 
 dispute to everyone's satisfaction. Accord- 
 ingly, you perceive that my practice of law 
 was odd, befitting the character of the man 
 I have represented myself to be. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 And now the fresh interest I took in 
 life was solely confined to mental toils 
 and duties. My only pleasure was my 
 daily work. I fought and overcame 
 all obstacles that beset my path ; and I 
 was often surprised at my own unflag- 
 ging zeal and untiring industry. I was 
 respected, and even envied, by numerous 
 influential patrons, and yet I made no 
 friends and few acquaintances. Cruel 
 circumstances had frozen all the geniality 
 in my nature, and thus no one sought 
 my companionship ; I felt I was an acrid. 
 
AN ODD man's story. I5I 
 
 flavourless individual, whose oddities only 
 invited repulsion ; my best sympathies 
 were dead. And so, I held no com- 
 munion with my kind ; as to woman- 
 kind, they were beyond the pale of even 
 my thoughts -— I preferred the frown 
 of a man to the smile of a woman. 
 The former could only provoke indiffer- 
 ence ; the latter awakened the bitterest 
 memories. And after a few years, when 
 I leased, and eventually purchased, a 
 snug and pleasant villa retreat, border- 
 ing on the beautiful winding Thames, not 
 for a moment did I ever dream to tenant 
 it with a mistress. The very idea of 
 a wife was hateful to me; the mere 
 suggestion of a helpmate, made by a 
 chance acquaintance, would fill me with 
 indignation. A trustworthy servant, re- 
 commended to me by a client going 
 
152 AN ODD man's STORV. 
 
 abroad, presided over my house, and 
 
 attended to my wants, whic^i were few 
 
 and simple. During many months of 
 
 the year I lodged in town, but all 
 
 through the leafy summer-time, after 
 
 my hard day's work, I found solace 
 
 and peace in my country surroundings. 
 
 And often languidly stretching myself on 
 
 the grassy banks of my garden, sloping 
 
 towards the river, with all its pleasant 
 
 sights and musical sounds ; the graceful 
 
 swans sailing by, the willows caressing the 
 
 waters, the swift careering of boats past 
 
 me, the lulling splash of the graceful waves 
 
 — all soothed and ministered comfort to my 
 
 often jaded brain and always tired heart. 
 
 And thus, the years flowed onwards, like 
 
 the river's wavelets towards the ocean of 
 
 eternity, when the calms of my existence 
 
 were again suddenly broken. 
 
AN ODD MANS STORY. 1 53 
 
 Leaving the office later than usual 
 one evening, I was accosted by a shabby- 
 looking man, without a collar, attired in a 
 buttoned-up, threadbare frock-coat, who, 
 after inquiring whether I was Mr. Dunn, 
 hastily thrust a note in my hands, and 
 then left me before I had time to question 
 him. The handwriting of the note at first 
 was not familiar to me, as the letters were 
 indistinct and blurred, but afterwards I 
 gradually recognised it. Its contents ran 
 as follows : — 
 
 ' Come to me at once, I want you. Do 
 not delay ; grant my last favour. 
 
 * Gwendoline.* 
 
 Like the chemical acid that vivifies the 
 shadowy photograph, so did these words 
 recall at once a remembrance which of 
 late years had almost faded away. I 
 
154 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 had banished it fri ii my hfc. I had 
 plucked it from my heart. It was as if 
 she was dead. In my tribulation I had 
 forgiven her ; but I had no wish to 
 seek her to express my forgiveness. 
 For what reason did she summon me 
 to her side ? I did not care to go. 
 I did not wish to revive the misery of 
 the past, and yet I had not the heart to 
 refuse. Her wish was so urgent, and she 
 was evidently in some trouble. So I 
 relented, and resolved to visit her at 
 the address given me in the note. 
 
 It was unusually late for me to leave 
 the office, as I had to superintend some 
 pressing work which had to be finished. 
 It was a calm summer's evening, the 
 burden and heat of the day had sub- 
 sided, as I wended my way, wrapt in 
 melancholy, troubled with a sadness^, that 
 
AN ODD MANS STORY. I55 
 
 comes to all of us somctlmcis, without any 
 palpable reason. Alas ! in my case there 
 was reason enough. 
 
 The almost silent and deserted streets 
 were full of the twilight shadows that fall 
 before the darkness ; a few straggling, 
 tired workers were hurrying homewards, 
 anxious to meet the smiles of love, or 
 to snatch the welcome caress of affection, 
 whilst I, bent on some unknown errand of 
 mercy, would soon face the one who had 
 blighted my existence, and had mercilessly 
 hedged my days with the curse of a barren 
 loneliness. 
 
 Was it any wonder, then, I almost 
 faltered in my purpose, as I threaded my 
 way through the sinuous bye-stretts that 
 led to her dwelling-place, encompassed 
 with a load of memories that depressed 
 me ? On my way through a foul court, 
 
156 AN ODD MANS STORY. 
 
 reeking with poverty and misery, I arrived 
 at an unwholesome-looking, tumbled-down 
 tenement, knocked at the door, which was 
 answered by a sallow, but kindly-faced 
 woman, who told me to ascend the stairs 
 until I reached the fourth story. Arriving 
 at my destination, the door of a room was 
 opened by a child who of her own accord 
 led me by the hand into an apartment 
 (parlour and bedroom in one), scantily 
 furnished, denuded of all comfort, bare 
 and cheerless in its aspect and surroundings, 
 and yet preserving some indefinable air 
 of neatness and order. 
 
 * Me so dad you've come. Ma's been 
 crying,' said the child. With the earnest- 
 ness of some inexplicable interest, I 
 scanned the little figure by my side, 
 dressed in black, and I noticed a sweet 
 serious face, bright with a childlike in- 
 
 
I 
 
 AN ODD man's STORV. ,57 
 
 telligence, and whose wonderful lustrous 
 eyes at once reminded me of hers. 
 
 ' Take me to ma,' I whispered to the 
 child. I then stole silently to the bed 
 where she lay. She appeared to be in a 
 deep, uneasy, feverish sleep ; her features 
 had grown sharp and attenuated; a 
 deathly pallor had crept over the face 
 once so lovely in its perfect outlines, and 
 suffering had given it an almost haggard 
 aspect. The dreadful change I saw, for a 
 moment, silenced emotion. I felt stunned, 
 as if with a sudden blow. I stood amongst 
 the shadows of the room, like one in^ a 
 dread dream. I watched the grave-looking 
 child approach the bed, smoothing the 
 pillows with her delt, loving little hands 
 and I waited anxiously until she awoke. 
 
 Presently she opened her eyes, and 
 called my name— not in the old voice 
 
'5S 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORV. 
 
 that once had maddened my pulses, but 
 softly, and with an apparent effort to be 
 heard, and then I approached her noise- 
 lessly, knelt by her bedside and gently 
 grasped her hand. 
 
 ' Oh, Gwendoline, Gwendoline my dear, 
 dear love,' I almost sobbed, and then I 
 knew, as I uttered these words, that any 
 slight memory of her perfidy had vanished 
 as completely as the last shadow before the 
 dawn ; and in the agony of beholding her, 
 in her speechless suffering, the mighty 
 tenderness of my love returned with re- 
 newed force. 
 
 * Forgive me, Tim ; I owe you so much 
 reparation. I have been so cruel ; I have 
 been waiting for you, to hear you say " I 
 forgive," before I go from you for ever.' 
 
 ' I have always forgiven you truly and 
 freely, since 1 have always felt it was not in 
 
AN ODD man's story. I 59 
 
 your nature to have consciously wrono-ed 
 
 me,' I answered. 
 
 * I have consciously wronged you. I 
 
 must confess the truth now to you— now, 
 
 when the chills of death are seizino- me.' 
 ' Hush, don't talk of death,' I retorted 
 
 in my own mental agony, but nevertheless 
 feeling conscious that I saw unmistakable 
 signs of the destroyer in that terribly 
 blanched face and wasted form. ' Live on, 
 if only to know that the misery of the past 
 is blotted out, that only comfort and peace 
 shall sweeten your future.' She opened 
 those eyes of strange splendour that had 
 once thrilled me, and which still shone with 
 an indefinable lustre, until they met my own. 
 ' Is there sufficient goodness in me left 
 to thank you and bless you, you who do 
 not even ask me for explanations or ex- 
 cuses 1^ 
 
l6o AN ODD man's STOKV. 
 
 * Oh, Gwendoline dearest, banish every 
 distressing thought of the past and live still 
 for a bright future, and remember I shall 
 always be your staunch friend.' 
 
 * Still tender and thoughtful to the last, 
 ah ! I don't deserve it, and yet I ask 
 you to grant me a dying favour.* As 
 she uttered these words the fiofure of the 
 sad -looking child forced its silent way 
 to the bedside, and her mother, clasping 
 its tiny soft hand, placed it in mine. 
 Unconsciously I retained it. * I have sum- 
 moned courage, before I part with you 
 for ever, to ask you to promise me one 
 service. I am alone now ; he has been taken 
 from me ; I have no one in this world to 
 'A^hom I can confide my child. Rear her 
 for me, take charge of her, and perchance 
 the love which I was sinful enough not to 
 requite, may be lavished on you by a child's 
 
AN ODD man's STORV. 161 
 
 ^^ateful tenderness ;' and the little creature, 
 not understanding her mother's words, and 
 yet, with some wonderful instinct, divinino- 
 their meaning, folded lier arms around me 
 and crept to my heart, as she has since 
 crept into my hTe. And I returned the en- 
 dearing caress, kissed the sufferer's marble- 
 looking hand, and promised to love and 
 guard her child while God granted me lift, ; 
 and then, weary with the effort of talking, 
 she could only murmur, 'God bless 
 you !' 
 
 Then I reverently bowed my head, and 
 left her bedside. And a solemn awe filled 
 the chamber, as if the great shadow of 
 death, which was noiselessly approaching 
 its vestibule, was impressing me with its 
 dread sanctity; and with the child still 
 in my arms fondling me in its sleep, 
 all through that night I waited in 
 
 II 
 
l62 
 
 AN ODD MAX S STORV. 
 
 that solemn chamber, until I knew that 
 my love had tranquilly passed away 
 from the land of shadows int^ ever- 
 lasting peace. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 After the funeral, at which I and the 
 poor little child were the only mourners, 
 a parcel of MSS. was found addressed to 
 me in her handwriting. On the inside 
 cover I read the following inscription— 
 
 For Mr. Timothy Dunn. 
 ' To be opened after my death, for his 
 private perusal. To be sedulously and 
 sacredly taken care of 
 
 I took these papers home ; and in order 
 to preserve them carefully, after I had 
 read them through twice, I sewed them in 
 
 II 2 
 
164 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORV. 
 
 the linin;^^ of an old coat which I lock up 
 in the morning and put on in the evening. 
 And it is an odd fancy of mine, to which I 
 have alluded in the first chapter of this 
 story, always to have these relics of the 
 past about me. 
 
 The manuscript contained the diary of 
 Gwendoline's life, written with admirable 
 perspicuity. 
 
 I have deemed it necessary, in order to 
 suit the exigencies of this narrative and 
 elucidate certain points which may still 
 seem somewhat mazy to my readers, to 
 cull several extracts from it ; at the same 
 time I shall only quote what is absolutely 
 necessar)^ for my purpose. 
 
 Its early pages described the history of 
 her birth, parentage and education. Her 
 mother was an invalid, who died when 
 she was quite a child. As she grew 
 
AN ODD MAxX's STORY. 165 
 
 up, she had to keep house for her father, 
 and minister to his wants, comforts and 
 amusements. Nature and an expensive 
 education had pre-eminently fitted her for 
 this duty ; and her training and musical 
 accomplishments made her home very 
 attractive ; besides this, as you are aware, 
 she inherited from some remote ancestor, 
 certainly not from her mother, the fatal 
 gift of a luxuriant and fascinating loveli- 
 ness. Having no rival sisters to outshine 
 her, and being possessed of those qualities of 
 mind which so readily charm and command 
 homage, it is not to be wondered at that 
 she reigned supreme at home and amongst 
 her visiting circle ; so that even her own 
 father was a secondary personage in his 
 own house, being always subservient to 
 her will. 
 
 I gleaned for the first time, on perusing 
 
1 66 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORY. 
 
 the folios of Gwendoline's diary, many par- 
 ticulars concerning her father, Mr. Effing- 
 ham. It seems he was by profession an 
 architect, and up to a certain time had 
 evidently been so successful as to have 
 amassed some wealth. In the pages there 
 were certain evidences of a splendid home, 
 and an entire absence of petty household 
 cares produced by a narrow income. 
 
 By-and-bye, Mr. Effingham grew am- 
 bitious. Not contented with comparative 
 affluence, he wanted to become immensely 
 rich ; accordingly, his mind, soaring from 
 what seemed to him the narrow o-^ooves 
 of his calling, busied itself in inventions 
 and improvements to benefit mankind. 
 Schemes of this sort, even if practicable, 
 require capital to ensure their success. 
 In the first instance chance favoured him. 
 A small but astute capitalist, of a specu- 
 
AN- ODD man's STOkV. 167 
 
 lativc turn of inlncl, joined him in furthcr- 
 in<j one of his schemes, which proved 
 successful in every respect ; and by which 
 they netted several thousand pounds. 
 However, with men of Mr. Effingham's 
 sanguine temperament, temporary success 
 very often begets recklessness rmd con- 
 sequent failure. It is not then to be won- 
 dered at, that Mr. Effingham imprudendy 
 embarked all his means in another project, 
 and this time without the aid or co-operation 
 of an astute partner. The public, however, 
 would have nothing to do with it. The 
 consequence was, it egregiously failed, 
 and its originator unfortunately failed 
 with it. 
 
 Accordingly, Mr. Effingham was reduced 
 from comparative affluence to absolute 
 poverty. The sudden loss of fortune and 
 position unhinged and almost shattered his 
 
1 68 
 
 AN ODD MAN S SToKV. 
 
 fine mind. At one time his life and reason 
 were both despaired of, and when the 
 former was restored, the latter remained a 
 wreck ; and for ever after, his helpless 
 intellect was a slave to one idea, the staple 
 of which consisted of plans and projects 
 no longer possible or practicable, but 
 instead, incoherent and illusory. 
 
 In this terrible affliction, what a comfort 
 and support Gwendoline must have been 
 to him — tending his wants, subduing his 
 fretfulness, humouring his fancies, and, 
 above all, working to maintain him by 
 teaching music and languages. 
 
 As I read the record of her struggles, 
 privations, endurance, and unselfishness for 
 her afflicted father, I wondered how such 
 an affectionate nature could ever harbour 
 an erring or culpable thought ! 
 
 About this time, an event happened 
 
AN ODD man's STOkV. 169 
 
 which not only completely inlkicnccd her 
 life and character, but was also destined to 
 react on my own. 
 
 At one of the houses where she was 
 giving lessons, she met my brother Godfrey, 
 and at onec, as she confessed in her diary, 
 fell in love with him. With everything in 
 his favour to captivate women— fine fea- 
 tures, a distingud ^\y and dashing manners, 
 he completely captivated Gwendoline. 
 
 The only advantage he took of his con- 
 quest at first, was to play at love ; but after 
 a while the subde power of her loveliness 
 enthralled him, in the same way as later 
 on it did me. In the beginning he feigned 
 adoration; in the end, he worshipped in 
 earnest. A grand, passionate nature like 
 Gwendoline's must either love * all in all ' 
 or 'not at all.' 
 
 Unfortunately, he was not worthy of her 
 
I70 
 
 AN ODD V.\y S STORY. 
 
 love, but she found out her mistake too 
 late. The irksome slavery of her daily- 
 life about this time, with its multitudinous 
 petty cares, vii:^ilant, wearisome duties, and 
 hard parsimony, found her all the more 
 prepared to receive the vivid impressions 
 of a first love. 
 
 She conquered without stooping' ; but 
 her victory only secured a profligate 
 husband. Self-reliant by nature, with a 
 helpless and weak-minded father who could 
 not advise her, it is not surprising that she 
 married as soon as possible. 
 
 About this tim.e, my father, as you 
 know, had paid Godfrey's debts, and all 
 his means of support were derived from 
 the small income left him by his mother, 
 and billiards and cards made up the rest. 
 In i 'Stice to his memory I do not say that 
 he was a professed cheat at these latter 
 
AN ODD man's STOkV. I7I 
 
 accomplishments. He was merely a sharp 
 adept at them, being one of those men 
 who always manage somehow to play 
 with an unwary or unskilful opponent, 
 j in order to snatch a certain profitable 
 
 result. 
 
 Gwendoline soon discovered the real 
 character of the man with whom she had 
 linked her fate ; and, with the power of 
 unchangeable love, sh( strove to wean 
 him from his dissolute habits. But with 
 all her mastery of will and energy of 
 purpose, her efforts were not crowned 
 with success. 
 
 And, as the unskilful card-players were 
 not constantly at her husband's elbow, the 
 ways and means of how to live were not 
 always apparent. Therefore, Gwendoline's 
 lot was already becoming anything but an 
 enviable one. For my brother had spent 
 
 JL. I 
 
172 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORW 
 
 the small fortune his mother had left 
 him, long since. 
 
 I shall now copy those extracts from 
 Gwendoline's diary which immediately 
 concern this painful history. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 'Satzcrday, May yl/i, 1 8— —Godfrey 
 complains to me about his being in need of 
 funds. He wants to go down to Wood- 
 combe, to make the '' governor " " stump 
 up," as he puts it. I am rather against 
 this move, and I wish he would inform 
 his father of our marriage, but he says 
 this would he detrimental to his future 
 interests. So I must wait patiently. 
 * * # * # 
 
 ' Woodcombe, Tuesday^ May loth. 
 
 Godfrey's father won't assist him ; I 
 expected as much. Shall I insist upon 
 his introducing me .?* My presence might 
 
174 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORY, 
 
 soften his obduracy and make him re- 
 lent. 
 
 ^tm 4& Jifc 4If ^ 
 
 "ty ^ *!• "TT tT 
 
 * May wth. — Godfrey is obstinate as 
 usual. He won't introduce me. What is 
 to be done ? Our funds are so low that 
 I don't believe we have sufficient money 
 to take us back to London. Godfrey 
 thinks he can borrow money on some 
 little property which he hopes to inherit. 
 He wishes me to consult Messrs. Bobbins 
 and Henley about it, to see if it is possible. 
 But why should I go ? It is his place to 
 do so. 
 
 ^5- # 4^ # # 
 
 ^ May i2,th. — As usual, I have yielded 
 to my husband ; I called on the solicitors, 
 but Mr. Henley, who attends to this 
 branch of the business, was not in. 
 Whilst I waited, I saw Godfrey's brother, 
 
AN ODD man's story. 175 
 
 who I knew was pursuing his studies 
 there. He looked very hard at me ; I 
 wonder if he has ever met me before ? 
 I don't suppose so. How he would start 
 if he was aware of our relationship. I 
 have not had much experience in men's 
 glances, but his seemed certainly full of 
 admiration. 
 
 * '* # m # 
 
 'May 14///.— It is impossible to raise 
 the money. We now stand on the verge 
 of penury. I feel down-hearted and 
 depressed. That glance of Godfrey's 
 brother haunts me ; it has made me 
 gloomy; I seem to have lost my old 
 spirits, I can't bear to think of the future. 
 Let me try and banish despondency. 1 
 must hope, for the sake of my poor 
 father and my husband. What can evei 
 destroy my affection for the one, and 
 
1/6 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORV. 
 
 love for the other? Nothing, nothing but 
 death ! 
 
 •» 4V # ^i -S'c- 
 
 'May \^lh. — Godfrey has brought home 
 some money ; where he got it from I 
 don't know. For some reason or other 
 he wishes me to remain passive ; I do 
 wish he would be more confidinijf and let 
 me help him in some way. Oh, that he 
 would show me that love which I am 
 assured he feels for me. Never mind 
 position, comfort, or toil ; as long as I am 
 assured of this, I am ready to encounter 
 any self- sacrifice. But, O my darling 
 husband, can't I make you more worthy 
 of yourself ? 
 
 * 
 
 re 
 
 4t 
 
 * May 1 6///. — We have taken a small 
 furnished house, and the mayoress has 
 asked me to a ball. Godfrey left yester- 
 
AN ODD man's STORV. 177 
 
 day for London. No one knows I am 
 married. Everyone calls me Miss Effino-. 
 ham. My husband insists on my keep- 
 inor our marriage a secret from every- 
 one until his father has assisted him; 
 I am therefore saih'ng under false colours. 
 I don't hke it. I don't wish to be any- 
 body but myself. And yet, what does it 
 matter for a while ? 
 
 4fr i'- Jit 
 
 " * ^ .» 
 
 'A/ay 26///.— The ball was a great suc- 
 cess. As, Miss Effingham I was courted 
 and admired. A votive throng always sur- 
 rounded me. And I know, I/^-//, I looked 
 my best. My dress fitted perfectly and 
 showed my figure off to advantage, and the 
 colour suited my complexion ; so I think 
 I made a very presentable appearance. 
 Is there any luxury in this world like the 
 luxury of admiration ? Is there any joy 
 
 12 
 
178 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 on this earth comparable with a tumul- 
 tuous waltz ? 
 
 * Amongst others, I was formally intro- 
 duced to Godfrey's brother, Timothy, who 
 not only caught the infection of the rest, 
 but also evinced a superlative amount of 
 admiration on his own account. I felt 
 somewhat guilty at hearing my maiden 
 name pronounced so often by him. I 
 even longed to undeceive him. I am sure 
 he would not have betrayed my secret. 
 But a promise to a husband is the most 
 inviolable of all promises. I can't say his 
 dancing was perfect, and his bungling 
 through one quadrille rather amused me, 
 but his discourse was certainly charming. 
 It is so easy to draw out a reticent nature, 
 if one only knows how to do it. When 
 Mr. Dunn grew earnest, he reminded me 
 .of Godfrey, and this is the reason why I 
 
AN ODD man's story. lyg 
 
 Ifked to hear him talk ; only I hope I have 
 not over-captivated him. 
 
 ***** 
 ^J7me 3^/.— If there is anything in this 
 world I like to do, it is to stir up a torpid 
 assemblage, to arouse dulness, and enliven 
 the reticent. I had a rare opportunity 
 of doinor this yesterday evening. Mrs. 
 Dugold, a morose-looking Scotchwoman, 
 very partial to church-going, hard bar- 
 gains and backbiting, had a gathering 
 of intimates at her house— people who 
 dropped in, in a friendly way, a dis- 
 creet assemblage addicted to drinkino- 
 weak tea, and— silence. But I think I woke 
 them up a bit. I played for them ; yet I 
 felt my audience was not eit rapport with 
 my music, as all heart was take.: out of 
 It and out of me, my thoughts being else- 
 where, and my wandering over the keys 
 
 12 — 2 
 
l80 AX ODD man's story. 
 
 was therefore, after all, but a "sad mechanic 
 exercise." 
 
 * I had a pleasant conversation with God- 
 frey's brother. I dare say he wonders wh)' 
 I am so friendly. If he only guessed the 
 reason he would not wonder. One can be 
 familiar with one's brother-in-law. 
 
 ' It was getting late, and I was rather 
 distressed that father had not arrived to 
 take me home. I don't like to leave him 
 for any length of time, in case he gets a 
 return of his old attacks. Tired with wait- 
 ing, I accepted Mr. Dunn's escort. Some- 
 how, from some chance remarks he let fall, 
 I fancy I have made an impression on his 
 evidently susceptible nature. I did not 
 want to do this, and I am annoyed with 
 myself, and with circumstances, for allow- 
 ing him to address me so warmly. I, how- 
 ever, cut him short in the midst of a senti- 
 
AN ODD man's story. l8l 
 
 mental speech ; afterwards I was sorry I 
 did so ; but I don't wish him to suppose 
 I am leading him on. Accordingly, I 
 made up my mind at all hazards to tell 
 Him the truth. No good ever came yet 
 from an implied falsehood. 
 
 'When he left me near my home, to 
 my great surprise, Godfrey, who had sud- 
 denly returned, was waiting for me. I don't 
 think Timothy recognized him, and yet he 
 j must have noticed his shadow, if he did not 
 
 discern his features. How lucky it is that 
 they did not meet. 
 
 ' This evening I had a serious talk with 
 my husband. I begged him to disclose our 
 secret, if only to his brother. He was ob- 
 stinate and obdurate, and would not do so. 
 We had angry words about it. What 
 could I do ? I dare not spoil our chance 
 for the future. I then implored him to take 
 
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 me back to London ; he would not grant 
 my wish, and therefore I must remain 
 passive Miss Effingham still for a while. 
 
 ■5:- * Vt -Jt -2'f 
 
 'June i^th. — The monotony of this 
 country existence wearies and maddens me. 
 Even the old occupation of teaching would 
 be a relief to me now. Oh, for the ac- 
 tivity of an earnest pursuit amidst the busy 
 haunts of men ! The country is all ver^^ 
 well for poets, dreamers and idlers, but 
 give me the eager excitement, noisy stir 
 and the supreme restlessness of London. 
 
 * Yesterday, in company with my father, 
 I met Timothy Dunn, and I had to intro- 
 duce them. He must have wearied Mr. 
 Dunn with a recital of his sad projects. I 
 used all the tact in my power to cover his 
 remarks with a natural explanation, so that 
 his unfortunate calamity might not be made 
 
AN ODD man's story. 183 
 
 apparent. Dear, loving old man, I owe 
 you much, and the least I can do is to en- 
 deavour to hide your infirmity ! 
 
 ' In this truthful record of my life, I 
 must note down what I should like to 
 leave out. I perceive that Timothy 
 Dunn has fallen in love with me. Un- 
 knowingly, I have lured him on to dis- 
 appointment. Already my false position 
 threatens mischief. I must, and will, put 
 an end to this dubious state of things. 
 
 
 'June 17.— The opportunity to do so 
 came yesterday. I met him wandering 
 about in a dreamy, contemplative mood. 
 Resolving to undeceive him at once, I 
 opened fire. He evidendy mistook my 
 meaning and nust have thought I was 
 leading him on to a declaration. I must 
 say I was surprised how quickly he availed 
 
/84 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 himself of my unintentional encourage- 
 ment, as I certainly judged him to be a 
 timid personage. 
 
 * I have now learnt, from yesterday's 
 experience, that a timid man may easily 
 become a rash one. I expected the usual 
 stereotyped love declaration. Instead of 
 this, his language grew frightfully amor- 
 ous, while he took upon himself to out- 
 rage all sense of dignity and decency by 
 actually clasping me in his arms and kiss- 
 ing me ! I was not prepared for a terrible 
 avowal like this ; and I told him plainly 
 that he had forgotten himself. Unfortu- 
 nately for him and for me, my anger was 
 short-lived. The poor man was so fondly 
 earnest, that I forgave his audacity and 
 secretly pitied him. Besides bitterly ac- 
 cusing myself for deceiving him, I felt I 
 owed him some reparation. I therefore 
 
AN ODD man's story. 18:; 
 
 soon made him forget his mortification ; 
 and I asked him to come and see me, 
 resolving to explain matters. 
 
 * I may misjudge human nature, but his 
 seems a grand one--capable of the noblest 
 feelings. How dare / trifle with them ? 
 Such a love as he has to bestow is not to 
 be lightly thrown away. It ought to bless 
 and exalt any woman ! I feel a great in- 
 terest in him, and, come what may, I will 
 tell him everything the next time I meet 
 him. 
 
 ' I feel angry and self-humiliated at not 
 having done this before. I cannot tell 
 what possessed me not to have carried 
 out my intention with Timothy, and why 
 I did not undeceive him when I had the 
 opportunity. After all, I must be a very 
 weak and foolish woman. 
 
 ^ * 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ^ June 21. — Alas for hum?*" resolves! I 
 have had to break them — to shamefully 
 break them. Let me disguise nothing ; 
 let me extenuate nothing. My nature may 
 not be altogether truthful ; but this record 
 shall be true ; no lie shall sully these pages. 
 ' Timothy called to see us. I kept him 
 waiting for some time, in consequence of 
 an altercation with my husband respecting 
 my determination to reveal the truth to 
 his brother. I pressed my point ; but I 
 did not gain it. And Godfrey left me in 
 a huff. The interview with my husband 
 must have flurried me, so that when I 
 
 1 1 
 

 I AN ODD man's story. 187 
 
 welcomed Timothy, i had great difficulty 
 in appearing at my ease. I am sure he 
 must have noticed my recent agitation. 
 I am glad he did not stop long, as I 
 wanted to think matters over. When 
 Godfrey returned he greeted me with 
 these words : 
 
 * " I wish to discuss an important matter 
 with you." " You must borrow five hun- 
 dred pounds for me, Gwendoline. If I 
 don't have it this week, I am ruined. 
 My father won't lend me a penny." 
 
 ' I was startled at this announcement. 
 
 * *'/ borrow five hundred pounds ! From 
 whom can I borrow it ? and how can you 
 be ruined if you don't get it .?" 
 
 * " 1 owe it. I played, and lost ; and I 
 borrowed it, and gave bills for it, and they 
 all fall due this week. You ^mus^ help 
 
 me. 
 
lS8 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 ' I knew my husband gambled, but I 
 was not prepared for this disclosure. In 
 my supreme devotion to the mn I loved, 
 I longed to be of service to him. But how 
 could / help him ? 
 
 * " Borrow it from Timothy ; we'll pay 
 him back one day," rejoined my husband. 
 
 * '• What !" I answered, starting up. 
 "* Are you mad ? Would you have me 
 ask a favour of your brother, when you 
 won't even let me tell him that I am your 
 wife ? Would it not be best for you to 
 ask him yourself?" 
 
 * " My brother is not in love with mCj 
 and so he would certainly refuse 7ne ; but, 
 as he is in love with yoit^ your request 
 would at once be granted. As Mrs. God- 
 frey Dunn he would not listen to you. As 
 Miss Gwendoline Effingham he would be 
 overjoyed to serve you." 
 
AN ODD man's story. 1 89 
 
 'At last the truth burst upon me. This 
 was why my marriage was not to be dis- 
 closed to Timothy. My better nature 
 recoiled from this wickedness. As lono- 
 as there was no palpable harm in my 
 deception I succumbed to it ; but I would 
 not use it as an unworthy means for an 
 end, although the end might be to save 
 my husband from ruin. I revolted at the 
 act. I refused to do Godfrey's bidding. 
 
 * " I will work for you ; I will starve for 
 you ; I will bear penury an^l mortification 
 for your sake ; I will consent to any self- 
 sacrifice for your well-being; but I won't 
 disgrace myself by doing what you now 
 wish." 
 
 * My sense of what was right mastered 
 every other feeling—even sweeping away 
 for a moment that great love for my 
 husband, which eclipsed all else ! 
 
J 90 AN ODD MANS STOKY. 
 
 * •' Think it over, Gwendoline, and don't 
 decide in a hurry," said Godfrey. " Don't 
 assist me ! — and what will happen ? My 
 honour and yours will be gone. We 
 shall be despoiled of the little we have ; 
 your father and all of us will be cast into 
 the streets. But you can avert it all. 
 And it will only be a question of borrow- 
 ing the money. We shall positively pay 
 it back, so what can it matter ?" 
 
 ' I hesitated. Godfrey, perceiving this, 
 at once pursued his advantage. 
 
 * '* Gwendoline, my true wife, by the love 
 you cherish for me, help me ! and do not 
 consign me to despair — to death." 
 
 ' And he folded me in his arms and 
 kissed me. I had refused his bidding ; 
 but I could not refuse his appeal to our 
 love. The all-compelling power of this 
 subdued my resolve — my own undying 
 
AN OD.) man's STORV. 191 
 
 love for him made mc a supine instru- 
 ment to his will. 
 
 ' As I pen this diary— the record of my 
 sin, I pray to the supreme Searcher of 
 hearts to pardon mc ! 
 
 * * # * # 
 
 'At my husbands dictation, I wrote a 
 letter to Timothy asking him to call on me, 
 as I had a favour to ask of him. 
 
 ' Like an evil thing I crouched in my 
 chamber that night. I felt so utterly lost, 
 so contemptible in my own eyes, that some- 
 times I regretted my promise ; but I had 
 not sufficient courage to turn back. At 
 one time I thought to fly from my misery. 
 
 ' Anywhere, anywhere out of the world ! 
 A moment afterwards, I remembered my 
 husband, whom I had vowed to love, 
 honour and obey. 
 
 ' On the morrow his brother would be 
 
192 
 
 AN ODD MAN S STORY 
 
 here. Oh, that some chance might pre- 
 vent his comincT ! 
 
 • ^ • # # 
 
 * I had now to rack my brain to find a 
 reasonable excuse to borrow the money. 
 My woman's wit served me. I found 
 the excuse. My dear father's addle- 
 headed schemes must assist me. The 
 money must be wanted to form a com- 
 pany to carry out a scheme. I consider 
 this rather an ingenious device. 
 
 m ' ^ # nft « 
 
 * Oh, my poor dear father, must even 
 your harmless, visionary schemes be 
 dragged in to carry out my tangible, wicked 
 
 one .'' 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 'June 22nd. — I cannot now comment at 
 length on all that has happened. Timothy 
 called, and I cajoled him into a speedy 
 
AN ODD man's story. 1 93 
 
 promise to comply with my request. Of 
 course he thinks I favour his suit, and he 
 must remain under that impression. 
 • * • * • 
 
 'June 2 7///.~-The horrible plan has suc- 
 ceeded, and already my husband has the 
 money. I would not touch it. The crisp 
 bank-notes were hateful to me. Timothy 
 made out a receipt, and I signed it. I 
 noticed that his handwritmg was exactly 
 similar t. his fathers, and I almost be- 
 trayed this fact to him. Luckily, I 
 turned the conversation off into another 
 direction ; I could not tell him that I knew 
 his father's handwriting. Of course I 
 remembered it, as Godfrey keeps all his 
 father's letters, which I have often seen. 
 * * * # # 
 
 'June 30///.~Timothy has made another 
 declaration to me. I expected he would 
 
 13 
 
194 ^N ODD man's story. 
 
 do so. He has certainly 7tow a right to 
 make any number of proposals. This 
 time, instead of being governed by any 
 wild impulse, his words were moderate 
 and discreet. I felt quite sorry for him, 
 and I had to appear a pleased listener 
 to his recitals. And therefore, he thinks 
 that our engagement is only a question of 
 time. I am now a heartless coquette, as 
 well as a perfidious woman and a decoy. 
 And I have done all this for his sake — for 
 my husband's sake. Oh ! if I could only 
 have loved him less, I might have avoided 
 temptation and wickedness. 
 
 «> ^ « «> # 
 
 ^July <^th. — I have sunk lower still Into 
 the gulf of perdition and humiliation. 
 
 ' Godfrey made a mistake as to the 
 amount he wanted. He informed me that 
 he must have two hundred pounds more. 
 
AN ODD man's STOkV. iqz 
 
 He solemnly swore to me that this sum 
 would clear his debts. And I believed 
 him. 
 
 **#:?{:# 
 
 'July i3///.-_It is over for the second 
 time. I have made Timothy a tool to serve 
 my purpose. Instead of money I took his 
 bill ; I gave it to my husband, who can o-et 
 it discounted, and thus turn it into cash. 
 My heart smote me, my conscience 
 pricked me, after I had concluded this das- 
 tardly piece of business. Oh, heavens? 
 that I should have sunk so low in my 
 own estimation ! What scorn is so terrible 
 as one's own scorn I And I had to wear 
 the mask of deceit whilst Timothy was 
 innocently unfolding his plans for the future 
 with me. And I, guilty and base, was in- 
 wardly despising myself, hating my own 
 identity ! But I have done this vile thina 
 
 13—2 
 
196 AN ODD MAN*S STORY. 
 
 for Godfrey, and his love must atone for it. 
 We are now free from debt. Can I not 
 make him a nobler and better man ? Only 
 I lack the power to do this on account of 
 my unworthiness. He would not listen to 
 such a guilty creature. But my love shall 
 plead for him. 
 
 • We must repay our pecuniary debt by 
 some means or other. But can anything 
 condone my falsehood and deceit ? O 
 God, nothing ! And I must carry the 
 burden of my wickedness for evermore, to 
 the grave. 
 
 *rr ^P ^T* •• *^ 
 
 ^Jti/y ly^/i, London. — We left Wood- 
 combe in a hurry ; my husband insisted on 
 it, and he would not give me any reason 
 for this haste. As he is not a creature of 
 whims, there must be some weighty reason 
 for our secret and abrupt flight, and I 
 
AN ODD man's story. 1 97 
 
 must have an explanation of it. Timothy 
 will now surmise that there is something 
 wrong. Perchance he already execrates 
 me. Well, I deserve his curses. I have 
 wronged the most true-hearted man in 
 existence. Oh, that we had never met ! 
 
 * * * # # 
 'July \^th, Hotel de , Paris.— ^Nq 
 
 have left father in our old lodgings in Lon- 
 don, and have located ourselves in this 
 city "for a change," as my husband says. 
 I did not want to go. I had no heart for 
 enjoyment. And how can we afford to 
 spend money } Godfrey asserts that my 
 nerves require the tonic of travel. Per- 
 haps he is right. 
 
 * * * # * 
 ^July 24M.— I have been trying to 
 
 banish the terrible remembrance of the 
 past, by casting my hopes on the future ; 
 
198 AN ODD man's story. 
 
 Striving to influence my husband, to wean 
 him from bad company, to arouse his 
 brighter nature and to make him a nobler 
 man. But, in the meantime, my own 
 trials have increased, and a Nemesis has 
 already avenged my perfidy. I am stricken 
 down again. I am humiliated afresh. I 
 have learnt the reason of our flight. I 
 have met the man whom I have wronged. 
 I have heard his just, accusing voice. I 
 have listened to his denouncing accents. 
 Let me relate calmly, if I can, how it 
 happened. Let me try and collect my 
 thoughts ; but I am afraid the whirl of 
 excitement of the last few days has 
 prostrated me. Let me summon courage 
 to continue this diary. 
 
 * We were dining at a r jstaurant, and 
 Godfrey, who had been drinking rather 
 freely, was disposed to be communicative, 
 
AN ODD MAN S STORY. 1 99 
 
 SO I thought it was an excellent oppor- 
 tunity to discover the reason of our sudden 
 visit here. To my horror, I ascertained 
 that Godfrey, not being able to discount 
 his brother's bill, had passed it off as his 
 father's, the handwriting b^.:' ig nearly the 
 same, and so, dreading discovery, had left 
 London hurriedly for Paris. Imme- 
 diately, then, the truth dawned upon me, 
 that all the consequences of this deception, 
 of which I was the yielding dupe, would 
 fall on Timothy. 
 
 ' Accordingly, in my anger, I launched 
 accusations at my husband. He retorted 
 in a cruel manner, throwi ig all the blame 
 on me. In the midst of our quarrel out- 
 side the restaurant, the one man whom I 
 dreaded most to meet confronted us. I 
 can hardly recollect what took place; I 
 only know that resentful language and bitter 
 
200 AN ODD man's STORY. 
 
 epithets passed between the brothers. I 
 remember that Timothy struck my hus- 
 band, who, in his turn, grasped his 
 assailant by the throat, and that I rushed 
 between them to prevent bloodshed. I 
 saw Timothy fall, and a crowd immediately 
 collected around us. With the help of 
 one of the bystanders, I managed to hail 
 a voiture, and was driven to our hotel. 
 I found that my husband had received 
 some severe contusions, but which I am 
 happy to say were not serious. 
 
 * I wonder what became of Timothy. 
 My first impulse was to go to him, but 
 I did not know where he was to be 
 found. 
 
 * I cannot collect my thoughts to write 
 further about this sad quarrel ; but I shall 
 always to my dying day accuse myself as 
 being the cause of it. The excitement 
 
AX ODD man's STORV. 201 
 
 which I have undergone lately has shaken 
 even m> hardy physical frame. I can't 
 write all I intended to. I am too tired 
 to hold my pen. 
 
 * 4:- ^ ^ ^ 
 
 *I have at last discovered the hotel 
 where Timothy is staying ; to my sorrow, 
 I hear that he is only now recovering 
 from a severe illness. Poor fellow, how 
 keenly I feel for him ! I have managed 
 to send him a note asking his pity and 
 forgiveness. I want no more.' 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 I HAVE bared the contents of Gwendoline's 
 diary as far as it is necessary for me to 
 do so. After which a blank ensued. 
 From this, I surmised that illness must 
 have prevented her from continuing the 
 record. 
 
 The diary now became scant and some- 
 what irregular. Let me transcribe, as 
 briefly as possible, what I gleaned from 
 the remaining pages : In the first place, 
 Gwendoline's persistent attempts to reform 
 her husband, whom she loved too well, 
 must have proved unsuccessful. And 
 
AN ODD man's story. 20^ 
 
 this broke her spirit and ultimately her 
 health. By imperceptible cle^rrces, the 
 reckless gambler became the brutal 
 drunkard, and, in the natural course of 
 events, his love, that paled at first, was 
 succeeded by indifference, in its turn to be 
 followed by ill-usage. Wrongfully as I 
 had been used, my heart bled for her when 
 I read the painful confession of her misery 
 and sufferings. 
 
 The only joy that broke upon her 
 gloom was the joy of becoming a 
 mother. And the birth of a child, on 
 whom she now lavished all her love, made 
 her hopeful and almost bright-hearted, 
 amidst the straitened circumstances and 
 usage that blunted her nature. 
 
 What a hard life she endured, working 
 at her old occupation of teaching, sup- 
 porting a drun!:en husband and an in- 
 
204 
 
 AN ODD MAX S STORV. 
 
 firm father! Devoting herself entirely 
 to nursing him during his last illness, 
 she spent her hard-earned savings, and 
 had to face the grim spectre of want. 
 Then her husband died, and she was 
 left alone with the child of her misery and 
 penury, the only solace she had to reconcile 
 her to life. 
 
 Bravely she faced her trials and tried 
 to overcome them. I read the confession 
 of her battle with misfortune. 'PeccaviP 
 was her bitter cry: * My tribulation is my 
 punishment.' And in her pride, although 
 she longed to seek me, to ask my 
 pardon, she never accomplished her 
 purpose, 
 
 I still think she would have managed 
 to support herself and little Mary, had 
 not illness laid her low. Then she 
 would silently pray to the Supreme 
 
AN ODD man's STORV. 
 
 205 
 
 that her child might be spared her 
 hard fate. 7'rying to live down my own 
 wrong, and to obliterate her memory 
 in hard work, I could not dream of her 
 misery. 
 
 Had I only sought her before, I 
 might still have imparted some sweet- 
 ness to that wretched, wasted life I But 
 it was not to be. The 'divinity that 
 shapes our ends, rough hew them as 
 we may/ shaped hers and mine. And 
 it was only when she knew her days, 
 her very hours were numbered, that 
 she sent for me, to implore my forgive- 
 ness, and to ask me to minister to her 
 child. 
 
 How grateful I am to know she had the 
 courage to do this, and that she could 
 understand my nature well »mough to be 
 conscious that I w^ould grant her dying 
 
2o6 
 
 AN 01)1) M\ ■ S STORY. 
 
 wish, and fulfil tiiy sacred promise with all 
 my soul I 
 
 And my darling Mary — my more than 
 child — can testify to this. For docs not 
 her presence beautify the past and trans- 
 figure the fleeting present ? Has she not 
 /ler eyes, so fondly earnest? Does she 
 not possess //^r smile, so ravishingly tender ? 
 The old love, with all its darkness, doubt 
 and despair, has fled, and its shadow will 
 return never more ; but her fresh young 
 love, so reverential, so unspeakably tender 
 and true, comes to shine upon the Indian 
 summer of my old age, spanning the hours 
 like a rainbow arch — a certain blessing, be- 
 yond my boyish dreams and my manhood's 
 understandincT. 
 
 I can lay down my pen now, and thank 
 Heaven for the shadows, since they brought 
 

 AN ODD MAN*S STORY. 207 
 
 forth this enduring radiance; for the misery, 
 since it has evoked this abidingjoy; for the 
 despair, since it has wrought this hallowed 
 peace ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Elliot Stock, Paternoster Rotv, London.