By the Author of "SOPHY."
EMORY UNIVERSITY
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
BY
VIOLET FANE
AUTHOR OF
"SOPHY; OR THE ADVENTURES OF A SAVAGE,"
" THE EDWIN AND ANGELINA PAPERS "
ETC. ETC.
"Thro' Love and War,—by ways of Death and Doubt,
My soul has travell'd to the hoped-for Heaven "
LONDON
SPENCER BLACKETT
(Successor to 3. 3H. JUtaxtocII)
MILTON HOUSE, 35 ST. BRIDE STREET, E.C.
\A 11 rights reserved ]
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
CHAPTER I.
It has been said, somewhere, that the happiest women—like the
happiest nations—have no history. And so, if the existence of
Miss Lucy Barlow, of " Barlow Lodge," Clapham Common, had
been altogether prosperous and unchequered, it would have
been scarcely worth my while to write about her at all.
At this allusion to Clapham Common I seem to see upon the
faces of my readers—those, at any rate, who are of the haughty
and supercilious sort—an expression as if of disappointment.
" ' Clapham Common !'" (I fancy I can hear them exclaim).
" Miss Lucy Barlow, then, belongs to that vast prolific, cockney
middle class, that makes its principal meal about midday, con-
fines its dinner-napkins within rings of bone, betel-nut, and
base-metal; purchases its necessaries at the Co-operative Stores,
and does its journeyings by tramcar and omnibus ! Her sur-
roundings must be vulgar, commonplace, devoid of romantic
association. It will be hard to become interested in her prosaic
doings !"
And, indeed, in order to become really interesting, apart from
the interest which is attached to a charming exterior, Lucy
Barlow, in common with every other heroine of romance, should
pass through and become purified in the furnace of affliction.
This grand crucial test of character, however, is as independent
of caste as it is of locality, and it is possible to be quite as
miserable upon Clapham Common as anywhere else.
My story opens upon a wet afternoon in early summer—one
of the first wet days following upon a long season of drought,
and seeming, therefore, except to such persons as were anxious
about their crops, all the more gloomy and unbearable from the
contrast to its predecessors.
Miss Lucy Barlow had been engaged for some time in what is
called " flattening " her nose against one of the two windows in
the dining-room at Barlow Lodge which looked out upon the
Common. Happily, the term is merely figurative, for her nose
a 2
4
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
was much too pretty to flatten, being exceedingly well formed,
as, indeed, were all her other features,
" I wonder, Aunty, if it means to go on pouring all day ? "
she said at last, addressing herself to her paternal great-aunt,
Miss Elizabeth Barlow, the present occupant of Barlow Lodge,
a handsome old lady in spectacles, who was seated at a writing-
table hard by. "The postman has been past three times," she
went on, "and has never once stopped here. How I wish tbat
some one would come and call, or that something would happen!"
"I wish so, too, dear," returned the venerable lady, "if it
would give you any satisfaction ; I fear, however, that we
mustn't expect visitors to-day. Being Monday, the Marquis is
engaged in the afternoon with the child of that person next
door, and Mr. Podmore is still staying with his friends in the
Isle of Wight." _ # /
Lucy made a slight gesture of impatience.
" Beally, Aunty, I can do very well without Mr. Podmore!
He is not in the least essential to my happiness ! What I was
wishing was more for something unexpected. On wet days I
often do ; I know it's very silly ! "
" And pray, my dear, what form do you wish this unexpected
event to take ? "
" Oh, that's what I don't quite know—a sudden piece of news;
a great battle ; an invasion ; something blown up, or set fire to,
or run off the line; or a present by the post, all tied up in a
jeweller's case and registered, and worth thousands and thou-
sands of pounds ; or the arrival of some unexpected relation that
one has never heard of, coming in all booted and spurred and
covered with mud, from a tremendously long journey."
" Mr. Podmore will return in a few days from the Isle of
Wight," remarked the elder lady, in a consolatory tone. " Ho
doubt he will have plenty of news to tell us, and he is sure to
bring us all the last illustrated papers."
A quick sigh escaped the'younger lady, and she withdrew from
the window.
" The fact is, Aunty," she said, as she began absently poking
the fire—for a fire there was, as the day was so chilly in spite of
its being the last week in the merry month, " I'm in a thoroughly
idle mood to-day ! I shall go and clean out my tiresome aqua-
rium, and then try and illuminate another page in that hideous
new photograph book, just to kill time ! "
" My dear, pray spare the best poker! " exclaimed Miss
Elizabeth anxiously. "How like a Barlow to poke the fire in
that violent way! Mr. Podmore would not like to hear you
talking about ' killing time,' I'm sure," she added some-
what reproachfully; " he would say that it went far too
quickly already, and that we may employ it in so many useful
ways."
"Yes, I know that he would; but then I'm sure I'm quite
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
5
different from him ! I mean, of course, that I'm less perfect.
1 feel to day as if I could kill all sorts of things besides time,
even Mr. Podmore himself! I've got quite a homicidal fit upon
me ! But I'll be off now, and clean out my aquarium ! "
As she spoke she tied on a large brown holland lawn-tennis
apron, worked over with yellow marigolds, in order to protect
her neat morning dress, and she then went into the adjoining
room to begin her " time-killing."
As soon as the door was closed upon her, Miss Elizabeth
Barlow took up her pen, and resumed the letter upon which she
had been engaged. " And now, dear Mr. Podmore," she wrote,
" a few words upon the subject nearest to both our hearts ! I
am sure that, could you but become invisible for a day, and
listen to some of our conversations, even you would be amazed
at my diplomatic talents, for I am even a wonder to myself.
Ah, it is not in vain that I am descended, lineally, from the
worthy Griffinhoofe de Barlow, Abbot of St. Opportune, who,
as I think I may have told you, pleaded so eloquently with the
envoys of King Henry the Eighth against the dispersion of the
monastic institutions!"
Arrived at this point, she set down her pen, in order to con-
sider whether anybody could properly be said to descend
"lineally" from an abbot, abbots being vowed, as she had
always heard, to perpetual celibacy. Hot for worlds would she
have offended Mr. Podmore's susceptibilities, and she was
jealous, too, of the fair fame of the Abbot of St. Opportune.
But, perhaps, there may have been such personages as " lay "
abbots; there had been "lay" cardinals, of this she felt
certain : Mr. Podmore, with ail his wisdom, might not know
whether there had been or not! " He was a ' lay ' abbot," she
added, therefore, in a little foot-note, and after affixing what
looked like an enormous spider to the place in order to call
attention to it, she proceeded thus with her letter :
" I have acted just as you kindly and wisely suggested. ' Let
my name' (I remember your saying to me when last we talked
upon this subject), ' become associated in her mind only with
good, and great, and wise, and noble images; with sights that
are beautiful, and with sounds that are harmonious, until it is
impossible for her to contemplate anything which either in-
terests or improves without murmuring to herself, " It is Sydney
Podmore who has led me to this ! " In this way she will grow
to care for me unconsciously, before even I have informed her
of my intentions;' and it is upon this excellent advice that I
shall continue to act, my dear Mr. Podmore, and not, I sincerely
hope, without happy results. Dear Lucy and I have parsed a
very pleasant, quiet afternoon together to-day, notwithstanding
that it has been so wet, and that all we Barlows are positively just
like barometer®, affected by the slightest atmospheric change.
Lucy is looking forward to colouring some more of the illumi-
6
THRO'' LOVE AND WAR
nations in the beautiful photograph book you so kindly gave
her last week ; and I can hear her now, in the next room,
engaged as busily as a bee with your other valuable present,
the aquarium, in which she appears to take the greatest delight
and interest."
But at this moment the door separating the two rooms was
thrown suddenly open, and Lucy flew towards her aunt with an
expression of mingled terror and disgust upon her face.
" Oh, Aunty! " she exclaimed, wiping her fingers with her
apron, as though to remove the traces of some sort of contami-
nation. " I've had such a dreadful fright! That nasty, big,
pink sea anemone had become unstuck, and had fallen down,
and I thought it was dead, and picked it up, and it put its long
fingers out all over mine, and it was so soft, and cold, and
damp, and fat, and flabby, it really made me feel quite faint!
It felt just like touching one of Mr. Podmore's hands ! " And she
flung herself into a chair with a shudder.
Lucy knew that she must seem to her kind great-aunt to be
ungrateful for " looking," as it were, " a gift-mollusc in the
mouth;" but then she had alwaj'S felt an aversion for these
pulpy and passionless organisms, wondering to herself for the
fulfilment of, what mission they could possibly have been created,
and she had never desired that Mr. Podmore should present her
with an " aquarium" at all.. If, indeed, molluscs had only been
possessed of " mouths " into the which one might " look " ! But
they had no attempt at features of any kind, and between them
and her there seemed to be " a great gulf fixed " in consequence.
A nice, cosy, comfortable creature, with some sort of a face,
clothed in soft fur or wool, she could have loved with a foolish
love. Little chirping, empty-headed feathered things, too, with
happy hopping feet and twittering voices, were always interest-
ing ; but these horrid, clammy, unsympathetic deformities!
Miss Elizabeth Barlow looked somewhat disconcerted at her
niece's words. "When, however, Lucy had recovered herself
sufficiently to repair again to the " aquarium," she resumed
her still unfinished letter.
"In fact, dear Mr. Podmore," she wrote, after placing a full
stop at the end of her last sentence, " should your flattering
designs respecting dear Lucy's future be doomed, unfortunately,
to disappointment, I shall feel that the blame cannot justly be
said to rest with myself, for I have followed your admirable
suggestions to the very letter. I do not think, either, that ycu
will reproach me now, with what may have appeared to you at
the time like undue anxiety with regard to the disposal of my ,
property. I feel that I may write quite openly to one who has
treated me with so much confidence. The money in question,
then, I could not regard as actually my own. I have been
enabled to set it aside during a life which has not required the
dis lay of any sort of extravagant expenditure, in order that
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
7
dear Lucy might be at least independent at my deatli, which,
at my advanced age, may not be very far distant, in spite of
the good health with which Providence has deigned to bless
me. I agree with you, dear Mr. Podmore, that I am receiving
for this money an absurdly small rate of interest, and that, as
you so kindly represented to me, I could more than double
my present income by investing the capital in some of the
magnificent schemes which you and your powerful associates
have at present in hand. I feel deeply the privilege you have
afforded me in making known to me these enterprises; but I
feel, also, that I am not exactly what can be called a very ex-
perienced woman of business. My dear brother, it is true,
embarked, greatly to the surprise of my grandfather, in com-
merce, but he was the first Barlow who had ever done so. Our
traditions, therefore, are chivalrous rather than financial, and
it has been a comfoi't to me to remember that dear Lucy's
little fortune, even if it was not increasing very rapidly, was, at
any rate, perfectly safe. I hesitated therefore foolishly, as
you may have fancied, to profit by your very kind and friendly
representations upon this subject, for I knew not at that time
the prime reason of your solicitude for our welfare. But the
whole matter has assumed for me quite a different complexion
since the confidential communication you made me the other
day. I can promise nothing definite, of course, for I have as
yet scarcely had time for proper reflection; but I can promise
you, at least, that I will turn the matter over in my mind with
attention, for, under the present altered circumstances, many
of my previous objections must necessarily be removed. With
regard, however, to my niece's personal feelings, I should be
greatly to blame were I to write with any certainty. She is
scarcely yet nineteen; an age at which girls were quite com-
petent, in my young days, to know their own minds, and look
after a family; but Lucy has hitherto led so secluded a life,
she has seen as yet so little of the world, that she is full young
for her years. We see but few visitors—as you are aware—my
solicitor, Mr. Fletcher, Mr. Bury (for alas! who can be inde-
pendent of their doctor?) and the local clergyman and his
family. Is she then (I ask myself anxiously) quite fitted at
present to decide upon a question so important? I should
have wished her, I confess, to have seen more of the outside
world, but as yet she has never, as I think you are aware,
quitted the narrow precincts of my own home ; except, when she
has been with me, for a short time, upon a visit to the seaside.
It would have been an advantage to her, no doubt, to have been
sent, for awhile, to a first-rate finishing school at Brighton
which had been highly recommended to me, and at which her
cousin,Miss AdeiizaBinks (the daughter of Lady MabellaBinks,
of whom you may have heard me speak), had received a very
brilliant education. But, so careful have I ever been to super-
8
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
intend, personally, dear Lucy's mental and moral development,
that I preferred, as I have already told you, that she should
receive her lessons in music, and other modern accomplish-
ments, beneath my own roof. You have met Miss Simpkins,
the young lady who used to attend her as daily governess, and
must admit that she was a person of refined and prepossessing
manners ; I had been particular also to ascertain that she bore
an unexceptionable moral character. What then, my dear Mr.
Podmore, can be the ' counteracting foreign influences' of which
you begged me to ' beware ' in your last kind letter ? "
But it seemed fated that the good lady should not conclude
her letter without further interruption, for just at this moment
a light tap was heard at the door.
" If you please, Mum,' said the voice of Sarah the parlour-
maid, " are you at home to the Marquee ? "
"Yes, Sarah, of course ! Beg him to go into the drawing-
room ; Miss Lucy is there, and I will come to him as soon as I
have finished a letter for the country post."
It was rather strange, Miss Elizabeth could not help thinking,
that this particular visitor should have been announced j'ust as
she happened to be alluding to "counteracting foreign influ-
ences " in her letter to Mr. Podmore !
CHAPTER II.
Achille, Marquis de la Vieilleroche (" the Marquee," as he has
j'ust been styled), was to all appearance a man of about sixty
years of age, tall, spare, and upright, with rather a Quixotic cast
of countenance. Notwithstanding his high-sounding title, he
was nothing more, at least in the country of his adoption, than a
teacher of languages. French, seeing that he was a French-
man, was, as a matter of course, his " strong point," but he gave
lessons also in the Italian and Spanish tongues, to those who
were not very particular as to their accent. He had been
established for more than fifteen years in the vicinity of Clap-
ham Common; and here it was that Miss Elizabeth Barlow
had made his acquaintance, when her great-niece was almost a
baby. The old lady was at once impressed by his distinguished
bearing and agreeable manners, and he had been engaged to
instruct Lucy in French as soon as she was of an age to learn.
As the years went on, however, he was enabled to be of use to
the two ladies in a variety of other ways. Miss Elizabeth's
former friends, many of them her seniors as to age, were gradu-
ally dropping off, and she had felt, upon several occasions, tfie
want of an intelligent male adviser. Such a one Monsieur de la
Vieilleroche had come in time to be considered, and, once he
had been received upon this friendly footing, he had refused to
THRO> LOVE AND WAR
9
accept any remuneration for his professional visits, with which
act of disinterestedness the old lady was profoundly touched,
seeing that his means were exceedingly slender. Previously to
settling himself at Clapham, the Marquis had resided in Paris
and in London, where, according to his own account, he had
mixed in the very highest society, and become intimate with
many noble, and even royal personages. It is true that Miss
Barlow had heard a report to the effect that this pretended
intimacy had been acquired whilst following the profession of
&maitre d'armes, but a photograph, which Monsieur de la Yieil-
leroclie soon afterwards displayed, representing his ancestral
chateau upon the Loire (a magnificent edifice of the cruet-stand
order of architecture), had served to dispel every feeling of un-
easiness with regard to his antecedents, and she and her niece
Lucy remained convinced that, whatever might have been the
vicissitudes through which he had passed, Monsieur de la
Yieilleroche was a person of the very highest respectabilit}',
and a real nobleman besides, from head to foot—that every-
body must see at a glance!
As the elder Miss Barlow was imbued with rather exalted
notions as to her own and her niece's social standing, she prided
herself upon being extremely exclusive, particularly as regarded
her immediate neighbours; and it is probable that, but for
an accidental circumstance, the Marquis, whose rank and nation-
ality seemed to separate him entirely from all other Claphamites,
would have continued to be, with the exception of the clergyman,
the lawyer, and the doctor, her solitary suburban friend.
, As it happened, however, some five or six years before the
date at which this story opens, important political changes had
obliged him to revisit his native shores. For nearly a whole
month there had been a vacant place in the chimney-corner
at Barlow Lodge, and Miss Barlow and her great-niece had
played their evening rubber with a double-dummy.
It was during this interval that Sydney Podmore, a wealthy
and influential stockbroker (or so rumour had it), took posses-
sion of the large white villa upon the left-hand side of Miss
Elizabeth's modest residence, and immediately set about redeco-
rating it in a very florid and expensive style.
If it had been Mr. Podmore's intention upon his arrival to
ingratiate himself with Miss Elizabeth Barlow, he could have
had no cause to complain of the malevolence of Destiny.
From the very first, it was as though the Fates were bent upon
bringing about this neighbourly fusion ; and some subterranean
complications, arising out of the contiguity of the two houses,
having obliged him to seek a personal interview with the vene-
rable occupant of Barlow Lodge, he contrived, within a week,
to place her under such a series of important obligations that
it was impossible for her to exclude him afterwards from her
limited home circle.
10
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
For instance, ujion the occasion of the bursting of Miss
Elizabeth Barlow's kitchen-boiler, he had generously supplied
herself and her establishment with cooked meat for the space
of three whole days, during which time it was impossible for her
to light a fire in her kitchen; and when, only a short while
afterwards, the chimney of that samekitchen accidentally caught
fire, he had displayed so much zeal and activity whilst assist-
ing at its extinction, that kind Miss Barlow, seeing that he was
of an exceedingly full habit of body, had quite trembled for his
personal safety. Then, again, he had been aided in his friendly
advances by important territorial advantages, for, not only was
he the proud possessor of "the spacious and commodious
mansion " known as Palmyra House, that imposing Corinthian
edifice which lorded it over its less pretentious neighbours, but
Barlow Lodge itself, which was a portion of the same estate,
had passed also into his hands; and Miss Elizabeth, whose
lease had still a good many years to run, found herself basking
in one of the most accommodating of landlords' smiles. The
other " villa residence," standing in its own grounds, immedi-
ately to the right of Miss Barlow's, and separated from it by an
old grey wall against which the fruit trees, planted en espalier,
outstretched their lean branches like appealing arms, was the
property of an " infant," who, it was whispered, would be almost
certain to dispose of it upon attaining his majority; and Mr.
Podmore had already instructed his agents to apply for the
" first refusal."
At the time of which I write—not many years, by the way,
prior to the time at which I am writing—this villa, " The Aspens,"
as it had been fancifully styled (for, not the shadow of an aspen-
tree was to be seen anywhere near it), was rented by a lady
occupying evidently a somewhat equivocal position. She has
been already alluded to by the elder Miss Barlow as "that
person next door; " but she was designated in harder and less
charitable terms by some of her other neighbours. Her name,
at least so Sarah the parlour-maid informed Lucy, was "Van
Bruin," "Van Buren," something, at any rate, with a "Van"
in it; and Sarah had heard that she was said to be " no lady,"
but was thought to have been some kind of a " play-actress " or
" music-singer," or something even "a great'deal worse." '
Sarah the parlour-maid was Lucy's only informant upon this
mysterious subject. From Monsieur de la Vieilleroche no en-
lightening details were to be learned, although, in consequence
of the fact that he was instructing little Miss "Van" some-
thing in the French language, he had obtained an entree to the
house. Lucy's questions were always dismissed with a fewx
ambiguous phrases which left her not one whit the wiser.
The " person next door" appeared but very seldom in her
garden, in that portion of it at any rate that was visible from
Barlow Lodge. Two or three times, when Lucy had been gazing
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
ii
from an upper window, she had espied a large, showy-looking
woman, with high heels and a tightened waist, walking up and
down upon the other side of the grey pear-tree wall, under an
elaborately laced parasol; but it was impossible to distinguish
her features very clearly, and beyond a general notion of a
large, pale face, with regular features, marked eyebrows, and a
mop of yellowish hair, Lucy could form but little idea of her
personal appearance. Sometimes she had been accompanied in
her walk by a pretty little over-dressed child, and followed
by a black " Ayah," swathed in a native dress of white muslin
and raw silk. This seemed to point to Indian antecedents:
perhaps the lady with a "Yan" in her name was what was
popularly called an " Indian grass-widow p "
That she was, at any rate, a most inveterate and determined
"music-singer" was evident to Lucy Barlow in common with
the whole neighbourhood. Such a shrill, penetrating, unsympa-
thetic soprano voice! The sound of it would force its. way
through the windows at all hours and seasons; and one could
almost see, in the mind's eye, the terrible facial contortions
which must have been necessary in order to produce such
terrible shrieking, quivering, and gasping.
" That woman is a positive nuisance to the neighbourhood,"
Mr. Podmore would remark, when he had been disturbed by
these sounds. ""Were she to remain here much longer, the
value of the adjoining property would be very seriously de-
preeiated : I confess I am surprised that our friend the Marquis
should consent to give lessons to the child of such a creature.
The French, however, are known to be excessively lax upon
some subjects."
Mr. Podmore, in fact, appeared to be panting to annex " The
Aspens," to improve, to demolish, to redecorate. He had
settled already upon the changes which would probably ensue
upon the coming of age of the " infant."
" I must have glass," he would say, waving his plump, white
hand in the direction of the grey pear-tree wall—plenty of
glass! I shall construct orchard-houses. From these very
windows, my dear Miss Barlow, you will be able to see some
day, I hope, almost a quarter of a mile of glass ! There," with
another flourish of the hand, " I intend to build my new stables,
they shall be handsome—extremely handsome, no ' eyesores '
forme ! Leading up to them, there will be gateways—very fine
gateways indeed, with a good deal of ornamental gilding."
And so on, and so on : the place, in fact, seemed to have become
to him a veritable Naboth's vineyard !
The old French professor would not have been human could
he have seen, upon his return from the Continent, his place at
Barlow Lodge usurped, as it were, by a stranger, without some
sort of annoyance, which it was with difficulty that he managed
at first to conceal. By-and-by, however, he determined to
12
THRO' WAR
swallow his vexation, and to take the matter good-naturedly.
That Frenchman has yet to be born who is possessed of neither
personal nor intellectual vanity, and the Marquis was not long
in discovering that he could obtain food for both when in the
society of Mr. Podmore, whose appearance and address made
him act as an excellent " foil."
From a foil he speedily became a butt—a grindstone upon
which the lively Frenchman could sharpen the edge of his
Yoltairean wit; and the moment eventually arrived when the
ostentatious possessor of Palmyra House seemed to have
become as essential to his well-being as to that of Miss Eliza-
beth herself. In a word, the two family friends had apparently
settled down at Barlow Lodge as contentedly as did ever any
cat and dog that have come to be comrades through necessity.
Whether these creatures are really fond of each other is a
question which can only be answered when beasts find human
tongues.
Upon the chilly summer afternoon when this story opens,
Monsieur de la Vieilleroche had come to Barlow Lodge direct
from " The Aspens," and so had scarcely need to do more than
open and shut his time-honoured umbrella upon the way, seeing
that the distance between the two houses was so short. Lucy,
delighted to escape from the society of her undemonstrative
molluscs, engaged him in friendly converse until her great-aunt
had completed her letter, when she, too, joined her visitor in
the drawing-room; and, seeing that the evening was so wet and
tempestuous for his homeward walk, begged forthwith that he
would do her the pleasure of remaining on to dinner—a repast
which did not take place at quite so late an hour at Barlow
Lodge as it did at the homes of many more fashionable persons.
The Marquis accepted, as he always did accept invitations of a
like kind, " with the sincerest pleasure in the world and Lucy
was just thinking that she could read upon his expressive
countenance a look of satisfaction, as though at the absence
of their obliging landlord, when Sarah, the parlour-maid, once
more appeared in the doorway.
"If you please, Mum," she said, "Mr. Podmore's best com-
pliments, and I was to say he has just returned from the Isle of
Wight a little sooner than he was prepared for; and, being
Monday, the fishermen wasn't not out a-Sunday, and no fresh
prawns was caught, but he's just sent round a live hen-lobster
which is to be boiled for a little over half an hour, with his
kindest regards, and he would be pleased to know whether he
might look in after his dinner if you and Miss Lucy happened
to be disengaged? "
" We shall be very pleased, indeed, to see Mr. Podmore," said
Miss Elizabeth cheerfully; "so pray say, Sarah, with our
compliments, that we are quite disengaged this evening, and
that we hope he will look in at about nine o'clock. But stay!
THRO LOVE AND WAR
I was writing to Mr. Podmore in the Isle of Wight. The letter
is there, Sarah; deliver it to Mr. Podmore's servant instead of
taking it to the post."
Miss Elizabeth withdrew in order to see that there was no
mistake about the letter.
" Ah ! that magnificent Podmore ! " exclaimed the Professor,
as soon as she was out of hearing. " Dire qu'il a de la chance!
He introduces himself by means of the drains, he pleases
through the bursting of a kitchen-boiler, his means of seduc-
tion is a live lobster, which is to be boiled for more than half
an hour !"
" With his kindest regards," added Lucy, smiling.
"With his kindest regards," repeated de la Vieilleroche con-
temptuously; "and so he has returned from his Isle of Wight
' sooner than he was prepared for,' and has spoilt our pleasant
evening ! "
CHAPTER III.
Apter hearing Miss Elizabeth Barlow talk, one might really
come to imagine that the Barlow family—in the way of distinc-
tion—had been something positively abnormal. It is true that
all the great, illustrious Barlows seemed to have lived a very
long while ago, and they appear to have had a sad habit of
shedding their glories and honours as they advanced towards
modern times, so that the most recent Barlow was always less
affluent and influential than his predecessor.
Miss Elizabeth had collected manuscripts, genealogical-trees,
and volumes by obscure authors, wherein many of her ancestors'
dignities—" deeds of derring-do," &c. &c., were actually set down
and printed in black and white; for upon this subject she was,
like Captain Toby Shandy as to his fortifications, positively
" hobbyhorsical."
Of the first Barlow no mention was made in these writings,
for the simple reason that, being prehistoric, nobody knew how to
take a note of his doings. But that he must have selected and
overcome a prehistoric female of some sort, got together and
acknowledged his offspring, and recognized the sanctity of the
domestic circle, is evident from the fact that towards the close of
the third century (a.d.) we read of " Cadrod," a mighty chieftain
settled in North Cambria, and who was only not a king because
kings had yet to be evolved. He married Gwladys-ap-Brogyntyn,
related to an ancestor of one of the Princes of North Wales, a
union which was evidently blessed with children, since, in 1096,
we have " Geoffry " (their descendant) who held forty-seven
hides of land from Montacute, lord of Gorman sbury, and who
was created Baron de Barlow {temp. William Rufus), "with
14 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
remainder to the heirs male of his body lawfully begotten." By
about the time of Bichard Coeur de Lion, however, the Barlows
had succeeded in completely sloughing away their hides, together
with the Barony, although we find that they were still available
for the dignity of knighthood. Sir Percival, Sir Borlase, and
Sir Humphrey de Barlow here follow one another in somewhat
quick succession; and the antiquarian, could he only discover
their tombstones, would no doubt be led to infer, from the
crossed legs of the effigies thereon, that they had been one and
all of them Crusaders.
With Griffinhoofe, Abbot of St. Opportune (temp. Henry
VIII.), one might have fancied that any ordinary family would
have come to an end. But then we must remember, first, that
he was a " lay "-Abbot; and, secondly, that there was nothing
ordinary about the family of Barlow.
At any rate, it was from this point that Miss Elizabeth,
sitting as it were well back in the saddle and hugging the
third pummel with her left knee, had taken one of those grand
genealogical leaps which are apt by their audacity to astonish
the modern student of pedigrees. She landed somewhere in
the beginning of the nineteenth century, and lo! we find
that, like degenerate gamecocks, the Barlows have shed their
spurs ! In a word, the family has merged and centred in the
person of one " John Barlow, Esquire, of Lesser Puckling-
ton, Bucks, engaged in commerce," who, having selected and
subdued his female, became in due course of time the father of
Captain William Barlow, of the Royal Navy, who pre-deceased
his father, in the year 1860, at the comparatively early age of
forty, soon after he had "lawfully begotten," through the
medium of a somewhat imprudent marriage, the Miss Lucy
Barlow of this story. Now, Captain William Barlow of the Royal
Navy, being one of those provokingly practical persons who set
up facts before faith, and seem to require to test every kind of
revelation as it were with a foot-rule, had utterly and entirely
repudiated all the great, illustrious, mediaeval Barlows, de-
claring that they had nothing whatever to do with him, and
that the notion that they were in any way connected with the
family was simply an immaculate conception of his aunt, Miss
Elizabeth (only sister of " John Barlow, Esquire, engaged in
commerce "), who, having discovered in an old curiosity-shop a
large signet-ring, engraved with a lion rampant, flourishing a
battle-axe (the cognizance, as everybody knows, of the genuine
mediaeval Barlows), had constructed therefrom a sort of phe-
nomenal Megatherium, fearfully and wonderfully made, to be
regarded altogether with ridicule and mistrust, and deserving
of no place in the classified order of things. By reason of this
deeply rooted incredulity the Captain had refrained from chris-
tening his little daughter by any of the grand, old, high-sounding,
North Cambrian, Norman, or Plantagenet names. She was
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 15
neither a Brony wyn, an Eleanora, nor a Kosamund; but simply
"Lucy," from "Lux," signifying a light. The Captain's own
light, however, was extinguished before he could ascertain
whether she was or was not destined to live up to her name;
and, as her mother had died upon giving her birth, the task of
solving this question has devolved upon the present writer.
The connecting link between the late and early Barlows did,
indeed, seem to be rather vague and unsubstantial, but even
the possessors of Lesser Puckiington were said to have been, in
many ways, remarkable and distinguished. According to Miss
Elizabeth, they had been endowed with numerous characteristic
idiosyncrasies, upon which she was never tired of expatiating,
and poor Lucy was scarcely able to perform the simplest
movement without being informed that she had inherited the
" Barlow stride," 01* the " Barlow twitch," or the " Barlow
shuffle," and she seemed to be for ever unconsciously repro-
ducing fresh traits. It had been a custom with these com-
paratively recent Barlows to poke the fire in a somewhat violent
manner, to bang the door both upon entering and leaving an
apartment, to take neither anchovy-sauce with their fish,
nor cayenne-pepper with their wild duck, and to utterly abhor
such puddings as were made either of sago or tapioca ; and all
these peculiarities Lucy was supposed to have inherited with
her name.
In her outward demeanour, however, there was nothing to
recall the fiourishers of the heraldic battle-axe, the impetuous
fire-pokers and door-bangers, who had combined together to
produce her. That she was extremely well favoured by Nature
it was impossible to deny, although she possessed that sort of
beauty which is directly opposed to either the classical or the
heroic. A face with brown hair, brown eyes, and a general
effect of having had its shadows and marked points painted in
in sepia; not unlike, in its expression of tenderness and resigna-
tion, the face of Beatrice Cenci in the well-known picture—
barring, of course, the table-napkin which Guido has thought
fit to wrap round the head of that most interesting of parricides.
Her manners and movements were usually extremely graceful
and quiet, for the hereditary stridings, twitchings, and shufflings
were perceptible to Miss Elizabeth Barlow alone. She conversed,
unless when confronted with any untoward event, with meekness
and deliberation, as became an orphan in modest circumstances,
ignorant as yet of the existence of conditions capable of con-
fusing speech or fluttering the pulses.
Lesser Puckiington having gone somehow the way of all the
other family appanages, Lucy Barlow and her great-aunt inha-
bited, at the present time, a peaceful-looking Queen Anne house,
upon the borders of Clapham Common, which the elder lady had
rented ever since the death of her brother John, when Lucy was
not more than three or four years old. Now Monsieur de la
16 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Vieilleroche, knowing Miss Elizabeth's ruling passion, and
anxious in every way to please and gratify her, and being him-
self a fervent believer in the influence of chivalrous traditions
and associations, had introduced to her a clever and impecunious
Italian artist—one Benvenuto Rossi by name, an old friend of
his own—who for a trifling consideration had set down and
illuminated the whole Barlow genealogy, from beginning to end,
upon the very finest parchment. The great illustrious early
Barlows, with their knightly cognizances, were all faithfully por-
trayed, the names of sire and dame being written beneath their
respective shields and lozenges, which were connected together
by a hyphen, from the centre of which branched forth their off-
spring, male and female. From the original parchment this
family record had afterwards been considerably enlarged, and
transferred to some sort of holland fabric, suitable for blinds,
and it now hung suspended from the lower staircase window at
Barlow Lodge, where the sunlight, streaming through the
"gules," "azure," "vert," and " sable," of the painted scutcheons,
had quite an imposing effect upon fine afternoons, and could
not fail to attract the attention of any visitor who happened to
linger in the entrance-hall. Upon such days, however, as were
grey and cheerless—of which there are but too many in cur
chilly clime—the blind, thus richly emblazoned with heraldic
devices, was almost entirely drawn up, so as to admit as much
light as possible to the staircase. The names and cognizances
of the illustrious mediaeval Barlows would then be coiled up and
concealed upon the roller of the blind, and only about half a foot
of the holland fabric was revealed to the eyes of the beholder.
But hereupon, level with the hem, and immediately above the
knot belonging to the tassel, was set down quite the most in-
teresting portion of the record. It was the space reserved for
the Barlows of Lesser Pucklington, of which Lucy was now the
sole remaining modern offshoot. Her name and arms were,
of course, duly recorded, springing from the hyphen which
united " Captain William Barlow, of the Royal Navy," with
" Lucinda, his wife, only daughter of the Rev. Orlando Binks ; "
but the cunning artist—seeking, no doubt, to ingratiate himself
with his patrons—had refused obstinately to believe, or so he
had pretended, that so fascinating a young lady as Lucy could
possibly remain much longer in her present un-hyphened con-
dition. He had therefore united her to the shadowy semblance
of a scutcheon, sketched in pencil only, without as yet either
cognizance or written name, but which could be easily filled up
and completed when occasion required. And passing up and
down stairs, as Lucy was accustomed to pass, at least eight, or
nine, or ten, or even a dozen times, in the course of one day it
was quite impossible for her—although.she was neither vain
nor self-centred, nor discontented, nor too femininely over-
fanciful—to look thus often at this empty scutcheon, to which
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
17
she had been as it were affianced—by the artist's courtesy
—without wondering and wondering and wondering whose
name might be destined one day to be inscribed beneath its
outlines ; or whether indeed there would ever be any name
inscribed there at all! Of course the Marquis's poor Italian
friend meant no harm whatever by his flattering conceit;
but I think that had I been Miss Lucy Barlow's venerable
great-aunt, and had I desired that my great-niece's mind
should be kept free from all such wandering fancies, I would
have 'set his foolish ears a-tingling before I would have per-
mitted him to sketch in that phantom shield !
CHAPTER IV.
Sydney Adolphus Podjiore, of Palmyra House, was one of
those favoured individuals who give the lie to a popular
adage. He was " a hero to his valet-cle-cliambreT Mr. Hitchens,
a grave, grey, elderly man, who it was surmised might once
have known better days, apparently looked upon his master as
a living concentration of power, urbanity, niagnificence. A
benevolent sun-god, perpetually lavishing his favours upon those
who were in need of them; and even when one of these took
the rather prosaic form of a live lobster—firmly manacled, and
wrapped up in the latest edition of the Daily Telegraph—the
admiration of the loyal valet underwent no sort of diminution.
" My guv'nor's sent this round for the two ladies," he had
said when he delivered over the creature into Sarah's hands.
" She's to be boiled a little better than half an hour with his
kindest regards; and I s'pose, my dear, as he may drop in upon
'em in the evening, when he's finished his dinner ? He'd have
sent 'em prawns as well, if the fishing boats had been out a-Sun-
day, which they was not. Ah I my girl, if everybody upon this
earth were given their correct dues, that master of mine ought
to have been a born prince!" and herewith he had handed her
the hen-lobster and departed with a sigh.
And indeed Mr. Podmore was possessed of many of the attri-
butes which go towards the making of a popular idol, his mag-
nificence being of that surface kind which appeals directly to
the vulgar. In the first place, he was large, easily observed,
profuse in his cellar and stable expenditure, very particular as
to his liveries, and scrupulously carelul with regard to his own
personal attire. He was as highly jewelled as any Englishman
can be who has any sort of regard for public opinion ; and yet
over all there reigned a simplicity, a chastity, a perfection of
refined taste! That single pearl, for instance, which shim-
inered nightly upon his manly bosom—and what a pearl it was!
^-nii^ht alone have furnished an imaginative mind with the
° E
18
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
materials for a stirring romance. Pearls may not speak, but
this one at least was eloquent in its proud silence. The
same distinguished simplicity was observable in his equipage.
" Chaste" is again the term which will best describe it, if
chastity is a virtue which may belong to a single brougham.
Not even armorial bearings upon the panel, nor a cockade
upon the coachman's hat; what an evidence of power in
reserve!
Miss Barlow the elder, with her craving after heraldic-
blazon, had been somewhat disturbed with regard to this first
omission.
" But surely, dear Mr. Podmore," she had protested, " the
Podmores of Middlesex—they must be entitled to bear arms?"
"They are indeed," Mr. Podmore had answered, "and we
have quite a fine motto, 1 can assure you; something warlike
and defiant: ' Let Podmore hold what Podmore held,'—some-
thing of that kind! All these things are very well for you
ladies, but I prefer, myself, to have my belongings marked
simply with my initials, ' S. A. P.,'—' Sydney Adolphus Pod-
more.' It spells 'sap,' too, a word with a grand significance."
He had said this with such a " good-wine-needs-no-bush"
kind of manner, that Miss Elizabeth was at once reassured.
"' Sap,'" Mr. Podmore had continued, " is the essence, the
grand vital principle of all animate nature: Without' sap' the
flower droops, the tree withers, man himself perishes; England,
the greatest commercial power upon the face of the globe, could
not exist for one single moment if it were not for ' sap '! "
And so Sydney Adolphus Podmore would have no crest upon
his carriages or spoons, although the poor gnomes of the Ural
were still delving and toiling in order to discover a fellow to his
one enormous turquoise, which, when appropriately paired, was
to furnish him with sleeve buttons ; and whilst the bare-legged
Neapolitan fisher was still diving and dredging in the hope of
finding the very palest, priceliest piece of pink coral as a handle
for his new umbrella!
Upon the day of his return from the Isle of Wight, Mr. Pod-
more presented himself at Barlow Lodge punctually at nine
o'clock. He entered the house with a good deal of effusive
bustle, banging the doors almost as noisily as the legendary
Barlows, and greeting Sarah with a few hearty condescending
words in the entrance-hall. He advanced towards Miss Eliza-
beth with the greatest cordiality, flourishing his cambric pocket-
handkerchief, which immediately filled the apartment with
delicious perfume. Sarah, who lingered admiringly in the
doorway, quite agreed with Mr. Hitchens as to the proud posi-
tion which his master would have occupied supposing that
everybody had obtained their " correct dues."
A few words about Mr. Podmore's personal appearance may
not be out of place here.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
19
He was in the habit of alluding to himself, in conversation,
as a person who, without being actually handsome, was pos-
sessed of that manly, " British Lion " kind of exterior which is
calculated to inspire confidence at a glance; whilst, at the same
time, he was wont to insinuate that every other type of mascu-
line good looks went for less than nothing, and was iudeed
often an indication and accompaniment of the most dangerous
forms of immorality.
" I can assure you, my dear Miss Barlow," he would remark,
as he surveyed his portly form in the chimney-glass, " I would
far rather be what I am, plain-headed, and I trust you will allow
me to add, ' true-hearted,' Sydney Podmore, with his bluff, out-
spoken manner, and punctual, matter-of-fact business habits,
than the smartest and handsomest young fellow that ever ogled
a ballet girl in the green-room of a London theatre, or dissi-
pated his patrimony upon a race-course amongst blacklegs and
sharpers ! There's no accounting for tastes, is there ? "
Upon which Miss Elizabeth Barlow, shrinking appalled from
this picture of the habits of " smart and handsome young fel-
lows," would invariably make answer that she, too, would far
rather that " Sydney Podmore " remained as he was.
Mr. Podmore, then, was large, pale, and inclining towards
fatness. As compared to most other men he presented to Lucy
the appearance of having been cast in a mould, rather than
hewn or chiselled; but then as yet she had seen very few other
men with whom to compare him. In spite, however, of a pair
of floating red whiskers—certainly rather a leonine attribute—
she had never taken the " British Lion " view of his individu-
ality. He did not look athletic enough, she thought, although
he was so big and so important, and took up so much room
when he sat down. He was not brown enough, nor weather-
beaten enough, nor addicted enough to out-of-door pursuits.
" British Lions " did not sit all day long in office armchairs,
and drive home in " chaste " broughams to well-cooked dinners
in suburban villas! They prowled about all over the world,
seeking whom they might devour, and came home with their
skins tanned by sun and scarred by battle. As it was, however,
only the preciseness of Mr. Podmore's attire saved him, at
times, from looking positively vulgar. One felt that it would
have been impossible to contemplate him without disgust if he
had been either over-heated, dishevelled, or unshaved, and that
ail classical adaptations of drapery would have been unbecom-
ing to him. Lucy had seen persons, with faces like his, hurry-
ing along with large parcels, lounging about the doors of public-
houses, and perched upon the knife-boards of omnibuses. In a
word, he seemed to her to be essentially common-looking, a face
so often seen tbat one hardly took the trouble to observe it,
and never allowed oneself to think about it at all.
Upon this particular evening, however, the Podmorian brow
B 2
20
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
was unusually radiant. Miss Elizabeth, who would not have
admitted that he was ever plain, might well have considered that
to-night he was positively handsome. He was fatigued, however,
he said, with a long day of steamers, trains, and cabs. He had
left the Isle of Wight at an early hour, and had travelled direct
to London, for he was due soon after 12.30 at one of his City
" Boards." He had passed Clapham Junction on his way, where
Mr. Hitchens and the hen-lobster had alighted, and whither he
had returned later on in the day, for, as he was a little uncertain
as to his plans, he had not ordered his brougham to meet him as
usual. He had hurried from the station to Palmyra House as
fast as a "hansom" would carry him, dressed, dined, despatched
half a dozen business letters, and here he was, at 9 p.m., beam-
ing, shining, magnificent. What must he have been in the
morning!
" And the childie ? " he inquired suddenly, after he had given
this detailed account of his peregrinations. It was fortunate,
pei-haps, that Lucy was not present to hear this remark. The
words " childie," " bairnie," " birdie," " bonnie," even half
Burns's vocabulary, in fact, when employed by persons who
were not Scotch, had always inspired her with an un-
controllable sensation of nausea, so that "childie " might have
weighed seriously against Mr. Podmore in the balance. What
squeamish, unreasonable creatures we women are! And then
to pretend that we could ever legislate and help to govern the
country!
" The Marquis has been dining here," Miss Barlow explained.
"He has gone into the garden to smoke a cigar, as I have
never permitted smoking in the house, and Lucy is walking
with him. Tell me, dear Mr. Podmore, whilst we are alone,
have you received and read my last letter ? "
" I have," replied Mr. Podmore, drawing himself up, and
patting himself complacently about the region of the priceless
pearl. " I have considered it most attentively, and I look upon
our little financial speculation as entirely at an end."
" Why at an end ? " asked the old lady, looking a little taken
aback.
" Because," returned Mr. Podmore, " I gather from your
letter—courteous and considerate although it be—that you
have misinterpreted my motives. You imagined that I desired
you to embark with me in this advantageous speculation in
order, principally, to benefit myself. When I suggested that
you should contribute towards the purchase-money of the
valuable estate about which I spoke to you, you were under the
impression that I was actually in want of this augmentation of
funds; that I should be unable to obtain the property without
your assistance; and this very naturally made you a little
mistrustful."
" Oh, indeed, you are quite wrong !" protested Miss Eliza-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
21
beth eagerly. " It is you who misinterpret! Not the slightest
shadow of mistrust has ever entered my mind! But I have, I
must confess, rather a horror of speculations; my poor dear
brother John, as I think I have told you, having everything in
the world to make him perfectly happy, embarked in specula-
tions—speculations that did not turn out as he had expected.
Wealthy as he had been originally, he died in quite reduced
circumstances, the greater portion of my own fortune went in
endeavouring to satisfy his creditors; and dear Lucy, who
being now the last of her race ought to have been quite an
heiress, will have to depend entirely upon my reduced fortune
and the savings I have been providentially enabled to set aside
during a long lifetime. You see therefore, my dear Mr.
Podmore, why I was a little averse to altering the arrangement
I had made with regard to this money."
" I see everything ! Your scruples are perfectly natural.
My own wish, too, to see these savings of yours roll up, and
double and treble themselves, was only the very natural wish of
a sincere friend who has hopes of becoming one day connected
with your family by nearer and dearer ties. Pray believe me
when I say that my motives were perfectly disinterested, and
now we will say no more upon the subject."
" If I might only consult with somebody about the matter,"
said Miss Elizabeth timidly. "I am so exceedingly ignorant
about investments, and my poor brother's misfortunes have
naturally made me a little nervous. You did not like the
notion of my speaking to Mr. Fletcher, my solicitor? "
" For this reason," interrupted Mr. Podmore quickly. " Flet-
cher himself has been speculating in laud in this neighbourhood.
He would give his eyes, as I happen to know, for the property
in question, and would be certain therefore to do all that he
could to interfere with my purchase of it. It would be im-
possible for you to consult him without entering into full
particulars, and the more advantageous the investment the
more sore he would be about the matter. It might produce
endless troubles and complications in the future. My objection
upon this head was therefore perfectly natural."
"You see," said Miss Elizabeth sadly, " I have now so very
few gentlemen friends; I am an old woman : those who could
have advised me are dead and gone!" She paused, sighing,
and then added suddenly, " I wonder, dear Mr. Podmore, as I
feel so utterly helpless and ignorant with regard to this matter,
although I should embark in it at once merely upon your kind
recommendation, if I considered that the money was really my
own, whether I might consult my old friend, Monsieur de la
Yieilleroche ? He is devoted to dear Lucy's interests, and,
besides being a gentleman in every sense, he is such a thorough
man of the world."
" I can have no objection," replied Mr. Podmore with dignity,
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" that you. should spealc to him with regard to my views
respecting the dear childie; but I shall consider that our little
joint speculation scheme is utterly at an end, and I should
wish no allusion made to it therefore to a person who is
probably totally unacquainted with English systems of invest-
ment. Had the Marquis been a younger man, I might have
hesitated with respect to this private matter also, for there is
something a little ' Frenchy' and cynical about him, which
might have made me mistrust his advice. As it is, however,
he is an old friend of yours, he seems to have the dear girl's
interest thoroughly at heart, and there can be no reason
therefore why he should not be made a party to our arrange-
ment. It will account to him for the frequency of my visits,
and for the interest I take in all matters relating to you both.
I have fancied sometimes that he was a little jealous of my
influence and friendship."
Before anything more could be said upon this matter the
" dear childie " herself appeared, looking very pretty and inno-
cent in a white frock and mittens. Monsieur de la Yieilleroche
entered the room soon afterwards from the garden, arrayed—
as he always was arrayed — beneath the folds of a melo-
dramatic-looking fur-collared cloak, in a well-worn dress suit
and embroidered evening shirt, convenient for the accepting of
unexpected invitations to dinner which might happen to be
made during an afternoon call. And the four friends settled
down at once to their evening rubber, which was enlivened
between whiles by the old Frenchman's vivacious prattle, and
by Mr. Podmore's improving talk, diversified by some interest-
ing anecdotes of London " high life " which he had picked up
that very morning at his City Board.
CHAPTER Y.
To the lover of romance there will seem, as I have already
hinted, to be nothing very seductive, at the first, in the notion
of Clapham Common. A common far removed from the busy
haunts of men, pink with heather, and feathery with bracken,
where one can hear the blithe morning song of the lark and the
shrill "pee-wit!" of the plover, and where the rabbits with
their little tufted tails go scurrying away headlong in every
direction—is calculated, I allow, to awaken dreams as varied as
its own sunsets. It conveys an idea of Freedom, of Immensity,
of Expectation; and possesses thus some points of resemblance'
with the very Ocean itself. One may see the pink heather
trampled down by the feet of merry birds'-nesters and black-
berry-pickers; by the swart gipsy, with his shock-headed brood,
his vans, his laden asses, his cheap and trumpery wares ; whilst
THRO'' LOVE AND IVAR
23
lark, plover, and rabbit alike may be well-nigh scared out of
their senses, at times, by the sudden clattering past of a troop
of horse, or by the fierce crackling flames of an incendiary fire.
But Clapham Common!
Clapham Common, I am bound to admit, is chiefly suggestive
oHdeas connected with the retired butchers, bakers, and candle-
stick-makers, who are supposed to inhabit most of the houses
upon its confines; with the "Junction," its shrieking steam-
engines, pert young barmaids, and hard ham-sandwiches; with
the " desirable villa residences" upon the way leading to it,
situated between an enormous gasometer and a space devoted
to the airing of infected blankets, and bounded by the rail-
way on the off-side; and with that accursed tramway which,
like " Swastika" the Great Serpent, " drags its slow length
along," and threatens to overrun every available roadway in
our suburbs.
Clapham Common, however, like many other places, persons,
and things, only reveals its delights and its mysteries to the
seeker. It possesses its bards, its chroniclers, its ardent and
enthusiastic lovers. The demure-looking Queen Anne houses
which encircle it may seem to their varied inmates even as very
terrestrial Edens, Havens of Calm, Sloughs of Despond, or
Towers of Silence. Love, Death, Imagination, and the Penny
Post, have access to them all, and the dramas which have been
enacted in them might, very likely, fill many volumes, if written
down.
Barlow Lodge, with its modest eighteenth century decora-
tions, partook most of the character of a Haven of Calm.
Storm-tossed mementos of foreign travel had found their way
thither, it is true. Coral sprays, from the depths of tropic seas,
which had been brought home by Lucy's father, Captain
William Barlow of the Ptoyal Navy, stood uuder crystal globes
upon several of the spidery-legged Chippendale tables. It
must have been the Captain, too, who had contributed those
weird-looking Australian boomerangs which were hung up in
the entrauce-hall, and the ostrich-egg in its silken net, against
which Miss Elizabeth was always afraid that Mr. Podmore
would bump his head; and the carved ivory chessmen that
were set out upon the red Chinese tea-tray, and the mother-of-
pearl counters which were wont to be made use of during the
evening rubber of whist.
" Then, what a goodly wealth of shells,
Gleaned from the secret ocean-cells
Of half the seas that wash the world !
Horn'd, and pyramidal, and curl'd,
Like worm or dragon of olden time,
Wide-mouthed and moss'd with the ocean-rime ;
And oblong, polished smooth ana hard,
Huge cowries, spotted 'like the pard,'
24
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Wherein, when held against mine ear
Attentively, I seem to hear
The wild Atlantic's distant roar
Whilst sitting here in mine easy-chair! "
These great sea-shells had also probably been brought home
by Lucy's father, but there were besides the contributions of
"John Barlow, Esquire, engaged in commerce," which had
been transferred, after his decease, from the mansion of Lesser
Pucklington. The profiles of himself and lady, neatly cut out
in black paper, set in black frames, wherefrom it would not
have been easy to form any idea of their personal appearance;
and other portraits of the same individuals when younger,
modelled in light wax, upon a dark ground, after the manner
of a cameo. Also, the portrait, likewise in black paper, of a
mysterious Naval Officer, wearing his cocked hat, "athwart
ships," which was treated by Miss Elizabeth with an especial
reverence, although she had never informed Lucy who it was
intended to represent. Then, quaint, fluted, Wedgwood and
Swansea tea-sets, arranged upon brackets and corner-shelves,
and some fine old Oriental ginger-pots and pickle-jars, filled up
now with pot-pourri and dried lavender buds. Last, but not
least, there was the Grand Hereditary Barlow Great Seal, about
which Miss Elizabeth had quite a feeling of " fetish." It was
very large and bloated-looking, as things much pampered and
pandered to have a tendeney to become, set in a fine old ring of
red gold, and the heraldic lion rampant, with his upraised
battle-axe, were beautifully engraved upon dark cornelian. It
was disposed in the centre of a quilted satin mat upon the
show writing-table, encircled and hemmed in by several smaller
and less considered objects, in the form of pencil-cases, vinai-
grettes, and snuff-boxes, which all appeared to be backing and
salaaming before it, as though to some sort of sacred Llama.
It had occupied its present proud position ever since Lucy
could remember, and on no account would either she or Sarah
have ventured to displace it by so much as what Sterne calls
" the breadth of an hair." From time to time Miss Barlow the
elder would take it up and dust it with reverential fingers,
looking at it the while with an expression of regretful melan-
choly, as much as to say, " Thou art the last link, O seal, that*
binds us to our grand old historical recollections! Never there-
fore shalt thou be mocked at or shamefully entreated! " And
she would heave a sigh as she set it up again in the midst of
the seeming idolators. With the exception of this great family
heirloom, the origin of which was apparently lost in the mists
of antiquity—for of course Captain William Barlow's theory
about its having been purchased by his aunt at a pawnbroker's
shop could only have sprung from his possessing too practical
a mind—the decorations and associations of Barlow Lodo-e
were old-fashioned rather than mediaeval, There was nothing
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
in the house which had been much longer in the family than
the profiles fashioned out of wax and black paper; for, although
the large blue Oriental pickle-jars may have dated back to the
very first brick of the great wall of China, they had been pur-
chased, as was well known, by the father of "John Barlow,
Esquire, engaged in commerce," not more than a hundred
years ago.
All these seemingly incongruous objects appeared now to
have settled themselves for good. They had become a part and
parcel of Barlow Lodge, which would not have been like
Barlow Lodge without them; and perhaps it was this mute
obedience to the decrees of fate, upon the part of these iuani-
mate chattels, which made Miss Elizabeth's modest suburban
dwelling so essentially a " Haven of Calm " to its living and
breathing inmates.
Without, too, upon the side at least which did not overlook
the Common, it inspired the same sensations of resignation and
repose. About midway down the narrow strip of garden, a
medlar-tree, seeming all knees and elbows by reason of the
sharp angles in its branches, some bay and box-trees, and a few
tufted bushes of rhododendron, made quite a patch of sylvan
shade upon the greensward. Sitting here, in her garden chair,
upon still summer afternoons, with her back turned to the wall
above which towered the stuccoed mansion of her influential
neighbour, Lucy could almost imagine herself in the depths of
the " forest primeval," for a vagabond clematis, wandering
about at will, had so loaded one of the dark bay-trees with its
white blossoms and invading horned tendrils, that the prospect
on the left-hand side of the garden was almost entirely masked.
Starlings, thrushes, robins, real country birds, came here, as
well as the pert chimney-pot sparrows, to peck at the moss
growing under the gnarled limbs of the medlar-tree, which must
have taken a century at least to become so velvety and soft.
Butterflies, too, would come and settle upon the blossoms of the
clematis, not only our old friend the " cabbage white," but
many of the brighter and scarcer varieties, and at eventide
the darting " gamma moth " and whirring " yellow underwing."
In a word, whilst the weather was warm and fine, and whilst
the branches of the medlar-tree were well shrouded in leaves,
this nook seemed to Lucy to be quite like the "real country,"
sitting of course in one particular position, without allowing
the eyes to wander too much to the right or the left.
It was strange that so small a garden should have been able
to satisfy such a roving imagination, or that there should have
seemed to be room in it for all the many aerial castles that
Lucy was accustomed to build! Perhaps, however, it is only
the really imaginative that can set to work thus between
two narrow walls, and follow out their wonderful day-dreams,
as though unconscious altogether of their commonplace sur-
26
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
roundings. Things and places and people influence us much
more through what we make of them than through what they
really are; and so Lucy, guided entirely by her own powers of
idealization, had misnamed this poor little handful of suburban
evergreens "the Jungle." It was a jungle, to be sure, safe
from the inroads of savage wild beasts; but yet at times a
sound would reach it which was not altogether unlike the distant
roaring of lions, and which tilled Lucy with some such sense of
awe and apprehension as is said to be inspired by the voice of
the monarch of the desert. This awe-striking sound was no
other than the distant murmur of London. London, the mighty,
murky, unknown power, that lay crouched between her and the
sunset, and about which she had heard such wonderful stories,
both of good and of evil.
It was chiefly from her great-aunt and from Mr. Podmore that
Lucy had heard these stories about London ; for, notwithstand-
ing that she lived so close upon its confines, she had been there
but seldom, and the longest time she ever remembered to have
remained in its brumous atmosphere was when she had paid a
visit to the dentist who had extracted her two first permanent
bicuspid molars (I have reason to think that I have got the
name and style of this tooth quite correctly) in order to allow
the requisite space for her canine teeth ; and this was of course
a good many years ago now.
Miss Elizabeth Barlow, in fact, possessed the same sort of
acquaintance with the great world of London as the old apple-
woman at the corner of a street has been said to possess of
its varied inhabitants. There have been controversies as to
whether this old woman, who so seldom moves from her position
upon the kerb-stone, or the hurrying errand-boy, who is admitted
at times into the very houses themselves, knows most about
what is really going on, and I believe that the verdict has been
given in favour of the apple-woman.
Eor the knowledge acquired by the hurrying errand-boy is
purely superficial, and he is besides both young and unobser-
vant. It is true that he may dash down the area-steps of some
one particular house upon some one very particular day—the
day of an auspicious event. A brougham and pair is at the
door, the coachman is asleep, he does not wear a cockade, and
there is no footman ; but for all this the errand-boy knows not
that it is the equipage of one of the most celebrated of her
Majesty's physicians, in one particular depai'tment. He may
run up against perhaps, and well-nigh overset, a middle-aged
female bearing a tray with caudle in a pipkin ; but the ignorant
boy is not aware that this is the " wily nurse," and that the
birth of the son, who has just come into the world, will elate
one branch of a noble family with triumph, and set some other
members of it wailing and gnashing their teeth.
Or again, he may come to deliver his message upon the day
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
27
of a wedding. The voice of the family butler is husky, and his
face unusually flushed ; strange men loiter upon the staircase,
and innumerable clusters of empty wine-glasses encumber the
dresser ; but the errand-boy knows not that the bride has
]ust driven off with her husband, for he was in too great a
hurry to observe that old white satin shoe in the gutter, or the
grains of rice which were strewn upon the area-steps as he ran
clattering down them.
Or he may call, perchance, at the dQor of yet another
mansion. The coffin of its wealthy master has just been borne
down into the lobby, and the assembled servants are craning
over one another's shoulders to read the inscription upon the
coffin-plate, whilst waiting for the dismal carriage which is to
take him for his last drive; a fluttering, as of a bird, in the
letter-box disturbs the awed silence; the errand-boy has just
delivered himself of an enormous card, whereupon the dead
man is invited to assist at an important political banquet in
the course of the ensuing week (" an answer particularly re-
quested "), and dashes off again, whistling, upon his mad career.
But now how different it is with the old apple-woman !
From her vantage-ground at the street-corner, she has per-
ceived, by many little indications, not to be mistaken by an
intelligent observer, that the childless lady was expecting an
heir. She has noticed the attentions of the husband, the
brougham of the celebrated physician, and has watched the
arrival of the " wily nurse " with her hair-trunk. Whilst the
constantly recurring visits of an over-dressed youth at another
house in the same street, together with the bales of millinery
which have been delivered at the door, prepared her for the
marriage of the maiden long before the arrival of the bride-
cake, or of the myrmidons in charge of the hired wine-glasses.
Th^n, again, she has observed signs of " the beginning of the
end " in the owner of the other mansion, his flabby, dyspeptic
appearance, his irritability to his cabmen, the languor of his.
step as he strolled forth for his morning walk in the Park. He
gave her half-a-crown, too, the last time she pestered him for
coppers, which no one in the full enjoyment of his faculties had
ever done before ; the end was clearly foreshadowed.
After some such fashion, Miss Elizabeth Barlow, with the
help of a superannuated " Peerage," had followed conscientiously
the movements of the British aristocracy for years, in this
honoured volume, whose ruddy hue had become a good deal
paled by time, she would carefully notch down the birth of the
little heir, the marriage of the maiden, and the death of the
wealthy householder ; for I am supposing them all to have been
scions of noble houses.
Ordinary hnights she looked upon as somewhat beneath her
notice, but she kept a keen eye upon the baronets, so long as
they were neither doctors nor lord-mayors, and did not utterly
28
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
despise a military K.C.B., supposing, of course, that he had
gained several victories, and had come of a good old family at
starting.
Mr. Podmore was at times perfectly astounded at the extent
of her information, which seemed to him to partake almost of
the supernatural.
His own experience of great people had been much more of
the errand-boy kind. He had a nodding acquaintance with one
or two "big-wigs" who sat with him upon the Board of an
insurance company. His name had appeared, too, as the pro-
moter of an enterprise in which the third son of a Duke was also
concerned, and this young aristocrat had even addressed him
familiarly as " Podmore," and slapped him cordially upon the
back. A " Viscount," too, of insinuating manners and address,
whom he had fallen in with, quite by accident, in the waiting-
room of a Jewish usurer, had condescended to allow him to
" stand " him luncheon at his City club, and had afterwards
done him the favour to accept one of his most expensive cigars;
but he had never been admitted by these, or other great person-
ages, to any sort of intimacy, and he was too much occupied
with his own business matters to take 'note of their births,
deaths, and marriages, or to read about them when they were
taken note of in the newspapers. Still, between Miss Elizabeth
and Mr. Podmore, some wonderful stories of " high life " had
reached Lucy's innocent ears—wonderful as compared to the
total absence of all wonders at Barlow Lodge.
Only upon this very evening, for instance, Mr. Podmore had
related an anecdote connected with the fashionable world,
which possessed all the materials suitable for a three-volumed
novel. A noble Earl, who was to have presided at Mr. Pod-
more's Board, was absent from his appointed place, and this
was the " reason wherefore ":—
Lady Valentina de Bohun, only daughter—only child, in fact
—of the venerable Earl of Rottingdean, had long been attached
to her father's favourite physician. The doctor returned her
affection, but, dreading the anger of the lady's venerable though
haughty father, neither of them avowed their love. The doctor
had attended the Lady Valentina for measles, whooping-cough,
scarlatina—every juvenile complaint—from which not even
blue blood is exempt. To the ailments of youth succeeded the
disorders of maturity, and still the noble-hearted doctor was
content to be silent, although his flame was thus being perpe-
tually fanned.
But at last Lady Valentina, whose susceptible nature some-
what predisposed her to infection, was stricken down with the
small-pox. The doctor attended her of course, and only succeeded
in pulling her thi*ough by a miracle. One thing, however, even
his skill and devotion was powerless to preserve—her beauty,
(never of a very high order, by-the-by). She was disfigured for
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
29
life! Then, and not till then, when all prospect of making
a more brilliant alliance seemed to be gone from her for ever,
did the disinterested physician apply to the Earl of Rottingdean
for the hand of bis daughter. He was peremptorily refused;
and this after having saved the life of the lady, and enjoyed for
years the family confidence ! It was more than flesh and blood
could stand. The Leech and the Lady, therefore, determined
to take the law into their own hands.
They walked out one morning before breakfast, and were
married; and this fact had only just been made known to the
outraged parent. "What form his indignation would eventually
take, remained still a mystery. It had prevented him, at any
rate, from being able to attend at Mr. Podmore's Board.
"It is a shocking disgrace for her family," Miss Elizabeth had
remarked when she heard the story.
" Which do you look upon as the disgrace, my dear lady?"
asked Mr. Podmore. " Her attachment to the doctor, or her
running away with him ? "
" Her attachment and her running away," answered the old
lady promptly; " to be sure, had she been in a more humble
walk of life, the marriage in itself might have been suitable
enough; but as it is there is a great difference in position, and
Dr. Winuington would have been happier, I should have thought,
with some one belonging to his own sphere. A daughter, how-
ever, who can take such a step without the sanction of her
father, 01* of the persons who represent him, would be disgrac-
ing herself even were she to elope with a duke. It is not likely
that there will be a blessing upon such a marriage."
"I confess," returned Mr. Podmore, "that, whilst strongly
disapproving of elopements, I can't help thinking that it is the
doctor who has the worst of the bargain. The lady, I hear, is
not particularly young; she was never beautiful, and is now
deeply pitted with the small-pox. I presume, however, that she
will be very well off? "
"Lady Valentina de Bohun," replied Miss Elizabeth, who was
now in her element, " was born on the 14th of February, 1841.
I remember it, because it happens to be St. Valentine's Day,
and hence, you will perceive, her somewhat peculiar Christian
name; so she is now very nearly forty years of age. Her
mother, Lord Rottingdean's first wife, died when she was quite
a child, so she has been deprived for a long time of a mother's
solicitude, which should be taken into consideration now; and
thouo-h the Earl, her father, afterwards re-married, his son by
his second wife died before he was ten years old, which sad
event was followed soon afterwards by the death of the second
Coun,tess. Lady Yalentina therefore, at her father's decease,
comes into the Castle in Sussex, and a large portion of the
London property, though the title and some of the other landed
estates are entailed upon her first cousin, once removed, to
3o
THRO" LOVE AND WAR
whom it was hoped she would one day unite herself, and thus
join together the title and the estates. Her recent imprudent
act, however, has put this arrangement quite out of the ques-
tion. Poor Lord Rottingdean has indeed had more than his own
share of the troubles of this life! The event will greatly dis-
tress your relative, Lucy, Lady Mabella Binks, who is a most
intimate friend of the family, but, alas! " added the old lady,
sighing, and pointing her moral, " we do not find that persons
in an exalted sphere are less chastened from on High than the
most humble."
Ho wonder that Mr. Podmore, who knew nothing about the
existence of the pallid " Peerage," seemed sometimes to be
almost thunderstruck at the extent of Miss Elizabeth's informa-
tion with regard to great people and their doings!
CHAPTER VI.
As Lucy sat day-dreaming in " the Jungle " upon the following
afternoon, she found herself thinking a good deal about this
romance of the lady and the doctor, considering that she had
never known either of them. Woman-like, she fell to wondering
what sort of " outward man " the doctor possessed. Before she
had learnt that Lady Valentina was quite so old as she was,
she had pictured to herself an extremely handsome and intel-
lectual-looking young man, pale, clean-shaved, with a broad,
benevolent forehead, classical features, and a rare smile, full of
indescribable charm. A face and form, in fact, not unlike those
of Howard the philanthropist, as he was represented in an
entirely fancy portrait which was hung up in Miss Elizabeth
Barlow's bedroom. This phantom had vanished, however,
when she had heard of the lady's mature years; but another
had started up in its place. It was the same person, perhaps,
only grown a good deal older, for the face was still handsome,
more intellectual, if possible, and there were still the same
classical features and the rare smile. But the tall form was
just a little bent now, the hair had become nearly white, and
he leant upon a cane with a jewelled handle, and tested pulses
by the aid of a large gold repeater watch, to which was attached
a broad black watered ribbon, and a bunch of family seals. This
last conception was exceedingly like, down to the very cut of
its clothes, an idealized porirait of Mr. Pitt, in mezzotint, which
adorned one side of the dining-room at Barlow Lodge ; for Miss
Elizabeth, as might have been expected from one possessed of
her aristocratic leanings, was a most uncompromising Tory. It
must be very nice, Lucy thought, to pass one's whole existence
in the society of a great, good, noble, bland, benevolent being,
who would cherish one, and shield one, and always give one the
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
very best possible advice upon every occasion ! And she felt
relieved to think that she would not be debarred, at any rate,
by exalted rank from dreaming about any such future pos-
sibility. She supposed that doctors were not always attending
small-pox cases, cutting up dead bodies, or looking at people's
tongues. This part of their profession must be terrible enough,
in all conscience, but then it was for the good of science, and she
had always heard that, in time, people might become used to
anything !
To be sure, Mr. Bury, the local general practitioner, who had
attended Miss Elizabeth during her last attack of lumbago, was
not at all like the Dr. Howard-Pitt of her great niece's imagina-
tion; but the world was wide, such noble-looking physicians
were no doubt to be found in it. After all, Clapham Common
was not the Universe ! There were probably plenty of person-
ages answering to this description in London !
"In London!" Was it possible that London, that vast,
mysterious, unknown city, would ever exercise any sort of in-
fluence upon her humble existence ? Was it not much more
probable that she would remain on here, at Clapham, looking
on at it from the outside, without any change in her mode of
living, until she became old and wrinkled and withered, like
her good great-aunt Elizabeth ?
As she asked herself these questions, she rose from her chair,
and sauntered down to the lower end of the garden, where*,
amongst what would become later on a maze of hollyhocks and
sunflowers, a little cross-barred wicket, communicating with a
meadow belonging to The Aspens, enabled her to obtain a
better view of the distant mystery.
Yes, there crouched the dusky monster, with its smoky breath
rising like a mist, and its crest of many spires ! By-and-by,
after the lamplighters had been on their rounds, it would seem
to be watching her with hundreds and thousands of twinkling,
malevolent eyes. As she pushed aside the intervening brauches,
and continued her gaze, she realized distinctly that this con-
templation of London, as representing the unknown outer
world, was producing upon her an impression which was far
from encouraging. An impression of mistrust, of anxiety,
mingling with a sense of individual helplessness and subjection
of will.
A sound as of gentle wailing and sobbing- attracted Lucy's
attention at this moment, and served rather to confirm than
to dispel her train of melancholy thoughts.
A child of apparently about seven or eight years old was
leaning against the outside of the fence, close to where she was
standing, and weeping bitterly. Lucy at once recognized the
little daughter of the mysterious lady next door, and now that
she could see her quite near, thought that she had never beheld
so lovely a child. She very soon elicited the cause of her
33
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
weeping. She had thrown lier favourite picture-book at a
white butterfly, hoping thereby to catch it, but the butterfly
had flown away unscathed, and the book had fallen over the
fence into Lucy's garden, and " hence these tears."
Sure enough, there lay the book at Lucy's feet, a book of
nursery-rhymes, full of bright-coloured pictures, sprawled face
downwards upon the border, a good deal crumpled and soiled ;
and here was a cause for renewed lamentation. Lucy dusted
the book and restored it to its little owner, towards whom she
had at once experienced a peculiar sense of attraction. The
feeling was evidently mutual, for the child remained still
clinging to the paling as though loth to tear herself from
her new friend. Lucy, though always drawn towards children,
did not know very much about them in general, and she felt
half afraid at first of questioning the little stranger, lest she
should appear to her to be inquisitive. By-and-by, however,
seeing that the child still lingered, she ventured to inquire her
name.
" My name is little Lily," she answered, drying her tears.
" It's written down in my book. I was called ' Lily ' because I
was born amongst black people and came white."
" You were born in India, I suppose ? "
"Yes; but it's so long ago, and India's so far off, that I
forget all about being born. My ayah, Rajama, is one of the
black people from India. She says India's much bigger than
Clapham."
" I daresay she would like to go back to her own country,
where it's so much warmer and brighter ? "
" Yo; my ayah won't ever leave me, she says, not even when
I'm quite old. Mamma very often tells her to go back now.
4 Get away, I tell you !' mamma says to her. ' Get along home,
now, do ; because you're no good!' But my ayah says she
won't ever go."
Lucy could not help forming an unfavourable impression of
her mysterious neighbour upon hearing of this unamiable
speech.
" I suppose your black nurse is very fond of you ? " she said,
feeling that this was not much to be wondered at.
" Yes ; mamma says fondness is making her quite silly, and
that she's no business to be fond of me, because she's only a
servant."
Lucy's unfavourable impression with regard to " Mamma,"
was still further confirmed.
" Yo wonder," she thought, " that her voice sounds so shrill
and unsympathetic when she sings ! How can this little angel
be really her child ? "
Little Lily certainly resembled the typical angel of the
idealistic painters, as opposed to the fat cherub of the more
florid schools. She was as fair and delicate-looking as her
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
33
namesake flower, whilst her eyes, although blue and innocent,
had an expression of eager and unsatisfied longing, not usually
to be observed in the eyes of one so young.
The black ayah, in her waving white garments, came shuffling
down the garden-path which led to the meadow, before Lucy
could further improve the acquaintance with-her little neigh-
hour, and the child ran off at once in answer to her call.
After watching her out of sight, Lucy turned back towards
the twisted medlar-tree, and on her way came upon a stray leaf
of the picture-book, which had fluttered off into the midst of a
rhododendron-bush. It was the title-page, whereupon, in bold,
masculine characters, the child's name was written: " To my
little Lily, from one who loves her."
^" From her father, I suppose," Lucy said to herself, as she
picked up the page, " and 1 should think, from his handwriting,
that he must be a much nicer person than her mamma." And
she slipped it into her apron pocket, meaning, upon the morrow,
to return it to her little neighbour.
CHAPTER VII.
But the morrow, as ill-luck would have it, proved wet and
unpropitious, and when Lucy, after having assisted her aunt
in her household duties, was about to saunter forth into the
garden, " the pointed arrows of the rain " were falling straight
down into the hungry earth. It would do good to the country,
no doubt, for the clergyman had prayed for rain, rather un-
kindly, Lucy could not help thinking, last Sunday in church,
and the old man who looked in twice a week to set the garden
in order, a figure
" Like Time himself, with scythe and beard,
Who mowed the lawn, and kept it cleared
Of twinkling daisy and blossom of grass—"
had said that the ground was " downright parched up," and
that to rake, delve, or mow in such a drought would be a
perfect mockery.
Lucy, however, never felt that she was in want of rain. A
rainy day seemed so to transform and sadden everything, down
to the very colour of one's thoughts. Least of all did she want
it to rain to-day. The charming little girl who " came white "
amongst the blacks, would certainly not be allowed to walk out
upon the damp grass even after the rain had ceased, and,
absurd as it might appear, to any one differently situated, this
seemed quite like a disappointment in a life so thoroughly un-
eventful, so barren even of disappointments! In time, Lucy
had said to herself, she and this little girl might have grown to
love one another, even with a wooden paling between them, and
c
34
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
it must surely be very pleasant to have anything so pretty to
love!
As she stood looking out of the window, with her garden-hat
slung upon her arm, she saw the old French Professor emerge
from the gate of "The Aspens." Evidently, he had just been
giving a lesson to the object of her thoughts, and was now
about to pay a visit to the inmates of Barlow Lodge. Before
he had time to ring the bell she would run down the garden
pathway and let him in. She found the old man wrestling with
a time-honoured umbrella which had suddenly played him false.
He had only taken refuge from the rain, in the doorway, whilst
he endeavoured to set it in order. He had not time, unfortu-
nately, to look in at Barlow Lodge before the evening.
" And then, alas, my child, I cannot see you alone!" he
exclaimed regretfully, "and I must bury in my heart the
thoughts that are agitating me! "
He had, then, thoughts of an agitating nature? Lucy
begged that her old friend would explain himself? "I am a
traitor in the camp!" he began impulsively. "I am com-
mitting probably an indiscretion, and disturbing projects which
have taken years to mature! But you know, Miss Lucy, I
am nothing but a foolish old man—call me, if you like, an
infatuated old simpleton—this fact still remains ; I must place
you, and what is for your happiness, before the displeasure of
your good aunt, and the discomfiture of Podmore! Yes, my
child! " (he went on more excitedly, as he gesticulated with the
dilapidated umbrella). " It is to this being that your aunt
would sacrifice your inexperience, your beauty, your tender
adolescence! Your aunt means well, her intentions are ad-
mirable, but she is ignorant of the dominating passions of
existence, she has the ignorance of the old maid, and it is to
this ignorance that you, my child, are to be sacrificed ! " For
one moment Lucy was struck dumb with amazement. Then, it
was as though the passionate blood of the mediaeval Barlows
had rushed tumultuously to her cheeks.
"Mr.* Podmore!" she exclaimed, aghast, "marry Mi*.
Podmore ? My aunt must have gone raving mad! " and she
leant for support against the lintel of the door. How every
romantic dream seemed to vanish, every air-castle to crumble,
at such a prosaic notion! Mr. Podmore and Palmyra House!
Could she have been created merely for this end ?
The Marquis ceased battling with his umbrella, for he was
well sheltered now, and took her hand affectionately. " Calm
yourself, my child," he said soothingly. " Above all, believe
with me that the intentions of your good aunt are irreproach-
able! But she has been unduly influenced. Podmore has
represented himself as the possessor of a large fortune, she is
under obligations to him ; I even think, sometimes, that she is
in his debt; she is dazzled by what she considers his magnifi-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
35
cence, the comforts of his surroundings, and she is afraid when
she dies that you may not be so comfortably situated unless
you are married and have a home. But for not liking to lose
this one chance, she would rather have waited, and seen you
united to some member of the aristocracy ; she has as much as
confessed it to me. Podmore's moral character shall remain
sacred, I will not asperse it; on one point, however, I can speak
without reserve; he is not rich: his resources are uncertain.
' He is possessed of at least eight thousand pounds a year/
said your good aunt the other evening as she stood bidding me
adieu. I was paralyzed at the extravagance of her assertion.
' Eight thousand a year,' indeed! I will not say that he may
not have had, during his career, accidental successes, he may
have run blockades, invested money at high interest, played
for awhile with funds that were only temporarily at his disposal.
For one year, perhaps, it is just possible that his income may
have arrived at this figure, but, believe me, it is not permanent!
' He will make the most generous marriage settlements:' of
this, too, I am assured by your aunt. ' Generous marriage
settlements!' JSTow, by this alone are not my suspicions
aroused ? According to the laws of your excellent country, a
creditor caunot seize upon the private possessions of the wife.
He would settle therefore upon you, my dear Miss Lucy, as
much as was possible for the protection of himself; and when
the day of a catastrophe occurs, you will have to support this
pretended Croesus upon what was set aside for your own
fortune."
" I will never support him! " cried Lucy, looking determined.
"He shall never support me! The whole thing is nonsense !
But why," she added suddenly, " should he want to marry me P
If he is ambitious, there are plenty of other girls better able to
please his vanity. What can his object be? He must have
some hidden motive."
" In a few years, my dear Miss Lucy, that is a question you
will have gained too much experience to ask," returned the
Marquis; '' for you will have become aware of your beauty, of
your peculiar and irresistible charm. Podmore, I am willing to
believe, is, after his own manner, in love. But he is middle-
class ; above all, he is English. He believes in the suppression,
before marriage, of the emotions. Afterwards, it is possible
that we may see him transfigured. His ambition has been to
mould some beautiful young lady after the model he approves
the most. He dreams of the domestic hearth of which he will
be the absolute master, of the wife, who is to be for him alone.
It is a dream in which we have all of us indulged," sighed the
old Professor; " but, alas ! to which of us has come the realiza-
tion ? "
"Oh, it's all dreadful! " cried Lucy passionately; "how can
I ever even look at him again ? "
c 2
36
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" Calm yourself, my dear cliild," repeated the Professor.
"This unnatural union shall never take place whilst Achille de
la Vieilleroche is here to prevent it! I am, as I have said
before, nothing hut an infatuated old simpleton, an old imbecile,
utterly incapable of reform; my life has been both stormy and
disappointing; I am despoiled of fortune, and cannot be said
even to possess a permanent home. I have already been
married to two wives, one French wife, one English one, whilst
the souvenirs connected with the affections that arise in my
mind are at times absolutely overpowering; yet so great, my
child, is my devotion to you, that rather than I would allow
this sacrifice to take place, Scipristi! I would marry you
myself!"
Lucy returned no answer to this outburst of chivalrous
loyalty.
" Good-by," she said abstractedly, and they shook hands.
Fhe walked up the pathway to the house, swinging her straw
hat, as the Marquis fancied, in rather an ominous manner, and
vanished through the front door.
Had Miss Elizabeth Barlow been merely an ordinary aunt,
own sister to either father or mother, or had Lucy herself been
all other than she was, she might perhaps have given vent to
her feelings in some sort of extravagant fashion. She might
have tried at first tears and protestations; and then, if these
had failed to move, she might have threatened all sorts of
terrible things—to advertise for the situation of companion, to
study for the dramatic profession, to go out and nurse the
wounded in some war (for we seem always nowadays to have
a war going on somewhere), or to write to her relation, Lady
Mabella Binks. The impetuosity of her feelings, however, was
a good deal tempered and subdued by consideration for her
aunt's declining years, and by the tranquil and unemotional
character of her surroundings. It seemed to her that it would
be a cowardly act upon her part to break in, in all her young
strength, upon this defenceless old lady, with any show of
early Barlow violence, under the very noses of the neatly
executed portraits in wax and black paper, and with the great
blue pickle-jars and ginger-pots towering above her in their
Oriental calm.
Then, again, as the Marquis had insinuated, there were
certain subjects about which Miss Elizabeth Barlow must be of
necessity profoundly ignorant. " She has the ignorance of the
old maid," he had declared. It would be impossible to make
her understand.
Ho; Lucy would go upstairs to her bedroom and reflect.
She would endeavour to make out some plan of immediate
action, but she would do nothing impetuous.
' As she passed the half-open sitting-room door, she caught
sight of her gi*eat-aunt, seated, pen in hand, at her writing-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
37
table. A prim, shrunken figure, in a plain black silk dress,
made after no particular fashion, and with grey curls, arranged
at the ears with side-combs. What, as the old Frenchman had
said, could such a person know of " the dominating passions of
existence ? " Of the lovings and hatings, of the irresistible
physical attractions and repulsions P
For about a repulsion, at any rate, Lucy had already come to
know that there was something physical—something apart from
all moral considerations and traditions. Mr. Podmore might
be, and possibly was, one of the noblest and most disinterested
of mankind. She knew him, or fancied that she knew him, to
be in the highest degree respectable. " Podmore's moral
character," the Marquis had said, " shall remain sacred." She
fully shared in his sentiments with regard to " the domestic
hearth," about the wife who was to be " for him alone; " such
ideas, however much a Frenchman might sneer at them, were
surely virtuous and honourable; and yet—and yet she could
never so much as touch Mr. Podmore's hand without ex-
periencing that strange sensation of shuddering disgust which
had possessed her when she had picked up the large pink sea-
anemone in her new " aquarium." She was quite willing to
lay the blame entirely at her own door; it might have, some-
thing to do with the hereditary Barlow loathing for sago and
tapioca, which were also soft, glutinous, oleaginous substances ;
perhaps it was something mesmeric, and altogether unaccount-
able; but surely it must be a very strong reason against marry-
ing the person who inspired it.
" Ten thousand pounds at seven-and-a-half per cent. How
much would that be, Lucy, my dear ? You are the latest from
school."
The voice of Miss Elizabeth Barlow recalled her great-niece's
wandering spirit. The handsome countenance of the old lady
was turned now towards the doorway, as, stroking her chin
gently with the feather of her quill-pen, she seemed to reflect.
Lucy could perceive in her face nothing but what was expressive
of nobility, serenity, and high-mindedness.
" Why really, aunty, I can't tell you till I've made it out
upon paper," she constrained herself to answer as quietly as
possible. " What very high interest! I'll just go up to my
room and make out the calculation."
As she went slowly up the narrow staircase, her eye lighted,
as it invariably did light, upon the heraldic window-blind.
The day being dark and stormy for the summer season, the
greater portion of the blind was gathered, up upon the roller,
but there, close to the knot of the crimson blind-string, was her
own particular cognizance, descending from the centre of the
hyphen which united Captain William Barlow of the Boyal
Navy to Miss Lucinda Binks. And there, oh, there, united by
just such another hyphen to her own particular lozenge, was
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
the phantom shield empty as yet of emblem, initial, or
heraldic blazon—the shadowy indication of some sort of
eventual future—vague, shrouded, inscrutable. For, snrely,
surely, it bad not, just now, been revealed to her? Surely,
surely, all these kings, barons, knights, squires, and captains in
the Royal iSTavy, could not have hyphened themselves to their
respective ladies merely for this ignoble end : that the last
scutcheon upon the great Barlow window-blind should bear
only the letters " S.A.P."—those detested initials ! There was
something positively maddening in the idea that any such
ridiculous union could ever have been contemplated by any one
having her happiness at heart, Lucy said to herself as she
entered her own little room and closed the door.
" Bless me ! " exclaimed Miss Elizabeth, starting at the sound
of the reverberation " the dear girl is a thorough Barlow from
head to foot! But if she goes on banging the doors like that,
she will certainly shake down some of the old family china ! "
And she looked up at the blue pickle-jars and ginger-pots, to
make sure that they had withstood the shock unscathed. And,
indeed, Lucy herself was just realizing with regret that, owing
to the irritation of her nervous system, she might perhaps have
closed her bedroom door rather too much after the old ancestral
fashion.
CHAPTER VIII.
Mention has been made so often in these pages of Lady Ma-
bella Binks, that it may be as well, perhaps, to state what was
the nature of her relationship to the ladies of my story, before I
proceed with it any further.
By turning to the earlier portion of this work it will be seen
that Lucy's mother is described as having been the "only daughter
of the Reverend Orlando Binks ; " but this gentleman had also
an only son, who was christened " Orlando " after his father,
and, like him, took Holy Orders.
Now, I take it that the Binkses, from all that I am able to
gather concerning them, were a much less combative and
impetuous family than the Barlows—at any rate, in the days
of their beginning—possessing fewer distinguishing traits,
being less self-opinionated, and having their individuality much
less sharply defined and accentuated. They closed their doors
in a quiet, considerate manner, both upon entering and leaving
an apartment, took anchovy sauce with their fish, cayenne
pepper with their wild-duck, had no exaggerated loathing for
either sago or tapioca, and avoided poking the fire violently
with the best poker. You might very easily have persuaded a
Binks as it were to drink, when no power could have dragged
a Barlow to the -water. In a word, they seem to have been
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 39
much more conventional and adaptive in all their ways, and to
have possessed an infinitely keener eye to the main chance.
By reason of these inherited qualities, the Reverend Orlando
Binks, Lucy's maternal uncle, had no sooner obtained the
appointment of domestic chaplain to the late Earl of Bel-
morris, than he set to work to win the affections of the oldest
and plainest of his lordship's two daughters, the Lady Mabella,
of whom mention has been already made. In this he very soon
succeeded, and the marriage ensued in due time, after which
event, however, his health had gradually declined, and notwith-
standing the excellent clerical appointments which had been
bestowed upon him in England, he had been compelled for the
last few years of his life to winter abroad, and there it was that
he had eventually ended his days, when he had barely arrived
at middle age. He had been an exceedingly handsome man,
after rather an effeminate style of beauty, with an oily and
insinuating address, which, no doubt, had he lived, might have
assisted him to a place upon the Bench of Bishops. By his
union with the Lady Mabella he had two children—Miss Ade-
liza, or "Addie " Binks, and Master Algernon Orlando, familiarly
known as "Algy;" the first being some three or four years
older than her cousin Lucy, and the latter of almost exactly
Lucy's own age.
Upon the day on which Lucy had been taken up to London
for the extraction of her two first permanent bicuspid molars,
Miss Elizabeth Barlow had paid a formal visit to her noble
connection (for, of course, between Lady Mabella and herself
there existed no actual blood-relationship, notwithstanding that
the late Mr. Binks had been Lucy's own maternal uncle). It
had long been Miss Elizabeth's wish, in consequence of this
near kinship, to introduce her great-niece to this other aunt by
marriage, feeling that she herself was by this time well stricken
in years, and that the more friends Lucy could make the better
it would be for her in the future. She had written therefore to
Lady Mabella, with whom, from time to time, she had been in
the habit of corresponding, apprising her of her intended visit
to London, and hoping that she might be permitted to pay a
short visit to Wilton Place, where the Binks family were at this
period located. In reply, she had received a very friendly invita-
tionto luncheon at two o'clock; and Lady Mabella had expressed
her pleasure at the idea that Lucy, of whom she had always
heard such a charming account, should make the acquaintance
of Algernon and Adeliza, who happened then to be both of
them at home. The appointment with the dentist, however,
which was the prime reason of the visit to town, had ended by
somewhat interfering with Miss Elizabeth's benevolent plans.
A quarter of an hour after the extraction of one's two first
permanent bicuspid molars is hardly the moment one would
select for making a favourable impression at luncheon, and poor
40
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Lucy had consequently remained inside the hired Clapham fly,
the driver of which was told to draw up under the shadow of
St. Paul's Church, upon the opposite side of the way, during
her great-aunt's visit to this other younger aunt.
The whole thing was, of course, a terrible disappointment
to Miss Elizabeth, and it was so long since she had had any
teeth of her own to extract, that she had not anticipated the
contretemps. She was extremely gratified, however, at the
kind manner in which she had been received at luncheon.
Lady Mabella was, as usual, all sweetness and humility (for
she belonged rather to the " bruised-reed" order of women),
and Miss Elizabeth was also much pleased with the beauty and
vivacity of Adeliza. Master Algernon Binks had pleased her as
well, although in a totally different way. His manners, she
thought, were perhaps a little noisy and self-asserting, but then
boys were so very differently brought up now to what they were
in the far-off days of her own yonth. He possessed a most
amiable disposition, however; of this she felt quite sure, for he
had escorted her most attentively to the front door, where,
after she had searched for some time in the depths of her
"reticule" or hand-bag, in order to make sure that she had not
mislaid her list of shopping, she had bidden him farewell.
It had flashed upon Miss Elizabeth, from a peculiar expres-
sion whicli came into his face as she grasped his hand, that she
remembered to have heard that Eton boys sometimes expected
a small gratuity from their relations during the vacation. But
then, in this case, there was no actual " tie of blood," besides
which, it would have been difficult, j ust as she was in the flurry
of departure, to make out what would have been a right and
proper amount. Five, or even ten, shillings might have been
too little, perhaps, considering Master Binks's exalted social
standing, whilst a sovereign seemed to her to be too much, unless
she had wished to have conveyed to him quite a disquieting
sense of " bribery and corruption."
Fifteen shillings, which might have met the requirements of
the case, was such an awkward sum to have to get out of one's
purse without spectacles, and with the Binks boy-in-buttons
staring at one all the time, to say nothing of the young gentle-
man himself.
Miss Elizabeth, in a word, had rejoined Lucy and her tooth-
ache without having parted with anything in the way of cash,
but the reader must not for this reason set her down as having
been guilty of meanness.
Neither her late brother, John Barlow, Esquire, nor Captain
"William Barlow, her nephew, had ever been at Eton. They
had both received their education at Charterhouse, and there
are some questions that even a pallid " Peerage " is powerless
to answer.
Ever since the time of this visit, Lady Mabella had had her
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
41
headquarters in Wilton Place, but she visited a good deal
amongst the country houses of her fashionable friends and
relations during the shooting season, whilst after remaining in
London from the first week in January until Easter, she had
usually exchanged domiciles, of late years, with the widow of an
admiral, to whom apartments had been allotted in Hampton
Court Palace, so that Miss Addie's existence must have pre-
sented a marked contrast to Lucy's in the way of variety.
The Binkses, however, notwithstanding their assured position
in society, were anything but well off; and Adeliza, in spite of
her good looks, her vivacious manners, and the numerous
opportunities she must have had of selecting and overcoming
her appointed male, was still unmarried. Young Algernon
Binks was confidently studying for the army, having already
failed in the two first preliminary examinations ; and although
his mother may have believed that the bdton of a field marshal
was lurking in some corner of his portmanteau, those who had
had the best opportunities of judging were inclined to think that
he would not probably be much more successful at his next trial.
Altogether, Miss Elizabeth Barlow was wont at times to
congratulate herself upon hpr own peaceful existence when she
thought of that of her more fashionable connections, thanking
Heaven, somewhat pharisaically, that she was not as the Binkses
were; that her income, although modest, was sufficient for her
modest wants. That she had no efforts to make, no state to
keep up ; that Lucy, who had never been into the great world
of fashion, seemed so tractable and so contented, and required
so very few new dresses ; and that they might be waited upon
by Sarah the parlour-maid, instead of by some mutton-fisted
inan-of-all-work, who, besides smashing up all the old family
china, would probably be so very much more difficult for an
infirm old single lady to regulate and keep in order.
How, all these particulars with regard to the Binkses would
be utterly and entirely superfluous, and I should be behaving,
by thus dwelling upon them, like the foxhound when he rushes
off hunting hares, were it not that, upon this particular day, as
the " pointed arrows of the rain " were being absorbed into the
thirsty earth of the little garden at Barlow Lodge, Lady
Mabella, as well as Miss Elizabeth, was seated at her writing-
table, pen in hand, and that from this one simple circumstance
a volume of complications and misunderstandings was pre-
destined to ensue.
CHAPTER IX.
The letter which Lady Mabella Binks was composing at her
writing-table in Hampton Court Palace, within full view of the
river, the bridge, and the cavalry barracks—for the drawing-
42
TIIRO' LOVE AND WAR
room windows of the apartment which had been allotted to the
Admiral's widow happened to look out this way—was addressed
to " Miss Elizabeth Barlow, Barlow Lodge, Clapham Common,"
and was couched in the following terms:—
"My dear Miss Barlow,—
"It is a long, longtime—a perfect age, in fact—since I last
had the pleasure of receiving news of you and yours! My own
excuse for not having written, I feel, however, that you will
understand and forgive, since you, too, have the responsibility
of a young charge. My two young people—I can no longer call
them my ' children,' for, alas ! Time flies apace !—encroach more
and more every day upon my leisure hours. My duty to Adeliza
obliging me to stay up later at night than was my usual wont,
entails, to one in my wretched state of health, several hours in a
recumbent position during the afternoon, thus rendering letter-
writing almost, if not entirely, out of the question; whilst the
necessary correspondence connected with Algernon's future pro-
fession ("the Army), occupies nearly all the time that I formerly
devoted to my old friends. It would be ungrateful of me,
however, blessed as I am in my widowhood with these two
bright and delightful companions, were I to complain of their
interference with my own selfish pleasures—for you will know,
dear Miss Barlow, that to correspond with you, and to enjoy the
privilege of your friendship, must ever be to me one of the
keenest of pleasures. But in thinking thus of the requirements
of my own children, I feel that I must not forget your dear—
our dear Lucy—my poor lost Orlando's own niece, his favourite
sister Lucinda's only child! I know, by the difference in age
between her and my own Adeliza, that she must now be quite
grown up, and I feei perfectly sure that, under your wise and
tender guidance, she has fulfilled her early promise, and realized
all your affectionate anticipations. But let me no longer conceal
from you my second object in writing; for I must admit that
my first was to assure myself of your own health and well-
being. Cannot dear Lucy come and stay with us here next
week, when we shall be a little gayer than usual on account of
Hampton Baces ? Ladies do not ever attend them—it is not
considered desirable—so that Lucy will require nothing at all
elaborate in the way of dress, but my brother Belmorris, who is,
as you may have heard, a most ardent patron of the Turf (he
is the owner, amongst other race-horses, of ' Miss Marchmont,'
the celebrated mare, who, but for a lamentable accident, would
certainly have won ' The Oaks' this year), will be staying with
us for a few days, and some of his friends will be likely to be
having luncheon with us during the races, which will ensure for
dear Lucy a little lively society. I should wish her, however, to
remain on with us afterwards, for at least a week or more, if you
are able to spare her. These gardens are now in great beauty,
there is much in the Palace to interest and instruct, and I think
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 43
I may say without vanity that she will find my two young
people both agreeable and intelligent companions.
" With Adeliza's and Algernon's kindest regards, believe me
to be, my dear Miss Barlow, very sincerely yours,
"Mabella Binks.
"P.S. Should it not be convenient to you to spare a maid to
accompany dear Lucy, my children will meet her at the railway
station here, and G-uffy, my own maid, will be delighted to attend
upon her during her stay."
Now, it is not always possible, when recounting a story, to
look into the hearts of the personages, and detect their secret
musings. " By their works ye shall know them," ought gene-
rally to be the novelist's rule; and although I may sometimes
have been tempted to fall in with those authors who pretend to
perceive the motive as well as the act, and who know therefore
to a certainty just how all their characters are going to behave,
I have the more often found that no sooner have I set down the
names, ages and sexes of my personages upon paper, than they
break away altogether from my maternal control, and no one
can be more shocked or astonished than I am myself at some of
the strange and reprehensible vagaries that they commit, without
so much as paying me the compliment of asking my leave!
This has reference, however, simply to the miserable puppets
of fiction. My story, in the present instance, being true for the
most part, should be dealt with rather after the trite manner of
a record, and I only feel justified consequently in setting down
what actually took place, except where a direct sympathy with
any particular character has predisposed me to some manner of
thought-reading. I am merely able to guess, therefore, at the
secret motives which animated the bosom of Lady Mabella
Binks when she invited Lucy Barlow to stay with her at Hamp-
ton Court Palace. It is possible, assuming her motives to have
been purely selfish, that she may have simply wished for an
agreeable and pretty young lady, who would come to her with-
out the incumbrance of either chaperon or handmaid, in order
that her " brother Belmorris " and his sporting friends might be
the better entertained during their stay for the races. Or,
again, she was ignorant perhaps altogether of what the old
Professor had termed Lucy's " peculiar and irresistible charm,"
and may have fancied that a shy, awkward, red-handed young
person, in plain Quakerish garments, would act as a satis-
factory " foil" to her own handsome and fashionably dressed
daughter, and would show off her sparkle and vivacity to a still
greater advantage. Lastly—although this is what, to a cynical
mind, may appear to be the most unlikely—she may really have
desired to act kindly towards her dead husband's orphan niece,
his " favourite sister Lucinda's only child ; " whilst the polite-
ness and cordiality of her letter to Miss Elizabeth, who could
44
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
scarcely have been expected to do anything for the advancement
of her interests, may have proceeded solely from the fact that
Lady Mabella was perhaps one of those considerate people who
make it their pleasure to be polite and cordial to everybody "all
round." What a pity it is that there are not more of such
people in the world !
Miss Elizabeth Barlow, at any rate, was much pleased and
flattered by this letter. She felt, however, a little nervous about
the actual preparations for the visit. At her advanced age, all
changes, or the having to do with the arrangement and organiza-
tion of changes, was a mental distress to her. She was one of
those persons who had never thoroughly and conscientiously
comprehended her " Bradshaw," about which Sarah likewise
was ignorant " as the babe unborn," and she did not wish to
consult Lucy, who possessed some sort of rudimentary know-
ledge upon the subject, until she had ascertained whether the
difficulties she foresaw were, or were not, absolutely insur-
mountable, for, upon the first blush of the idea, it almost seemed
to her as if she had the planning of a journey to China.
This was just the kind of emergency where Sydney Podmore
was wont to throw himself into the breach, and be leant upon,
proving, by reason of his exact information, the superior quality
of his " sap; " for Monsieur de la Yieilleroche was rather too
much a man of abstract theories to be generally useful. As
things stood, however, Miss Elizabeth felt almost afraid of con-
suiting Mr. Podmore, and if Lucy could have started off then
and there in a balloon, or upon a bicycle, for Hampton Court
Palace, she would have felt intensely relieved.
It was a little provoking that this invitation had not arrived
whilst Mr. Podmore was in the Isle of Wight, for how could she
tell that he might not object altogether to this visit, and—once
he had objected—how could she be sure that she might not
desire it much more anxiously herself, and discover perhaps
that it would be the making of Lucy's future? And yet,
how could it have any influence upon her future if she was
already promised to Mr. Podmore ? That she should have
been so promised—or rather half-promised—before she had had
any real experience of " men and manners," did certainly seem
■—now that this amiable invitation had been received—to be
rather a pity, for, during her sojourn at Hampton Court Palace,
who could say what other possibilities might not arise ? In
such circumstances, however, would not Mr. Podmore, as a man
of honour, let her off the engagement at once, particularly when
he was reminded that Lucy herself had never been a party to it
at all? But then again, in the midst of the old lady's per-
plexity, there flashed upon her memory—so retentive always of
heraldic devices—the motto of "the Podmores of Middlesex "
in all its dogged significance, "Let Podmore hold what Podmore
held." It had been kept a good deal out of sight certainly,
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
45
rarely appearing upon any object at Palmyra House; but it
might have gathered fresh force by reason of its suppression,
and she had observed at times a peculiar tightening about the
Podmorian upper-lip, which seemed to betoken firm determina-
tion of purpose. " I have never adopted a moustache," Mr.
Podmore had once explained, "for I consider that it conceals
the expression of the mouth, and I am not ashamed that the
world should see that plain Sydney Podmore has at least an
honest smile!" and it was this fact which had enabled Miss
Elizabeth Barlow to perceive the tightening. Ho; it was
extremely unlikely, she felt, that Mr. Podmore would abandon
his claims without a determined struggle, and then, again, she
was under so many serious obligations to him! " Ah! I
thought so!" she sighed, by-and-by, somewhat regretfully.
She had taken down the faded " Peerage" from its shelf, and
turned to "Belmorris (Earl of ) Algernon Augustus, 5th
Earl, b. 3rd Nov. 1834."
" Only forty-three next November, and a bachelor ! Nearly
ten years younger than his eldest sister! Dear me! Suppos-
ing "
But, of course, it would be abject folly and presumption to
"suppose!" Only, sometimes, particularly when people were
promised and affianced to other people; such very extraordinary
things wei*e wont to happen ! This particular possibility, how-
ever, was certainly very remote ! Lucy would only be for such
a very short time in the society of the sporting nobleman; for
would he not, probably, be at the races all day ? And, alas !
ladies did not go to Hampton Races, and it was not "considered
desirable ! " He would have to be a very susceptible and im-
pulsive person indeed to fall in love so soon; and, had he
possessed this sort of disposition, it was hardly likely that he
would have remained unmarried until he was forty-three! It
was much more likely, on the contrary, that he was a determined
woman-hater! Even if he was not, however, and even supposing
—only supposing !—that he did actually fall desperately in love
with Lucy, would not such a union be highly distasteful to Lady
Mabella; for of course young Algernon Binks must have certain
expectations from the fact of his uncle's celibacy ? But then,
after all, it was quite impossible to consider everybody's feel-
ings ! There would be a very grand wedding, of course. Perhaps
she could manage to rearrange that plum-coloured " moire-
antique " which she had never worn, as it was thought unlucky
to go to a wedding in ttlack. Trimmed up with her ermine
"set" (for the marriage could hardly take place before the
winter), which had been laid by for more than twenty years in
a tin box, with six of Captain William Barlow's best Havannah
cigars, to keep off the moth, it would produce quite a regal
effect, and show the fashionable world assembled in church,
that, even in these " latter days," the Barlows were able to hold
46
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
their own! Lucy would, of course, act with fairness and
generosity to young Algernon Binks, and use her influence
with the Earl in order that he might make him some sort of
allowance by way of compensation ; Lord Belmorris might ally
himself with many young ladies who would be far less kind
and considerate to young Algernon Binks than Lucy !
The prosaic accents of Sarah recalled the old lady's wander-
ing fancy.
"If you please, mum, don't you think if Miss Lucy goes
visiting, I'd better ask the laundress to call for her new pink
cotton, so as it may be properly got up by Saturday ? They
does tlxe washing early in the week."
True, too true! There was the momentous question of dress !
Was it reasonable to expect that any one could possibly subju-
gate a "belted Earl" in a plain pink cotton, even if it was
"properly got up?" Eortunately, however, Lucy possessed
other dresses.
Feeling almost as though she were about to commit some
sort of nefarious act, Miss Elizabeth Barlow, accompanied by
Sarah, whom she had taken into her confidence, made her way
upstairs to Lucy's bedroom, and commenced a systematic over-
hauling of her wardrobe.
She lighted, in the first place, upon a very hopeless and
pathetic-looking garment indeed: Lucy's confirmation-frock,
made out of white alpaca; too short in the skirt, too narrow
across the chest, too loose in the waist; the dress of an un-
formed girl. New white alpaca, let in to supply deficiencies,
would present a blue and shiny appearance, and would be
instantly detected. It might be thus renovated perhaps in
the winter months, when the afternoons were short, and when
there was no risk of beginning dinner by daylight. Before
then, however, who could say what important changes might
not have taken place ? Miss Elizabeth came next upon the
wispy white muslin which Lucy wore habitually in the even-
ing. She looked very pretty in it, of course, because she had a
way of looking pretty in almost anything, and, with her coral
necklace and a white rose in her hair, it did very well, no
doubt, for the friendly little whist-parties at Barlow Lodge ;
but it had been mended and let out in several places, and was
quite, quite unfit for the visit to ITampton Court.
Two dresses out of Lucy's by no means extensive stock,
utterly useless and Ivors de combat! Miss Elizabeth's hopes
revived, however, when, by-and-by, she chanced upon a dress
which, till then, she had entirely forgotten. A Chinese washing-
silk, brought home in the piece, ever so many years ago, by
Captain William Barlow, when such stuffs were very much
more uncommon than they are now, of the colour of brown
holland, but softer and more reliable, worked all over with little
white silk stars like spiders. This was a dress to which no sort
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
47
of exception could be taken. It might be worn without a
blush in any society in Europe, and it possessed also a certain
spice of originality. It was a dress upon which one might pin
one's faith!
Looking at this moment out of the window, for she had
advanced towards the light the better to examine the washing-
silk, Miss Elizabeth perceived her great-niece seated under the
medlar-tree at her work. She was cutting up an old table-
cloth into dusters and fish-napkins, and, in order to protect her
neat black cashmere dress from the frayings and ravellings of
the linen, she had tied on one of her lawn-tennis aprons—the
one that was embroidered all over with yellow marigolds. The
sight of this lawn-tennis apron was quite an inspiration to
Miss Elizabeth, for Lucy possessed five other aprons, similar
as to shape to this one, but worked over with different flowers
and designs; and these six aprons, worn at judicious intervals
over Lucy's three day-dresses (the pink cotton, the Chinese
silk, and the black merino), would produce upon the beholder
quite an agreeable impression of variety, and prevent the
monotony of her costume from palling upon Lord Belmorris
and the Binkses. Still, Lucy would certainly require one new
evening dress, and this must be put in hand at once, if the
visit to Hampton Court was actually to take place. Sarah's
eldest sister, formerly lady's-maid in a family of wealth and
respectability, had " set up " as a dressmaker in the immediate
vicinity, and Sarah knew for certain that, to oblige Miss
Elizabeth Barlow, she would cheerfully work her fingers to the
bone. The "body" of Miss Lucy's black merino, which fitted
her so well, could be sent off surreptitiously that very evening,
when Miss Lucy " changed " for dinner, and the pattern could
be cut out all ready to try on, before Miss Lucy knew anything
about it at all.
" Stay, Sarah, not quite so fast! " exclaimed Miss Elizabeth
in almost a tragical voice. " It is useless to make plans before
we have consulted either Miss Lucy or Mr. Podmore! Mr.
Podmore may not consider that the visit is desirable ; and, now
that I come to think of it, I feel almost certain that when the
plan is proposed to Miss Lucy herself, she will prefer to remain
at home."
CHAPTER X.
"Who would have suspected from these last words that, in less
than a week from this very time, Lucy would be actually in the
inside of a four-wheeled cab—:upon the top of which were her
trunk and bandbox—accompanied by Sarah, the parlour-maid,
who had been deputed to see her off at Clapham Junction,
bound for Hampton Court ?
48
THRO9 LOVE AND WAR
It had all come about in this wise.
We left Lucy, in the last chapter, seated under her favourite
medlar-tree, in the spot she had christened " the jungle," engaged
in useful needlework. By four o'clock she had hemmed a " crumb-
cloth," a " thumb-clothi" (both of them quite small objects), a
fish-napkin, and an ordinary duster; but she had hemmed them
automatically, without consciousness of their several uses. She
was thinking of her repulsion for Mr. Podmore, which had been
steadily increasing ever since the old Marquis's disclosures. ^
" How shall I ever meet him again ? " she was thinking.
" Oh, to fly to the uttermost corner of the earth out of his
reach ! "
She would have gone, in fact, at this moment, a good deal
further from home than to Hampton Court Palace !
For the first time in her life she felt anxious and unsettled.
She had no wish to thwart her aunt, or to overthrow her projects,
but this was a sacrifice which, unless it was absolutely neces-
sary in order to avert some terrible catastrophe, she felt that
it would be quite impossible for her to make. Why might she
not be permitted to live on, unmolested, just as she was ?
She sat musing thus until the grey pear-tree wall of the
opposite garden—for she was looking towards the confines of
" The Aspens "—had become wrapped in shadow, and the evening
sky grew rosy with the sunset."
Unlike a woman, a red brick w all, which at its beginning is
one of the ugliest objects erected by man, becomes handsomer
as it grows old. All kinds of beautiful gold and silver lichens
creep over it as the years go by, in stars and spangles and
weird devices ; there is a velvet moss, too, growing in tufts and
bosses, and 'greener than any other which clings to the ridges
and angles of the brickwork, whilst from its cracks and crevices
delicate bines and cresses, which seem only to flourish in this
barren soil, uplift tiny heads of pink, yellow and lavender, which
tremble upon their fragile stems with the faintest of summer
breezes.
The wall dividing Barlow Lodge from the garden of " The
Aspens " was just such a wall as this, tempered and matured
by age, and Lucy, without knowing exactly why, derived
always a fresh pleasure in looking at it. To-day, perhaps, the
contemplation of anything so calm and impassive might even
have served to soothe the troubled current of her thoughts, but
as she raised her eyes to this defining boundary, the mysterious
syren of " The Aspens" commenced with her soul-piercing
" roulades" and " crescendos ;" and although Lucy delighted in
music of another kind, she felt too disagreeably impressed by
these present sounds to reflect peacefully upon anything. So she
folded up her household needlework, and wandered down to the
lower end of the garden, in order to get as far away as possible
from the singing.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 49
Here she fell in again with her little neighbour. Perhaps
she disturbed her mamma with her prattle, and may have been
sent out of the way whilst she was practising.
"Miss Barlow ! Miss Barley! Miss Lucy!" the child began
calling out, having been apparently informed, perhaps by the
Marquis, of her pretty neighbour's name.
" Your mamma is singing, isn't she ? " asked Lucy, after they
had greeted one another through the wooden paling.
"Yes ; mamma nearly always sings," answered the little girl
wearily. " She scolds me a good deal because I can't learn to
play properly. My mamma sings the loudest of anybody in
church."
So she went to church, then, this woman, who, for some
mysterious reason, seemed to be so unfavourably looked upon.
No doubt she only went there to sing loud, and to show off her
fine dresses and bonnets, for such a person could hardly have any
real sense of true religion; or was she not, perhaps, quite so
black as she was painted ? Lucy had never observed her at the
church she frequented herself; perhaps she went to some other
one—to London it may be—where there would be more people
to see and hear her ?
" Mamma sings the same songs over and over again," the child
went on, " because she wants to get them quite right. She'll
go on singing them a great deal more now, because my godpapa
is coming here next Saturday. He's going to stay here all day
and all night. My godpapa has been away for a long time."
Ah, a "godpapa!" a brother of Mr. Van Something's, or
some sort of relation probably, but yet not necessarily, who
had been away "for a long time." Would he find out what a
disagreeable reputation his hostess had managed to acquire in
the meanwhile ?
After talking for some time longer with this child of a myste-
rious mother, Lucy leant down over the wooden fence and kissed
her upturned face, because she had such sad and such wonder-
ful eyes, and because she felt drawn towards her by she knew
not what subtle attraction.
Then she retraced her footsteps to the house, and here Miss
Elizabeth formally apprised her of her aunt's invitation, and
inquired of her what answer she would desire her to send to
Lady Mabella by the evening post.
The old lady was not a little surprised at Lucy's reply. The
idea of this invitation seemed to afford her unqualified satisfac-
tion. Was she, then, not quite so happy and contented as may
have been supposed P Was she hankering after fresh scenes and
mere exciting enjoyments ? JDid not her great-aunt's society,
with that of her two accustomed guests, combined with the
occasional hemming of dusters, suffice for her after all ?
Miss Elizabeth felt certainly a good deal perplexed, but the
fact remained that Mr.. Podmore was now the only person to
i)
50 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
be consulted. Just as she was about to sit down and indite a
note to him, however—brimful of complicated feminine expla-
nations, subterfuges, and sophistries, calculated to smooth down
his presumably ruffled feelings—the melanpholy Hitchens,
Mr. Podmore's faithful" body-servant," pi*esented himself at the
garden-door. He was the bearer of a letter from his master
which seemed greatly to simplify Miss Elizabeth's course of
action—Mr. Podmore had been suddenly obliged to start for
Liverpool upon important business, where it was probable that
he would have to remain for at least a fortnight. He would be
absent, in fact, during the greater part of Lucy's stay at
Hampton Court Palace, and once she had actually arrived there
it would be much less difficult to convince him of all the advan-
tages which were likely to a,ccrue from the visit. Miss Elizabeth
was now therefore as eager as Lucy had been to avail herself
of Lady Mabella's kind invitation. But, upon hearing the
contents of Mr. Podmore's letter, Lucy suddenly veered round
like a weathercock. Why should she leave her peaceful home
now that the being who seemed lately to have rendered it
unbearable had taken it into his head to depart? So, she
would much prefer, upon second thoughts, to remain quietly
with her great-aunt, and not to go upon this visit at all.
But it was now the moment for Miss Elizabeth to exert her
authority.
" No, no, my dear child!" she protested. " I perceive your
good-natured motive; you fancy that I shall be lonely during
your absence, but I shall be happy in thinking that you are
amused, and I daresay you will often write to me. I should be
very wrong to allow you to make this sacrifice, for it would be
unwise as well as ungracious to throw away this chance of
becoming acquainted with your poor mother's relations. I
shall write and accept Lady Mabella's kind invitation at
once! "
And so it came to pass that quite early in the afternoon of
the following Monday, Lucy found herself in a four-wheeled
cab on her way to the railway station. The cab, notwithstand-
ing the lightness of Lucy's luggage—for her box was by no
means heavily weighted—progressed but slowly, and I fear
that I, too, have got on no faster with my narrative. But
" matter grows under our hands," says Sterne. " Let no man
say—' Come—I'll write a duodecimo.'"
CHAPTER XI.
Upon arriving at Clapham Junction all was bustle and con-
fusion, and two young persons of Lucy's and Sarah's inexperi-
ence might well have been excused if they had felt a little
bewildered by it. Sarah, however, was endowed with a con-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 51
siderable amount of shrewdness, besides which she had walked
to the station upon the previous day, and had obtained all the
particulars relating to the journey from a sympathetic porter,
to whom she had afterwards presented a sixpenny-piece, acting
upon Miss Elizabeth's instructions. This modest sum had
rendered her mistress of the situation, and the "particulars,"
noted down upon paper, were now in her hand.
Now, Miss Elizabeth Barlow had earnestly impressed upon
Sarah that it would be in the highest degree desirable to
establish her young mistress in a compartment in which there
were already ladies; but as the persons answering to this
description seemed to be penned up together with but scanty
breathing space, besides being, for the most part, of a some-
what sinister and forbidding aspect, glaring most unpleasantly
at poor Lucy whenever she approached their carriage-door, and
as they were accompanied, in other instances, by babies, and
older children sucking pears and greengages, our young
traveller, being as yet but a novice, and untroubled conse-
quently by apprehensions relative to the murderers, robbers,
and other bold, bad men, who might possibly invade her
carriage at intermediate stations, to say nothing of lunatics,
who seem also to be most generous patrons of the railroad,
petitioned Sarah to be allowed to make the journey by herself,
with which request the unsophisticated Sarah at once complied,
.. not having received any instructions to the contrary.
But for all this, it was not predestined that Lucy should
travel alone.
Just as the train was moving away from the platform, a tall
man, dressed in the light garments which are generally worn by
Englishmen who are bound for the country, dashed into the
compartment, and established himself in the further corner of
it, facing where Lucy was sitting.
Serpent-like, the train glided out of the covered railway
station, and Lucy found herself alone with the stranger.
His selection of this particular railway carriage, which might
at first have appeared like a compliment to its sole occupant,
had evidently been purely accidental, seeing that Lucy was
seated in the corner which was furthest from the platform, and
that he could not therefore have been even aware of her
presence. She fancied that he gave a quick look of surprise
when he perceived her. Perhaps he had wanted to smoke, or
at any rate to be in a carriage by himself ? Perhaps he had
merely wished to avoid the cross-looking old ladies with the
pear-sucking children ? She hoped that he was not really
annoyed at finding her there; but she fancied, just for the first
half-minute, that he seemed to look so. Soon, however, he
settled himself behind his newspaper.
At any rate, she was not old, she did not feel cross, and she
was not sucking pears or greengages!
D 2
52
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
It seemed in the highest degree absurd to set about wonder-
ing, so very, very soon, what a total stranger might feel
regarding her presence. Whether she was or was not in his
way for so short a journey, and what was his private motive for
entering one particular railway carriage, which, like the rest,
was open to all the world, rather than another? But then this
stranger was totally different, to look at at least, from any
other man that Lucy had ever seen.
She dared not raise her eyes to consider him minutely, being
seized with a strange sensation of timidity, but without doing
so she became at once conscious of his every movement to an
almost painful degree.
Were he to speak to her she felt as if she knew by intuition
exactly what his voice would be like.
This state of nervous tension lasted some time, then it in-
creased tenfold, for she knew, still without seeing, that he had
raised his eyes from his newspaper and was looking at her.
She felt his gaze passing over her face almost like the touch of
a hand caressing it. She shifted her position, drew aside the
blind which had been lowered as a protection from the sun, and
looked out of the window. What would she not have given for
a book !
By-and-by, however, she experienced a feeling of relief, of
escape as it were from some unaccountable thraldom. She
ventured to glance towards the further corner of the carriage.
The stranger had closed his eyes. He was apparently asleep.
Then, like " the lily maid of Astolat," in the presence of
"The great knight, the darling of the Court;"
she
" Lifted her eyes and read his lineaments
and even as Lancelot appeared to Elaine,
" He seemed the goodliest man
That ever amongst ladies ate in Iiall,
And noblest . . . ."
Nobility, indeed, in the truest sense of the word, seemed to
Lucy to be the chief characteristic of his face. Asleep he
looked, she thought, almost too like the figure of a sculptured
knight upon a tombstone to seem quite human, for in repose
this air of supreme dignity lent an expression of sternness to
his regular features. But his eyes, when he opened them, would
turn him at once into a being of flesh and blood.
Lucy had never before seen any eyes that seemed to say so
many different things at once. To smile, to plead, to regret, to
hunger, and all without a single word from the lips ! They
were not very dark eyes, either blue or grey, or a mixture of
both, but their lashes and brows were dark. All the same, he
was what would be called a fair man, with a fairness a good
deal tanned by the sun, for his heavy moustaches were streaked
THRO5 LOVE AND WAR 53
with gold, and his hair, although several shades darker, was
brown where the light caught it. It would have curled, if it
had had its own way, Lucy perceived, only it had been cut too
short. Very probably he was a soldier, but he had none of the
typical soldier's rigidity.
Of course Lucy did not know much about men or their pro-
fessions. She felt sure, however, that he was neither a City
stockbroker nor a teacher of languages.
The loyal Hitchens, as the reader may remember, had as-
serted that his master "ought to have been a prince." Mr.
Podmore, notwithstanding Lucy's unreasoning aversion, may
possibly have had a prince's soul; he possessed, however, rather
the body of a licensed victualler, and by no straining of the
imagination could Lucy have invested his outward man with
any princely attribute. But if strength, dignity, and manly
beauty were always the accompaniments of the most exalted
rank, this sleeping stranger of the railwaycarriage ought to
have been an Emperor at least! His dress, too, although easy
and extremely simple, had about it some sort of mysterious
stamp of distinction which made it harmonize with its wearer.
Gaining confidence as she proceeded, Lucy allowed her eyes to
take in every detail connected with his appearance. Hanging
from his watch-chain, which was of a very quiet and unobtru-
sive pattern, she espied a wedding-ring, possibly his mother's,
a gold key, and a threepenny-piece with a hole through it. His
hands were sunburnt, but tbeautifully shaped, and he wore no
rings. It was difficult to discover why it was that he appeared
to be so very well dressed, but the fact remained that he cer-
tainly looked like a prince, or like every prince ought to look
if he could. Perhaps, when he spoke, the illusion would be
destroyed, but yet Lucy did not think this likely, having made
up her mind that his voice, too, would be princely. But he
would not speak now, for he was fast asleep.
Just at this moment, however, as she was intent upon their
closed lashes, he opened his eyes.
She blushed in miserable confusion, and averted her gaze.
As Mr. Podmore had said, a moustache certainly concealed
the expression of the mouth, but before she had had time to
look away she saw that the stranger's eyes smiled.
Perhaps he was about to speak to her ! This would be almost
too much! It was all so new, so strange, so unaccountable !
But just then, with a shrieking, grating, excruciating sound,
the train stopped at one of the intermediate stations, and an
elderly lady, carrying a basket and a swathed bundle, advanced
to the window.
All the other carriages were apparently full, and a porter
ooened the door for her.
" The stranger assisted her courteously to deposit her parcels,
but not before he had glanced quickly at Lucy with an expres-
54
THRO5 LOVE AND WAR
sion she dared hardly interpret, and yet it seemed to say, as
plainly as words, how much he was annoyed at this unexpected
intrusion. His eyes assumed the look of regret which she had
already observed. All the laughter had gone out of them.
It is curious to note how, when two people have commenced
a railway journey together, even supposing that they have
never spoken a word, and experience, one for the other, no par-
ticular feeling of sympathy, the arrival of a third person upon
the scene appears, nevertheless, always to partake of the nature
of an intrusion. It speaks well for human nature that it is so,
inasmuch as it goes to prove that all men are not consumed by
an insatiable craving after new faces, and, upon the entrance of
the almost invariably unwelcome third person, the two estab-
lished fellow-travellers nearly always exchange glances which
seem plainly to mean—
"You were my first travelling companion, although we have
never spoken a word, and I know nothing whatever about you;
still, I infinitely prefer you to this troublesome newcomer, and
shall continue to do so to the end of the journey."
Perhaps this was the true interpretation of the regretful look
in the eyes of the princely stranger, or perhaps he may have
been thinking, not without some self-reproach—
" Here was a pretty and seemingly amiable young lady, with
whom I might have struck up quite a friendship, if only I had
been able to keep myself awake. Now, however, the moment
has passed by. A murrain upon this tiresome old woman and
her bundles!"
But blessings come to us sometimes in the disguise of curses.
The swathed-up bundle, as it turned out, contained a very
curious and rare-looking foreign dog. It had a fine foxy coat,
a black nose and a black tongue, and seemed to be altogether
a remarkably intelligent animal, rejoicing in the name of
" Changie," or " Chang," although, as its mistress presently
explained to Lucy, " he was a female dog."
Now that this elderly lady was seated between them, Lucy
no longer experienced so great a sense of embarrassment. Pos-
sibly " Changie's" mistress may have acted as a buffer, and
may have arrested, or absorbed, some sort of mysterious
magnetic current; and as she possessed that kind of' exterior
which effectually protects a woman from the impertinent
advances of man, she appeared to be perfectly at her ease with
the stranger, of whose subtle fascination she was probably
utterly unconscious.
" Changie," who seemed to be one of the most sociable of
" female dogs," commenced at once making friendly overtures
to the stranger, opposite to whom the elderly lady had seated
herself.
The stranger inquired as to " Changie's " exact species, and
was informed that he or she was a " Chinese edible-dog," and
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
55
that, when young, such animals were looked upon as great
delicacies amongst the Celestials. Some very interesting con-
versation followed upon the subject of dogs in the abstract.
Lucy had been quite right about the stra,nger's voice. He
spoke as she had expected and hoped that he would speak ; but
(at least so it seemed to her) as she had never heard mortal man
speak befoi'e.
He appealed to her several times upon the question of canine
friendships, and she soon found herself thoroughly involved in
the conversation.
By-and-by, however, a most foolish and ridiculous mistake
upon the part of the elderly lady recalled all Lucy's blushes.
Notwithstanding that she and the stranger were seated so
far apart, or, perhaps, indeed because of it, or else because
Lucy's parasol happened to be leaning up against one corner of
the centre compartment of the carriage and the stranger's
umbrella against the other, this absurd old woman with the
Chinese edible female dog proceeded to show, by her conversa-
tion, that she actually took the princely stranger for Lucy's
husband!
The laughter came again into his eyes at this mistake, and,
after seeming to ask permission with those same wonderful
grey eyes that could ask or say almost anything, he made a
few jesting remarks which were calculated rather to confirm
their fellow-traveller in her error.
Lucy felt too terribly embarrassed to remonstrate with him
She could only murmur something incoherent by way of pro-
test. But the elderly lady was a little deaf, and persisted in
her absurd blunder until the train arrived at Hampton Court.
Here the stranger, after helping out " Changie's " mistress
with her small baggage, turned to assist Lucy, who, owing to
the position of her seat, was constrained to descend the last.
In order the better to do so, he took her hand.
" Good-by ! " he whispered rather than said, as she alighted
upon the platform.
A short, stumpy-looking man, in uniform, with enormous
moustaches, who was standing close by, awaiting apparently
the arrival of a friend, looked round as the stranger stepped
upon the platform and gave him a sort of military salute, and
at the same moment a pretty young lady, in rather a sensational
hat, bowed somewhat formally as she passed quickly towards
the further end of the train.
" I hope I am right," said the stumpy man, advancing and
addressing himself to the stranger, " in supposing that you
must have had a very pleasant Sunday at Cowes ? The weather
has been splendid here." To which remark Lucy did not catch
her fellow-traveller's reply.
So he had been to Cowes, then ; Cowes, in the Isle of Wight,
where Mr. Podmore had lately passed his too brief holiday, but
56
THRO'' LOVE AND WAR
the two must have journeyed she thought by totally different
ways.
The people assembled upon the platform were beginning now
to disperse. But the pretty young lady wearing the smart hat
was still questioning porters excitedly and peering into empty
carriages.
A minute afterwards she rushed up to Lucy, who was in the
act of claiming her box.
It was Miss Adeliza Bints. Mrs. Guffy, Lady Mabella's
maid, had escorted her to the station, but young Algernon
Binks had, seemingly, not condescended to come.
The tall stranger had by this time obtained his portmanteau,
and was sauntering off with the stumpy man in the direction
of the bridge.
"We are going over in a boat," said Adeliza Binks; " it will
land us close to the door of our apartments, which are quite
separate from the rest of the Palace. How odd that I shouldn't
have seen you at first! "
"A lady carrying a dog was standing between me and the
window," Lucy explained.
The truth was, that at that moment she had been so entirely
preoccupied that she had almost forgotten the existence of the
Binkses altogether.
They were making their way now towards " the river-strand,"
where the boat was awaiting them. Lucy could see the tall form
of the princely stranger crossing the bridge with his companion.
It occurred to her that she could, perhaps, discover who he was.
"You passed by the window of the carriage," she said to her
cousin; "but I couldn't be sure that it was you. You bowed
to a gentleman who was standing close by."
"That was our champion tennis-player," returned Miss
Binks, while Lucy's heart began beating in quite an unusual
manner. " And we're very proud of him, I can assure you!
He's the veterinary surgeon of the 18th Lancers."
CHAPTER XII.
" I daresay you will often write to me," Miss Elizabeth had
said to her great-niece previously to her departure from Barlow
Lodge, and accordingly, upon the morning following upon her
arrival at Hampton Court Palace, Lucy seated herself soon
after breakfast at the writing-table in the bay-window which
commanded a view of the river, the bridge, and the cavalry
barracks, a.nd wrote as follows :—
"Hampton Court Palace, Tuesday morning.
" My dearest Aunty,
" You will, I know, be glad to hear that I arrived here
quite safely yesterday afternoon. The train was very full
THRO5 LOVE AND WAR
57
indeed, and. some of the people seemed to be of rather a dis-
agreeable kind, but I was very fortunate in having only a lady
and gentleman in the same carriage with me. The lady, who
was rather deaf, had a very clever and uncommon kind of dog,
which she said was of the kind that is eaten in China when
young. Hisname was 'Chang,' although she said it was a
female, and it had black gums, and a black tongue, and a tail
that curled up just like a fox's (sic). At Hampton Court I
was met by cousin Addie and Mrs. Guffy, Aunt Mabel's maid,
who is rather cross and sour-looking and has bad health; but I
shall try, of course, to give her as little trouble as I possibly
can. I think cousin Addie is handsome rather than pretty, as
she is so tall and stately-looking. I admire her eyebrows very
much, and her complexion, which is quite wonderful; but I
have no doubt you remember what she is like. She seems to
think a good deal about looks, as one would oneself, I dare-
say, if one was at all like her. She is certainly a great contrast
to her mother; for there is not the slightest resemblance
between them. I am afraid poor Aunt Mabel can't be very
strong. She has a very sad and complaining manner, and,
Addie tells me, takes great quantities of medicine; but I
suppose she was very fond of poor uncle Orlando, and feels his
loss. You asked me to say how she was looking, and whether
she had taken yet to wearing caps. She does wear one, and
dresses very plainly indeed in black, with a little black shawl
crossed over in front, which quite hides the way in which her
gowns are made; but she is, all the same, very kind indeed.
Cousin Algernon did not come to the station to meet me, but
Addie took me to the door of his room soon after we arrived,
where he was smoking and preparing for the Army. He did
not know that I was there, and asked if I had come, speaking
of me as 'the pattern Clapham girl.' I determined, however,
that I would not be offended with a boy of that age, particularly
as he was my own relation, so I only answered that I did not
feel' pattern' at all, and feared that I was anything but that.
He looked very much ashamed, though he tried hard to carry it
off, and blushed right up to the roots of his hair, which is quite
light. He has since put on quite a different manner, and
though I don't suppose I shall like him as much as his sister, I
daresay we shall end by becoming very good friends. I had
just time to go round the gardens before dressing for dinner,
and admired them immensely. Although they are rather
formal, there is a great charm about them ; and I thought so
much about Henry VIII., and Anne Boleyn, and Cardinal
Wolsey, and poor Jane Seymour, whilst I was trying to talk
about other things, for Adeliza and Algernon do not seem to
care very much about history. We went into the private
garden, where there is an orangery, and a very nice mysterious
shady walk, up some stone steps. Addie said she went there
53
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
to get away from the tourists, as she calls the people who do
not live in the Palace, but only come down from London to see
it. These people generally come, it seems, in large crowds by
cheap excursion trains, and eat oranges and red-herrings in
the gardens, and then leave their skins and tails done up in
newspaper upon the seats in the gardens, after which they go
into Bushev Park and play a vulgar game called ' kiss-in-the-
ring.' The ladies of the Palace seem to have a great feeling of
horror and contempt for these tourists, and of course it is very
horrid and disgusting of them to behave in this dreadful way!
I was astonished to find that the people who live in the Palace
should be so discontented, thinking that they would have been
more grateful to the Queen for having given them these rooms,
and so saved them the expense of others. But Algy says life
would not be worth having if one could not grumble, and it
seems that the apartments differ very much with regard to
goodness, some being the most delightful places possible, and
the others very little better than perfect cellars, looking out into
dreadfully dull courtyards paved with stones which are gene-
rally in a state of damp. The ladies who have got these bad
rooms look with envy and hatred at all those who have been
given better ones, and Addie savs (only this I cannot quite
believe) positively long for them to die, and rejoice whenever
they see them looking ill in chapel! Aunt Mabel's rooms,
or rather the ones that have been lent her, are more like a
separate house, and there do not seem to be any of these dread-
ful cellary places. Algernon says that the three Miss Bolderos
(the daughters of the late General Sir Hector Boldero, of whom
I daresay you have heard, and who are going to-morrow even-
ing to give a dance) actually kept a whole family of tame rab-
bits in a room which was intended for a servant's bedroom, but
in which no servant can be found to sleep; and this has made
some other ladies, whose names I forget, so dreadfully jealous,
that they have made up their minds to keep a pig ! All this is
done merely to outwit the authorities, by whom, it seems, such
things al*e not allowed. It is not allowed either by the Queen
for the ladies, who like to have their washing done at home from
economy, to spread itout all over the roof of the Palace to dry, and
I can quite fancy that it is a thing one would dislike oneself
in her place. But it seems some of the ladies manage to evade
this law all the same, as most of the apartments have a sort of
parapet along by the top-windows, where the washing can be
concealed, so that it can only be seen from the train. Addie
asked me if I had noticed theirs as I was coming along, but I
certainly did not do so, perhaps because I was not looking out
for it. She says, however, that Mrs. Guffy, who will not ' get
up ' even a necktie at home to save any one's life, has entered
nobly into the spirit of the thing,' and washes out nearly all
Aunt Mabel's and Addie's things as well as her own, only just
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
59
because she knows it is forbidden! And Addie says she goes in
daily fear of ' a raid upon them by the Board of Works ' (I am
nearly sure this was the Board), which happened, it seems, only a
few years ago, when the eldest of the three Miss Bolderos had
nearly all her clothes confiscated, and had to sleep for more
than a fortnight in a borrowed nightgown ! I think, however,
that as I am a new arrival, they very likely tell me things that
are not quite true, and exaggerate others in which there may
be perhaps just a germ of truth. Tell Sarah to tell her sister
that I wore my new white dress at dinner, and that I really
think it looked very nice. It is a very good fit, although just a
little too tight across the middle part of the chest. This, how-
ever, can be easily altered when I return, and, for the present, I
can leave the top hook unfastened, and pin a bunch of geraniums,
or some rosebuds, over the place. Lord Belmorris arrived just
before dinner, and insisted upon taking me down, as he said he
was in the position of master of the house, and that if he took
down his own sister he should feel ' just like the king of
Burmah.' (I have no idea what he meant by this, and indeed
I did not understand several other things he said, and made
the most stupid mistakes about them, as he makes use of a
good many expressions connected with the Turf.) I must
say, however, that he is very amusing, although he does not
talk much. He says things, however, in such an odd way, and
does not seem to be a bit proud, having a horror of anything
like show off, which he calls by some sort of racing name. He
is not at all like Aunt Mabel in the face, nor in his manner, and
he looks a great deal younger. He is not very tall; in fact, I
should call him short. He told me, however, that if he had been
what is called ' a fine man' he thinks he should have cut his
throat, as then he would not have been able to ride steeple-
chases, which he says is 'the second-.best thing in life.' (He
did not tell me what he considered the first thing.) I suppose
he is not really good-looking, but he has a face that one likes
or believes in directly one sees it, so that it is impossible to
think him plain, and he has also very fine dark eyes, with a
great deal of expression. I think he must have got what is
called ' dry wit,' as, when he says anything funny, he never
laughs at it himself, but always looks particularly grave. He
is quite clean-shaved, with very good teeth, and he seems to be
nearly always smoking a toothpick. He dresses very much
' like a gi-oom, and speaks a little like one, I think, as well; but
he is very neat and clean-looking, and I think a good deal of
this stable-helper manner must be put on. He asked me if I
was fond of riding, and seemed amused when I said that I had
only ridden a donkey upon Clapham Common when I was quite
young. He says he must run down there and get up some
donkey-races, and that you and he must talk the matter over
together! After dinner, he asked me to go out with him into
6o
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
the passages, which are just like cloisters, and most ghostly
and mysterious by moonlight, to look for a curious kind of
spider which is called a 'Wolsey' spider, because some people
believe that it has something to do with the spirit of Cardinal
Wolsey, and which is of enormous size; but Aunt Mabel thought
that I had better not go, as she was afraid that I might get a
chill, as she says the evenings are sometimes rather damp from
being so near the river, and so we ended by not going at all."
Just as Lucy had got on thus far with her letter, young
Algernon Binks dashed tumultuously into the room.
"I say, girls!" he called out, addressing himself, however,
chiefly to his sister—" arn't you going to look alive and come
out for a run before I go to the races ? You'll find me in the
tennis-court, looking on at the tennis. The 'Vet's' going to
play a match with the Colonel!"
CHAPTER XIII.
"Would you like to come out, Lucy?" Adeliza asked. "Mamma
won't be ready for a long time, so we might start off before the
sun gets too hot. She never goes any further than the first
bench, and there are a good many interesting things to be
seen."
Lucy hastily concluded her letter, and rejoined her cousin
after she had dressed herself for the gardens with becoming
neatness.
As they crossed the open space in front of the house, on their
way through the quadrangles into the Palace gardens, Lucy
could not resist casting a shy glance in the direction of the
cavalry barracks, which she had been told were occupied by a
detachment of the 18th Lancers. Some of the soldiers, in shirt-
sleeves, were grooming their chargers, which were clattering
upon the paving-stones, but here and there other figures in
picturesque uniform were dotted about. How and then a
trumpet sounded. It was a most animated scene. At that
distance it was not easy to distinguish the privates from the
officers, nor would Lucy's limited acquaintance with military
matters have enabled her to do this even if the barracks had
been nearer.
One form, however, she felt that she must have recognized at
once if only it had been in sight. But had she not learnt just
now that he was playing a match at tennis with the Colonel ?
" I daresay," said Adeliza, when they had proceeded a little
further, " that you would like to come first and look at the
chapel. We can get it over at once, if you like, for it will be
best not to ' do' the pictures till the heat of the day. Or shall
we go and look on at the tennis ? "
" I think it would be nice to go and look on at the tennis/'
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
61
Lucy answered, feeling terribly guilty and embarrassed. (Her
heart had begun to beat just in the same ridiculous manner as
it did when she was on her way to the. boat.) " We shall be
able to study the chapel on Sunday."
"Yes; it's much better to go first to the tennis," said Miss
Binks, " because now we shall find Algy there. Mamma won't
let me go and look on at it alone. She doesn't think it's the
correct thing, because the men play at it in jerseys—but then
mamma is so dreadfully particular! The three Miss Bolderos
are there nearly all day: I'm sure I can't see the harm of a
jersey, can you ? "
" I've never seen a game of real tennis," returned Lucy, " so
I don't know in the least how the players are dressed. It will
be quite a new experience."
"Yes; it's much better fun than seeing the regular sights;
but somehow I fancied you wouldn't care for it. I got it into
my head that you were very religious, and fancied you would
want to go at once and look at the chapel! "
"And I hope, now," said Lucy smiling, "that you don't look
upon me as quite a heathen ? "
" I shouldn't mind much if you were !" returned Adeliza;
" there's been a great deal too much religion, as it is, floating
about in the family ! I'm sure I shouldn't like to marry a very
religious husband ! "
" Still, one might be unhappy if one thought that he had no
religion at all."
" I don't think I should care much ! Perhaps I've had too
much of religion—or perhaps it's not been of the right sort.
Whenever I say this to mamma she turns up her eyes and sighs,
and says that I don't know yet what marriage really is, and I
always answer that I only wish that I did ! "
" Is Aunt Mabel so very religious ? "
" In an odd kind of way, yes; but mamma's a very peculiar
creature. She's got ' Faith,' and she likes sermons, and
approves of family-prayers, and hates Freethinkers. But she
hasn't 'Works,' and she doesn't seem to have much 'Hope,'
and as for ' Charity!' You'll find all this out for yourself,
however, in time, and I hope'you don't think badly of me for
giving you a hint. I'm simply stating facts ! "
Lucy, who in common with most orphans, was possessed of
quite an exaggerated feeling with respect to filial affection,
might certainly have been rather shocked, at any other time at
so crude an analysis by a daughter of the maternal pecu-
liarities. At present, however, she was intensely preoccupied.
" And yet your mother seems so kind and_ so gentle! " was
all that she answered. Her heart had anticipated her foot-
steps, and was already in the tennis-court.
" Yes," continued Adeliza, with unfilial candour, " she has
always'got that crushed, subdued, expiatory kind of look.
62
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
People tell me that she's just like a saint upon a church-
window, but she's very worldly with it all, and oh, what an
iron will! I should like you, just for fun, to try to reason
mamma out of anything she's set her heart on ! You might as
well endeavour to turn the sun out of his appointed course.
And then, her ' comforts !' You watch mamma when anybody
else wants to get hold of her air-cushion, her foot-warmer, or her
lamp-shade ! She's like a tigress watching over her cubs ! "
"I liked Lord Belmorris very much," remained Lucy, merely
for something to say, " he seems to be very amusing and good-
natured!"
"Abetter creature never lived," returned her cousin; "he's
the very reverse of mamma in most things, and he's about the
only person she's really afraid of. But he too, though you
wouldn't believe it, has a touch of the family cant. He's
awfully orthodox! Somebody asked him once, before me, if he
didn't think it silly to believe in Hell? You should have seen
his face! Heaven and Hell, and the Church, and the State,
and the Bishops, and the Turf, and Steeple-chasing, are all con-
nected together in his mind. He looks upon them all as purely
English, and fancies that if you upset one of them all the rest
will go. He gets it from his father !"
"And was he very, very religious ? " Lucy spoke merely to
conceal her nervousness, for they were emerging into the gar-
dens, and must be, she thought, rapidly approaching the tennis-
court. In reality, she would not have cared much, at that
moment, had she been told that the late Lord Belmorris had
been a worshipper of Juggernaut.
"He was anything but good when* young," replied Miss
Binks ; " but he turned religious when he became old. He used
to walk about all night in Hessian boots, and pray, and disturb
the people sleeping underneath him. That couldn't have been
real religion!"
"Ho; a really religious person would have considered the
feelings of others ! "
"Yes; I'm sure you wouldn't like to have a husband who
prayed in Hessian boots ! "
" Ho ; I shouldn't indeed ! " replied Lucy, with a forced smile.
They were quite near now to the turn leading to the tennis-
court, and she could hear the strokes and the echoing voices of
the players. Oh, if her heart would only not go on beating
quite so fast! *
But just as they came to the entrance to the tennis-court,
they feil in with Algy.
" They're only knocking the balls about, and humbugging,"
he said; " it's no fun, as it isn't a regular match. You'd better
come with me and look on at\the drags. I'll just run home
and get my glasses, and then I can go straight on to the races,
if I happen to see a 'pal.' "
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
63
Ad eliza turned, and retraced her steps in the direction of the
facade of the Palace.
" We'll wait here for you," she said, as Algv went in through
the centre archway. " Don't be long! If I had only known
that we were going to look on at the drags, I shouldn't have
put on such a brute of a hat!"
" Then, we're not going to look on at the tennis ? " asked Lucy,
with a sinking heart.
" Mamma would make such a terrible fuss if I went there
without Algy! It's very ridiculous ? Perhaps I can call him
back, and make him take us; ah, he's gone out of sight!"
There are some disappointments which, without deserving to
be classed as calamities, seem for the moment to partake of
their nature, and to fill the heart with a sense of absolute
despair. To Lucy Barlow such experiences were entirely new ;
and upon realizing, in the present instance, how much her
cousin's change of plan had affected her, she felt both surprised
and humiliated, But the feeling of disappointment was there,
casting quite a shadow over the sunshine.
She dared not remonstrate with Adeliza. For the ' pattern
Clapham girl' to endeavour, upon the very first day after her
arrival, to tempt her cousin into disobeying the maternal edict,
would be indeed a miserable return for all Lady Mabella's
kindness! With what rapid strides must she not be advancing
towards some sort of moral degeneracy for the bare notion of
any such ingratitude to have occurred to her mind !
So, in a state of unutterable despondency, she followed her
cousin along the central facade of the Palace, towards the
gateway of the private garden.
The sound of the tennis-playing grew fainter and fainter.
Foolish tears had arisen in Lucy's eyes.
By-and-by, Adeliza Binks exclaimed suddenly :
" Do you really think that this hat is so very unbecoming ? I
put it on for a shade, and quite forgot what a monster I look in it."
" I like it much better than the one you wore yesterday,"
replied Lucy. " I should have said, too, that it was more
becoming, but I know nothing about dress, so my opinion isn't
worth having."
She spoke mournfully, and without much sympathy. She
had accepted the inevitable, and felt more resigned now about
the tennis; but to have pretended any interest in the be-
comingness of Adeliza's hats would have displayed downright
hypocrisy.
"Well, then, I'll tell you what, Lucy," said Miss Binks;
" we'll just go back and look in at the tennis for a moment;
after all you see it isn't as if I went alone, I've got you with
me, besides which we needn't say anything about it to mamma ! "
" Oh, that will be delightful! " exclaimed Lucy, the sunshine
coming over everything again.
64
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" You are very fond of games, I suppose ? " Adeliza said, as
though a little surprised at her enthusiasm.
" I've never had much to do with games," answered Lucy,
who was now looking radiant; " but it will be very nice to go
and see them playing at tennis ! "
They entered the tennis-court unperceived by the players.
" The short one has just beaten the tall one in the grey
jersey," Adeliza explained, after she had questioned the marker.
" Perhaps they're not going to play any more."
Yes, he wore a grey jersey, woven out of some sort of silvery,
silken texture, which looked like chain-armour! His arms were
partly bare, and now that his throat was unconfined by the
stiff modern shirt-collar, he had more than ever the air of a
knight of ancient days. Lucy could imagine that Ivanhoe
might have appeared in some such guise before the enraptured
gaze of Bowena, or the less fortunate Bebecca, only, of course,
Ivanhoe was not quite such a tall man. Could it be possible
that he was really only a veterinary surgeon after all ? Had
veterinary surgeons often the features and bearings of
Crusaders ?
But here Lucy's conjectures were brought to an abrupt
termination.
Ignorant, and unapprehensive of danger, unwarned by
Adeliza, and absorbed in her contemplation, she was incau-
tiously standing in that portion of the gallery or passage which
was unprotected by network, when he of the Crusader's face,
raising his strong bare arm, sent a ball flying at random which
struck her with such force on the forehead that she fell back
stunned and insensible.
When she recovered consciousness, Adeliza Binks, the short
stumpy man of the railway station, the boy whose business it
was to pick up the balls—for the regular marker only attended
when there was a regular match—and the dealer of the blow
himself, were all surrounding her anxiously. In the eyes that
could say so much there was a look of genuine contrition. Miss
Binks was loud in her lamentations.
" Good gracious! what an unfortunate thing to have hap-
pened! How frightfully annoyed mamma will be ! She'll be
quite horrified to think that we came here at all! She told
us we were never to come here by ourselves; you play in
jerseys " Then, seeing that Lucy had recovered her senses,
she added :
" I hope and trust, Lucy, that you're not really hurt ? Keep
it dark from mamma for goodness' sake, or we shall never hear
the last of it! Bun ! " she exclaimed suddenly, addressing the
short, stumpy man ; for there are moments when one does not
pause to consider whether one is ordering about " captain or
colonel, or knight-at-arms !" " Bun, for goodness' sake, to
Lady Mabella Binks's—my mother's—and ask for my brother
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 65
Algernon, who yon remember playing billiards with. Perhaps
you'll meet him upon the way, and tell him to tell mamma that
we sha'n't be back to luncheon. Tell him to make any excuse
he likes. I must think of somewhere to go to till my cousin's
better, so that mamma mayn't find this out! This is my first
cousin—Miss Lucy Barlow! "
She intended this for an introduction, but the stumpy man
had already started off upon his errand.
" Oh, thank you !" said Lucy feebly. " I seem to be giving
everybody a great deal of trouble!"
" I know what I'll do ! " exclaimed Miss Binks, as if suddenly
inspired. " I'll just go round to the Miss Bolderos and ask
them to let you go in there and rest till you're recovered!
They're sure to ask us to luncheon, they're so good-natured!
Please take care of her till I come back," she added, turning to
the grey jersey, " and don't let her go outside, for goodness'
sake! She might just tumble up against mamma! " So
saying Adeliza Binks caught up her sunshade and departed.
It was quite natural, Lucy thought hazily, that her cousin
should leave her under the protection of a veterinary surgeon.
A veterinary surgeon, after all, was the next thing to a doctor.
A stunned horse had probably very much the same sensations
as a stunned woman. Nevertheless, the lad whose business it
was to pick up the balls remained staring at them open-eyed.
" Look here, my fine fellow," said the author of all this com-
motion; " don't you think you could run off and fetch a glass
of water for this young lady ? Take care that it's quite fresh.
I hope to heaven that I haven't hurt you! " he exclaimed
earnestly as soon as they were alone together.
They were seated at the further end of the narrow passage
behind the protecting net. The daylight from above scarcely
penetrated into this secluded corner. He leant forward towards
her and took both her hands in his own.
"You forgive me ? " he asked after awhile, looking into her
eyes remorsefully.
" Yes, of course I forgive you ! I know you didn't mean to
doit!"
She felt no pain now, only a strange sense of contentment.
This man, who seemed at once to have established over her
some sort of mysterious ascendency, was near her now, and it
was as though she needed nothing more. Surely there could
be no other man in the whole world who looked so kind, so
strong, so beautiful, so noble.
He had pushed back the forage-cap he was wearing beyond
the clearly defined sun-mark, and she could see the hair which
was cut almost too close to curl crooking itself into little twists
and tendrils, and trying to fulfil its mission.
A tenderness she hadnever known beforeflooded her whole being.
She had neither the power nor the will to withdraw her hands.
E
66
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
So that she might not meet his eyes, she looked down at their
four clasped hands. Thence her glance wandered to his bare
arms, which resembled, she thought, the arms of a statue. By-
and-by, a deep scar upon his right arm attracted her attention.
Above this scar, an initial of some sort was tattooed inside a
device representing a coiled serpent, the emblem of eternity.
Without examining too closely for good manners, Lucy could
not discover at once what initial this serpent encircled. Her
eyes, however, seemed to be riveted to the spot, and she was
soon able to make out that it was the letter " L," looking as
though written in bluish ink.
This letter, with the scar beneath it, must of course possess
a history. A romantic one, very likely, having to do perhaps
with some manner of "hair-breadth 'scape" in a foreign land.
She felt thankful, she scarce knew why, that he had not sue-
cumbed to whatever danger had assailed him, but that he had
lived to deal her this accidental blow in an English tennis-
court, whither he had come (and, surely, in this there must
lurk something of mysterious presage!) already marked and
stamped with the letter " L," her own initial !
So the hurrying moments went by. It seemed to her that
this must be the realization of some dream which she had
dreamed, half unconsciously, in the shadowy past years, and
that all her previous existence must have been tending towards
it. In this dim corner of the tennis-court at this old Palace, a,
revelation had come to her, which it was surely intended
should, sooner or later, come to us all. Adverse circumstances,
however—misfortunes, and the fashionable perversions of
Nature, combine together, in many instances, to render this
knowledge unattainable; and so it happens that there are still
thousands of living and breathing beings who walk the earth
unconscious altogether of its sublimest mystery.
CHAPTER XIV.
The widow of the late Lieut.-General Sir Hector Boldero,K.C.B.,
was mother of the three tallest and plainest young ladies in
the whole of the Palace of Hampton Court. I have described
them as " young ladies " merely on account of their spinster-
hood, for it was not possible that they could now be any longer
really young.
The three Miss Bolderos had been known by sight for many
years to the frequenters of Hampton Court, Thames Ditton,
and Bushey, and the failures and disappointments of these
many years might well have filled any less valiant spirits with
despair. But, from the late Lieut.-General Sir Hector Boldero,
K.C.B. (who, as we all know, having once distinguished himself
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 67
by leading a forlorn hope, succeeded afterwards in gaining a
succession of brilliant victories), they had inherited characters
of the most intrepid courage and determination, and as yet
they showed no signs whatever of a surrender.
Out of compliment to their gallant father's first achievement,
they were known to the inhabitants of the Palace as "the
forlorn Hopes;" but there was nothing to justify this name
in their outward appearance, and not being qualified, in this
instance, to become a heart-searcher, I cannot say whether they
were or were not secretly " forlorn."
There were some people, it is true, who pretended to have
remarked that the eldest of the three Miss Bolderos was
becoming "just a little bit soured," but during the course of
so many barren and profitless years it is only natural that the
disposition should undergo contrasting phases. "We have most
of us heard the story of
" that fisherman
Who loosed a genius from the copper flask
Wherein he had been sealed by Solomon,
And who, in consternation, saw him rise
And tow'r above him."
And yet this very genius had spent three whole centuries in
devising benevolent projects for the reward of the person who
should eventually unseal him ! He remained, however, cramped
up in his copper flask, and. became soured ; and perhaps it may
have been the same, to some extent, with the eldest of the three
Miss Bolderos.
This was the lady whose under-linen, according to young
Algernon Binks, had been confiscated by the Board of Works,
and who had slept in consequence "for more than a fortnight
in a borrowed nightgown," so that, unless the story was merely
a gross exaggeration, she had been brought in contact also with
the workings of human tyranny and " the insolence of office."
All the three Miss Bolderos were extremely tall and athletic-
looking, and bore a marked likeness to their gallant father, for
neither he nor his lady were at all the kind of people whose
offspring would have been likely to resemble anybody else.
They were called respectively " Di," " Tizzy," and " Beauty,"
the youngest sister having the same right to be considered
handsome as a one-eyed man has of reigning amongst the blind.
They had witnessed the advent and exodus of many different
detachments of cavalry during all the swift-footed years that
had combined to rob them of their youthful bloom. As a rule,
they had been extremely popular with the military, particularly
in the old days. They had boated with them, punted, fished,
flirted, and danced with them ; lost themselves with them in the
" Maze " (where, by-the-by, it would have been difficult, upon
the occasion of my last visit to it, to " lose " so much as a red-
herring!), wandered with them over the picture-galleries, searched
12 2
68 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
with them in dark corridors upon moonlight nights for
" Wolsey " spiders, and admired them aS they played at tennis
or prayed in chapel.
It was even whispered that Miss Beauty Boldero, seeing that
her sisters' circumspection had been so poorly rewarded, had
chalked out for herself a rather more emancipated line of con-
duct than is generally approved, and more than one old lady in
the Palace could vouch for having surprised her and her
military admirers in situations which proved that she was, to
say the very least of it, in the habit of dancing occasionally
upon the very brink of indecorum.
Be this how it may, Lancer, Dragoon, and " bold Hussar," if
they had ever been smitten at all with the charms of Miss
Beauty, or her two elder sisters, had loved and ridden away;
and now a detachment of Lancers was here again—blue
Lancers this time; the last lot had been red ones.
At the moment of Lucy's misadventure, the three Miss
Bolderos were arraying themselves in order to go out to look at
the drags, and hence it was that they had not been that morn-
ing to the tennis-court, where, as Adeliza had stated, they
generally passed a good deal of their time.
Upon reaching their apartments, which were close by, Miss
Binks went to them in their bedrooms, in order to explain the
situation, and she then returned to the tennis-court to fetch
her cousin. Lucy felt like a person in the midst of a delightful
dream, who partly suspects its unreality, and dreads the
awakening. Perhaps she was still half-stunned, but, if so, to
be half-stunned was anything but an unpleasant sensation.
She hoped that the tender look in those grey eyes, the sympathy
which seemed to have become established for all time between
herself and a man who had been until now totally unknown,
existed not only in her imagination. She hoped that she was
not the victim of some sort of enchanting delusion consequent
upon concussion of the brain.
When Adeliza returned to her friends' apartments, she was
received by the three Miss Bolderos, all ready equipped for
their walk, to whom Lucy was duly presented.
They had settled upon a complete plan of action.
Lucy was to remain quietly in their apartments until two
o'clock, during which time they would go out with Adeliza to
the Lion Gates opposite to Bushey Park, and look on at the
people bound for the races, taking this way because they would
thus be sure of not falling in with Lady Mabella. Lucy, in the
meantime, could go into Miss Beauty's bedroom, which was
very quiet and retired, and lie down. Perhaps, after she had
had a little rest, she would feel quite recovered. If she was
well enough by two o'clock, she could return with Adeliza to
luncheon at Lady Mabella's ; if not, she could partake of
luncheon with them. Their mother, Lady Boldero, would not,
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
69
they declared, interfere with her repose in the least, as she was
bedridden, and never by any chance went out of her own room.
" They keep her somewhere hidden away with the tame
rabbits! " whispered Adeliza, whilst the Miss Bolderos went
outside to give some final directions to their maid-servant.
" You find us in the most terrible state of confusion,"
remarked Miss Di, when these directions were given. " We're
in the middle of our preparations for our little dance to-morrow,
and they've very nearly driven us mad ! We hope so much,"
she added, turning to Lucy, "that you'll be well enough to
come to it ? "
"Lucy will be quite delighted, I'm sure," said Adeliza, answer-
ing for her cousin ; " she's certain to be all right by to-morrow."
"We're going out now," explained Miss Tizzy, "as regular
' fishers of men,' for, as it is, we've only one man to every three
women. We shall have to dance with each other, in Spurgeon-
esque style!"
" Perhaps we may see some men we know upon the coaches,"
suggested Miss Beauty; " if so, we could send them notes by
your brother, Mr. Algy, and tell him to drag them here to-
morrow by the hairs of their heads !"
" Our military men," said Di," who would have been the saving
of us, have played us false in the most abominable way! "
" Owing to the numerous casualties," said Tizzy, " we are posi-
tively reduced to that miserable little Py croft pour toutpotage!"
" I'm sure poor Charlie Sparshott couldn't help breaking his
arm steeple-chasing," protested Adeliza. "He wouldn't have
done it for worlds if he could have avoided it, as he was looking
forward so immensely to the race week."
"You know, I suppose," said Miss Beauty archly, addressing
Lucy, " how very ' hard hit' your cousin is in that direction ? "
" She doesn't know anything about me yet, do you, Lucy ?" cut
in Adeliza, blushing; " for we've never seen much of each other
since we were infants in arms. Well, if I said that I didn't miss
Captain Sparshott, I should be telling an untruth. I do miss
him awfully, and I think him the greatest darling in the world! "
" There's nothing like telling one's love, is there ?" said
Beauty, smiling. " Addie isn't the sort of girl to let conceal-
ment' feed on her damask cheek !'"
" I'm sure you oughtn't to talk, Beauty ! " cried her eldest
sister sarcastically. "You've heard of Beauty's last flame,
haven't you, Addie? Would you believe it, she's got up quite
a furious flirtation with the 'Yet,' and she's insisted upon our
asking him here to-morrow evening ! "
It was now Miss Beauty's turn to blush and look sheepish.
" The Yet is a perfect gentleman," she said at last; " and a
very gallant soldier besides, who has been in battle. He's quite
fit to be invited anywhere! "
" It's simply a case of precedent," explained Tizzy, as though
70
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
to cover her sister's blushes. " Mamma recollects a veterinary
surgeon going once before to a dance in the Palace. We've
been guided entirely by this ! "
" This one is an enormous improvement upon any of the
'Yets ' that have been quartered here in my time ! " said Miss
Beauty with true courage. " Besides which, although he may
not be very rich, he's of exceedingly old family!"
" Oh, yes; of very old family indeed!" scoffed Miss Di,
laughing. " I'm constantly falling in with his illustrious rela-
tives, particularly when I'm sitting under the lime-trees by the
water! However, as we can't make sure of that erratic
Colonel, who seems to be ' here, there, and everywhere ' at once,
and is supposed now to be quartered at Hounslow, only he
happens to be here to-day, and as Captain Sparshott's met
with this unlucky accident, and little Pycroft is no better than
a baby, we've given the silly child her head, and the 'Yet' is.
invited ! Probably he'll represent the squadron! "
" But I suppose," said Adeliza, " that you went through the
form of asking Colonel Hepburn ? Although he's not a marry-
ing man, and is no good to any one, that wouldn't matter for
one evening. At any rate he's a man ! "
"Yes; we have invited him, of course," replied Miss Tizzy;
" we thought he would produce a certain effect in the ball-
room even if he didn't dance. I don't think there's a chance
of his coming, however. But, anyhow, I think we may count
upon the ' Yet.' Miss Barlow must promise to dance with him !"
This kind of flippant and irreverent banter was in the highest
degree distasteful to Lucy. She had never been accustomed to
anything of the sort, and did not quite know how to distinguish
between what was intended seriously and what was meant
merely for jest. It was painful, too, to hear the man that she
had raised, half unconsciously, upon a pinnacle, spoken of in a
tone of ridicule and disparagement. It did not change her own
opinion of him, of course; on the contrary, it turned her, as it
were, into his secret though devoted champion. Taken, how-
ever, as an indication of the esteem and admiration with which
he was regarded by others, it was certainly, in some sense,
humiliating! Was she, then, mistaken in her high though
hasty estimate ? Could it be possible that to these other
women, with the exception perhaps of Miss Beauty, he seemed
all other than he had seemed to her ? Perhaps, in her present
abnormal state, some of these conflicting emotions may have
displayed themselves outwardly.
"Dear me, Miss Barlow!" exclaimed Tizzy, with sudden
concern. "How dreadfully pale you look ! I think we'd better
give you a glass of our fine old Marsala—at twenty-four
shillings the dozen !"
She left the room, and returned presently with the wine.
Lucy drank some of it, and experienced an agreeable glow.
THRO\ LOVE AND WAR n
" Unless we start off at once," said Adeliza, " we shall miss
seeing anything at all, and Algy will be gone to the races."
The three Miss Bolderos assented, and after they had explained
to Lncy the situation of Beauty's bedroom, and begged her to
make herself thoroughly at home, they started off with Adeliza
upon their "■ man-hunt," chattering and laughing as they went.
" I think I might have promised you a very nice little contri-
bution for to-morrow night," Lucy could hear her cousin saying,
as they passed down the echoing passages, " in the shape of a
highly eligible bachelor uncle—only forty-three next November ;
but I'm sorry to say we can never get him to go to a ball.
Perhaps Beauty wouldn't admire him quite so much as she
does the 'Yet,' but he looks capital in the evening, when
he's dressed up with his white tie and an expensive flower in his
button-hole!" Then, the voices died away in the distance.
CHAPTER XY.
Lady Boldeko's rooms at Hampton Court Palace seemed to be
nearly all of them upon the ground-floor. Miss Beauty's shrine,
at any rate, to which Lucy repaired as soon as she found
herself alone, was upon a level with the drawing-room.
It was a small, cosily furnished nook, adorned with quaint,
old-fashioned prints, and the accumulated treasures of years.
Close to the bed—which was very small for so tall a person—
was a bookcase, filled with well-thumbed books, treating upon
a variety of subjects.
The little hurrying clock upon the mantelpiece warned Lucy
that if she desired to rest for an hour before luncheon, she had
not much time to lose, so, throwing herself upon the narrow
bed, she took up a book at random, with the view of reading
herself to sleep. «
But it is not everybody who can go to sleep at midday, once
they have arisen for good; besides which, Lucy had chanced upon
a thoroughly absorbing book.
It was the " Roman d'un jeune hommepauvre" of Octave
Feuillet, which, describing as it does, the love of a haughty
damsel—unsuspected, at first, even by herself—for a man in a
subordinate position, riveted Lucy's attention at once. The
young lady, it seemed, was surrounded also by people who
sneered and scoffed at the one who had unconsciously become
her ideal. The coincidence was certainly very remarkable.
- Miss Beauty, too, must evidently have been struck by it, for
the book was scored and annotated in several places. She must
have been reading it that very morning, as Lucy found it
lying upon the dressing-table, with a long hair-pin between the
leaves as a book-mark.
72
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Guided bv_ this hair-pin, Lucy devoured eagerly the pas-
sionate love-scene in the " Tour d'Elven," applying feverishly
every word that could have any possible connection with her
own situation. Those who have read the story will remember,
perhaps, that Maxime and Marguerite, finding themselves alone
together one evening in a deserted tower, have the key of it
turned upon them by the shepherd who acts as caretaker, and
who fancies that they have departed, whereas they are, in
reality, admiring the moonlit view from a ruined window over-
looking an abyss. Finding that they are prisoners, Marguerite
accuses Maxime of having bribed the shepherd from a desire to
compromise her; and indignant at being suspected of such
baseness, he first of all makes an avowal of his love, and then,
in spite of her tears and entreaties, flings himself from the
ruined window into the abyss beneath.
Notwithstanding Monsieur de la Vieilleroche's admirable
lessons in the French language, Lucy was at a loss to know
why Marguerite should have been so terribly severe; and her
blood seemed positively to run cold when, placing herself in the
heroine's situation, she beheld in fancy her beautiful Crusader
taking this fearful leap. She knew, she felt, that she could
never have resisted Maxime's passionate appeal when he turned
and addressed Marguerite on his way to the window:—
"Marguerite .... ecoutez bien! . . . . je vous aime, c'est
vrai, et jamais amour plus ardent, plus desinteresse, plus saint,
n'est entre dans le coeur d'un homme! . . . . Mais vous aussi,
vous m'aimez .... vous m'aimez malheureuse ! . . . . et vous
me tuez! vous me brisez le coeur! . . . . mais ce coeur, il est a,
vous ! Vous pouvez ne faire ce qu'il vous plait Quand
a mon honneur, il est a moi, et je le garde! Et sur cet honneur,
je vous fais serment que si je meurs, vous me pleurerez "
Lucy knew, she felt certain, that upon hearing such words
from the lips of one that she loved, she would have flown
towards him in an agony of apprehension; by no manner of
means could she have kept herself back ; she would have seized
hold of him by his coat-tails—by his grey jersey—by anything
that he might happen to have had on at the time, and endea-
voured with all her might and main to deter him from his rash
purpose—failing which, she must have precipitated herself from
the window after him! French girls, however, she supposed,
were altogether different.
Miss Beauty, at any rate, had to some extent shared in
Lucy's sentiments. Maxime's speech was deeply underlined in
pencil, and the margin was crowded with annotations, such as—
"Stuff!" "Nonsense!" "Utterly untrue to Nature!'
" Is it likely that any girl who was lucky enough to be locked
up with the man she liked, would behave in such an idiotic
manner ? " &c. &c.
Lucy rose from the bed and found the pencil which had
THRO* LOVE AND WAR 73
probably written these words, and upon the inside of an enve-
lope which she happened to have about her, copied out several
of the more emotional passages. Then she threw herself upon
the bed again, and whether in consequence of the blow received in
the tennis-court, or the glass of Lady Boldero's old Marsala, " at
twenty-four shillings the dozen," fell into a profound slumber.
It is possible that she may not have actually slept for more
than ten minutes, but, as often happens when that portion of
the brain upon which our visions depend is unduly stimulated,
her dream during that short period may take a whole page or
more to describe, whilst the number of personages who took
part in it could by no manner of means have crammed them-
selves into Miss Beauty's bedroom, and would, indeed, have
caused quite an inconvenient crush if they had been turned
loose in Lady Boldero's whole suite of apartments.
It was evident from Lucy's dream that, half unconsciously
perhaps, her mind was occupied by one absorbing question,
subdivided again into others of lesser moment—whether there
was any just cause or impediment why she, Lucy Barlow, of
Barlow Lodge, in the county of Surrey, should not unite her-
self in marriage with quite the most beautiful and noble-looking
veterinary surgeon in the world—for of this fact she could not
but feel assured—supposing she was destined to be so
supremely blessed as that he should ever care for her ? "What
effect the idea of such a possible union would be likely to pro-
duce upon her great-aunt Elizabeth, whose soul seemed to be
filled with such an exaggerated sense of the importance of her
own family ? Whether the Barlows were, really and truly, such
a very illustrious family after all? And whether a noble
veterinary surgeon was not every whit as eligible as a vulgar
common-looking City stockbroker, for in this light she had
come to regard " that magnificent Podmore " when tried in the
balance] of comparison. Had not Lady Yalentina de Bohun,
herself the daughter of a really illustrious house, actually
eloped with her father's physician ? And, taking everything
into consideration, if she was destined to make what the
narrow-minded might choose to look upon as an unequal
marriage, she would very much prefer, for her own part, a
doctor of horses to a doctor of men. Of course, Lucy said to
herself—If one made up one's mind to marry a doctor, one
would wish him to succeed in his profession. He could not
neglect his patients, however disagreeable they might be to
him personally, or (and this was a terrible aspect of the case)
however attractive. Would it not make one very jealous and
wretched to think, whilst one was sitting waiting all alone at
home, with the dinner gradually getting colder and colder, that
one's husband was lolling perhaps on a luxurious sofa in some
Belo-ravian drawing-room, by the side of a lovely and fashion-
able being, feeling her pulse, and listening to all her distressing
74 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
symptoms ? But no wife, however foolishly fond she might be,
could reasonably be jealous of a horse!
Musing and meditating thus, Lucy Barlow fell asleep, and
then it was that whilst the hands of the pert little timepiece,
which seemed so bent upon asserting its own importance, went
fidgeting round from a quarter-past one to the half-hour, she
dreamed the following utterly preposterous and ridiculous
dream:—
She fancied that she was sitting alone in the little parlour at
Barlow Lodge, and that these very same questions were
agitating and perplexing her mind. At one moment it seemed
to her as if the existence she would have chosen for herself was
absolutely unattainable ; then, again, she felt almost tempted,
like Lady Valentina de Bohun, to take the law into her own
hands. But as she was debating thus, the front-door bell
began ringing furiously, and she became aware soon after-
wards of an alarming clatter in the entrance-hall. Anon, the
sitting-room door was thrown open tumultuously, and in
rushed a whole host of warlike figures, which she knew instinc-
tively to be those of the grand old mediaeval Barlows, coming
upon her in a body, Sir Percival, Sir Borlase, and Sir Humphrey
de Barlow, they were all of them there: only, because these
had had the honour and glory of being Crusaders, they were
obliged to enter the room in a curious crab-like fashion, with
legs crossed and knees bended, just as she had often pictured
them to herself lying in effigy. They came into the room
hewing and slashing their way, and flourishing aloft their
battle-axes; but although their chain-armour seemed to clank
and rattle as they went—lo and behold! when she came to
examine into it more closely, she perceived that it was not
chain-armour at all, but that they were all clothed in soft grey
silk jerseys, which only had the effect of steel at a distance!
Last of all came Griffinhoofe, the Lay Abbot of St. Opportune,
bearing the hereditary Barlow Great Seal upon its quilted
satin mat, which seemed to have swelled itself out to almost
the dimensions of a sofa-cushion.
With the most violent gestures of displeasure they came
waddling towards her, scowling at her from under their plumed
helms surmounted by the great red lion rampant of their race,
and slashing as they went at all Miss Elizabeth's best Chippen-
dale furniture, until the chairs and tables were so hacked and
hewn about the legs, that several of them were constrained,
like " Widderington " in the old ballad, to fall upon their knees.
The warriors also smashed up and destroyed all the crown
Derby plates and dishes, all the ribbed Worcester and Swansea
tea-sets, and nearly all the blue pickle-jars, ginger-pots, and
other evidences of commerce which came within their reach.
Finally, they arrived at Lucy herself, taking much longer
about it than might have been expected, as very often happens
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 75
in dreams, and began backing at ber furiously with tbeir
battle-axes.
But their blows were powerless to barm ber.
Instantaneously, as it seemed, tbeir glittering battle-axes
bad become transformed into tennis-rackets, and she was
merely being softly patted and pummelled, that was all!
Boiled, as it appeared, in tbeir endeavour to extirpate tbeir
degenerate descendant before she disgraced them by introducing
into the fatuity a strain of ignoble and contaminating blood,
the three Crusaders next beckoned to the Lay Abbot of St.
Opportune, who, advancing towards ber witb the hereditary
Barlow Great Seal, sealed her down so securely in ber chair
with red-hot sealing-wax that she was powerless to move either
hand or foot, after which they one and all of them disappeared
in the direction of Clapham Junction, uttering " slogans."
Then, whilst Lucy was in this miserably constrained and
helpless position, there emerged out of the biggest and bluest
of the Oriental pickle-jars which had escaped intact, the figure
of " John Barlow, Esquire, of Lesser Pucklington, Bucks,
engaged in commerce," seemingly modelled out of pale wax
upon a dark background. What a nice, hale, beaming, un-
mediaeval face it was! He seemed to come floating, floating
towards her, wearing a benevolent smile, and exclaimed, with
the convivial but somewhat husky utterance of one who might
possibly have assisted quite recently at some sort of civic
entertainment:—
" Marry a veterinary surgeon, my good girl ? Why, of course
you can marry a veterinary surgeon ! ' Illustrious early Bar-
lows !' Fudge ! ' Lay Abbot of St. Opportune!' Bosh ! 4 Lion
rampant, flourishing battle-axe !' Fiddlestick's end ! Marry the
man of your heart, my good girl!" (and Lucy was not quite,
quite sure, in her dream, whether he property accentuated the
aspirate, " only don't make such a terrible ' to do' about it!
After all, you must remember, I was only an insolvent alder-
man! " And then he commenced hammering and hammering,
in the most good-natured manner in the world, at the masses
of red sealing-wax with which she had been sealed down in her
chair, in order to free her from the trammels imposed upon her
by her cruel ancestors ; rapping, rapping, rapping, with an
instrument very much resembling the best fiddle-pattern silver
soup-ladle, and then suddenly with a start Lucy Barlow awoke.
The rapping, she found, had not been purely imaginary,
although at first she did not know whence it proceeded. By-
and-by, however, she discovered that it came from a door oppo-
site to the one by which she had entered the room. She rose
and went to it. It was not locked, and she turned the handle.
" Perhaps," she thought, " I shall come upon the room in which
they keep their tame rabbits."
But the room, or rather cupboard, for it could scarcely be de-
76
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
signated a " room," seemed only to be inhabited by bandboxes,
which were piled up one on the top of the other, leaving scarcely
any standing-space besides. At the further corner of it was a
small open window, giving into one of the public corridors, and
it was from the sill of this window that the rapping evidently
came. A close grating which protected it, so close that it would
have been next to impossible for the person who was without to
see the one who was within, except through much straining of
eyesight, prevented Lucy from perceiving at once who it was
that was rapping. By-and-by, however, she was able to descry
the boy from the tennis-court, and she saw that he was thrust-
ing the corner of a note through the iron grating. Her heart
began beating furiously.
" Hist! ' Miss B. Boldero ? ' " inquired the lad cautiously.
Ah! of course the letter was not for her! He could not possibly
have guessed that she would be anywhere near this particular
cupboard! It was for Miss Beauty, of course, but it would be
better to take it in for her. In a few minutes she would pro-
bably have returned. As Lucy put out her hand for the letter,
the boy went on confidentially—
" I don't know, Miss, if so be it's particular, but I thought
I'd best bring it round to this shop, same as t'others! The
gentleman at the tennis-court said I was to be sure and hand it
to you directly you corned round, but you didn't not come round
this morning at all, some other young ladies corned round
instead of you, so I thought it best to bring it down here as
usual."
Surely, too surely, a clandestine correspondence was being
carried on between Miss Beauty Boldero and the fascinating
" Vet! " Lucy dropped the note as though it had been a
scorpion.
Then, seeing it lying there upon the cold stone floor, her heart
relented and she picked it up again.
What a noble, distinguished, independent, masculine hand-
writing! The bold characters scored into the thick blue paper
as if with a sword turned into a ploughshare ! A letter such
as might have been dashed off upon a drum-head upon the field
of battle ! A real warrior's handwriting!
"For used to iron brave and bold,
His bands, I Aveen, could scarcely hold
Or pen, or silken skein."
Somewhere, in an old Border ballad, Lucy remembered to have
read these lines, and they recurred to her now. The warrior in
the ballad had been trying to wind some silk for a damsel, but
his fingers were too strong for such soft pastime, and he snapped
the skein! Perhaps, after all, this letter, which aroused such
conflicting emotions in Lucy's breast, was nothing more than
an answer to the invitation, which had been sent to the writer
to the Bolderos' dance; for had she not already heard that he
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
77
had been asked to it? But jet the tennis-court boy had
alluded to other letters, delivered after the same mysterious
fashion! There could be no doubt, at any rate, who the
letter was from ; for not only was the number and the motto of
the regiment emblazoned upon the outside of the envelope, but
beneath it was a seal, upon which was set forth the heraldic
device of the writer himself. Lucy had acquired a habit of
remarking these things. Was it because of the importance
which her great-aunt always attached to them, or because she
could see in fancy that vacant shield upon the Great Barlow
blind ? Anyhow, the crest upon the seal of this letter seemed,
all at once, to invest with significance a stray sentence of Miss
Di's which had sounded strangely enigmatical to Lucy when
it was uttered.
" Oh, yes, of very old family indeed!" she had exclaimed sneer-
ingly. " I'm constantly falling in with his illustrious relatives,
particularly when I'm sitting under the lime-trees by the water!
And his crest, so Lucy perceived now, was some kind of wrig-
gling serpent! His name, most probably, had some connec-
tion with asps or serpents, and what creatures under the sun
could possibly be said to be of older family ? Lor not to count
the Buddhistical Triratna with its twisted snakes, about which
Lucy knew nothing whatsoever, was there not the wicked
tempter of Scripture, the brazen serpent, Cleopatra's asp—a
whole hotbed, in fact, of celebrated historical snakes ? Every-
thing was as plain to her as possible now, and there were ser-
pents under the lime-trees by the water!
She had scarcely evolved all this to her satisfaction, and
propped up the letter upon the white lace pin-cushion upon
the dressing-table, when the four ladies returned from their
morning man-hunt.
They were in high good-humour, for they had secured (almost
for certain) a good-looking young man employed in a third-rate
Government office, and a well-preserved landed proprietor who
had recently divorced his second wife, and was said to be anxious
to re-marry. As both these gentlemen were staying in the im-
mediate neighbourhood it was unlikely that they would dis-
appoint them.
" And I'm quite sorry now," remarked Miss Di, as they came
trooping in to tell Lucy the good news, and to inquire after her
well-being; " that we were in such a tremendous hurry to invite
the 'Yet!'"
"By some lucky chance he mayn't be able to come," returned
Miss Tizzy, as she sauntered up to the looking-glass to arrange
her hair. " Ah! here's his answer! Look here, Beauty ! " she
called out to her youngest sister, who was still lingering in the
drawing-room; " make haste and^ open this letter and put an
end to our anxiety! It's the answer from Mr. Grubbe!"
78
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
CHAPTER XVI.
When one looked first at Lady Mabella Binks and then at
her two children, it was impossible not to be reminded of the
barndoor fowl, about which I have read somewhere, who sat by
accident upon some cockatrice's eggs and hatched them by mis-
take. Could this mild, mean, Quakerish-looking little woman be
really the mother of the brilliant, high-coloured Adeliza and the
loquacious Algernon, both of them so overflowing with energy
and animal spirits? Surely there must have been an error
somewhere!
Lady Mabella, as I have said already, was small and insigni-
ficant in appearance, and she looked even shorter than she
really was, by reason of the humble and cringeing attitude
which she habitually assumed.
Ever since the demise of the late Mr. Binks, and very possibly
before that, for the sake of economy she had dressed entirely
in black, wearing over her dress both morning and evening and
in all weathers a light china-crape fringed shawl, too skimpy for
even her slight figure, and which, when dragged tightly over the
arms and shoulders, entirely suppressed and concealed anything
in the shape of a bust, and lent her very much the appearapce
of a distressed needlewoman out of employment. The crushed
expiatory expression to which Adeliza had made allusion was
almost always upon her face, whilst a little furrow as of imper-
fectly subdued anguish, which became accentuated whenever she
was required for anything like active service, contracted her
somewhat narrow and bulbous brow. She rose late, breakfast-
ing alone in her own apartment, and retired early, assuming
" the recumbent position " so frequently in the meanwhile, that
one could almost fancy that she got up merely for the pleasure
of lying down again. She ate but little in public, complaining
bitterly both at luncheon and dinner of her unaccountable loss of
appetite, but got through a good deal of nourishment in its more
concentrated and sustaining forms during the course of the day,
to judge by the trays of beef-tree, arrowroot, rum-and-milk, &p.
&c., which were continually being taken up to her bedroom.
Mrs. Guffy, her maid, who was also an invalid, had grown so
like her from long association that, but for the fact that she
was much more handsomely dressed, as became one occupying a
position requiring some manner of self-assertion, she might
easily have done duty as her mistress's " double." The two were
continually grumbling, condoling, comparing symptoms, apply-
ing remedies, and ministering to each other's discomforts, until
one could not help feeling astonished that they were still alive.
By pandering to one another's fancies, however, they obtained
mutual concessions, and so were enabled to live on in some sort
of harmony, although not without frequent differences of opinion.
The only person -who seemed capable of bracing up Lady
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
79
Mabella to any kind of physical activity was her brother, Lord
Belmorris, whose slightest wish was always regarded by her as
law, perhaps because she bore him a genuine sisterly affection,
perhaps merely because she was thinking of Algernon's future
interests.
Upon the morning of the day appointed for the Miss Bolderos'
little dance the furrow upon Lady Mabella's brow had consider-
ably deepened. Mrs. Guffy, too, appeared to be more than
usually suffering. It was with difficulty that she could get
through the lightest of her duties, during the which she was
groaning audibly.
" Mamma and G-uffy are just like two bears with sore heads,"
Adeliza remarked as she took her place at the breakfast-table ;
" they always are like this whenever there's anything pleasant in
the evening. It's their way! "
Lord Belmorris and Algy started off early to the races,
having given up all idea, in consequence of Lady Mabella's
indisposition, of returning to luncheon with any of their sporting
friends; and Adeliza spent the morning in waiting upon her
mother and Mrs. Guffy with the view of conciliating them.
As the day wore on, however, they seemed only to grow worse
and worse, and the two girls began seriously to fear that they
might have to give up the evening's entertainment after all, as
it was not likely that, at Algy's tender age, he would be
considered a sufficient protector for them both, and Lord
Belmorris never by any chance went to a ball.
Lucy stole into her bedroom several times during the afternoon
and looked regretfully at her new white dress, for Mrs. Guffy
had just mustered strength to lift it from its cupboard to the
bed. Had she been told only one short week ago that the idea
of not going to a dance would have proved a bitter disappoint-
ment to her, how she would have repudiated the notion of any
such possible folly!
If only they were enabled to go this evening after all; she
was determined to be very cold and distant in manner to the
person who, at least externally, looked so like a hero of romance.
She would see him, however, at any rate, for she had heard that
he had accepted the Miss Bolderos5 invitation. When he was
not looking at her—and perhaps in a crowd he might not be
even conscious of her presence—she could gaze furtively at
the face which was to her as no other face that she had ever
beheld! But alas ! it was now very unlikely that they would be
permitted to go to the dance at all! And she found herself sighing
as she turned away from the contemplation of her white dress.
All these anxious fears, however, were set at rest when Lord
Belmorris returned from the races.
After his own laconic fashion he was in high good-humour,
having, as Adeliza suspected, accomplished some sort of pecu-
niary triumph, which, in spite of his large fortune, always, she
8o
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
said, afforded him intense pleasure ; and, greatly to her surprise
and satisfaction, he at once expressed his readiness to escort
the two young ladies to the ball, or rather he proposed that
Algy should look after his sister, whilst he himself took entire
charge of " Miss Lucy," being, as he explained to her, " more
than double her own age, and her Welsh uncle to boot; " a fact
of which she had certainly been quite unaware till now.
Lady Mabella cheered up a little when she found that no
further exertions were required of her, and was even induced to
leave her bedroom and partake of dinner with her family. Lord
Belmorris, repeating his remark relative to the King of Burmah,
again escorted Lucy to her place. It was quite true, she thought,
as she glanced at him timidly, that he looked "capital in the even-
ing dressed up with his white tie," he was spruceness and distinc-
tion personified, and his " button-hole " was so magnificent that,
as Adeliza remarked, "it looked just as if it was artificial."
" Put you on something to-day at the races, Miss Lucy," he
said, as soon as they had settled themselves in their places.
" You brought me good luck, and I've won you a ' pony !'"
" A pony! " cried Lucy, astonished; " how very kind of
you ! " but it flashed across her that perhaps at Barlow Lodge
the creature might prove something of a white elephant. Who
in the world would look after it ? She would have to groom it
and saddle it herself.
" Yes ; no more donkey rides upon Clapham Common now,"
said his lordship, smiling at her ingenuousness.
The " pony " did transport duty for Lord Belmorris's " dry
■wit " until after the removal of the fish, when Algy discovered
to Lucy her misapprehension, for which she blushingly apolo-
gized, wondering, as she said, how she " could possibly have
imagined anything so very absurd."
Notwithstanding this and other agreeable banter, however, it
seemed to Lucy that the dinner was of an extraordinary length.
Perhaps had she visited the Binkses when they were not enter-
taining company, the luxury of their fare would have been
much less apparent to her. But whenever Lord Belmorris
honoured his sister with a visit the whole establishment was
stimulated to almost supernatural effort. Extra " hands " were
had in, the wine was of a superior brand, and the commissariat
arrangements generally were upon a much more generous
scale; for besides her anxiety that her brother should be well
pleased with his reception, Lady Mabella could never forget that
he kept a French chef at home whose yearly wages came to just
double the amount which had been received per annum by her
husband, the late Mr. Binks, when he first began life as a curate.
However, after potage, poisson, entrees, rot, entremet-au-
sucre (in the shape of an idealized tapioca-pudding, which Lucy
of course refused), and a chou-fleur-au-gratin, a dish which his
lordship had once been rash enough to praise, and with which the
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 81
Binks's cook liad plied him steadily ever since, whenever he
happened to dine with his sister, the repast came at length to
a conclusion.
The three Miss Bolderos had particularly requested that, as
their dance was to be quite a " small and early " affair, Adeliza
and her party would arrive in good time, in order to form a
kind of nucleus. So while Lord Belmorris and his nephew were
partaking of coffee, the two young ladies went up to their rooms
to fetch their cloaks, and to give those few last finishing touches
without which all female costume must seem incomplete.
Lucy was certainly experiencing an unusual sense of tremor
and excitement, and upon looking at herself in the glass she
scarcely recognized her own face. She was unable to decide
whether she looked better or worse than usual, but she realized
that she looked altogether different. Her cheeks were almost
as pink as Adeliza's, and she surprised an expression of tender-
ness and anticipation in her brown eyes which she never
remembered to have seen there before. As she had always been
accustomed to gather up her hair in very simple fashion, she
had not been half so much incommoded as her cousin by Mrs.
Guffy's indisposition, for of course they had neither of them
ventured to ask for any assistance. She had found a bunch of
blush-roses growing just outside her window, which, with per-
mission, she had gathered. Two of these she had disposed
amongst her auburn tresses, whilst she had arranged the rest
so as to form a breast-knot, in order to conceal the top hook of
the new white dress, which, as we already know, "was just a
little too tight across the middle part of the chest."
Adeliza had obtained a key belonging to the Admiral's widow,
which unlocked a private door leading into one of the main
corridors, so that they could thus proceed directly to Lady Bol- •
dero's apartments without going outside through the draughty
quadrangles.
When they were both quite ready they rejoined their male
chaperons in the dining-room, having first bade good-night to
Lady Mabella, who had by this time retired to her own chamber.
Adeliza, who was in a great hurry to be gone, dashed off with
her brother as soon as she had slipped into her opera-cloak,
whilst Lucy lingered politely for Lord Belmorris to knock the
ash off his cigarette, which he did, she thought, in a provokingly
leisurely manner, and to put on a light grey overcoat.
As he was helping her on with her own wraps, a real cata-
strophe, though upon quiteasmall scale, added to her impatience.
The bunch of roses which she had pinned so carefully on to
the front of her dress to conceal the unfastened hook, fell
down upon the carpet in a hopeless state of dilapidation ! The
stalks had been tied together too tightly, and every single rose-
bud except one was decapitated!
What was she to do? For, of course, their severed heads
J?
85
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
would not serve her purpose, and to gather and rearrange a new
bouquet would cause another tiresome delay. But Lord Bel-
morris, who was evidently a person of generous inspirations,
had already removed the flowers from his own button-hole: the
magnificent arrangement of exotics and maiden-hair fern, which
" looked just as if it was artificial."
" Oh, really, you mustn't," cried Lucy, embarrassed by his
unselfishness. " I ought not to deprive you of it. It looked
so very nice in your coat. What will you do without it ? "
Not being apparently a man of many words, and being
perhaps a good deal confirmed in his natural taciturnity from
the fact that he " seemed to be nearly always smoking a tooth-
pick," his lordship for all answer commenced pinning it on to
the place whence the rosebuds had been scattered, with the
manner of a conscientious chaperon who has determined not to
evade one jot or tittle of his night's work.
But men are generally awkward about such things, and the
operation took time.
Lucy's heart was throbbing so violently with her impatience
that she was quite afraid that Lord Belmorris must perceive it.
The bouquet, however, was mounted upon wire, and the half
of a letter, which his lordship had just received, was obliged to
be folded round the stalks to prevent it from scratching.
At last it was adjusted securely.
" Oh, thank you, thank you!" cried Lucy breathlessly. " How
clever you are! But now you've got none for yourself! "
Again he did not make any reply, but stooping down picked
up from the floor the only rosebud which had retained its head
and adjusted it in his own button-hole.
They were now quite ready to starts and Lucy was soon
tripping along the echoing corridors upon the arm of the
nobleman, who, even in the midst of an iconoclastic age,
persisted in believing in hell.
CHAPTEE XVII.
Adeliza and Algernon had become quite tired of waiting for
their relations at the door which communicated with the outer
passages, and so they had gone on, leaving the key in the
massive lock. This key had, of course, to be taken out again,
and here was another cause for delay. Prom the very first,
however, Lord Belmorris had seemed inclined to lag behind, as
though in order to prolong the walk.
Upon all sorts of absurd pretexts he endeavoured to arrest
his young companion's attention, calling upon her to remark
something quite trivial and unimportant, whilst she was
thrilling with impatience to proceed.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
83
"Expect to see anybody you like better than yourself? " be
inquired by-and-by, as he again stopped her with a jerk of his
arm. It was almost the first time he had really spoken to her
since dinner, and she was obliged to weigh his words a little
before she replied.
"N—o; oh, yes, of course I do!" she said, grasping his
meaning at last. " A great many people! I don't think so
much of myself as all that."
" I do, though," returned her chaperon, as he clenched his
white teeth decidedly upon his faithfnl toothpick ; " for I'll
tell you what—you're regular ' Derby' form!"
Lucy had not the faintest conception of his meaning. She
was sure, however, from his manner that a compliment was
intended, and she did not like to appear ignorant.
" I wonder you should think that," she replied therefore,
" when you have a niece as pretty as Addie; she seems to me to
make most other people look quite plain."
" Wretched! Miserable!" exclaimed his lordship, again
stopping. " Miserable, ordinary, ' plating' form! That's what
they all of them look by the side of you! "
_" Derby ? " " Plating ? " Ah, yes ! She felt she had grasped
his meaning now. Derby china, crown Derby, the china which
was very possibly more esteemed than most other china for
plates. The difference, in fact, between something ordinary in
the way of crockery or human clay, and something which was
rare, expensive, and highly considered. Her great-aunt Elizabeth,
at Barlow Lodge, had some beautiful plates and dishes of crown
Derby, which had always been very much admired.
Upon this particular evening Lucy could not help feeling
grateful for these somewhat enigmatical compliments. Never
before had she been so anxious and so diffident upon the subject
of her personal appearance. If, however, it could at once strike
a casual and seemingly sincere observer that she was, as com-
pared to other people, what Miss Elizabeth's crown Derby
plates were to the more ordinary china, it was evident, at least,
that she could not be looking her worst.
"I say, Addie," whispered young Algernon Binks in his
sister's ear, as Lucy and her chaperon entered the dancing-
room, " do look at Lucy Barlow and my uncle Belmorris;
they've actually exchanged ' button-holes!' "
It was Algernon's habit when conversing to monopolize, as
it were, his noble relative.
"He is my uncle as well," Adeliza used sometimes to remind
him. Now, however, she was intent on other matters.
" Yes I see," she answered abstractedly, for she was craning
to catch her reflection in a mirror which had apparently been
hung to suit only the height and convenience of the daughters
of Anak, supposing these to have been as tall as the sons. "It's'
a very g'ood thing that she seems to be able to amuse him.
F 2
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Mamma's nearly sure that he'll 'stand' that dry champagne
we had in on purpose for him, as he's always generous when
he's been amused. I hear that he gave Guffy a sovereign just
before dinner; I'm sure she didn't deserve it! "
As soon as Miss Binks had satisfied herself as to her own
appearance, she dragged off her "highly eligible bachelor
uncle " in search of the eldest Miss Boldero, to whom he was
duly presented; for, although the name of Lady Boldero had
appeared upon the invitation-card, she was much too old and
infirm to take any part in the evening's entertainment.
How the sounds of the revelry must have interfered with her
senile slumbers ! The tame rabbits, too, must have felt utterly
scared and confounded, for the Bolderos' apartment was by no
means spacious, and the music invaded every nook and cranny
of it.
Lucy was left standing by the side of Algy. They were close
to the musicians, who were in the middle of playing a valse, and
she felt too much bewildered by her own emotions and by the
strains of the music to pay much attention to her cousin's
boyish prattle.
By-and-by, Miss Tizzy came smilingly towards her, and
introduced her to a partner. It was the short stumpy man
with the enormous moustaches, who had been playing tennis
upon the previous day, and who she had understood was the
Colonel of the 18th Lancers. The strains of the music, how-
ever, prevented her from catching his name.
" If I had not had the honour of being formally presented to
you, Miss," he said, as they paused together in a doorway after
their first turn, "I should most likely have ventured to break
through the conventional trammels of society in order to inquire
after your health. I trust your sad accident yesterday did not
make you feel very poorly p "
He spoke with the stilted and somewhat constrained manner
which, Lucy doubted not, was peculiar to all colonels of regi-
ments. Then, after she had thanked him for his inquiries,
declaring that she now felt perfectly well—
" I consider," he went on, " that I am partly the cause of the
misfortune myself. You see, I'm both right and left-handed at
tennis, and I owe a good deal of my success to this, I fancy.
Well; my adversary was all for having a left-handed game—
just for practice—and that ball he sent flying at your head was
just a trial-stroke, a ' left-hander,' which he would never have
thought of but for me."
" But, generally—on other days—when he plays with his
right hand—he plays very well, I suppose ? "
She asked this with almost breathless interest. It seemed so
good to hear about him, even when all the information she could
hope to gain concerned only his prowess in the tennis-court.
" He is a player I am proud of for more reasons than one,",
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 85
replied Lucy's partner; " being so long in the reach, too, gives
him a decided advantage. In the present state of the detach-
ment, however, neither the Colonel nor the veterinary gentle-
man can afford much time for amusement, for we are in a very
poor way for officers. You heard of the unfortunate accident
to the Captain who was in command ? And now I hear Mr.
Pycroft is retained in town by the illness of a relation."
"Captain Sparshottbrokehisarm at a steeple-chase, I believe?"
She remembered to have learnt this of the Miss Bolderos.
" He did so; and that reminds me that I think I observed
you in conversation with the Earl of Belmorris—one of the
finest riders we have in England. May I inquire if he is a
relative of yours ? "
" He's the brother of my aunt, Lady Mabella Binks," Lucy
explained, grateful for the interest evinced in her affairs by
this gallant and respectful commanding officer; " but Lady
Mabella is only my aunt by marriage. He is kindly taking care
of my cousin and myself for this evening."
" He is a real ornament to the Turf," her companion rejoined,
with admiration in his tones. " I have been acquainted with
him for some years, and have visited him at his country
residence in the North. He began life as a soldier, and we
were once in the same regiment. I hold his lordship in the
very highest esteem. He did not mention by chance having
received a communication from me this afternoon ? "
No; his lordship had said nothing about it; but then he
said so very little about anything, and seemed very seldom to
refer to what related to himself.
Lucy and her partner took another short turn, but the room
had become almost too crowded for dancing, and the musicians
were just approaching the finale. Lucy's partner led her
quickly towards a door in order to avoid the crush. He had
perceived Lord Belmorris, and was about to pilot her to his side.
She looked up at this moment, and then, with a fluttering
heart, turned from the gaze she dared not encounter. Lord
Belmorris was only separated from her by a couple who were
making, as she was, for the doorway, and in the doorway itself,
his tall figure towering above the rest of the company, stood
the man she had been longing, dreading, praying, that she
might meet, ever since she had first heard that he would be
there ! He was leaning against the inside of the doorway, his
face wearing the look of somewhat haughty indifference which
was its characteristic when in repose. Lord Belmorris, dwarfed
(so Lucy thought) to miserable insignificance, seemed quite like
a cock-sparrow confronting some bird of nobler plumage, and
the two were conversing together. All the men in the room,
except this one, seemed to become immediately transformed, in
Lucy's opinion,' into creatures of an utterly different race—
gibbering and capering apes, rather than the so-called lords of
86
THRO" LOVE AND WAR
creation. All her soul looked forth from her eyes as they dwelt
upon his face. Then, as if he had become conscious of it, he
looked at her, and meeting her earnest, appealing gaze, the ex-
pression of his whole countenance was transfigured.
" I have been waiting for you," his eyes seemed to say to her,
" and you are here at last! "
She became pale and cold with emotion; it was as though
his look was the expression of an appeal which she seemed
utterly powerless to resist. She felt that in another instant
she would have to go to him as he desired.
But just then she heard the voice of the youngest Miss
Boldero calling to her.
" Look here, Miss Barlow, we must make an exchange. You
are engaged to Mr. Algy for this dance ! " and Algy, to whom
Lucy had promised the following dance, came forward to claim
her. Lucy's partner, at the same time, offered his arm to Miss
Beauty, and led her away towards the tea-room.
At sight of Beauty in her coquettish gala costume, Lucy
underwent a sudden revulsion of feeling. She hardened her
heart, and hurling a look of timid defiance at the tall figure in
the doorway, turned aside upon the arm of Algernon Binks. She
had declined going into the tea-room, fearing to pass by the door
with its sentinel; so, as the dancing had not yet recommenced,
Algy led her out into one of the adjacent corridors.
" I hope you've forgiven me," he said, when they got outside,
"for calling you the 'pattern Clapham girl,' just after you
came? You see, we've had you held up over our heads as
perfection for ever so long; whenever we've done anything
wrong we've always been told that you wouldn't have done it,
and you know that ends by becoming a little trying. It's a
way the mother has, whether she knows anything about people
or not. But I see now that you're not' pattern' a bit."
" Indeed, no! " returned Lucy fervently.
She was already repenting bitterly of her hard-heartedness.
Supposing when she returned to the ball-room she should find
that a certain tall figure had disappeared ?
" But I never said," Algernon Binks went on, " that you
weren't 'perfection.' Perfection and 'pattern' are two very
different pairs of shoes. You're looking most awfully pretty
to-night, and you seem to have thoroughly ' fetched' my uncle
Belmorris. I've been expecting to see him plunge into the
mazes of the dance for the first time."
" Lord Belmorris, then, doesn't generally dance ? "
" No; but then he never goes to a dance either. Once a
fellow begins breaking down his own rules, you never know
where he'll pull up."
Lucy allowed Algy to go chattering on, answering him just
often enough to let him suppose that she was listening, but she
would have given worlds to have been alone. A thousand
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
8 7
emotions, the very existence of which had been hidden from her
until now, were waging war in her breast. Foremost amongst
them all, seeing that she was quite unaccustomed to the inflic-
tion of pain, however slight and evanescent, was the thought
that she had perhaps been guilty of an act of unkindness.
Might not a man, she asked herself, particularly one occupy-
ing what was foolishly looked upon as an inferior social
position, feel himself slighted, to say the least of it, by her
seeming indifference ? He had gazed at her so earnestly, so
appealingly, and his eyes, which could say so much, had
changed so suddenly upon beholding her from grave to gay,
and had said to her so distinctly, " Come!" Whereupon,
despising as it were the summons, and eager, as it must seem
to him, to show him that it was so despised, she had turned
straightway upon her heel, and left him where he was standing!
In what more decided and brutal manner could she have shown
him in public that she scorned and rejected him, that she
repelled, with haughty indignation, any possible advances
which he may have desired to make, and that to escape out of
his presence she would even tolerate the society of a chattering
boy like young Algernon Binks ?
But then, just as her heart seemed to be overflowing with
tenderness and contrition, young Algernon Binks, leading her
back by a shorter way to the tea-room, directed her towards a
secluded side-passage, wherein, as ill luck would have it, she
perceived the little grated window which opened into Miss
Beauty's cupboard. The letter upon the thick regimental
writing-paper—the secret method of its delivery—the allusion
made bv the boy of the tennis-court to other letters delivered
after a like manner—combined with the gibes and sneers of the
two elder of the "Forlorn Hopes," all went to prove indis-
putably that the man whose face seemed to betray a mind
above all human baseness, was engaged in an unworthy
flirtation with a vain and faded old maid, in his choice of
whom, Lucy could not help suspecting, he must have been
guided solely by motives of self-interest! She did not suppose,
of course, that the Miss Bolderos could be very well off. Their
residence in the Palace, on the contrary, seemed to point to a
narrowness of resources; but perhaps, for a veterinary surgeon,
there might be some sort of triumph in winning the affections
of a lady of such respectable social standing, for of course the
daughter of the late Lieut.-General Sir Hector Boldero, K.C.B.,
would be received in the circles in which he was accustomed to
move with open arms!
And now again, in Lucy's mind, all was bitterness, mistrust,
and humiliation ! Had she not, led on [by she knew not what
fatal spirit of infatuation, encouraged this man to some sort of
extent herself ? But then how Fate seemed to have plotted
and, manoeuvred to throw them together, and to establish
88
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
between them all sorts of little secret understandings about
which other people knew nothing whatever! Why, for in-
stance, when there were plenty of others, had he selected that
one particular railway carriage ? Why had that foolish old
woman, with the edible Chinese dog, jumped immediately to
the conclusion that they must be husband and wife? Why
had she gone, upon the following morning, straight to the
tennis-court, to be felled at once by his missile ? and why, oh
why, when he had held her hands in his, during those too
fleeting, too delightful moments, in that dim and for-ever-
hallowed corner, had she allowed him to go on clasping them
thus, and to look so earnestly into her soul with his appealing
grey eyes that he must certainly have discovered her secret,
and made himself for ever her master? Whilst these con-
flicting emotions were agitating her mind, Algy had led her
into the tea-room, for it was much too crowded to think of
dancing. The tea-room door was opposite to that other door,
against which she perceived, as she passed by, with a feeling of
intense relief it must be confessed, that a certain tall figure
was still leauing. His back was towards her, however, and he
was apparently engaged in watching the dancers. Lord Bel-
morris also still occupied the same position by his side.
"Your uncle seems to be great friends with the 'Yet,' " said
Lucy hesitatingly, as she and her cousin seated themselves
within sight of the two figures. She could not bring herself
quite yet to speak of him as " Mr. Grubbe," for, Shakespeare
notwithstanding, there is something in a name after all! A
woman's mind, however, is happily so constituted that, when
she is in love, it can adapt itself to anything. Lucy Barlow
had begun to realize this fact already, and knew now that
some day the name of " Grubbe" might sound in her ears even
as the " music of the spheres; " but this day had not quite
dawned as yet!
" The ' Yet ? ' " repeated Algernon, following the direction of
her glance. " Yes ; he and the ' Yet' have always been great
' pals.' They meet upon the common subject of horse-flesh.
But where do you see them together now ? "
" In the doorway, there; Lord Belmorris is talking to him.
They've been talking together for some time. You can't see
your uncle because the ' Yet' hides him, being so tall."
" Being ' so tall ?' the Yet ' tall ? ' Why who on earth do
you take for the 'Yet?'" He rose, coffee-cup in hand, in
order to see better. Then he laughed.
"It'll amuse Addie," he said. "I suppose, then, it was the
'Yet' who gave you that cut over the head?" and he laughed
again.
"I thought it was the 'Yet,'" replied Lucy. "I heard he
was playing a match with the Colonel, and he hit me because
he was trying a stroke with his left hand,"
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Sg
" Then you may as well go on thinking it," said Algy sud-
denly. " It was the ' Yet,' of course, and he was playing tennis
with the Colonel, and he's talking there, in the doorway, with
my uncle Belmorris! "
Lucy perceived that her cousin was intent upon some manner
of mystification, and had glimmerings of the mistake she had
possibly made. The short, stumpy man, with thq ferocious
moustaches, was perhaps the "Yet," whilst the man who had
in his keeping the keys of her secret soul was perhaps the
Colonel ? At first she did not quite know whether to feel glad
or sorry. Something it may be of the regret experienced
by Tennyson's village maiden upon discovering that her
" landscape-painter " was, in reality, no other than " the Lord
of Burleigh," overshadowed her heart for a moment. (We
women are so fond of anything partaking of the nature of a
sacrifice—an utter abasement and immolation of self!) Then,
all was gratitude and secret rejoicing! He had not corresponded
clandestinely with another woman! He was not looked upon as
a subject for the jeers and scoffings of that other woman's
sisters ! Of all such ignoble trifling and flirting he was utterly
and entirely innocent, and—his name was not " Grubbe! "
With a youth like Algernon Binks, however, who seemed
never to be either thoroughly in jest nor thoroughly in earnest,
and who veiled his meaning in such ambiguous language, it
would not do to make sure too soon.
"Just look!" he whispered now, "at the way Beauty's
1 carrying on' with the Colonel! I declare they're both drink-
ing out of the same cup ! "
He indicated as he spoke a far corner of the room, where
Miss Beauty was seated upon a low armchair, apparently deep
in sentimental converse with Lucy's first partner in the valse.
Algy had decidedly pronounced the word "Colonel" as though it
ought to have been written with inverted commas. This was
surely a confirmation of the " Lord of Burleigh " theory !
The music had ceased whilst they had been talking; now it
had recommenced.
" I'm afraid," said Algy, rising and going towards the door,
" that I'm engaged for this dance ; but I'll go off and find you
a partner. There's a friend of mine, awfully rich and all that,
who's been bothering me to introduce him to you all the even-
ing. He says you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen! "
He alluded to the well-preserved landed proprietor dis-
covered and "secured" upon the previous day by the three
Miss Bolderos in the Frog Walk, who had recently divorced
his second wife, and who may perhaps have looked to Lucy to
console him for the disappointments of the past. But Lucy
neither knew nor cared who was intended.
" Hadn't I better leave you with my uncle Belmorris ? " said
Algy when they got out into the passage.
90
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" Oh, no, no!" cried Lucy, shrinking hack again towards the tea-
room. " Let me stay where I am; I can quite take care of myself!"
Algernon took her at her word, and penetrated into the midst
of the dancers.
Seeing him entering the room alone, or hearing perhaps
Lucy's earnest accents in the passage, the tall figure in the
doorway turned and confronted her.
She dreV back towards the tea-room, whilst her heart seemed
to stand still in her bosom. But he came straight towards her,
and, without more ado, slipped her arm through his own.
" Let us get away from all this heat and noise," he said, as he
led her towards the moonlit colonnade. " You mustn't thrust me
aside in this dreadfully hard-hearted way," he went on, half play-
fully, half reproachfully, when they were once outside. '• You
should remember that in the train you were my little wife!"
CHAPTER XVIII.
I suppose that, as a rule, men do not count the cost of their
words, or else that they are ignorant of the importance some
women attach to them. Perhaps, educated as they are, to be
pleasure-seekers from the very beginning, they may never
anticipate the serious consequences of either word or deed until
the consequences of both are thrust upon them against their
will. They exist, for the most part, far more than women do,
for the day only, leaving the morrow altogether to Pate, and so
are much less affected than we are by the pleasures and pains
of either retrospection or anticipation. With but few exceptions,
too, they are disinclined by Nature to live over^ again in the
present that which has once been in the past; and indeed the
stir and turmoil of their lives generally precludes them altogether
from solitary and sentimental broodings.
It is not often that a full-grown Englishman (off the stage)
has ever been seen to shed tears about a woman's love; and one
may make pretty sure that, as a rule, the cheerful and well-
satisfied bridegroom will be transformed into an equally cheer-
ful and well-satisfied widower, should occasion demand.
An Englishman will bury his father, his mother, his wife, his
best friend, with an extraordinary amount of equanimity. At
the grave of his child perhaps he may seem to falter, for is not
his child a part and parcel of himself? It is the mother of his
child, however, who has foreseen this dark and terrible day from
the moment when her darling was first stricken, and when her
husband could only grumble at the frequent demands upon her
attention, or at the extravagant charges of the doctor. She
has lived in. fancy through the whole of this desolate time, long
before her bereavement was actually achieved, and her eyes have
%THRO> LOVE AND WAR 91
grown dim and weary witli weeping whilst her lord and master
was peacefully and noisily slumbering. But have men, for all
this, less true affection, less consciousness of real emotion upon
the little day for which they seem to have elected to live ? "When
the hour of their awakening at last strikes, and ere the sounds
of the hammer have died away into silence, may they not, per-
chance, experience in a more concentrated form the feelings which
are strained by us women to reach from the past to the future ?
I have always endeavoured to believe this myself, and shall
go on now trying to believe it to the end; and I believe, too,
that the blunders and barbarities of men towards the women
who love them are often nothing more than the blunders and
barbarities of ignorant children, who will pick the wings off a
fly in order to make it look like a beetle, or try to improve the
eyes of a mouse by filling them up with red-hot sealing-wax,
unconscious, all the while, of the horrible sufferings they inflict.
Had the hero of Lucy Barlow's imagination guessed at the
effect of his words, perhaps he might never have uttered them.
Did he, or did he not, realize the impression they were likely
to produce upon her ? Perhaps he had not thought about it
at all, and was merely living out his day, and filling it to its
fullest1 with pleasurable emotions, because he realized and
intended that it should be a day, and a day only ? But to
Lucy he appeared to be intensely in earnest. To her, one of
the words he had just made use of was as an assurance that he
could not have been speaking lightly. He had alluded, only
half seriously it is true, to the fact that she had been taken for
his wife. Surely, surely, he would never have reminded her of
this had the notion appeared to him to be either absurd or
altogether impossible of fulfilment ? Was not the name of
" wife" too sacred a name to be lightly uttered, even in the
sense in which he had uttered it just now ?
The moon, which at Hampton Court must have looked down
upon so many lovers, royal as well as obscure, had arisen now
in all her splendour : almost a full moon, which, it is said, makes
mad people feel their madness more acutely. She seemed to
have come forward into this particular quadrangle as though
to examine Lucy and her companion. A sympathetic and ap-
reciative moon—for there is a good deal of individuality about
ifferent moons—which seemed like a silent and sentient witness
throned aloft in the sapphire firmament.
Here and there the windows and corner-stones of the old Palace
reflected her rays, and the shadows of Lucy and her companion
were cast upon the stone pavement with wonderful distinctness.
He led her out of this full moonlight down one of the side
galleries, and" so, on, sauntering leisurely, through the Fountain
Court towards the passage at the foot of the Queen's Staircase,
where the sound of the music reached them only in broken and
fitful strains, mingled with the gentle whispers of the fountain,
92
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Lucy experienced a sense as of being entirely cut off and
separated from the rest of her kind. From not only those
human creatures who usually " lived and moved and had their
being " in her vicinity, but from the very age and epoch in
which it was her lot to exist. She and this one man, almost a
total stranger, had wandered together into the realms of the
shadowy past, back to the times of the Tudors, the Stuarts,
and the eax-ly Georges, a period utterly done with and gone by,
and sacred, dignified, pathetic, for this very reason, with none
of the soullessness of that remoter antiquity which seems to lie
almost beyond the pale of ordinary modern sympathy ; for it
would have been only by the performance of an acrobatic feat
that the Emperors Yitellius and Augustus, set up in their
rounded niches upon the further side of the quadrangle beyond,
could have peeped into this mysterious corner.
Lucy's companion was the first to speak :
"The moon makes one feel so insignificant," he said; "so
much as if one was acting a part which she must have seen
played out so often ; it's nicer here, where we're out of her sight!
How many people before us must have wandered forth, like
this in the moonlight, and yet to me, and to you perhaps, how
new it all seems! "
He spoke sadly and tenderly. Her arm was still through his
and he held it to him as with a sense of possession. Lucy
scarcely dared reply. It seemed as if some magic spell would
be broken if she spoke.
"Henry the Eighth wandered here, I believe, with Anne
Boleyn," she ventured at last. She would be safe, perhaps, if
she kept exclusively to the traditions of history.
" So I read in the guide-book," he answered, smiling; " and I
learn, too, upon the same authority, that Henry intertwined her
initial ' A' with his own ' H' over the gateway of the Clock
Tower; but that by the time the Banqueting Hall required
decorating a ' J.' had to be substituted for the ' A.' Perhaps,
however, I oughtn't to have told you this ! "
" Why not P "
" Because it will make you think that men are so dreadfully
fickle : just as you are beginning life, too, and when you ought
to be so full of illusions ! Tell me what your initial is P "
" My initial is an ' L ':—my name is ' Lucy,' " she answered
faltgringly.
He had spoken so irresponsibly about her " beginning life,"
as though, whilst desiring that her existence should be bright
and prosperous, he himself could have no possible share in it.
To her quickened senses his words had conveyed this meaning,
and they chilled her to her heart.
Suddenly she recollected the initial " L," which she had
observed in the tennis-court tattooed upon the arm upon which
she was now leaning.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
93
" You have an ' L ' marked upon your arm," she said, im-
pelled by a sudden and irresistible impulse; " I saw it when you
were playing at tennis."
Being so near him, she could perceive that he started slightly.
Then he answered carelessly, "Yes; young soldiers have a silly
fashion of covering their arms with tattoo-marks. There's
generally some fellow in the regiment who prides himself upon
his skill in this respect, and earns an honest penny by disfiguring
the whole lot of subalterns for life, and one doesn't like to. deprive
him of what he considers his due ! 4 L' is a graceful, lithe,
entwining letter," he went on, as though returning from his
subaltern reminiscences to the present; " but an 4 L ' will twist,
and twine, and interlace itself with the whole alphabet, and look
always appropriate; 4 Lucy,' I think, is different! "
44 Yes : Lucy is different! " she repeated mournfully,
Something in his tone seemed to sadden and depress her.
She felt that she had perhaps taken both him and his words
too seriously.
44 Yes; she is different," he said, taking the little hand which
nestled against his arm. 44 She is utterly and entirely different
from all the rest of the world, or, so she seems to me at this
moment! But in a very few years the world will probably
change her. On the surface, at least, she will become more like
other people ! " He said this, Lucy thought, almost paternally,
and again the death-chill seemed to invade her heart. 44 In a
very few years ! " Solitary, desolate years, because that strong
arm would not be there to support and comfort her; years
that might well change her indeed !
As she mused thus, she shuddered involuntarily.
44 You are cold," he said; 44 perhaps I ought to take you back
to the ball-room ? "
44 Oh, no, no ! I'm not cold! " she answered quickly. 441 was
only thinking about something !"
44 About the ghost ? " he asked; 44 we are just coming near to
the haunted gallery. You know the story ? "
He ; paused within sight of the passage leading towards
the Chapel Royal. There was an oaken bench in one of the
narrow arched recesses, and here they sat down, arm in arm, as
before.
"It seems," he began, assuming a trite narrative manner, as
though to conceal some sort of rising emotion, 44 that when poor
Katherine Howard fell into disgrace, she was shut up some-
where near here, in one of the guard-rooms; but finding out
one day that the king was praying in chapel, she escaped from
her keepers, and ran down that passage there in order to
appeal to him. Just as she got to the entrance of the royal
pew, however, the guards seized her and dragged her back
again. Her screams were so loud that they echoed all over the
Palace, but Henry, although he heard them, went on quietly
94
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
with his devotions, and now her ghost is supposed to shriek here
from time to time; perhaps we shall hear her now ? "
He drew Lucy closer to him as he spoke, as though to protect
her from the shrieking phantom, and they both looked towards
the shadowy entrance to the Chapel Royal.
" It was very cruel of him! " said Lucy, almost in a whisper.
" It was, no doubt; but in those days, although they may
have been more brutal, they were at any rate more honest. I
fancy that when a man is thoroughly tired of a woman, almost
the kindest thing he can do to her sometimes would be to cut
off her head! "
But for a quick sigh which escaped him, Lucy might have
imagined that he was not speaking seriously.
" Is it really so P " she asked in earnest tones; " but yet, if a
man has never really loved, surely he can never grow tired ? "
" He can grow tired without having really loved, and he can
really love without ever growing tired, for a passing fancy does
not deserve the name of love. Once perhaps in a lifetime a
man may meet with a woman of whom he knows that he can
never tire, but then Fate generally contrives to tear them
asunder. Could they but meet and' be joined together, life
would be too much like Heaven, I suppose."
He sighed again, and then continued, as with inspiration—
" God help the woman of whom the man she still loves has
become weary! Even to him it must be almost pathetic to see
the way she wastes her futile arts ! One quarter of the same
devotion if displayed by another woman would thrill his whole
being with gratitude, but for her he has no pity. He is defended
against her as with a shield and buckler ; her jealousy, which
in another would flatter and please him, insults and exasperates;
her silence is distracting; her words irritate; her tears can
move him no longer. In a thousand ways he, too, can insult,
distract, and irritate; he will seem to her to be a demon, a
tyrant, an inhuman monster, and yet perhaps she may still love
him in spite of it. The ties which should be woven out of roses,
become like iron gyves which gall and canker. When things
come to such a sorry pass as this, surely it were best that one
fo the two should snap the links and be free ! "
"I should think so," said Lucy, deeply impressed by his
earnestness; and she then added suddenly, "You must have
been very, very tired of somebody once, to know so well what
tiredness means ? "
A moment afterwards she repented her of her indiscreet speech.
What if he should be offended with her ? But he only continued
more calmly, " A man who is tired of a woman is always being
confronted, when in her presence, with the worst side of his own
nature; for I suppose we are selfish creatures, who are never
really pleasant unless we are amused. But I am speaking to
a mere child of what she can never have known or imagined."
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
95
" I can imagine what yon say to be true," returned Lucy;
"but I hope I shall never feel it, or suffer from it. For a
woman it must be hard to bear."
" I am afraid that it is. But I have been talking to you much
too seriously. Having met with some one who seemed to me
from the first like a friend, I have, I suppose, forgotten myself a
little. I am leaving here to-morrow, however, and who can say
whether we shall ever meet again ? Sol don't regret making
the most of the fleeting moments."
" You are going away to-morrow! "
A sense of desolation had swept over her spirit whilst he was
speaking, and the words escaped her like a moan.
" Yes; I have to leave here to-morrow, Thursday, soon after
two o'clock. I've nothing to do with the detachment here, and
only came to see how they were getting on in my private
capacity, and as a friend of Sparshott's. I ought to be at
Hounslow now. God knows why I stayed on here! "
So he was going away! His meeting with her had been
merely a chance episode in his soldier's life. She had crossed
his path for a moment, and he could let her go on upon her
journey by another way. Oh, for the relief of tears !
She drew away from him towards the further end of the
bench, and looked out into the moonlit quadrangle.
"Are all men fickle and cruel, I wonder?" she asked, with
the manner of one who is thinking aloud.
His voice changed almost to a whisper as he answered her—
"Ah, Lucy!" he said tenderly and regretfully, "by some
strange chance we two have met, we have met at least, and I
have known you. Were it possible that you could ever have
Cared for me, could I by a word have made any sympathy you
may have felt for me grow up into affection, I should be a
brute to say it. To go from you now is cruel, most cruel to
myself, but to stay might be perhaps cruel to you. We go now
upon our different ways, you will pass on I daresay to many
new. and varied experiences—who knows but that you may
twine almost as many initials as Henry the Eighth into your
life and memory! But still we have met once, and I can never
altogether regret it. I am glad, too, that our meeting-place
happened to have been this old Palace, which is not likely to be
altered or pulled down, at any rate during the course of our
two short lives; for in future years I shall be able to say as I
look down these desolate passages, ' It was here that I knew
her first, she leant here upon my arm, and walked with me
alone in the moonlight, it was here that I kissed her !' "
He drew her to him as he spoke, and pressed his lips to hers.
It was the first time that Lucy had ever known a lover's kiss,
and the lips that taught her this new lesson were the lips of
the man she loved.
The sense of isolation from all other human influences seemed
96
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
to endue this first embrace with something mystic and sacra-
mental, which made it appear less like a revelation than a fulfil-
ment. From time to time she heard, as in a dream, the gentle
plashing of the fountain and the distant strains of the music.
By-and-by, the great astronomical clock in the second quad-
rangle struck midnight.
Lucy tore herself from his arms at the sound, and rose from
the bench.
As she did so, the bunch of fern and stephanotis fell from
her bosom.
He picked it up, and pressed it passionately to his lips.
" You must give me this," he murmured, in broken accents;
" something that has been yours, to keep for all time ! "
Then he led her out silently into the moonlight, and so
through the Clock Court, under the stern reproving gaze of the
six Imperial Caesars in terra-cotta, back into the ball-room.
# # * # #
" I see," said Lord Belmorris when they reached home, and
as he was helping Lucy to take off her cloak, " that you've lost
the poor button-hole ; I pinned it in badly, and it's fallen out.
You see I've taken better care of mine! "
"Yes ; it's lost; it's gone! " she answered abstractedly.
Alas ! something that had been beating quite close to those
fading blossoms had gone too, to keep them company!
CHAPTER XIX.
As this is anything but one of those complicated, sensational
romances in which nearly everybody turns out to be somebody
else, and wherein the reader is perpetually been thrilled by all
sorts of unexpected disclosures and developments, the writer of
it has not been at any pains to conceal the workings of what
she may please to call the plot, and whatever bore the faintest
resemblance to a mystery must therefore have been immi-
diately solved.
The handsome soldier with whom Lucy Barlow had fallen in
love, almost at first sight, was of course no more a vete-
rinary surgeon than I am. The real veterinary surgeon
of the regiment—Mr. Oscar Grubbe—was deservedly popular
with all classes ; for, besides being an accomplished member of
his own profession, he was a first-rate tennis-player, a hard
rider, and an excellent hand with his cue. He had seen service,
too, years ago, in the Crimea, where he had even been slightly
wounded, and where a supposed resemblance to King Victor
Emmanuel, remarked and commented upon by some of the
most distinguished of our Italian allies, had induced him to
cultivate the enormous moustaches which have already been
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 97
described. Besides these, however, he possessed other points of
resemblance to " II Re galantuomo," for he had the reputation of
being brave as a lion, and was known to be a devoted admirer
of the fair sex.
At the railway station at Hampton Court, Miss Binks had
bowed politely to this gentleman, having become acquainted with
him through her brother Algy, with whom he had sometimes
played at billiards. Lucy, however, had imagined that her cousin
was bowing to Colonel Hepburn, who at that moment engrossed
the whole of her attention, and it was in consequence of Adeliza's
subsequent remark, to the effect that she had bowed to the
" Vet," that the absurd misunderstanding arose.
Anthony Hepburn, who, through a combination of fortuitous
circumstances, found himself, when but little over thirty, in
command of the 18th Lancers, was descended, upon his father's
side, from an ancient Scottish family, the same which some
three centuries before had given a third husband to one of the
most beautiful and unfortunate of Queens, and contributed
to history one of its sternest and most uncompromising per-
sonalities. His father, who had likewise entered the army,
had been dead now some fourteen or fifteen years. This gen-
tleman had married, early in life, the beautiful daughter of
Lord Falconborough, a nobleman possessed of large estates in
the north of England, and Anthony was the sole surviving
offspring of this union. After the death of her father, Mrs.
Hepburn had stayed continually with the brother who had
succeeded him, at Falconborough Park, during the absence of her
husband upon foreign service. Upon being left a widow, she took
up her abode there altogether; and it was there that her death
occurred, some nine or ten years before the opening of this story.
The Hepburns, howevei', were possessed of a good landed
property in Scotland, which at one time had encircled a fine
old manor-house with a somewhat unpronounceable name.
This manor-house had been unfortunately burnt down before
Anthony's birth, and as his father had never rebuilt it, he
came to regard Falconborough Park as his natural home
There was a good reason for this besides the burning of the
Scotch manor-house. Lord Falconborough was childless. His
marriage had turned out unhappily, and when he eventually
became a widower, upon the principle of the " burnt child," he
did not care to make a second matrimonial venture. Mrs.
Hepburn, his sister, kept house for him, and presided at his
table. He was devotedly attached to her; the place was settled
upon her after her brother's death, and upon her son Anthony
after her; so that, notwithstanding his childlessness, Lord Fal-
conborough was not without an heir-presumptive.
Mrs. Hepburn, however, pre-deceased her brother by several
years, whilst Anthony entered the army, and only revisited the
scenes of his boyhood at rare intervals.
G
98
7HR0' LOVE AND WAR
He had been fully prepared, therefore, for the possibility of his
uncle's re-marriage, and had never thought much about his pro-
spects, until Lord Falconborough's death, which event had taken
place some two years previously to the opening of this story.
Anthony Hepburn then found himself, whilst the best years
of his life were still in all human probability before him, a rich
man. The title, of course, for want of a direct heir-male, had
become extinct, but Falconborough Park, with all the adjacent
lordships, manors, messuages, tenements, farm lands, and here-
ditaments, had passed to him by right of his mother.
The new possessor of the Falconborough estates had. seen a
good deal of active service. He had passed the first three years
of his military career in India, and was so sunburnt when he
renewed his acquaintance with his uncle and his servants upon
being summoned to Falconborough to his mother's death-bed,
that they had scarcely recognized him.
Since this time, however, his soldiering had been fortunately
confined to his native land, for his accession, later on, to his
uncle's estates, seemed to render a residence in England to a
certain extent imperative. He had revisited, too, from time to
time, the Scotch cradle of his race, and had gradually collected
together all the pictures, furniture, and other remaining objects
which had escaped the fire, and which had been housed for more
than forty years by the factor of the estate. These he had had
transported, to Falconborough Park, for his pleasantest memories
were associated with what had now become his English home,
and it was surmised by those persons who interested themselves
in his affairs, that if he ever settled down to a married life it
was there that he would establish himself.
But, shortly after his succession to the Falconborough pro-
perty, quite a romantic circumstance had come to pass.
As Colonel Hepburn, who happened to be upon a visit to his
north-country home, was sitting one afternoon in his study,
overlooking some papers connected with his new inheritance,
his soldier-servant announced that a lady and gentleman desired
to speak to him upon business. They were shown at once into
his presence, and the lady's first words were certainly something
of a surprise.
" I have come, Anthony Hepburn," she exclaimed, with a good
deal of melodramatic gesticulation, " to present to you a person-
age whose existence you have found it expedient until now to
ignore, notwithstanding that several letters have been addressed
to your solicitor upon the subject. Anthony Hepburn! this
young man is my son, the only child of his widowed mother!
He is the present Lord Falconborough, the rightful heir to the
estates which you have purloined; the injured cousin whom you
have so basely defrauded of his inheritance! "
The lady, who was stout and apoplectic-looking, notwithstand-
ing some traces of past beauty, breathed hard as she concluded
this speech, and sank heavily into the nearest armchair.
THRO" LOVE AND WAR
99
A claimant to the Falconborough peerage and estates !
Anthony now remembered to have heard of this woman before,
through his uncle's solicitor, but it had never occurred to him
that she would have ventured upon any claims of this kind.
She had been an actress once, an old flame of his uncle's, and
an annuity had been settled upon her by his will. Of her son,
or pretended son, no mention was made, and Anthony Hepburn
could only regard the affair in the light of an attempt to extort
money. Nevertheless, he preserved a polite indifference of man-
ner, and dismissed his two visitors with a promise that he would
investigate their pretensions.
This promise, with the help of the family lawyer, he had been
enabled to keep. It turned oat as he had expected. The lady
in question had no just pretension to be regarded as the late
Lord Falconborough's wife. The young man was believed to be
certainly her son, but he was the son also, as far as it is possible
to establish such dubious relationships, of an Italian scene-
painter, who had been a favoured admirer of his mother's before
her acquaintance with the late Lord Falconborough. In Lord
Falconborough's lifetime no such claims had been advanced,
and the lawyer at once characterized the matter as a conspiracy
with intent to defraud, and made known his views to the two
conspirators. Anthony Hepburn, having left the affair in the
hands of his legal adviser, dismissed it altogether from his mind.
The claimants recalled themselves from time to time to his
memory, by sending him letters full of threats and denunciations,
hut he merely enclosed them to his lawyer, and troubled himself
no more about them. A good round sum, paid down, would no
doubt have saved him from all further annoyance, and he felt
tempted more than once to settle the matter by this means.
He was strongly advised, however, to do nothing which might
be set down to fear, or to the desire, upon his own part, to effect
any manner of private compromise, and so he had ended by
simply daring them to do their worst.
Could he have brought himself to believe that the young man
claiming to have become Lord Falconborough, was in reality his
uncle's child, the fact that he was certainly illegitimate would
have been no bar to Anthony Hepburn's generosity.
But the pretender in question, although he affected to be
several years younger, was evidently very nearly as old as
Anthony himself, and it was apparent, from some letters which
had been discovered by the family lawyer, that the late Lord
Falconborough had not made the acquaintance of the mother
until some years after his birth. The lady herself had been
handsomely provided for, and Colonel Hepburn did not consider,
therefore, that he was under any further obligation with respect
to her ; whilst regarded merely as an object for promiscuous bene-
yolence, she did not seem to be deserving of his consideration.
But although he had disposed of the matter thus summarily,
G 2
ioo THRO' LOVE AND WAR
he knew that the man who called himself " Lord Falconborough"
hore him no goodwill. Nay, more; having been thwarted in
his project for extortion, his ill-will had become so thoroughly
aroused, that it was only the uncertainty and obscurity of his
position which rendered him powerless for evil. In a word,
Anthony Hepburn had acquired an euemy, who, should the occa-
sion present itself, would be always ready to work him mischief.
At the time of Colonel Hepburn's meeting with Lucy Barlow,
he was seriously thinking of retiring from the army. The
monotony of a soldier's life in days of peace was somewhat
wearisome to a nature capable of wider sympathies and more
varied interests than could be ministered to satisfactorily in
barracks. He had a taste for art, for literature, for sport, for
foreign travel, and he was not unmindful either of the respon-
sibilities involved in the possession of a large estate. He did
not therefore require to continue with his soldiering for the sake
of a distraction, and he was too well off to be at all influenced by
the question of pay.
During the time that a detachment of his regiment was occupy-
ing the barracks at Hampton Court, he had more than once
visited the Palace. He had never remained there, however, for
more than one night at a time, and probably, upon the day when
he first fell in with Lucy, he might have proceeded directly to
Hounslow but for the accident which had placed the barrack-room
usually occupied by the captain in command at his disposal.
The ladies at the Palace had not taken these flying visits as
complimentary to themselves. They regarded Colonel Hepburn
as somewhat reserved and eccentric, " not half such good fun "
as most of his predecessors, and he had only been presented
amongst their number to the three Miss Bolderos, who always
contrived to scrape an acquaintance with anything in the
similitude of man.
Adeliza Binks, therefore, although she had seen and admired
the haughty Colonel at a distance, was only introduced to him
at the Boldero dance. Her uncle, Lord Belmorris, had charged
himself "with this first duty of a conscientious chaperon, and he
had sauntered with her through the figures of a quadrille.
Belmorris Castle was not far from Falconborough Park, and
notwithstanding some nine or ten years' difference in their re-
spective ages, Anthony Hepburn and the sporting nobleman
had known each other well in the past, whilst Adeliza Binks,
although she had never happened to fall in with him during
any of her visits to the North, was perfectly familiar with
Colonel Hepburn's name, and had informed herself of a good
many facts connected with his family history. So much for
the antecedents of the man who seemed likely to exercise some
kind of influence over Lucy Barlow's future. It may be as well,
perhaps, to see whether his enemy and pretended cousin bore
him any resemblance.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
101
" Family likeness," says George Eliot, "has often a deep
sadness in it. Nature, that great tragic dramatist, knits us
together by bone and muscle, and divides us by the subtler web
of our brains; blends yearnings and repulsions, and ties us by
our heart-strings to the beings that jar us at every movement."
Had the young man who, when moving in circles wherein it
was unlikely that the imposture would be discovered, insisted
upon styling himself Lord Falconborough, relied for the acknow-
ledgment of his pretensions upon his resemblance to any of the
Falconborough family, his claims would have been dismissed at
a first glance.
By " bone" and by " muscle," as well as by the " subtler
web" of his brains, he seemed to be utterly divided from every
member of it. His " yearnings and repulsions " were altogether
different from those of Anthony Hepburn, and save for those
jarrings at every movement which occur too frequently amongst
close kinsfolk, no evidences of consanguinity would have stood
revealed had the two men ever enjoyed an opportunity for
mutual scrutiny.
Falconborough, as I may as well call him for want of another
name, was anything but reserved in manner. Words came
easily to him, and his apparent frankness had the effect of pre-
possessing new acquaintances in his favour, by impressing
them with the notion that one knew as it were the worst of him
at once. He pretended to no virtues, but had the good sense
to conceal his vices; whilst, without being well educated in the
higher meaning of the term, he was decidedly accomplished.
From the theatrical scene-painter, a son of the Land of Song,
he had inherited a tenor voice of exceeding sweetness, and a
remarkable facility with his pencil. He was possessed, too, of
a very un-British gift of tongues, most modern languages
seeming to come to him quite naturally, without any necessity
for the irksome studying of grammars.
With all these endowments, united as they were to a hand-
some person, Falconborough might easily have made his way
in the world without relying upon others for assistance. Un-
fortunately for himself, however, besides being a born gambler,
he had a craving for expensive pleasures, and the dolce far
niente spirit of his race apparently neutralized every attempt at
serious application. On the whole, however, thanks to the
finite nature of his aspirations, and taking into consideration
the small amount of effort which he expended in briuging about
their realization, he had a right to congratulate himself, in
some respects, upon his good fortune. His title and estates
(according to his own account of the matter) had been kept
from him, it is true; but, in spite of this, over those persons
who were unacquainted with the ramifications of the' peerage,
he was enabled to lord it to his heart's content; and, indeed, it
almost seemed as if he had ended by persuading himself of the
102
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
justice of his own claims. He had coquetted with the Muses,
dabbled in amateur stockbroking, composed an opera, and had
talked quite seriously of going upon the stage. In the
Bohemian and not over-fastidious circles wherein, for the
most .part, he was in the habit of moving, " Loi'd " Falcon-
borough's artistic leanings were treated with tenderness and
respect. It was thought to be quite natural that, when it came
to the point, the young nobleman should shrink from all the
drudgery entailed by the adoption of any particular profession,
and his failures, when they came, were always borne by him
with so much careless good-humour, that they gained him
almost as much.. sympathy as a success. Those amongst his
associates who may have suspected that there existed some sort
of hitch with regard to his peerage, had never seemed in the
least inclined to look upon him in the light of an impostor.
One day he would explain, with an airy wave of the hand,
all these family complications would be satisfactorily arranged.
He could settle the affair at once, were he to harden his heart
and plunge into a lawsuit, but a natural delicacy deterred him
from attacking those who were so near of kin : he looked upon
this remedy in the light of a last resource; other and more
friendly means ought first of all to be employed, but the whole
thing was merely a question of time.
His mother, during her lifetime, had been enabled to supply
him pretty liberally with money, for she had possessed other
friends almost as generous as the late Lord Falconborough, and
this had enabled him to cut a distinguished figure amongst the
artists and city-folk with whom he associated, and who were
quite willing, in order to secure the society of one so agreeable
and accomplished, to overlook any flaw which might possibly
exist in his title.
But his mother had died, quite unexpectedly, some time before
the period at which this story opens, and with her the income
which he had assisted her so willingly to dispel. "With the
usual improvidence of her class, she had set aside nothing.
Falconborough, therefore, had been existing for more than a
year entirely upon his own resources.
In appearance, Anthony Hepburn's pretended cousin was
dark, pale, and slight; below rather than above the middle
height, but active and graceful as a panther. His brown eyes
were dreamy and melancholy, and his voice, in speaking as well
as in singing, extremely melodious. Underneath a cloak of
habitual carelessness and good-nature, there seemed to his
admirers, both male and female (and the latter predominated
in a large proportion), to lurk something romantic, melo-
dramatic, Byronic, which could not fail to invest him with a
peculiar charm. It was remarked also that scarcely anything
appeared to be capable of affecting his serenity, and that
love, loss, and disappointment alike seemed to glide con-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
103
veniently from the tablets of his memory like water off a duck's
back.
So much indifference to the ordinary events of every day
might have augured, perhaps, the existence of some secret
interest of an absorbing kind; but this view of the matter was
not taken by any of his friends and associates. They regarded
it rather as one of the evidences of his nobility, as a sign that
he was in some measure beyond the reach of the petty worries
and vexations wherewith they themselves were tormented; a
sort of repose of " Vere de Yere," which was one of the most
unmistakable characteristics of "long descent."
And after all it was not wonderful that these people, ignorant
as they were of Ealconborough's strange antecedents, should
miss the clue to his apparent indifference to those matters in
which they were interested themselves.
Had they desired, however, to see their languid lordling ani-
mated, indignant, impassioned, his thin nostrils distended, his
soft eyes flashing forth hate and defiance, they would only have
had to whisper in his ear the name of Colonel Anthony Hep-
burn of the 18th Lancers ; but this, of course, it was not likely
that they could know.
CHAPTER XX.
It was not likely that Lucy Barlow, being young, impression-
able, and by this time hopelessly in love, would have been able
to obtain much sleep when she retired to her chamber after the
Miss Bolderos' dance. She remained for some time at her open
window, framed by the climbing tendrils of the blush-roses,
gazing pensively at the silvery river over which that same sym-
pathetic moon was still shining.
It was nearly half-past one o'clock, and, notwithstanding the
brightness of the moonlight, all was silent, save when the foot-
fall of some belated wayfarer echoed from the towing-path to
the left of her window.
A soldier had strolled along it, just now, with his sweetheart.
A soldier of his regiment, and invested therefore with an
especial interest. He had stepped up to the little iron gateway
which separated the outer Palace-yard from the river-side, and
had rattled at its handle. " Locked out, by Jove! " she heard
him murmur, and he passed on down the towing-path with his
companion.
The expression was not particularly poetical; but to-night
everything seemed poetical to Lucy.
Happy, happy girl! she mused ingenuously, wandering
thus with her chosen lover by the side of the beautiful river,
with the gentle moon gazing down at her from the stary firma-
ment, and casting over everything a glamour of enchantment!
Perhaps, to this simple maiden, her soldier-lad seemed almost
104
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
as great a hero as did one of his superior officers to another
maiden, seated, not a thousand miles away, at her lonely bower,
overlooking that same moonshiny river!
Lucy watched the two figures until they became merged in
shadow, and sighed a quick sigh, as of regretful yearning.
From the little strip of garden below there arose the perfume
of roses, of mignonnette, of carnations ; a mingling of delicious
odours. She turned from the river and gazed wistfully across
the outer court to where she could see, upon her right, the long
low line of the cavalry barracks. There, too, all was silence.
At no one of the many windows could she perceive a light. All
those magnificent warriors, with the exception of the sentries,
and of the young man who had been locked out, were doubtless
lying wrapped in profound slumber. And was he, too, asleep ?
Probably, because she had always heard that men were quite
different from women. It was not likely that the memories
of that evening would be powerful enough to keep a man
awake! He was sleeping in barracks to-night (this much
she had ascertained, indirectly, of course), occupying Captain
Sparshott's quarters, who, in consequence of his accident, had
gone home upon sick-leave, leaving the command to the young
subaltern to whom Adeliza had alluded as "little Pycroft;"
and it almost seemed to Lucy as if she could penetrate through
the brickwork, and behold the room wherein he lay, with its simple
Spartan appointments, and the martial accoutrements dangling
from door and bedpost. She knew exactly what his aspect was
when he was asleep, because she had seen him sleeping in the
train, and looking, as she thought at the time, just as one might
imagine a knight upon a tombstone. "Upon a tombstone!"
Away with the ghastly and terrible comparison ! Must he too,
then, some day, die—this noble creation in God's image—and
lie cold and forsaken in some dark church-vault, for whose dear
head no silken pillow could be too soft, no gentle lady's arms too
tender ?
She turned from the window with tears in her eyes, and com-
menced absently undressing.
As she unhooked the front of her white dress, a roll of bluish
writing-paper fell on to the floor. It was the half-sheet of a
letter which Lord Belmorris had wrapped round the wire-
mounted stalks of his " button-hole " in order that they might
not scratch her, and it was covered with bold, manly characters,
which seemed, somehow, to be familiar.
Thinking that, if it had contained anything of a private
nature, Lord Belmorris would not have parted with it, and that
she was therefore at liberty to examine it, she spread it out
abstractedly upon her pincushion, and read as follows :—
"My dear Lord,
" Being in town yesterday, on business of my own, I ran
round to your place, according to your wishes, and paid a visit
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
to Miss Marchmont. I found her in, as she was in too bad a
way to go out. I had her stripped, and took a good look at her.
My opinion is that there is internal inflammation which goes
against her improving, as well as the injury to her jaw, which
is now all on one side, and seriously interferes with her enjoying
her meals. Her tongue, too, is much swollen, and hangs some
way out of her mouth, and my candid opinion is, that your
lordship will never derive any further satisfaction from the
possession of her. She has been blistered as well as physicked,
and all done for her that can be done, and I agree with you that
it will be advisable to have her immediately destroyed.
" I am, my dear Lord,
"Yours faithfully and obediently,
"Oscar G-rubbe.
" To the Right Honble.
" The Earl of Belmorris, &c. &c."
To what erroneous conclusions might not Lucy have arrived,
derogatory alike to Lord Belmorris's humanity and to his morals,
if she had not read in Lady Mabella's letter of invitation that
" Miss Marchmont" was the name of "the celebrated mare who, but
for a lamentable accident, would certainly have won the Oaks."
This letter, however, whilst it gave rise to no unpleasant mis-
understandings, reassured Lucy upon a subject about which she
may still have experienced some lingering doubts. It was in
precisely the same handwriting as the note she had taken from
the tennis-court boy in Beauty Boldero's cupboard; the same
rampant, wriggling creature, which she had mistaken for a ser-
pent, was emblazoned upon the paper—there could be no further
question about the matter! This was, no doubt, " the com-
munication " to Lord Belmorris alluded to by the real " Yet"
during the pauses of the valse; and it was for this absurd-look-
ing little man that the youngest of the three Miss Bolderos had,
faute de mieux, "got up" (as her eldest sister had declared)
" quite a furious flirtation!" But it was fortunate, on the
whole, that everybody had not exactly the same taste!
After showering blessings upon her hero—lying, as she im-
agined him, in all the dignity of placid repose—Lucy repaired to
her little white bed, " to assume," at any rate, Lady Mabella's
favourite " recumbent position," but, of course, not to sleep !
"What restless, interminable hours before the morning actually
dawned ! And yet, the east was beginning to grow rosy long
before she had thought of going to bed !
Without waiting for the housemaid to call her, she arose, and
seated herself again at the window. The sunshine was almost
blinding at first, and the river was alive with boats, barges, and
outriggers. The barracks, too, presented their usual animated
appearance. The troopers had already returned from watering
their horses—just as she drew aside her curtain they came
clattering into the barrack-yard.
io6
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
What a contrast to the drowsy stillness of the previous night 1
Perhaps, she thought, if only she remained long enough at her
window she might behold him just once again. Afterwards,
when he was utterly gone from her, she would not like to think
that she had missed even this melancholy satisfaction when it
might have been within her reach, and it would be no use dress-
ing too soon, as Adeliza was sure to be late after the dissipation
of the night before.
At about half-past eight o'clock Lucy met with her reward.
She perceived Colonel Hepburn crossing the barrack-yard, clad
in a suit of boating-flannels, and carrying a dark yachting-jacket.
"Why, oh, why, did he seem more beautiful in every different
costume ?
He sauntered on until he came close under the railing of the
garden, and she could hear his footsteps passing quite near to
her. She drew back into the curtain overwhelmed by emotion,
and at that moment the housemaid knocked at the door.
When Lucy looked out again she saw that he had gone out
through the small iron gateway which had been tried by the
soldier on the previous night, and was making his way towards
the boats. Evidently he was going for a morning row.
It now occurred to her that if she could only dress whilst he
was on the river, she might go outside and await her cousin
under the lilac-bush beneath the window, where she had noticed
that there were some garden-chairs, and in this way, perhaps,
catch a furtive glimpse of him through the railings as he came
back; for he would probably return by the way he went, instead
of going round to the further gates.
As soon as she was dressed, and after a last look to see that
he was not already in sight, she tapped gently at the door of
Addie's room. As she had anticipated, her cousin was still in
bed. She was awake, however, and seriously thinking of getting
up, only she was so dreadfully sleepy, and could not imagine
what possessed Lucy to be stirring so early.
"Mamma won't be down for hours," she said, yawning;
" she'll take advantage, thinking we're sure to be late, and so
will G-uffy. I didn't mean to get up till eleven! "
" Then I shall wait for you in the garden," said Lucy; " and
please don't hurry on my account; I shall be quite happy sitting
under the trees."
She went out, through the dining-room window, into the
narrow strip of private garden where she had seen a group of
chairs upon the previous day. They were no longer there, how-
ever, and she found that they had been moved outside the rail-
ings to a shady spot under a large elm-tree overlooking the
river, probably by Algy and Lord Belmorris when they had in-
dulged in their after-dinner smoke. As she was dragging one
of them back into the garden, Colonel Hepburn came quickly up
the steps leading from the towing-path to the iron gateway.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
107
The garden chair escaped from her hold, she felt too over-
powered by emotion to ntter a word,
He came towards her, and, also without speaking, took her
hand and led her towards the chairs. She sank into one of
them, and he was about to follow her example, when he uttered
an exclamation—
" Ah! Sergeant-Major Willis ! Good-morning to you ! "
Lucy glanced up quickly, with a mingled sense of relief and
disappointment, and perceived a very magnificent-looking per-
sonage standing bolt upright before her. To her inexperienced
eye he appeared less like a sergeant than a field-marshal,
although he wore only an undress uniform.
Some portion of the mysterious electric or mesmeric current,
which seemed always to influence Lucy when in Colonel Hep-
burn's presence, seemed now to have become diverted by Troop-
Sergeant-Major Willis (for it appeared that this was his proper
style).
The colour began to return to her cheeks, and she breathed
more freely.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the troop-sergeant; "might I ask
when we may expect to see Captain Sparshott ? Rather a heavy
list of complaints for him, sorry to say, sir! "
" I hope to see him this evening in London," answered the
Colonel. " I'll find out his plans, and send you over some one
from Hounslow if he's likely to be laid up much longer.
There's nothing serious, I hope ? "
"Usual charges, sir, but a full sheet. Captain'll be dis-
appointed, sir, in Private Pretyman, as I was myself. Locked
out, last night, and I'm sorry to say, sir "
The sergeant-major lowered his voice, and hesitated.
"Ah! a lady in the case !" said the Colonel, as though to an-
ticipate what he might be about to put into cruder language.
" Well, no, sir, not exactly a ' lady.' "
" A ' woman,' then," returned Colonel Hepburn, smiling, and
he then added, in an undertone, turning to Lucy," Yo'u see how
your sex seem always bent upon luring us on to destruction!"
"Beg pardon, sir, but I don't think I should quite say a
'woman,' sir," suggested the sergeant-major respectfully ; " first
offence, sir, so I don't think we must be too hard upon him; I
think it would be as well to enter it as ' a young female,' sir."
" All right! As you say, we mustn't be too hard upon
him ! " And he glanced towards Lucy with a look which
seemed to say, as though in extenuation of the soldier's mis-
conduct—
"We, too, Lave played,
We, likewise, in that subtle shade,
We, too, have twisted in our hair
Such tendrils as the wild Loves wear!"
"A 'young female,'" he remarked, when Sergeant-Major
io8 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Willis tad saluted and departed, " seems, in the regiment, to
describe some sort of central grade, not quite so high up as a
' lady,' nor altogether so low down as a * woman.' "
They were alone together once more. Lucy glanced at his
face with a look of appealing scrutiny, seeking there for some
trace of his more earnest mood.
As her eyes wandered, she perceived in his button-hole her
bouquet of the previous night, which had been given to her by
Lord Belmorris just as she was starting for the Bolderos' dance.
The stephanotis was brown and faded, and the maiden-hair fern
had lost all its feathery verdure, but he was wearing it still,
close, quite close, to his heart! With all his seeming indiffer-
ence of manner, then, he was not utterly and entirely without
feeling!
He perceived that she had noticed the flowers. Their eyes
met for a moment, but their lips were silent. The grey eyes
said quite plainly to the brown—
" Perhaps I may not wear my heart upon my sleeve for daws
to peck at, but I'm not quite made of adamant for all that!
I can love, I can feel, I can remember; are you not sometimes
just a little hard on me ? "
Whereupon the timid brown eyes seemed to answer them back—
"Forgive me! Forgive me! I see that I have judged you
too harshly; but I am a poor, ignorant, distraught creature,
about whose path ail sorts of strange waves of emotion seem to
be raging and surging ! I am rudderless, anchorless ; I have
neither aim nor purpose; I float like the thistle-down before
your breath! But I know that you have become my master,
and that I love you, and bless you, and thank you for wearing
those withered blossoms !"
There was a footfall upon the gravel path, and Lord Belmorris
came towards them from the house. He was accompanied by
his toothpick, and carried the morning papers under his arm.
" Up early, Miss Lucy!" he said, as he shook hands. " Good
morning, Anthony! Off to-day, I hear ? So ' 'Appy 'Ampton3
is over! "
He seated himself upon a vacant chair to Lucy's left, and un-
folded a newspaper. By-and-by he looked across her towards
Anthony Hepburn, and she saw that his eyes became riveted,
with rather a perplexed expression, upon the mummified remains
of his own magnificent" button-hole " upon the Colonel's breast.
He wished her to perceive that he had observed it, no doubt,
for he coughed in a marked manner, as if to attract her attention,
and then glanced down at the flap of his own coat.
He, likewise, she now saw was wearing as it were her
colours ! The rosebud he had picked up from the floor when
her bunch had fallen from her dress, limp and disconsolate in
appearance, was now in his button-hole ! The sense as of being
utterly rudderless and irresponsible, whilst winds and whirlpools
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 109
were encompassing her ronnd upon every side, grew stronger and
stronger in Lucy's bewildered mind. It seemed to her that,
by no direct act of her own, had she striven to bring about such
a misleading state of affairs; and yet, what would she herself
have thought of any other girl whom she might have surprised
in a like situation? Seated complacently, as it might seem,
upon an iron chair, between two men whose respective button-
holes were each of them decorated with what must appear like
the evidences of her preference ? Ah ! she saw now how very
unjust one might sometimes be to others, if one permitted
oneself to judge entirely by appearances !
" I say! Do just look at Lucy Barlow ! " whispered young
Algernon Binks to his sister. He had gone into her bedroom
in order to hurry her, and had sauntered to the window whilst
she was arranging her hair; "seated coolly under the trees
there, between her two admirers! "
" I can't get up now," returned Adeliza. " I'm quite late
enough as it is! I think mamma's been nicely mistaken in her,
and I'm sure I'm very glad of it. I think she's one of the most
outrageous flirts I ever met! "
" I think so too," said Algernon, beginning to whistle; " but
if she is so much the better ! I'm sure I sha'n't complain."
" Nor I either," replied Addie. " I hate and abominate those
sneaking, slow girls, without any ' go ' in them ; they're very
nearly always so horribly sly!"
" She's got plenty of 'go' in her, I can tell you," i-emarked
-AIgy> wagging his beardless chin; "and I think you'll see before
long that she'll show us some fun ! I like a girl that's got ' go.'"
Lucy, in the meantime, was fully realizing the truth of the
time-honoured adage to the effect that although two may be
" company," three is about the most unsociable number that
there can possibly be.
Lord Belmorris presented quite the appearance of having
taken up his position for the day. A little furrow, own brother
to that which might be so often perceived on Lady Mabella's
forehead, was traceable upon his brow, and his white teeth were
clenched firmly upon his toothpick. He and his iron chair
seemed as much part of one another as the body and hind-
quarters of a Centaur. Lucy experienced a feeling of intense
discomfort and restraint. It would have been the greatest
relief to her, at that moment, if Troop-Sergeant-Major Willis
had returned to them with fresh complaints of insubordination.
By-and-by Colonel Hepburn sighed and rose from his place.
" He is going ! He is going! " she thought in her heart;
" and I may never, never see his face again."
She looked in an agony of mute appeal, for in such moments
every feature is expressive, at the rooted figure with the tooth-
pick; but he appeared to be absorbed in his newspaper, and
showed no sign whatever of stirring.
iio
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Lucy almost regretted now that she had fallen in with
Colonel Hepburn at all upon this last morning. She would
have desired that her final parting with him should have been
private, sacred, screened from all other eyes. As a last memory
whereupon to dwell in her after-loneliness, she would greatly
have preferred those hallowed moments near to the Haunted
Gallery, with their passionate heart-beats, and only the silent
moon for a witness. It seemed a miserable, prosaic, disap-
pointing thing to part like this in public.
" Good-by," said Colonel Hepburn. He was standing before
her now, holding out his hand.
" Good-bv," she faltered, rising from her chair.
Because of Lord Belmorris, no doubt, he only clasped her
hand for a second.
" Ta, ta ! " murmured the laconic nobleman ; " see you down
home soon p "
"Hot yet, unless for a day or two," answered the Colonel;
" pei-haps about Christmas."
He shook hands with his country neighbour, and walked
across the outer court back to the barracks.
He was gone from hei', perhaps for ever. Oh, miserable
moment of restraint and desolation.
" Nice fellow, Hepburn," Lord Belmorris remarked as soon as
the Colonel's tall figure had disappeared.
He was scrutinizing her face attentively from under his marked
eyebrows. Lucy found his gaze distressingly penetrating.
" Yes, very nice," she answered mechanically.
" Good-looking, too ? "
" Yes, very good-looking," she repeated as one in a dream.
" And well off; fine place, deer-park, capital shooting."
" Is he ? Has he P " was all she was able to reply to these
statements, for she felt oppressed with misery.
" Pity he isn't a marrying man !" his lordship concluded,
with a sudden jerk of his toothpick. " We might have hooked
him for Addie !"
" I—I think," faltered Lucy, afraid lest she might display
her emotion by some outward and visible sign, "that I had
better go in and see if Addie is ready."
" Not going indoors this fine morning ! " cried Lord Belmorris,
protesting; " and just as I'm off to London. We've got lots
to settle and talk over, all about those donkey races, and that
'pony '!"
" I think I had better go in," she repeated; " I haven't had
any breakfast yet."
Miserable, material, transparent subterfuge! When would
she ever desire to eat any breakfast again ? It seemed, however,
to have produced the desired effect.
"Not had your breakfast yet! " he repeated with concern. "No
wonder you look a little shaky. Come in, and we'll feed you up."
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
in
This was not quite what she had intended.
They walked together, however, towards the house.
Once there, she might contrive to escape to her own room.
As they passed in through the dining-room window, they saw
that the breakfast-table had been cleared. It had only been
spread as yet with Lord Belmorris's breakfast, Miss Binks
having said that she would ring for hers when she came down,
and she had not appeared as yet. Lucy perceived her oppor-
tunity, and ran upstairs upon pretence of looking after her
cousin. As Lord Belmorris was watching her from the entrance-
hall she felt bound to go actually to the door of Adeliza's room,
which was situated just at the top of the stairs.
Miss Binks was still seated at her dressing-table, engaged
with her luxuriant tresses ; for, like the sister of the first wife
of the poet Shelley, she seemed to have quite an inordinate
liking for brushing her hair. She begged, however, that Lucy
would by no means wait for her, but that she would ring the
bell and begin her breakfast at once. Perceiving, upon quitting
her cousin's apartment, that Lord Belmorris was no longer at
his post of observation, Lucy was enabled to beat a hasty
retreat to her own room. But it seemed as if it was fated that
she should nowhere obtain the seclusion for which she longed.
An Englishwoman's bedroom should be her castle, but how
protect that castle from the inroads of the inevitable house-
maid ? The housemaid then, or rather the housemaids, for
there were two of them, were already at work in Lucy's room,
which was encumbered by many of the fell accessories of their
calling. They were engaged, as she entered, upon her poor
little inoffensive white bed, which they were belabouring for all
the world as though it had offered them some personal affront.
The room was filled with minute particles of floating dust. The
looking-glass was covered over with a towel. The jug was lying
sideways in the bath. The water-bottle was in the washing-
basin turned upside down. In a word, all was horrid confusion,
and Lucy saw that she could not have remained there in peace.
She went downstairs again, therefore, and rang the bell, as
Adeliza had begged her to do, for breakfast.
Lord Belmorris, in the meanwhile, had employed the few
moments that remained to him, for he was leaving Hampton
Court for London by the 11.15 train, in bidding farewell to his
sister. Lady Mabella had been up she said, and even down,
but she was now reposing after the fatigues from which she had
escaped, and had reassumed " the recumbent position " in her
private sitting-room.
" You must all run down home," he said, " in November, and
help me through with some fellows that I've got coming to
shoot the pheasants."
" Thank you, dearest Gussy!" she answered, gratefully and
humbly ; " we shall be delighted, I'm sure ! "
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
He embraced bis sister, and made as though he was about to
leave the room. He turned, however, before he got to the door.
" And I say, Mabel," he said, " you must bring down the bay
filly, you know ! We'll put her through her paces ! "
" Thank you, dearest Gussy ! " she made answer once more ;
" she will be delighted, I'm sure ! "
Lady Mabella was accustomed to her brother's peculiar
phraseology, and knew at once that by " the bay filly " he
meant Lucy. As I have before remarked, to Lady Mabella
Binks her brother's wish was law.
"What do they mean, Algy," Lucy asked, later on in the same
day, finding herself alone for a few minutes with her male cousin,
" when they say of a person that he ' isn't a marrying man' ? "
" It means one of two things, my dear," returned Algernon
Binks, who was seldom at a loss for an answer, "it means
either that he positively can't bear the sight of women at all—
hates and abominates the whole lot, and wishes every one of
them at the bottom of the Bed Sea—or else, that he's so
awfully taken up with one particular woman that he hasn't
time to think about marrying any of the others. That's about
the English of it."
Certainly Colonel Hepburn's manner towards her had not
impressed her with the notion that he had wished her " at the
bottom of the Bed Sea."
CHAPTEB XXI.
It was towards the middle of the month of November, early in
the afternoon of a grey and rather melancholy-looking day.
Lucy Barlow was seated in an ancient throne-like chair in the
banqueting-hall at Belmorris Castle, gazing into the fire which
glowed in an enormous grate between two heraldic chimney-
dogs. All her surroundings were stately, feudal, imposing.
The lofty walls of the apartment were of dark-coloured oak,
panelled at regular intervals with full-length family portraits
in ruffs and farthingales. Between the pictures, shields, lances,
and battle-axes were arranged in patterns. The floor was of
stone, worn into uneven dents and pathways by the passing to
and fro of many feet, with Oriental rugs flung down here and
there to give an air of modern comfort.
Lucy was dressed as though for an afternoon gallop, in a
neatly fitting riding-habit, and was absently drawing patterns
in the ashes with her whip.
At her feet, upon a low wickerwork chair, was seated
Algernon Binks. His fair hair was roughed up unbecomingly,
and he looked flushed and excited. No doubt when he grew
older he might become handsome, as his features were good,
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
113
and he was considerably above the middle height, but he did
not look handsome now.
" I say, Lucy," he exclaimed earnestly, as he propelled him-
self towards her upon his wicker chair, " do think over seriously
what I spoke to you about the other day. It's not so iin-
possible really, my deai', as you seem to think."
" Oh, Algy! " cried Lucy impatiently, "you know I told you
that you oughtn't to talk such nonsense. How you would
repent in a few years if I was silly or wicked enough to
encourage you! Why, jmu're younger than I am, and I was
only twenty last September. Men very often don't marry till
they're over forty."
"That's a thing that'll improve soon enough," returned
Algy, as he smoothed the down upon his upper lip. "Surely
you'd rather have a young husband than an old one ? "
" I'm not thinking of a husband at all. I consider that I, as well
as you, am much too young to marry, and besides, we shouldn't
have any money; we should have to go to the workhouse."
" Oh, lots of people get married now upon nothing at all,"
replied Algy carelessly! " You see, when I pass for the army,
I shall have my pay; and, just at first, we could live a good
deal upon our relations. That old aunt of yours, I should
think, would ' cut-up ' well—rather a tight-fisted old lady, as
far as I remember; never tipped me, I recollect, when I was a
youngster. And afterwards we might take a tiny, tiny little
house, somewhere in Ebury Street or South Kensington, and
we'd buy everything at the Co-operative Stores, and only keep
maid-servants, and we'd have a bicycle instead of a brougham,
or one of those double, new-fangled things," he added tenderly,
" upon which we could both go, you know, and we'd write all
our letters upon halfpenny post-cards. And then, as to the
future, why, when my uncle Belmorris dies "
He paused abruptly, hearing a brisk footstep approaching,
and the nobleman in question, neatly equipped for riding, came
through the portiere at the further end of the hall, looking as
though he was in no hurry to gratify the expectations of his
heirs.
''What! ready in time?" he exclaimed upon perceiving
Lucy. " You're certainly a wonderful woman ! Feel equal to
riding • Mustard' ? "
" Mustard " was one of Lord Belmorris's many hunters, and
was pronounced by every one of his many grooms to be as quiet
as a lamb. He had never carried a lady, however, but had
been going through a careful training to this end, with a horse-
cloth flapping against his left side, and was now reported to be
"perfectly safe."
Ever since Lucy Barlow had been at Belmorris—and she and
her relations, the Binkses, had been staying there now for
nearly three weeks—its noble owner had spared no pains in
H
114
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
order to initiate lier to nearly every manner of field-sport. > At
his particular request, she had provided herself with a riding-
habit, Adeliza having supplied her with the address of a
fashionable tailor, and after giving her a few private lessons in
equitation—at which she had proved herself an apt and willing
pupil—his lordship had escorted her, in turn with his niece, to
most of the near meets of foxhounds, providing, most consider-
ately, a carriage in which she could return in safety upon the
days on which he himself continued to follow the hounds.
Notwithstanding that she was as yet a mere novice in
horsemanship, Lucy possessed, so Lord Belmorris informed her,
a most excellent " seat; " perhaps from the fact that she was
naturally graceful, and she was likewise extremely intrepid,
possibly from her ignorance of the many dangers which may
attend inexperienced riding.
She found the exercise itself perfectly delightful. It was
quite a revelation to her to feel the springy movement of the
hunter beneath her, as she galloped through the fresh wintry
ah, accompanied by her kind and attentive " caretaker."
What a different sensation to that of riding a donkey! She
had made her first acquaintance with shooting, too, although
about this sport she could feel but little enthusiasm. Adeliza,
to whom these things were not new, had walked out with the
sportsmen during the lai'ge shooting-party of the previous
week — which had now dispersed — and had chronicled the
number of innocent creatures slaughtered by her uncle, with the
aid of a little instrument having hands something like a watch.
But, when it had come to Lucy's turn to perform the same
service—which she did at Lord Belmorris's particular request
—she had felt nervous and miserable during the whole time.
The noise of the guns, going off so close to her ears, alarmed
her dreadfully ; she pitied the pheasants too much to be able to
admire the most accomplished shots, whilst the screams of the
poor hares, crying out as they did just like babies, positively
made her heart bleed. Altogether, she was not sorry when the
"big shoots" came to an end. Algernon Binks went out
occasionally with his uncle in the early morning, when game
was required for the house, and " potted about," as he termed
it, in the near woods; but Lucy's disagreeable duties as
assistant-marker were now over.
Upon leaving the house on the day about which I am writing,
Lucy and her cavalier proceeded through the park, and then by
lanes and devious ways, until they reached the open country
beyond. This for the most part was wild, grand, and rather
desolate-looking, compared at any rate to the suburban scenery
to which Lucy had been accustomed. Vast moorland tracts,
stretching apparently for miles, met the eye upon every side.
Here and there they passed through fields of plough and
pasture much larger than any fields that Lucy had ever seen, or
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
ii 5
they skirted a dark mass of forest and underwood, which by its
enclosing fence seemed to indicate the park of some local mag-
nate. Strange unfamiliar birds—plovers, waterfowl, and now
and again a long-legged heron with huge flapping wings—flew
across their path and up into the grey heavens, startled by the
tread of the horses. They passed but few cottages, cheerless
and comfortless dwellings to look at, so Lucy thought, without
either gardens or orchards, about which hard-featured women
were squatting, for the most part unoccupied, gazing out at
the wild landscape from under their beetle brows. Some few
of these curtseyed rather surlily as the riders went by, "but the
majority took no notice of them.
" We're rather a rough set about here," Lord Belmorris ex-
plained; "but we speak the truth and hate all shams and
' bunkum.' Kick our wives to death and that kind of thing,
when they deserve it, but we're not ashamed to confess to it
afterwards, and we ' swing ' for it like men. Not a bad lot, take
'em as a whole ! "
" It must be nice to feel that everybody speaks the truth,
though I'm afraid that wouldn't make one forgive being kicked
to death," replied Lucy smiling.
"I think," Lord Belmorris went on, "without any humbug,
that in these parts we've stronger likings and hatings than
other people. It's not worth while liking everybody one comes
across, or hating them either, and it takes us some time making
up our minds as to whether a thing's ' chalk' or first-rate. But
once they're made up, they're made up for good, and I don't
believe that Eton or Harrow, or the army or the navy, or all
the women in the world, white, black, or copper-coloured, could
ever make a North-countryman quite like a Southernei*, for
we're a peculiar people, and just as obstinate as the devil!"
The ostensible object of this particular ride had been to fall in
with the fox-hunters. The nearest meet had been too far off for
either of the young ladies to go to, but Lord Belmorris had
made nearly sure that the hounds would draw towards the
direction in which they were going, in which case he and Lucy
might have followed them for a little while " with their heads,"
as he expressed it, "towards their own stable."
They had seen no trace of them, however, so, as they were
some way from home, and as it became dark now pretty early
in the afternoon, Lord Belmorris proposed after they had ridden
on for about another mile that they should retrace their steps.
By cantering across a large ploughed field which lay to their
right, they could get by a shorter cut into the main road.
They turned in at the gate, therefore, and made for an open-
ing at the further end of the field. " Mustard," finding perhaps,
that he was being urged in a homeward direction, soon broke
from a canter into a gallop, a much faster and more determined
gallop than Lucy had ever experienced before.
II 2
n6 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" Don't give him his head too much !" shouted Lord Belmorris,
who was now some way behind.
" Sit tight!" she heard him call out bj^-and-by, but his voice
sounded now quite a long way off.
Lucy now realized that " Mustard " was running away. At
first, it was anything but an unpleasant sensation. Half the
ploughed field was before her; in so much open space it did not
seem as if they could come to any real harm. The wind
whistled in her ears, and large clods of earth were scattered to
the right and left. Her hat was soon blown off and her hair,
which she fancied she had secured so firmly, became unfastened
and floated behind her like a banner.
At first she felt a good deal more astonished than frightened.
At the extreme end of the field thei-e was a gap in the stone wall,
through which Lucy and her host had intended passing, but
she soon perceived that " Mustard," instead of making for this
gap, was urging his mad career towards the stone wall itself,
beyond which there was evidently a considerable drop, for she
could only discern the tops of the shrubs which grew upon the
other side.
At the idea of this terrific jump Lucy's heart failed her, and
inspired by fear, she did what was perhaps the only thing to be
done. Leaning back, she brought her whole strength to bear
upon the reins, and succeeded in turning "Mustard's " head to
the right just as he came up to the wall. He plunged and
struggled for awhile, as though bent upon carrying out his
original intention, and Lucy, who was by this time pale with
terror, ran great danger of being thrown. But, just as she was
giving herself up for lost, Lord Belmorris came up with her and
seized the reins. He, too, had been seriously alarmed, and had
felt powerless to render her any assistance, being afraid that if
he pursued her too closely, the sound of hoofs would only have
urged on her impetuous steed. He bestowed great praise upon
her for the adroit manner in which she had contrived to avert a
catastrophe, and with some difficulty, seeing that" Mustard" still
displayed signs of insubordination, assisted her to dismount.
Standing, "pale as her sark," with dishevelled tresses, in the
middle of a ploughed field, the grey clouds drifting over her
uncovered head, Lucy presented an interesting bxrt disconsolate
picture. Seeing that all danger was over, however, she soon
regained her presence of mind.
Lord Belmorris was jerking at "Mustard's " head with some
show of irritation.
" Oh, don't hurt it, poor thing!" Lucy called out; " perhaps
it didn't really mean any harm!"
Notwithstanding that she had now fairly recovered her
courage, and that " Mustard," too, seemed somewhat quieted,
Lord Belmorris refused to allow her to remount. But, as they
were at least ten miles from home, and there did not appear to
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
117
be any human habitation within sight, it was not easy at once
to settle upon a plan of action. Pending a decision, Lucy went
off in search of her hat. When she had recovered it, she saw
that Lord Belmorris was riding off towards a distant corner of
the field, and beckoning to her to follow. He was making for a
small shed, in which no doubt he thought of securing the
horses, and where she would be able to rearrange her dis-
ordered attire.
She laboured along as she best could. Some way from the
shed Lord Belmorris met her on foot, and assisted her towards
it with his arm.
Upon entering the shed or " bothie," she saw that it was much
larger than it had appeared from a distance. It had evidently
been erected as a shelter for cattle, or as a feeding-place for man
and beast during the intervals of ploughing. It was thatched
neatly with dry heather, and was provided inside with a rough
manger and plenty of clean straw.
" What a nice cosy little place! " cried Lucy, looking round
with satisfaction.
It did, indeed, feel delightfully warm and comfortable, and
after plodding along in the teeth of the wind, seemed quite like
a haven of rest.
•' You must sit down her and keep quiet for a bit," said Lord
Belmorris, proceeding to build up a convenient resting-place
with heather and straw; " and we'll settle up the hair, and won't
hurry ourselves the least bit in the world. We shall get back
all right, I hope, for I've made up my mind what to do."
He had fastened the horses to the manger with a couple of
halters which he had fortunately discovered, and he now seated
himself by Lucy's side upon his improvised divan, at a safe
distance from their heels.
" I shall change the saddles," he explained, " as soon as I've
set you to rights a little, and you shall go home upon ' Merlin,'
who's just as quiet as an old pig."
" Merlin " was the horse he had been riding himself, accounted
even more lamb-like than " Mustard," but somewhat rougher
in his paces, and consequently not so suitable for a lady.
This was why Lucy had not been mounted upon him in the
first instance.
Two hair-pins were luckily discovered in Lucy's veil, for all
the others had been hopelessly dispersed, and with the help of
these, and of Lord Belmorris, she commenced rearranging her
dishevelled locks.
" I am not half such a ' duffer' as I was," he said, with
some pride.
He was alluding, no doubt, to the evening at Hampton Court
when he had pinned his " button-hole " on to her dress, and
thinking that this was not the first occasion upon which he had
performed for her the duties of a lady's-maid.
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THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" What hair it is! " he added admiringly, as he stuck in the
last of the two pins.
In this out-of-the-way shelter, Lucy and her companion seemed
to be as far removed from all external influence and interrup-
tion as Crusoe and his man Friday upon their desert isle.
Through the opening that served for a door, they could see
nothing but a desolate expanse of brown ploughland, dotted
over with white-breasted plovers, that, unsuspicious of their
near vicinity, had alighted close by in considerable numbers.
Overhead, the grey wintry clouds went drifting past, revealing,
as they were rent asunder in their hurry, a glimpse of pale
primrose towards the western horizon.
What a grateful sense of withdrawal from the striving world,
of privacy, of remoteness, of blessed and uninterrupted com-
munion, might she not have experienced upon this very same
November afternoon, if only Lord Belmorris could have been
suddenly transformed into somebody else! For, kind as he
was, he did not seem to her to be quite the right person for the
situation.
Had Lucy possessed any experience of life, she might perhaps
have reflected that the remaining for an hour or more, even
with the " right person," in a desolate cow-shed, is not always
productive of results calculated to render smoother one's after-
journey, and she might have felt some sort of secret thankful-
ness for the security of her actual position.
She knew nothing, however, of such matters; and so was
conscious only of a hungry yearning at her heart which she
could in nowise have translated into words.
By-and-by, Lord Belmorris got up, and consulted his watch.
" We must be jogging on again," he said sighing, as he helped
her to rise. " It's turned four o'clock, and we sha'n't be back
till long after dark. I shall think of to-day," he added, looking
her full in the face, "whenever I come upon this cow-shed, all
the days of my life!"
" I shall often think of to-day, too," returned Lucy simply;
"though I don't suppose I shall ever see this shed again."
CHAPTER XXII.
There are, no doubt, days upon which horses, like human
beings, seem as it were to be possessed of the devil.
Lord Belmorris had taken the man's saddle from his own
horse, and placed it upon " Mustard," and he then set to work
to arrange the side-saddle upon the back of " Merlin." He had
just succeeded, after some effort, in girthing ,it on securely, when
" Merlin," of all horses in the world, " Merlin," accounted almost
too quiet and sluggish for convenience, scared, possibly by
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
IX9
something altogether novel in the situation, broke away sud-
denly from the manger, and with a frightened, swerving move-
ment, dashed past Lucy, out of the door of the " bothie," and
was very soon lost to view. Anything less like the behaviour
of " an old pig " could scarcely have been imagined.
"We're done!" exclaimed Lord Belmorris, with a low
whistle; " we'd better set about making ourselves comfortable
for the night."
Lucy looked at him inquiringly. Was he really in earnest,
or only giving her a specimen of his " dry wit ? "
" Shall we really have to stay here all night ? " she asked
with concern.
" Unless yon feel up to walking ten miles; I don't see what
else we can do; for I'm not going to put you on that nasty
brute again ; besides which, we've only the man's saddle."
How were they possibly to get home ?
The problem would have been much less difficult to solve if
" Mustard " had been the lamb-like creature he had been repre-
sented as being. Lord Belmorris might then, perhaps, have
rigged up some sort of side-saddle, well versed as he was in all
kinds of stable work, and with the help of his own coat, and
one of the old halters, arranged that Lucy should have been
securely mounted, whilst he walked by her side, like a page of
the olden time, leading her bridle-rein. He might eveu have
invented some kind of pillion, upon which she could have ridden
behind him, and which would have been almost as pleasant and
sociable a method of locomotion as the double tricycle alluded
to by Algernon Binks. But "Mustard," in his present un-
certain mood, would not have been likely to brook any departure
from the beaten track, and it might be rash, therefore, to
subject him to experiments.
" I've been lodged for the night in many a worse crib than
this," remarked Lord Belmorris, as he leant against the
entrance of the shed and flicked at the posts with his whip.
Lucy, too, was leaning against the doorway and looking out
at the desolate landscape.
Twilight was fast gathering around them, and great violet
clouds were floating across the pale lemon of the distant sky.
The line of park-woods which they had passed on their way
looked like a mass of shadowy vapour collected to the extreme
right. The white-breasted plovers had all of them disappeared,
and a bat had commenced its monotonous flitting to and fro, so
near to them that they could feel the air stirred by its wings
upon their cheeks.
" It'll be dark in half an hour," said Lord Belmorris, after he
had again consulted his watch. Dazzled by the reflection from
the evening sky, he had some difficulty in discerning the time.
By-and-by, he went back into the bothie and began unfasten-
ing " Mustard's " halter.
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THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" I think there's a way of getting home, after all," he said ;
" I'd quite forgotten the coal-pit."
He had perceived the shaft in the distance, and it occurred to
him that, perhaps, the colliers might be able to furnish them
with some rough kind of conveyance.
" And I daresay you won't mind if it's only a wheelbarrow,"
he said, " so long as you're able to get home ? Por my own
part, I'd rather have remained on here."
He led " Mustard" out of the shed as he was speaking.
" You'll have to stay here all by yourself, I'm afraid," he said,
as he mounted his horse. " Don't get into any mischief; you
may be sure that I'll be back as soon as I can."
He put spurs to his horse, and set off across the brown
ploughed field in the direction of the coal-pit.
As it happened, Lucy was not sorry to have a short time to
herself. The last three weeks had seemed to her like a dream,
and she had seldom found herself alone at moments when she
felt capable of reflection or self-examination.
During the five months which had intervened between her
visit to Hampton Court Palace and this darkening November
afternoon, she had neither seen nor heard anything of Colonel
Hepburn. He had avoided, as it seemed to her now, making
any inquiries as to her mode of life, or place of residence, in
order that he might be secured against any future entangle-
ment. By the light of a daily increasing experience, his
behaviour seemed to admit of only one interpretation ; he had
met her by a mere accident, he had liked her just sufficiently
well to prevent him from wishing her " at the bottom of the
Bed Sea;" being a man, and prone therefore to yield to the
temptation of the moment, he had permitted her to perceive
this languid liking in order that she might minister to his
vanity, and help him to play at sentiment when he had bad
nothing pleasanter to do. He had kissed her, it is true, and
his kisses were as the kisses of no other man could ever be, they
had seemed to her even as a sacrament, sealing her for ever as
his own ; but, no doubt (as men were so different from women),
he had been merely obeying the impulse of the moment; and
now she was either utterly and entirely forgotten, or hopelessly
confused in his mind with the heroines of many another moon-
light flirtation. Those sacred moments, which must linger in
her memory for ever, which had changed as it were the whole
colour and current of her existence, had merely provided him
with an amusing episode between a valse and a quadrille.
They had met, and now they had parted; and he had no desire
either to see her, or to hear of her again, or to renew any of his
fleeting impressions, because he was "not a marrying man."
She had helped him to pass what might have been otherwise
but a wearisome evening, and now she had served her turn and
was done with. This was all. Perhaps in time, and with the
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
121
help of tlie bitterness that such musings brought with them,
she, too, might have strength given her to forget, but this time
had not come quite yet.
Alas! had Lucy only known that, at this very moment, when
the object of her thoughts was—for aught she suspected to the
contrary—separated from her in body, spirit, and association,
her feet were actually set upon his inheritance; if she had
guessed that this brown, ploughed field, with the horses that
had laboured in it, were alike his property, and that the long
line of shadowy woodland hard by, was the boundary-line of his
home; she might, indeed, have marvelled, as she had marvelled
once before, at the strange and unexpected workings of destiny.
When Lord Belmorris returned, it was very nearly dark.
Lucy was so absorbed in her reverie that she did not hear his
horse's tread upon the soft ground until he was quite close at
hand.
" It's all right," he said cheerfully, " if you can manage to
walk as far as the ' coal-hole.' I shall leave ' Mustard' here,
where an intelligent youth will see to his requirements till lean
send over for him, and I've sent out scouts to bring back
'Merlin.' We shall have a rough kind of carriage for the first
part of the way, for I've settled that we're to be run down in a
truck with the coals; but I've a friend who lives a little further
on, and if we're set down near his place, I daresay I can borrow
a ' shay' to drive you home in. Sorry to say it looks a good
deal like rain."
,They quitted their Crusoe hut, and skirted the ploughed field,
along a narrow footway bounded by a low stone wall. It was
so dark now, that Lucy could scarcely see her way, and could
only blindly follow Lord Belmorris's lead.
By the time they reached what he had designated the " coal-
hole," it was raining steadily, and Lucy, in her clinging riding
habit, would have stumbled over the rough ground but for her
companion's arm.
A group of colliers were awaiting their arrival, having come
to an end of their day's labour. They were sullenly smoking
their pipes in the rain, wearing empty coal-sacks across their
shoulders like shawls. Two of them carried lanterns, with
which they lighted Lucy and Lord Belmorris to the trucks.
This single line of rough railway ran from the mouth of the
pit to a village some few miles distant, whence the coal was
conveyed by regular trains to the nearest manufacturing town.
The engine went only at a foot's pace, and it was to be stopped
at a spot which Lord Belmorris had indicated to the driver.
Notwithstanding the sacking which the colliers had spread at
the bottom of the open truck, Lucy soon felt that she was
becoming as black "as a chimney-sweep. Everything she
touched was black, wet, and chilling. The rain was still
falling1, and knowing nothing of the locality, it seemed to her
122 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
as if they were making their way through a realm of im-
penetrable darkness. Lord Belmorris sat close by at her side.
He had pulled up the collars of his coat, and was softly
humming to himself, with no particular attempt at tune. The
time appeared to Lucy to go with extraordinary slowness. By-
and-by, Lord Belmorris called out to the engine-driver, and
with a good deal of scraping and grating, the coal trucks came
to a stand-still. Lucy was assisted to descend from her uncom-
fortable position, and, after crossing the railway in the direction
of a paling which ran parallel with the line, they passed through
a white gate and found themselves in front of a neat-looking lodge.
Lord Belmorris went to the door, and tapped at it with the
handle of his whip. A tall man, looking like a gamekeeper,
appeared in answer to the summons.
He recognized Lord Belmorris at once, notwithstanding his
drenched condition, and invited him respectfully to enter the
cottage. Lucy followed; she felt by this time rather chilled
and exhausted, and the sight of a cheerful fire was very
pleasant. Lord Belmorris explained the situation, and asked
the keeper if he could lend "the young lady" a change of
raiment whilst her riding-habit was being dried. Perhaps his wife
could find something which she could slip on to go home in?
Lucy was grateful to her kind host for his paternal solicitude,
but it turned out that the keeper was a widower. He pointed
to three small children engaged at the tea-table with their
bread and butter:
" They've not got no mother now," he remarked sadly.
Lord Belmorris was evidently vexed at having touched
inadvertently upon so painful a subject.
" We'll walk on to the house then," he said to Lucy. " It's not
far off, and get hold of the old housekeeper, who is a friend of
mine. Anybody at home ? " he inquired, turning to the keeper.
The man replied in the negative, and invited his unexpected
visitors to partake of tea before they again set off to brave the
elements.
Lucy would willingly have availed herself of this invitation,
but Lord Belmorris, remarking that she would most certainly
be laid up with an ague if she sat for a moment longer in her
damp clothes, hurried her out of the cottage and into the night.
There was neither moon nor star to be seen; but it was not
too dark for Lord Belmorris, who apparently knew the way
well, to distinguish path from brushwood. Lucy clung to his
arm in silence, as they threaded their way through what
seemed to be a shrubbery of young spruces. The rain had now
almost ceased, but the drip from the overhanging branches
pattered down upon their heads at every step. By-and-by
they passed through some sort of defining boundary, and the
trees, so far as Lucy could perceive, appeared to be of much
larger dimensions, The pathway became smoother and better
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
123
tended; it was as though they had entered the pleasure-grounds
belonging to an extensive park. Suddenly they emerged from
this ''mystery of covered ways," and Lucy could dimly dis-
tinguish before her an open space, studded over with trees
trimmed into a variety of fantastic shapes, beyond which there
arose what looked like a vast and shadowy palace.
Here and there, upon the basement-floor, lights twinkled at
some of the many windows. Lord Belmorris, with Lucy still
clinging to his arm, made his way across the lawn, and up to
the front-door, which was approached by a broad flight of
marble steps.
He rang the bell, and as the sound of it re-echoed through the
house, a deep-mouthed watch-dog, in some distant courtyard,
began to howl furiously.
"I wonder," said Lord Belmorris, as they waited together
upon the door-step, " whether you remember a fellow you met
last summer at Hampton Court? Anthony Hepburn; nice
fellow, good-looking, well off, lives down here in my part of the
world ? This is his place."
"Angels and ministers of grace defend me!" thought poor
Lucy, although possibly not in these very identical words.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Colonel Hepburn—and for this Lord Belmorris had been
prepared by the keeper—was, at the present moment, absent
from Falconborough Park. The housekeeper, however, a kind,
motherly dame, who informed Lucy that she had been the
Colonel's nurse, having taken him, she explained, "from the
month," said, however, that he was expected shortly for a few
days' shooting. A friend, an officer in his regiment, a Captain
Sparshott, she believed, was to accompany him, and there were
consequently two bedrooms already aired and prepared, in
which his lordship and the young lady could set themselves in
order after their drenching. The worthy dame would search
amongst the Colonel's effects, she said, for some sort of warm
cloak or wrapper, which Lucy might don in place of her soaking
riding-habit; whilst the butler went at once to the stables to
order that the brougham might be prepared tc convey them
back to Belmorris after they had partaken of tea.
Lord Belmorris seemed to be well known to the few servants
remaining at Falconborough. He was popular with all classes,
and they commenced vying with one another in their attentions
to the wet and belated wanderers.
Looking upon life and its strange combinations with the eye
of an experienced philosopher whom nothing can shock, astonish,
or disconcert, knowing, too, the extravagant demands and re*
124
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
quirements of " the voracious goddess of Romance," I feel that
1 need scarcely be at the pains of informing my readers into
which of the two luxuriously furnished sleeping apartments
Lucy found that she had been ushered.
The door was closed upon her, and she looked about her as
one in a dream.
His room, where every visible object, in its very minutest
detail, breathed and whispered to her of him ! These walls had
enclosed him; on these pictures his eyes had rested ; yonder
mirror had reflected his beloved form ; this happy carpet had
been pressed beneath his feet; upon that iron bedstead in the
corner he had reposed when he was weary !
Oh, strange, portentous, and unexpected chance that had led
her, Lucy Barlow, into this sacred, spirit-haunted chamber; by
tortuous and mysterious ways, situated as it was in a county
separated by very nearly the whole length and breadth of the
map of England from Clapham Common !
The housekeeper knocked at the door before Lucy had re-
covered from her bewilderment. She brought tvith her a long,
heavy garment, trimmed with Astrachan wool and lined with
grey squirrel.
" What the Colonel always speaks of as his ' old campaigner,'"
she explained, as she gave it into Lucy's hand.
This cloak, likewise eloquent of its absent possessor, seemed
to Lucy like the last straw in a whole camel-load of coincidences.
" What is the use of struggling any longer against one's des-
tiny ? " she thought, as she took it from the housekeeper's hands.
As soon as she was again alone, she made an examination of
the room and its contents, scrutinizing every object with intense
and almost painful interest. Two pictures, hanging upon either
side of the bed, particularly arrested her attention, for in each
of them, it seemed to her, there was something of him.
One was the portrait, in miniature, of a very beautiful woman,
dressed in the fashion of some five-and-twenty or thirty years
ago. Evidently, from the likeness to Colonel Hepburn, this
portrait represented his mother, and Lucy found herself content-
plating it with mingled feelings of tenderness and admiration.
The other was a miniature of quite a young child, the elate of
which it was less easy to determine, seeing that only the head
was represented, without dress or adornment, emerging, like
an angel's, from the clouds. Probably. Lucy thought, this was
the portrait of a sister of Colonel Hepburn's, who might have
died young, for, as in the case of the beautiful lady upon the
other side, the child possessed his eyes, and indeed the whole face
seemed to her to be familiar by reason of its resemblance to his.
Thinking that Lord Belmorris would be awaiting her by this
time, she next commenced making her toilet, during which she
had the privilege of smoothing her dishevelled tresses with an
ivory hair-brush, upon the back of which, under the present-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
ment of two heraldic creatures, were the initials " A. II." dis-
posed in monogram.
The using of this sacred hair-brush caused Lucy intense
emotion, but she was afraid to linger any longer, and so set
about arraying herself in her novel costume.
She took up the " old campaigner," and examined it with
attention. It was well-worn (worn by him !), and weather-beaten,
and its name seemed highly appropriate. She examined the
pockets, the buttons, the military " frogs," and then wrapped it
round her as she stood before the looking-glass. The arms were,
of course, very much too long, and the waistband, for there was
one attached to it, came a great deal too low down. Lucy turned
up the cuffs to the proper height, and drawing the band out of
its slides, tied it round her waist in a bow. The effect was any-
thing but unbecoming. It was astonishing how well it fitted
her, upon the whole, and as it reached down very nearly to her
feet it felt delightfully warm and comfortable. Then, after
several fond and foolish little fetishisms, which, for the honour
and glory of my sex, I should be loth to reveal, she tore herself
from the hallowed chamber and rejoined Lord Belmorris below
stairs.
She found him established in the library. He, too, had made
several changes in his costume. He was delighted with the
appearance she presented arrayed in the " old campaigner,"
although he declared that she looked for all the world like " a
most ferocious little Afghan ; " and as he had travelled about a
good deal, he probably knew exactly what an Afghan was like.
Lucy wished that she could have been left to herself, if only
for a few moments. She longed to dwell and linger over every
object in this library, as she had done in the room above. Being
of spacious dimensions, it was but dimly lighted by the one
pair of candles which the butler had set upon a table, and she
would have liked to have penetrated into every nook and corner.
But Lord Belmorris's presence rendered any private investi-
gations impossible, and he was besides somewhat impatient
to get home. Supposing, as might well have happened, that
" Merlin," with his riderless saddle, had found his way back to
his own stable, there was no telling what alarm his presence
might not have created. As soon, therefore, as they had par-
taken of tea, Lord Belmorris proposed that they should set off,
and Lucy passed out, probably as she thought for all time, of
this house which was now Anthony Hepburn's home.
She could see but little of the "deer park," as they drove
towards the lodge-gates, on account of the darkness. How
often he must have taken his way beneath these overhanging
branches, she was thinking. Where was he now, upon this
very evening ? Had he any sort of presentiment that some one,
altogether forgotten it might be, some one about whom he had
never perhaps thought seriously at all, had crossed thus acci-
126
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
dentally the threshold of his home, and was being driven
through the darkness over the old familiar ground ? _
Lucy felt very grateful to her companion for his silence, as it
enabled her to dream on. Knowing as he did, however, the
.geography of the country, he became aware, after some time
had elapsed, that they were approaching home. Then, and
not till then, he seemed to awaken from what was probably
also a reverie. He drew nearer to her, and took possession of
her hand in its manly sleeve.
" Tell me, little woman," he said, " for you know that I'm
your father-confessor, and you're bound to tell me everything;
have you enjoyed yourself to-day; have you had a good time;
has to-day been a happy day ? "
He spoke very earnestly, and was no doubt looking at her
earnestly as well, if she could only have seen the expression of
his face, and he had quite put aside for the moment the language
of the stable-helper.
Lucy did not exactly know whether she was expected to have
" enjoyed" the running away of "Mustard," the time passed
amongst the coals, or their walks through plough and brush-
wood in the drenching rain. The last portion of the eventful
day had been too much fraught with varied emotions to be
altogether what might be termed " enjoyable," but of course
Lord Belmorris could know nothing of this.
" We seem to have gone through a great deal," she answered,
" and to have had a great many unexpected adventures. It's
different from any other day I have ever passed before, and
this has made it seem a good deal longer."
" It's different from any other day that I have ever passed
■either," returned Lord Beimorris earnestly. "It's about the
happiest day I ever passed in my life, and this has made it
seem a good deal shorter ! " And with this they drove up to the
door of Beimorris Castle.
CHAPTER XXIV.
But it is time that I should return to Barlow Lodge and its
venerable inmate.
Miss Elizabeth Barlow's line of conduct had been greatly
simplified by the fact that Mr. Pod more had remained at
Liverpool much longer than he had originally intended. TJpon
his return, soon after Lucy came home from Hampton Court,
he had appeared to be entirely occupied with business, and he
had still further relieved Miss Elizabeth's mind by begging that,
for the present, she would postpone making known his wishes
with regard to her great-niece.
Monsieur de la Vieilleroche, who, in common with most
THRO" LOVE AND WAR
12 7
Frenchmen, prided himself upon his powers of observation,
was ready, he declared, to wager a very considerable sum that
Mr. Podmore's affairs were going through some alarming and
critical phase. Mr. Podmore himself accounted for the extra
attention which he had been obliged to devote to his business
in a variety of different ways, having to do, for the most part,
with commercial fluctuations, which Miss Elizabeth, who did
not possess a very keen intelligence with regard to business
matters, was unable altogether to understand.
" 1 have become convinced," he had remarked to her upon
one occasion, " that industry, probity, and attention are not
now sufficient in a business upon so large a scale as that in
which I have embarked. Other accessories are needed. My
heads of departments are well chosen; I have taken infinite
trouble with respect to essentials, but there is as it were a
lighter and more attractive element required. Some young
gentleman of fashion, who could advance the interests of our
house in West-End circles, would be able to render me the most
valuable assistance; and I think I may almost say, at the
present moment, that I see my way to securing the services of
some such eligible person."
Mr. Podmore had drawn himself up to his full height after
this speech, and had patted his waistpoat as only a man who
was solvent and prosperous would have had the heart to pat it,
so Miss Elizabeth thought, and soon afterwards he had again
left home for the purpose, as he stated, of making arrangements
for the engagement of a fashionable partner.
At about this time the " Infant," who was the real possessor
of "The Aspens," had attained his majority, and decided upon
disposing of the remainder of the lease. Mr. Podmore, as the
reader may remember, had long coveted this property, and a
report soon became current in the neighbourhood to the effect
that he was making preparations for its purchase.
The old French professor, acting as Lucy's friend, and repu-
diating for this reason any notions as to Mr. Podmore's great
wealth, was of opinion, he said, that this accession of territory
could not be obtained in the present equivocal state of his
affairs except by borrowing the necessary funds; and he was
extremely sinister in his surmises as to the insecurity of Mr.
Podmore's financial position.
" Indeed, my dear Marquis," Miss Elizabeth had replied to
some of these unfavourable insinuations, " I feel certain that,
for a wonder, you are entirely mistaken. Mr. Podmore, upon
obtaining possession of this property, has some grand project
for making it yield double and treble its present return. If he
can only persuade the person now living at ' The Aspens,'
the lady with whom yon are acquainted, to quit the place
before the expiration of her lease, he would begin at once
to carry out his scheme. I hope this may be the means of
128
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
restoring your confidence, otherwise I should have kept the fact
a profound secret! "
JBut for all this, ever since Lucy had been invited to stay at
Belmorris Castle, her great-aunt had taken much less interest
in the affairs of her consequential neighbour. I need not say
what ambitious dreams were agitating her aged breast, for the
reader has been made aware of them already.
" Here is the key of the large tin box under my bed," she had
said to Sarah soon after she had been informed of the invita-
tion; " take it, my good girl, and get out, with great care, my
set of ermine-trimmings which you will find just inside, done
up in blue paper. Shake them well, each piece separately, and
then hang them over the back of a chair near the open window
in Miss Lucy's bedroom, not in mine, for with the wind in this
quarter they will receive the blacks; and if you should come
upon some large cigars which have been placed there to keep off
the moth, put two or three of them upon the mantelpiece in the
dining-room, for I should like to offer them to the Marquis, as
lie is a smoker, when he pays us a visit this evening."
In view of a most desirable union which did not seem now
to be so utterly impossible, might it not be expedient that the
ermine-trimmings and the plum-coloured moire antique should
likewise be joined together P
Lucy, however, seeing that Mr. Podmore was now so much
from home, and knowing nothing further as yet of the proxi-
inity of Belmorris Castle to Palconborough Park than that
both places were situated " in the North," had not displayed
any particular anxiety to accept this second invitation, and
had only done so eventually in obedience to her great-aunt's
express desire. Her Hampton Court experiences had strangely
troubled the placid waters of her existence. Like a ship which
has been tossed and buffeted in mid-ocean, she had regained
lier quiet haven, and she had no wish just yet to put out again
to sea.
In mind, in heart, in appearance even, she had been a good
deal changed by this first voyage into the unknown. Miss
Elizabeth Barlow was of opinion that she was greatly improved.
She had acquired a certain amount of serviceable small-talk, in
which, previously to her departure, she had been altogether
deficient; she bore herself with more dignity and assurance,
and had discovered that speech is useful sometimes for the
purpose of concealing thought. Adeliza Binks, too, had given
her several valuable hints upon the subject of dress, about
which, however, she could not as yet feel any very absorbing
interest; whilst the society of persons who appeared to look
upon life entirely in its lighter and more superficial aspect, had
left its trace upon her conversation and demeanour.
But Lucy Barlow had been created with one of those earnest
and concentrated natures, unfortunate, because existing, nearly
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 129
always in a minority, and oppressed therefore with a certain
sense of isolation, which, in the presence of trivialities, is cast
down and disheartened. She had been intended to meet and
combat the great emergencies of life; and in tbe company of
those whose aims were either petty or sordid, she felt con-
strained and uncomfortable.
As, however, she was endowed with youth, health, beauty,
and, more uncommon than either of these, an admirable sense
of "humour, there were moments when her friends might have
credited her with high spirits, or her foes with flippancy. But
all such ebullitions were sadly transient—mere temporary reac-
tions after some more than usually pensive mood.
Happiness, rather than pleasure or amusement—the happi-
ness which is shared and ministered to by another—seemed to
her the chief aim and object of her earthly existence, and she
realized now that, unknown to herself, she had been longing
for the coming of this other being even before she had arrived
at woman's years.
Lucy's ideal had become, as it were, incarnate in the person
of a good-looking Colonel of Lancers; but apart from anything
having to do with his outward appearance, Anthony Hepburn
was possessed of the voice and bearing of a hero of romance,
and there was something in the reserve of his ordinary manner
suggestive of the mystery and incomprehensibility in which an
idol, if it is to remain an idol, ought always to be shrouded.
Ho wonder, therefore, that Lucy Barlow had returned from
Hampton Court Palace a changed woman, with a look of
regretful tenderness in her brown eyes which Miss Elizabeth
had never observed there before, and which she had not per-
ceived for many, many years past in her own. The woman who
feels, upon entering life, that she is too feeble to stand alone,
and who is yet capable of passionate and unquestioning de-
votion, is sorely in need of a guide and comforter who can be
always with her, by sea as well as by land, by daylight as well
as in the silent watches of the night; who will neither go upon
long journeys, nor be assailed by dangers like husband or lover,
whose strong arm shall be even as a shield and buckler, and
upon whose bosom she can rest and be content. Herein—and
apart from all selfish strivings after the saving of one's own
soul—lies the real power and consolation of religion ; and such
consolation is more particularly grateful to those women who
have been taught by the indifference of mau that they are nn-
fitted for the tenderer, if less enduring, emotions.
" I was not good enough for man,
And so am given to God,"
sighs Charles Kingsley's "Ugly Princess." But the Lucy of
my story was different. She was " good enough for man " in
all conscience, notwithstanding that the force of her infatuation
led her to humble herself in the presence of the man she loved.
1
i3o ^THRO'' LOVE AND WAR
But she had often longed that God himself could have seemed
to be more near, although she felt that she could even have
prayed better in the presence of the beloved. The religion,
however, to which she had hitherto conformed, had not alto-
gether satisfied her aspirations, and the God that had been set
up above her was too august and terrible to become her friend.
Miss Barlow the elder, whilst upholding, in theory, many of
the prejudices and austerities of the now obsolete Clapham
Sect, had seemingly draped her spiritual convictions in the
garb of an adaptive conventionality, by which their original
bent had become distorted and obscured ; and most of the other
followers of the suburban God had appeared to Lucy to con-
form to a creed which was vulgar, hypocritical, and un-Chris-
tianly intolerant. Then suddenly, in the path of this girl, to
whose ardent imagination had been revealed a God disfigured
by many of the petty failings of a man, there had arisen a man
seeming to her to be endowed with the dignity and nobility of a
god, and she had fallen down straightway and worshipped him.
It was shortly after Lucy's return home from Hampton Court
that Anthony Hepburn gradually came to be enshrined in her
mind as an ideal being, and she could not prevent herself from
keeping for ever on the alert for his second coming, whilst
feeling, at the same time, that such an event was in the highest
degree improbable.
The stopping of a hansom cab within even twenty yards of
Barlow Lodge would set her heart beating with extraordinary
rapidity, whilst the sight of a tall man in a shooting-jacket caused
her almost to faint with emotion. She could see Anthony Hep-
burn so plainly in her mind's eye, that she was always expecting
the realization of her fancy, and could never now look out of
the window without a hope and a prayer in her heart.
One morning, quite early, about a month after her return
from Hampton Court Palace (for this chapter, it will be per-
ceived, is retrospective), so strongly was she possessed with this
infatuation, that she could almost have believed that her per-
petual prayer had been heard. A male figure, clothed as he
might perfectly have been clothed, and looking, with its back
towards her, at least just as he might have looked in a like
position, was seated upon a public bench a little to the right
of the entrance to Barlow Lodge, reading a newspaper and
smoking a cigarette. He was some way off, facing the Common,
with the trunk of a lime-tree rising behind him, and partly con-
cealing his form. As he was sitting down, it was possible that,
when he stood up, he might turn out to be quite a short man,
although he did not look like one in his present position; but
he was leaning forward in an attitude which seemed to Lucy to
be almost painfully familiar, and his left ear, and the half of
the back of his head which was not concealed by the lime-tree,
looked, oh, so fearfully and wonderfully like! The real
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 131
Anthony, however, was so mixed up and confused in her imagi-
nation with the ideal being, that she could not, upon the spur
of the moment, indulge in anything like certainty; and why in
the world, seeing that he had taken no pains whatever to dis-
cover her whereabouts, should he suddenly appear to her seated
upon a public bench upon Clapham Common P
Before she had had time to answer this question, the break-
fast-bell had sounded, and she hurried downstairs to make her
great-aunt's tea, for Miss Elizabeth was the soul of punctuality.
When she had peeped out again, after her breakfast, a very
ordinary-looking person indeed, bearing no sort of resemblance
to either the real or the ideal Lancer, was sitting, smoking,
upon the public bench just over the road to the right. Could
this be the same individual that she had observed little more
than half an hour ago ? Probably, for it was not the first time
she had been thus deceived. Evidently she was becoming
possessed of but one idea!
In this way, the uneventful days slipped by, until the lime-
trees upon Clapham Common, which assume an autumnal tint
before real country trees, began to grow sere and yellow.
There was a fine show of pears hanging against the grey
lichened wall which separated Barlow Lodge from The Aspens;
the fruit upon the gnarled medlar-tree was getting brown and
ready for picking, and the fallen leaves began rustling about
all over Miss Elizabeth's trim little lawn, until the kitten be-
came quite excited, and ran after them, thinking they were mice.
London, that lurking mystery, which seemed every day to be
creeping nearer and nearer, was now oftener than ever
shrouded in brumous vapour; the lamplighters went forth much
earlier upon their rounds, for its many eyes began to twinkle
soon after four o'clock, and little Miss Yan Buren, next door,
whom Lucy had only caught sight of at a distance since her
return home, had exchanged her pretty summer frocks for a
smart blue velvet pelisse trimmed with swan's-down.
Everything, in fact, heralded but too plainly the approach of
winter, and ere long Lucy Barlow once more quitted her quiet
suburban home, bound for Belmorris Castle.
CHAPTER XXY.
Very shortly after Lucy's departure for the North, Mr. Pod-
more had returned to Palmyra House, and he lost no time in
paying a visit to his neighbour at Barlow^ Lodge. He seemed
less put out than Miss Elizabeth had anticipated at her niece's
second absence from home, although, according to his wont, he
had made it the occasion for a few words of sound Podmorian
teaching.
1 2
132 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" I perfectly agree with you," he remarked, after Miss Eliza-
beth had dwelt upon the advantages which Lucy would be likely
to reap from an intimacy with persons of distinction; " the dear
childie ought certainly to acquire the manners and accomplish-
ments of good society; but I would encourage nothing bearing
the slightest resemblance to levity, and I would impress upon
her, above all, that the greatest discretion and circumspection
should be observed with regard to the social relations between
the sexes. This is, I am told, not sufficiently considered by the
British aristocracy, and it would be extremely repugnant to my
feelings, I must confess, in the future, if, on my return home
after a day spent in honourable toil, I were to find some man of
pleasure, like this Lord Belmorris, eating my plovers' eggs, or
lolling upon the sofa in my wife's pocket I "
Miss Elizabeth had never realized that it was indiscreet to
eat plovers' eggs, although to be sure it was rather an expensive
taste, nor had she hitherto associated " lolling upon the sofa "
exclusively with immorality. Something, however, in Mr. Pod-
more's tone had made both acts seem to her to be shocking.
" Oh, I can assure you, you are mistaken ! " she protested
eagerly; " neither Lucy nor Lord Belmorris would ever dream
of doing such things, I am convinced! He is not at all the kind
of person! "
" I am delighted to hear it," returned Mr. Podmore, patting
his waistcoat complacently. " As you are aware, I have but
little leisure to worship at the shrine of fashion, and I must
plead guilty to a total ignorance of the manners and customs of
high life. But, by-the-by, my dear Miss Barlow, you who know
so much about all the great ones of the earth, can you tell me
anything with regard to a young gentleman styling himself
'Lord Falconborough ?' I met him for the first time a few
years ago, and I have lately fallen in with him again, quite
accidentally. I must confess that the young fellow takes my
fancy amazingly, and experience has taught me that Sydney
Podmore is seldom mistaken in his estimate of character."
" Falconborough ? Palconborough ? " repeated Miss Eliza-
beth, as though considering. " Ah ! yes ! Of course ! I re-
member. A Viscount of Norman extraction; settled in Eng-
land at the time of William the Conqueror. Not 'young,' how-
ever; how, my dear Mr. Podmore, can the present Lord Falcon-
borough possibly be a young man ? "
"Not if he came over with William the Conqueror, certainly,"
returned Mr. Podmore. smiling; *' this must be one of that old
gentleman's descendants."
Miss Elizabeth regretted at that moment that her "Peerage,"
besides being so very old, happened to be upstairs in her bedroom.
She taxed her memory, however, and finally recollected to have
read ot the death of a Lord Palconborough about two years ago,
without issue (of this she was perfectly certain); she had fancied
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 133
that the title had thereupon become extinct, but yet had a dim
notion that she had read something about his having been sue-
ceeded by a nephew. To have appeared doubtful would have
been to display ignorance upon what had always been regarded
as her strongest point. She answered, therefore, with apparent
confidence, not knowing the importance Mr. Podmore might
attach "to her words—
" Oh, yes! Of course ! This young man must be the nephew
of the late lord ! My memory must be failing, or I should have
remembered the circumstance at once."
Mr. Podmore seemed to be perfectly well satisfied with this
explanation, and the conversation soon turned to other topics.
Mr. Podmore had met " Lord Falconborough " in a railway
carriage upon his way back from Liverpool. He had before had a
slight acquaintance with him, having fallen in with him once, in
the waiting-room of a certain City usurer, upon which occasion
the young nobleman's affable manner had so captivated him,
that, as they walked together out into the street, he had invited
him to partake of luncheon with him at his club.
Mr. Podmore was already comfortably installed in the London
train when " his lordship " happened to enter the same com-
partment. At first Mr. Podmore had failed to recognize him, but
Falconborough revealed himself almost immediately; besides
which he was travelling already labelled, as it were, with his vis-
count's coronet emblazoned upon his dressing-bag, so that Mi*.
Podmore could not have remained long in doubt as to his identity.
A more agreeable companion than Falconborough during a
tedious railway journey it would have been almost impossible
to imagine. Mr. Podmore, who being something of a purist in
speech, had even experienced a difficulty at times in hitting
upon the most appropriate words for his purpose, was greatly
struck with his ease of manner and felicity of expression. It
was altogether the manner, he thought, of an "hereditary
legislator," and (let the extreme Eadicals say what they would
about the indolence and incapacity of the aristocratic assembly
of which this young man professed himself a member) there
was undoubtedly something particularly fascinating in the con-
versation and bearing of most of our " old nobility."
By the time that they reached London, Mr. Podmore and his
fellow-traveller had apparently become friends for life. In his
candid, good-humoured way, which seemed to imply that he
did not fear to take the whole world into his confidence, Falcon-
borough had touched upon his family complications, his im-
pending lawsuit, and the injustice and rapacity of his rela-
tions. Mr. Podmore, without fatiguing himself by following too
closely all the ramifications of the narrative, was much flattered
at the young nobleman's condescension. He became acquainted,
too, with a circumstance which seemed suddenly to reveal a
whole group of new and advantageous possibilities.
134
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Lord Falconborough, notwithstanding his exalted social posi-
tion, was, pending the settlement of his family affairs, on the
look-out for some kind of honourable employment which would
ensure for him the enjoyment of a more liberal income. Could
he he destined to become in time Mr. Podmore's " light and
attractive " element ?—the " young gentleman of fashion " who
was to advance the interests of his "house" in "West-End
circles ? "
At first the idea seemed almost too good to be true. But the
more Mr. Podmore conversed with his agreeable companion,
the more feasible it seemed to become. Fearing to give offence,
however, by any suggestion insulting to his lordly dignity,
Mr. Podmore determined to broach the matter with extreme
delicacy; above all, to do nothing precipitate. He would study
his noble friend, discover what were his business capacities, and
then some day, after they had become better acquainted, he would
make him a proposal. With this object in view, Mr. Podmore,
with all the caution of a diplomatist, invited his lordship to
dine with him at his club, where his irreproachable evening
costume, his intelligent remarks upon the subject of wine and
cigars, and the obsequious manner assumed by the waiters, had
worked together to confirm Mr. Podmore in the belief that he
would prove a most valuable acquisition to his " house." The
dinner at the club had been followed by an invitation to dine
and sleep at Palmyra House, which invitation had given his
lordship "great pleasure to accept."
The two gentlemen went to Clapham by train early in the
afternoon, and, as the day was exceedingly fine, walked to
Palmyra House from the Junction. Mr. Podmore was deter-
mined that to-day, if possible, he would sound his companion
upon the subject which was occupying his mind. He felt a
little nervous about it certainly, for the " employment" his
lordship was seeking was probably of an altogether different
character. " Because I have condescended to talk to you about
my private affairs," Mr. Podmore feared that he might possibly
retort, " that is no reason why you should assume that I am
willing to become your dependent."
During the walk from the railway station, therefore, Mr.
Podmore was considering anxiously what would be the best
method of approaching the subject, when he was assisted almost
providentially, as it seemed to him, by an incident which
occurred upon the way.
Perhaps it was almost too trivial an occurrence to be dignified
by the name of an incident at all; but it became the means, at
any rate, of furthering Mr. Podmore's purpose.
ks, he and his noble friend approached the entrance to "The
Aspens," Mrs. VanBuren crossed the footpath on her way to a
carriage which was awaiting her. She was accompanied by her
little girl, and followed by the black ayah, and by a boy-in-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 135
buttons carrying shawls and air-cushions, so that for the
moment the pathway was completely blocked. Mr. Podmore
and Lord Palconborough gave place to the procession, and
remained standing whilst Mrs. Yan Buren took her seat in her
victoria, displaying, as she did so, a very neat foot and ankle.
As she threw herself back amongst her cushions, she hurled a
look of haughty defiance at Mr. Podmore, recognizing him
probably as the new landlord, who, far from having shown her
any civility, had openly expressed his desire that she should
quit the premises even before the expiration of her lease.
" Fine woman, Podmore," said Falconborough, looking after
the carriage as it drove away. " Bel pezzo di came, as they say
in Italy ! "
" Quite so," returned Mr. Podmore, although he understood
not one word of Italian. " But I must tell you that this same
' fine woman' is something of a thorn in my side. I will be
candid with you, for one good turn deserves another, and I have
been deeply touched, I can assure you, by all the confidence you
have reposed in me. To tell you the truth, then, my lord ■"
" Call me ' Falconborough,'" interrupted the young nobleman
condescendingly.
"Thank you; I shall be proud and pleased to do so. Well
then, I must inform you that, although to a gay young fellow
like yourself I probably appear to be the most confirmed and
' humdrum' of old bachelors, I have been rash enough to form
an attachment."
" And the lady resides with you down here ? " cut in Falcon-
borough with an arch smile. "Ah, my dear Podmore, you
have destroyed my last lingering belief in human virtue ! "
"Hot at all! Hot at all!" Mr. Podmore protested eagerly,
his brow clouding over for a moment. " You have altogether
mistaken my meaning. I am proud to say that no lady has
ever suffered in name or in reputation through the instru-
mentality of Sydney Podmore, and I sincerely wish that every
young fellow of my acquaintance could say as much."
"I sincerely wish that they could!" returned the " young
fellow " at whom Mr. Podmore seemed to be pointing his moral.
" But you know, mon elver, we can't be all of us like Sydney
Podmore!"
" Well, then," Mr. Podmore went on, dropping the didactic
manner (for after all one ought, perhaps, to be prepared for a
certain amount of license in the conversation of a young noble-
man who must often find himself in situations of exceptional
temptation), "I am old-fashioned enough, my dear Falcon-
borough, to believe in old-fashioned forms of contentment, and
I am of opinion that none of the wild and exciting pleasures of
dissipation are to be compared with the happiness which may
reign at the domestic hearth."
"Hear, hear!" exclaimed Falconborough, somewhat flippantly.
136 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" With the object, therefore, of securing this form of content-
ment," Mr. Podmore continued, " I have already almost chosen
the young lady whom I destine to become my wife. I have not
yet broached the subject to her personally, desiring, in the pre-
sent unsettled condition of affairs, to leave myself a loophole,
through which it would be possible to retire in the event of any
unforeseen occurrence interfering with the realization of my
hopes. I have, however, for years warded over her interests,
directed the course of her studies, and protected her from all
influences which might tend in the slightest degree to corrupt
the natural purity of her mind. Residing, as she does, with an
aged maiden aunt, for she is an orphan, this young creature is
ignorant of the very existence of any of the pitfalls which may
lie in her future path. She is visiting at this moment, it is
true, at the country-seats of some of her relatives, for I was
naturally anxious that she should acquire that tone and finish
which can only he obtained by mixing in first-rate society, and
these relatives are altogether tip-top people; but beyond this
no external influences have been allowed to approach her. Have
I done well, I sometimes- ask myself, in not preparing her more
fully for the temptations of the coming strife? 'You have
done Avell, Sydney Podmore!' (This is the answer which
comes to me.) ' If, in the future also, you can protect her with
this shield of innocence: if, in the future, when you and she
may be joined together '"
" In a word," interrupted Falconborough, smiling, " Sydney
Podmore, who is not even married as yet, is already dreading
the inevitable destiny of almost every husband!"
He made a mysterious sign upon his brow with his two first
fingers as he spoke, which Mr. Podmore failed altogether to
comprehend, and the latter continued in a more confidential
tone—
" But now, how about this Mrs. Yau Buren, the lady we have
just seen setting out for a drive, and who will be residing in the
next house but one to that occupied by my wife ? I cannot say
that I know anything positive as to her or her antecedents, and
far be it from me, although I may be as blameless as most of
my neighbours, to throw the first stone. But, without making
any inquiries as to her mode of life, three circumstances are
patent to all persons possessed of ordinary powers of observation:
she is a woman who is separated from her lawful husband; her
establishment is conducted with lavish extravagance; and she
is continually receiving the visits of gentlemen !"
Mr. Podmore stopped at this awful climax, and looked for the
effect of his words in his companion's face.
Falconborough gave a low whistle.
"You may imagine, perhaps," Mr. Podmore went on, "from
my acquaintance with these facts, that I have demeaned myself
to act as a spy upon this lady's movements; but it is not so,
Falconborough, I can assure you. Had I the will. T Tidttp
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
137
the time for such unprofitable employment. Scarcely a day
passes, however, that I am not reminded by some circumstance,
trivial circumstances, sometimes, of her indiscretion ^nd prodi-
gality. Only last week, for instance, to descend to particulars,
an enormous barrel of native oysters is left at my door, natives
being now, as I daresay you are aware, at least three-and-six-
pence or four shillings a dozen. My servants receive it with-
out examining it closely; I perceive it confronting me in my
entrance-hall upon my return, express astonishment, deny all
knowledge of it, and finally, upon examining the label, discover
that it is addressed to Mrs. Yan Buren, and has been deposited
at my house through an error of the carrier ! Then again
yesterday, looking forward as I was to the honour of your
company this evening at dinner, I give orders to my cook to ob-
tain from the butcher the best sweetbreads he can supply, and
I even go to the trouble of expressing my wishes in writing.
What happens, however? The butcher's boy arrives at the
usual hour, bringing with him the joint, and the necessary
supply of stock-meat. There is no sweetbread! My cook
questions him. He replies, on behalf of his master, that he is
very sorry to disappoint me, but that all his sweetbreads have
been bespoken by ' Mrs. Yan Buren of The Aspens!' My cook
telegraphs to me in desperation, and I am compelled to
bring down the sweetbreads with me from London, wrapped up,
as you see," and he held out a parcel carried in his hand, " in
newspaper! These, however, are only isolated examples of a
system which pervades everything. The greengrocer could tell
you the same story with regard to early peas and forced aspa-
ragus ; the woman's expenditure must be enormous, and what
does a person separated from her husband, and dining presum-
ably alone, require with all these luxuries ? From whom does
she derive her income ? This, however, is by no means the
most important aspect of the case. Situated as I am, I
should be unwise if I ignored the future. In the future,
then, we will assume, during my absence from home upon busi-
ness, my wife, Mrs. Sydney Bodmore, strolls out upon the
Common with her book, and seats herself upon the bench yonder,
under that clump of lime-trees immediately in front of Mrs.
Yan Buren's windows. What happens? Some smart young
libertine from the West-End drives down in a hansom cab to
visit this woman, pulls up at her door, observes my wife sitting
upon the public bench (I don't mind telling you, my dear Eal-
conborough, that the young lady I have in my mind is one of
the loveliest girls in all Clapham), studies her habits from the
windows of ' The Aspens'—for it is no secret that some _ of these
gentlemen visitors have been known to remain there for several
days—walks out upon the Common, it may be next day, upon pre-
tence of a smoke, or what not, seats himself upon the same bench
with my wife. You, Falconborough, knowing the world as you do,
must r-creaive mv meaninu! You must nerceive at once how
138 TIIRO' LOVE AND WAR
anxious I am that a neighbour of this kind should betake her-
self from my immediate vicinity."
" Do yon suppose, then," said Falconborough, twirling his
dark moustaches reflectively, "that this lady is really the
fashion ? That she is a person who is at present in vogue ? "
" Of this," returned Mr. Podmore, " I know nothing. Upon
such subjects I am profoundly ignorant, and I cannot regret
that I am so. I am certain, however, that her visitors are
gentlemen of no occupation and independent means, by the
time that their cabs occasionally remain at her door; but this
is neither here nor there. The question is, How am I to get rid
of her ? How am I to let her know, firmly and decidedly, that
I wish her to quit the premises at once P "
" I should think," returned Falconborough, " that you could
scarcely proceed to any such extremity. The lady probably con-
siders that she has as good a right to live here as you have."
"But there is a feature in the case," said Mr. Podmore,
" which, under ordinary circumstances, would make my course
perfectly easy. The house in which this person is residing has
lately become my property, and I believe that I have a perfect
right, if I choose, to eject her. I'might, at any rate, give her fair
notice to quit, using as a pretext a plan I have had in my mind for
some time. I could tell her that I desire to knock down the par-
tition walls—for the smaller house which you see there, to the left
of' The Aspens,' is also my property—in order to build a row
of eligible modern mansions upon the site, a project which it is
really my intention to carry out, D.V., upon the death of an old
lady who now resides in the smallest of the two houses."
" I see that you are quite a landed proprietor," said Falcon-
borough. " Well, and what prevents you from availing your-
self of your feudal privileges ? In your place I should claim all
sorts of autocratic droits du Seigneur J "
" I will tell you, my dear Falconborough, even at the risk of
making you smile. All this would entail a personal interview,
several interviews, perhaps. Mrs. Yan Buren is a dangerous
woman; as you have just seen, she is not without personal
attractions of an objectional kind. It is evident that she
readily obtains an influence over gentlemen. She might end
by talking me over, or making it difficult for me, at any rate,
to carry out my plans; and the acquaintance once made, what
is to prevent her in the future from calling upon my wife, and
insinuating herself into her friendship ? I mistrust my own
powers in the presence of the designing; for Sydney Podmore,
although rather blunt and uncouth perhaps, is, above all
things, honest and aboveboard. You, my dear Falconborough,
are essentially a man of the world. It is not impossible that
some such complication may have arisen in your path. What
course of action would you advise me to pursue ? "
The two friends had sauntered on,past the entrance to Palmyra
House, and had now reached the turning which leads to London
THRO* LOVE AND WAR 139
by way of tbe Cedars Road. Mr. Podmore began swinging the
parcel containing the sweetbreads in quite an agitated manner,
as though genuinely embarrassed as to what to do.
" I can only venture upon one suggestion,'' returned Falcon-
borough, after a few seconds of seeming reflection. "As you
are so averse to confronting this syren yourself, make me your
Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary, endow me
with full powers, and I'll answer for it that this little difficulty
will soon be satisfactorily arranged."
" My dear Falconborough! " exclaimed Mr. Podmore effu-
sively, " how can I ever thank you sufficiently for your great
kindness and condescension ? "
What a delightfully considerate and complimentary manner
of putting it. No sort of hint of anything like servitude or
dependence; and Mr. Podmore himself raised, as it were, by a
graceful figure of speech, to the same position as the Emperor
of China, the Shah of Persia, or the Mikado of Japan. Lord
Falconborough's remark, in fact, seemed to have removed
mountains.
"I cannot tell you, my dear fellow," said Mr. Podmore
towards the close of this eventful evening, " what pleasure it
would give me, if, not only in the matter of Mrs. Tan Buren,
but in all that concerns a certain portion of my affairs
generally, you could become my agent and representative.
You will, no doubt, find punctuality and attention to business
a little irksome at first, but with patience and perseverance a
young gentleman of your fine intelligence and first-class educa-
tion, ought to be able to carry everything before you. There
will be, at any rate, I think I may say, unlimited confidence
upon either side, and I need hardly tell you that it is my desire
to make our little scheme one of mutual advantage."
So the bargain was struck that very evening, as Mr. Podmore
and his guest sat together after dinner in the smoking-room at
Palmyra House, whilst the shrill tones of Mrs. Yan Buren's
metallic soprano were wafted across Miss Elizabeth Barlow's
narrow garden, and in at the open window; for, notwithstanding-
that it was now the middle of " chill October," when " natives,"
as Mr. Podmore had remarked, were still three-and-sixpence or
four shillings a dozen, the night was as warm as many nights
in an English June, and Mr. Podmore had thrown open the
window to let out some of the tobacco-smoke.
"I should wish that woman out of the way," he said, as
these sounds reached his ears, " were she as virtuous as
Lucretia ! We have all suffered long enough from her abomi-
nable screeching! "
Falconborough only smiled languidly by way of reply, and
took up the air in his clear and melodious tenor. Certainly,
Mr. Podmore thought, the evening had been a complete success,
and his young friend was one of the most well-bred and fasci-
natinsr of men.
140
THRO5 LOVE AND WAR
CHAPTER XXYI.
" I tell you what, my dear, this will never do."
The speaker, in this instance, was not Mr. Jeffrey of the
Quarterly Review, but young Algernon Binks. He had gone
into the morning-room at Belmorris Castle, where he found his
sister alone. She was leaning back in an armchair by the
fireplace, with her feet upon the fender, apparently deeply en-
grossed with the Morning Post.
" What will never do ? " she asked with the raised eyebrows
of inquiry.
"Why, the way Lucy Barlow's going on. Just take the
trouble to get up and look out of the window now ! I declare
it's almost enough to send a fellow off his head."
" Well, I don't see anything so very awful!" Adeliza re-
turned, after she had looked out as requested, and reseated
herself by the fender. " I suppose uncle Belmorris has asked
her to go with him to the stables, as they've turned down that
way. Perhaps he'll take her out riding later on. I'm sure
she's taking a deal of trouble off my hands by keeping him
amused, for he's so fearfully punctual and active that it's
generally pretty hard work." •
" My heavens!" exclaimed Algernon. " Girls are selfish J
You don't seem to have the slightest feeling about the honour
and glory of the family !"
" I don't see that what Lucy's doing now can have any effect
upon the family honour and glory! She isn't interfering with
me in any way, or spoiling my chances. It's a merciful dis-
ensation that she didn't cast her spells over Charlie Sparshott;
ut one can't' carry on' with, one's own uncle."
" She mayn't be spoiling your chances," replied Algernon
irritably, " and I suppose that's the only thing you care about;
but she's most decidedly spoiling mine as fast as she can ! I
tell you what it is, my dear," he added, in a tone of ominous
prophecy ; " my uncle Belmorris '11 marry her ! "
" Oh, he couldn't be such a born fool! " Adeliza exclaimed,
looking a little startled nevertheless. " I sha'n't believe it till I
find myself in church, figged out as a biudesmaid."
" There you are again! Always thinking of yourself and your
dress! No thought for your unfortunate brother, reduced to beg-
gary, very likely, and all his future prospects entirely ruined!"
" Oh, I forgot that, Algy ! But you don't really think that
he'll marry her ? We shall have to get up a plot to prevent it."
" There's only one way that I can think of," said Algy, as he
toyed pensively with his incipient moustaches; " though I've
been turning the matter over in my mind for very nearly a
week, and that is "
" To get up a flirtation with her yourself ? Not at all a bad
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 141
idea, and to tell yon the truth, I rather fancied you had done
so already. But men are strange creatures! It might only
have the effect of bringing him on. Sometimes, when they
fancy a thing's going to be taken from them, they seem to care
about it all the more."
" Yes, I know; it would be a very ticklish game, so I've
given up all idea now of proposing to her myself."
" Of proposing to her! I should think so, indeed ! What
would mamma and tfncle Belmorris have said to that, I wonder ?"
" I shouldn't have cared much for what they might have
said," returned Algy, looking rather crestfallen. " I liked Lucy
Barlow awfully. She's a girl I think I could have stuck to
(if I'd married her) and settled down with, and ail that, and
not been bored. And I think, never having been ' out' much,
and knowing nothing of the world, she wouldn't have worried
one, or asked questions, or found out things, and been jealous ;
and so, to tell you the truth, one day last week, the day that
she and my uncle Belmorris came back from riding so late in a
brougham, and pretended that they'd gone through all sorts of
adventures, I did propose to her in a kind of a way, just before
she went out; but she wouldn't hear of it at all, having her
mind fixed, no doubt, upon much higher game—for I believe
she's awfully fond of me—really. She said, however, that we
were a great deal too young, both of us, and shouldn't have half
enough money."
" There she showed her good sense," remarked Adeliza; " and
I must say I respect her for it. I fancied she was more of the
moonshiny, sentimental sort. But it's a great thing for a girl,
darticularly for an orphan, to begin by being a little mercenary ;
besides which, you know, we all intend you to marry an
enormous heiress !"
" I don't feel quite so sure about this enormous heiress that
you're always talking of ! " returned Algy, rather despondingly.
"You know when you first came out, you said you were deter-
mined to marry a duke—but, you see, you haven't."
" I was a little ambitious at first," said Adeliza, in an off-hand
tone; "but then, that's just as it should be. It doesn't do,
in this world, to hold oneself too cheap. However, it's no good
striving after the impossible, and I declare now I think I could
be almost content with a baronet! "
" It's a tremendous come down," replied her brother ; " but I
can't help thinking you're about right. If I was a girl, I'm
sure I'd much rather be happy with a baronet than miserable
with a duke! "
" That's a very noble sentiment, Algy; but I'm afraid that
noble sentiments don't pay. As long as we ' go in' for being
people of fashion, it's our duty to strangle our better feelings like
serpents ! But I've got them sometimes just as much as you
have. I can see how hollow and contemptible most of my own
142
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
•ambitions are, and I remember that somebody says, somewhere,
that when one confesses oneself guilty, one is on the high-road
to becoming innocent. But I mean to give worldliness a chance
for a year longer. At the end of that time, if I'm not married,
I've made a vow that I'll take to 'good works,' and try how that
answers! I'll become a district-visitor, or something of that
kind, and you'll see me trudging all over Belgravia with a
basket!"
"I don't think," said Algy, " that that's at all in your line.
I fancy that Lucy Barlow, with all her flirting, is more the kind
of girl for ' good works.' If I were you, I think I should stick
to the baronet." «
" Ah! that reminds me! Did you go into the gun-room and
look out what I told you to in ' Burke ?' "
" About Charlie Sparshott ? "
" Yes ; to find out whether he's the eldest or youngest son of
Sir Timothy Sparshott. I heard him say that his father had
only had two boys."
" I looked him out yesterday," returned Algy, " as you told
me, and I find he's Sir Timothy's second son."
" Gracious heavens ! And I've been behaving just as if he'd
been the eldest! "
" He's a second son," repeated Algernon, assuming an arch
expression; " but—his elder brother was drowned at sea."
" Thank goodness! " cried Adeliza fervently; " you made my
blood positively run cold ! I was afraid I might have gone too
far."
" I only meant it for a ' scare,'" Algy explained; " but now,
look here; I've helped you with this, and I want you to help
me with your womanly wisdom about Lucy Barlow and my
uncle Belmorris. You know Hepburn ? "
" Yes; of course. Why, he was dining here only yesterday!"
" I mean, you know about him and Lucy ? You saw, of course,
that she's carrying on a sort of flirtation with him as well ? "
" I saw," replied Addie, " now that I come to think about it,
that she seemed rather absent and excited after she heard he
was expected, and that she took much longer than usual dressing
for dinner. She asked to come into my room, too, to look at
herself in the long glass, which she's never taken the trouble to
do before."
" Well, I can assure you that's it! She and Hepburn have
got something between them, I'll take my oath! I watched
them the whole of dinner-time, and they behaved just like two
people who're in love, but who want to humbug each other, and
pretend that they're not."
" Colonel Hepburn isn't a marrying man," said Adeliza,
quoting a phrase she had often heard repeated.
" I'm not quite so sure about that," replied Algy, in a tone
of superior wisdom. "You see, you've never been a man your-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 143
self, and so you can't know as much about men as I do. He
mayn't have been a marrying man once, and he may have
become one now, from circumstances! Sometimes a fellow of
that kind gets tied up early in life with some one he can't
marry, generally some other fellow's wife, or something of that
kind, don't you know, and that's awfully apt to keep him single ;
for, though you girls seem to enjoy carrying on with two or
three people at once, it's a beastly bore for a man to find that
he's on with his new love before he's off with his old! But
very often, after a bit, he gets sick of the old love, or she very
likely dies, or bolts off with some other fellow, and then he's
just as keen to marry as anybody else; and I shouldn't at all
wonder if Colonel Hepburn hasn't been in some fix of this kind."
" And what makes you think that he's got out of his fix now ? "
" Because I believe he's spoony (in his way) upon Lucy
Barlow, only he's an awfully proud, reserved kind of fellow,
and ashamed to show it. Besides which, you know, he may be
afraid of ' spoiling sport,' or of taking the wind out of my
uncle Belmorris's sails. How, my plan is to give Hepburn a
hint, in order to bring him on."
" I should think that would be rather a delicate matter," said
Adeliza; " as you say, he is fearfully proud and. reserved. I'm
sure I dont't envy you your mission ! "
" Oh, I've made up my mind exactly how I'm going to begin,"
returned Algy confidently. " He's coming over here to-morrow,
isn't he, to shoot, and to stay for two or three days ? "
"Yes; he's coming over with Charlie Sparshott."
" Yery well; now, last night after you and Lucy Barlow had
said good-night, Hepburn's man kept them waiting some time
for the carriage ; we all went into the smoking-room, and there
Charlie Sparshott and my uncle Belmorris very soon fell asleep."
" Charlie Sparshott soon fell asleep P" repeated Adeliza
quickly, as though wounded at the notion that her admirer
should court oblivion so shortly after he had basked in her
smiles. " I must say, I rather wonder at that! Did you dis-
cover whether he snores ? "
" I wasn't thinking about him at all," returned Algy. " I
was wondering whether I shouldn't begin giving Hepburn ' the
straight tip I ended, however, by thinking I'd better put it off
till another time, for I was afraid just as I'd got into the full
swing of the thing, the servants might interrupt me by coming
to announce the carriage."
' " And so you never said anything at all ? "
" No; and it turned out I was quite right; for Hepburn and
Charlie Sparshott had to be off in twenty minutes. But I mean
to speak to him the next time the same thing happens, as I've
no doubt it will every night whilst they're here ; only I must
just watch Hepburn's and Lucy's goings-on for the first day or
two, so as to make sure that I wasn't mistaken. I've settled
144
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
just how I'm going to begin, but I don't quite know which
would be the best line to take afterwards, and want jour advice
about it. I don't know whether I ought to take the line of
coming forward, as Lucy Barlow's nearest male relation, and
asking Hepburn what the devil he means by trifling with my
cousin's affections if he isn't in a position to marry, and all
that; or whether I'd better simply appeal to him upon the
question of my own prospects, and say, ' How, look here, Hep-
burn, you know you had an uncle once, hadn't you ? who seems
to have left you uncommonly well off. Wouldn't you have cut
up rather rough if, after you'd been brought up to expect the
best part of his fortune ever since you were a youngster, you'd
seen him just on the point of making a born fool of himself by
going and proposing to a girl of nineteen or twenty F' Some-
thing of this kind, I fancied, would be the best way of broaching
the subject."
" I think that way would be better than the first way," said
Adeliza; " I don't think, at your age, Algy, you could possibly
ask a man like Colonel Hepburn his intentions before you are
even sure that he has any. You might only make him awfully
angry, and put everything out! "
" Well, goodness knows, I'm not particularly anxious for
Hepburn to marry her," returned Algy; " I'm too spoony upon
her myself for that. But I'd rather he proposed to her to-
morrow than that my uncle Belmorris should go and make a
fool of himself and of me too! Anyhow, I think my plan will
make a sort of diversion. Even supposing Hepburn can't
marry, it may make him more keen about her if he finds out
that some other fellow's in love, because that's just the way
with us men; and he may flirt with her more, at any rate ;
and then, seeing that he's a younger, better-looking fellow, and
all that, and that Lucy prefers him (as I really and truly
believe she does, for she's probably only carrying on with my
uncle from interested motives); then, very likely, my uncle
Belmorris, who's always been used to having it all his own way
with women because he's a lord, may turn sulky, and sheer off,
don't you know; and so long as he doesn't marry her, and
spoil my future, I don't care one brass farthing whether Hep-
burn marries her or not; in fact, if I had my choice, I'd rather
she remained as she is. What do you think of my project ?"
" I don't think it's a bad one at all. It can't do much harm,
and it may do good; but I'm glad I'm not you, to have to speak
to Colonel Hepburn. He's about the only man I was ever
afraid of in my life! "
" I don't think, my dear," said Algernon, " that he ever
seemed to have much fancy for you! "
" Perhaps," returned his sister, as she glanced complacently
at her reflection in the chimney-glass, " one mayn't ever have
taken any trouble to make him ' fancy ' one ! From the very
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
145
first, one always heard that he wasn't a marrying man; and
I've a perfect horror of people who're no good !"
" Well, I think we shall soon find out whether he's really a
marrying man or not," said Algy.
Adeliza was still contemplating her image in the looking-glass.
" Don't you think it's a very odd thing, Algy," she remarked
after awhile, " that a middle-class girl like Lucy Barlow (for
really and truly she isn't anything more ; they say, you know,
that her grandfather was only an alderman), living right in
the middle of Clapham Common, should exercise such a tre-
mendous power of fascination over every man she meets, from
you upwards, or rather ' downwards ' I suppose I ought to say.
I wonder whether it's magnetic, or what it is, and where in the
world she gets it from P "
" I should think," replied Algy, turning also to the contempla-
tion of his face in the glass, " that she gets it from the Binkses!"
But at this moment a faint hacking cough, apparently rather
the result of habit than of chest affection, made itself heard,
and Lady Mabella entered the apartment, wearing her usual
resigned and expiatory expression. She held a clean, black-
bordered pocket-handkerchief in one hand, whilst with the other
she tightened her hold upon the skimpy shawl which covered
her narrow shoulders. Mrs. Gruffy, almost similarly attired,
and seemingly equally wobegone, followed behind her mistress,
bearing wraps, and a small basket containing lozenges, smelling-
salts, sal volatile, and other restoratives for failing powers.
The dejected aspect of both mistress and maid seemed to
produce at first rather a depressing effect upon the two young
people, whose countenances underwent a decided change. They
rose, however, and embraced their parent respectfully.
" I hope, mamma dear," said Adeliza, " that you've had rather
a better night ? "
"Thank you, dearest," answered Lady Mabella, sighing; "I
can most truthfully declare that I don't think I have once
closed my eyes ! From the extraordinary noises I heard during
the night, I feel morally convinced that there must have been
an enormous rat in the room. I remember there used to be
rats "
" Hurrah! " cried Algy unfeelingly, " we'll go and rout him
out with the terriers! "
"Dearest Algernon," murmured his mother plaintively, "do
control your unaccountably high spirits, and speak a little
lower! I suppose his voice must be cracking, isn't it P " and
she turned helplessly to Adeliza. " Is that what makes it so
dreadfully loud ? "
"I think it ought to be mended by now, mamma," Adeliza
answered. " It seems to have been cracking for such a very
long time! I think it must be his natural voice."
" Oh, I trust not! " returned Lady Mabellaj "for that would
K.
146
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
be too distressing! Dear me, how terribly draughty this room
is ! I think the window must be open in his lordship's study."
Lady Mabella proceeded wearily to settle herself upon the
sofa, whilst GufEy went into the adjoining room to investigate
the cause of the draught.
"I have closed the window, my lady," she said presently.
" Does your ladyship require anything more ? "
She spoke with the manner of a person whose time is of value,
and who dislikes wasting it upon trifles.
The basket containing the restoratives had been placed upon
a small .table within reach of the sofa, together with some pre-
tence at needlework, and the wraps and cushions seemed to be
all satisfactorily disposed.
"My poor feet feel terribly cold," remarked her ladyship
wearily. "I think you must have forgotten to put the cork
soles into my shoes."
" I beg your ladyship's pardon," replied Guffy, " I remember
putting them in perfectly well."
But in the meantime Lady Mabella was investigating the
matter with her own hand.
"Ah! I see what it is!" she exclaimed regretfully. "You
have put in one of them and not the other, which is far worse
than forgetting them both, as one feels the contrast terribly!"
" I could have taken my solemn oath," returned Guffy, look-
ing much annoyed, " that I put both of them in! After this, I
shall never be sure of anything again ! "
" I suppose," said Lady Mabella, making a feint of moving,
" that I shall have to go up and fetch it myself P " and she
heaved the sigh of a martyr.
"Your ladyship knows," rejoined Guffy sternly, "that I am
only here to wait upon your ladyship," and she quitted the
room with some show of irritation.
" One would have fancied," remarked Lady Mabella, as soon
as her attendant was out of earshot, " that a servant who had
lived with one for over twenty years might have got to know
one's habits ! " and she sighed again.
" The fact is, mother," cut in Algernon, " Gufiy's getting a
great deal too old and too lazy! You ought to look out for a
much younger maid. You'd find her a deal brisker."
" Thank you, Algernon," returned his mother, with a smile
which, in any one less dejected, might have been suspected of
containing a germ of humour; " I select my maids for my own
convenience, and not for your amusement! "
" We must wait till your voice has done cracking, Algy, before
getting a young and good-looking maid," said Adeliza playfully;
"you're just now at the most susceptible age, isn't he, mamma ? "
" I'm sure I don't know, dearest!" replied Lady Mabella
wearily. " He may be, but I don't know, and my poor head is
so painful that I feel quite unable to enter into a discussion!
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 147
Young people must settle these matters tlieir own way; I have
my own opinion, of course, but I am anything but strong, and
I was so terribly disturbed by that rat!"
She closed her eyes for a moment, sprinkled some eau-de-
Cologne upon her handkerchief, and passed it over her brow.
" I am sure no one can think less than I do about my poor
miserable self," she murmured after awhile; " but I should
very much like to know—merely out of curiosity—what this
agonizing sensation can possibly mean ? "
" I remember," said Algernon, " that Dr. Winnington told
Addie and me that it was ' one of the myriad forms of indiges-
tion.' "
" Dr. Winnington could never have said anything so obviously
untrue !" returned Lady Mabella a little sharply. " How could
he have divined that that wretched G-uffy would have neglected
to put in my cork sole, and would have sent all the blood up into
my poor head through causing me to have such icy feet ? "
"Lucy has gone round to the stables with uncle Belmorris,''
remarked Adeliza, changing the subject abruptly.
" That is well!" replied her ladyship absently. " She will help
us to entertain those two dreadful men. When do they arrive ? "
"To-morrow afternoon," said Adeliza; "and mamma dear,
I've found out all about Captain Sparshott."
" Indeed, dearest. I am glad to hear it. Oh, where is that
miserable Guffy ? "
"Captain Sparshott is the second son of Sir Timothy
Sparshott," said Algy. "I found it all out; but bis eldest
brother was drowned at sea."
" That is well," returned Lady Mabella dreamily; " I mean
—poor young man—that, as we could not have prevented it, it
is perhaps better "
" It happened a good many years ago," said Adeliza. " I
should think by now they had all of them got over it."
" My uncle Belmorris says that Sparshott Priory is one of the
jolliest places in Ireland," remarked Algy; " and that they've
got first-rate trout-fishing."
" I am glad of it," replied Lady Mabella feebly. She took a
prolonged sniff at her smelling salts, as though to brace herself
for some unusual effort, and then added—
" My dearest Adeliza, I think—I almost think—that it would
be as well if you did not appear to have heard of this sad cata-
strophe whilst Captain Sparshott is staying here; I think it
would be wiser to appear to believe that he is still a younger
son. In life these things are sometimes better, when good may
come of them. Perhaps I do not make my meaning very plain,
but my poor head is really splitting."
" I quite see what you mean, mamma dear," returned Adeliza
quickly; "you mean that this will make us appear to be more
disiutei'ested, supposing that he ' means business.' "
K. 2
THRO5 LOVE AND WAR
" I almost forget what my meaning was, dearest," replied her
mother vaguely; "my mind is in a terrible state of chaos, but
I know that I was intent upon your welfare!"
" It's a first-rate notion, mother!" cut in Algernon, looking
knowing. "And you'll see how well we'll follow your advice.
' "We must dissemble !' "
"You see, Algy," observed Adeliza afterwards, when Lady
Mabella, wearied out with the exertions of the morning, had
once more retired to her own room; " even mamma, who
pretends to be so awfully particular about propriety, seemed to
think it perfectly natural that Lucy should go about alone with
uncle Belmorris."
" Sisters don't always believe that girls are so ready to make
love to their brothers," replied Algy in a marked tone; " they're
apt to hold their brothers' powers of fascination rather too
cheap! Besides which, she was thinking about her cork soles."
" Shall you really speak to Colonel Hepburn about it ?"
Adeliza asked, as though wondering at her brother's temerity.
" Yes; I've thoroughly made up my mind," returned Algernon
doggedly. "I sha'n't speak out the first day he's here, but
perhaps the second, and certainly the third, and I think you'll
see that after he's heard my candid opinion, matters will some-
how be brought to a crisis. I can't go on any longer sitting
upon thorns!"
CHAPTER XXVII.
When a woman, after much longing and many prayers, meets
again the man she imprudently loves, without having received
from him any of those assurances which she can never grow
weary of hearing repeated—when, after days of vain expectation,
and nights during which he may be revealed to her in dreams,
she beholds him once more as he is in the flesh, hears once more
the ever-haunting tones of his voice, but sees him and hears him
in the restraining presence of others, guessing only at what may
be hidden away in his heart as he touches her hand foi-mally for
one little hurrying moment—when, after he has bidden her a con-
strained farewell, and the sound of the hoofs and of the wheels
that are bearing him from her have died away in the distance,
she seeks, in her desolation, the solitude of her chamber, and
reviews every moment of the long-hoped-for " day that is dead,"
is not disappointment, cruel and bitter, because seeming to be as
irremediable as it was undeserved and unexpected, the dominat-
ing feeling of her crushed and despairing heart ?
Lucy Barlow, who knew nothing until the morrow of Lord
Belmorris's invitation to his country neighbour to stay and
shoot at the castle for a few days, or of how this invitation had
been readily accepted, experienced some such painful emotions
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 149
when she had retired to her solitary chamber, upon the evening
when Colonel Hepburn and Captain Sparshott, his brother in
arms, had driven over to dinner from Falconborough Park.
He was gone now for good, as she sadly imagined; Falcon-
borough must be certainly nine or ten miles from the castle,
even by the very shortest way, and it was unlikely therefore
that he would come over again whilst she and the Binkses
remained at Belmorris. And he had said no word to her; he
had given no look or sign which might have satisfied, in some
measure at least, the intense longing at her heart! True, she
had not seen him alone for a single second, and the words she
hungered for were scarcely suclras could have been uttered in
public; but surely, surely, if he had cared for her in the very
least, he would have allowed her to learn this blissful knowledge
from the depths of his wonderful eyes, which could say so much
sometimes? Had he quite, quite forgotten those enchanted
moments in the shadowy cloisters at Hampton Court?
Lucy's apartment at Belmorris had nothing about it which
could have helped to sadden even the most gloomy imagination.
It was a small bachelor-room, with a bright brass bedstead, the
curtains of which were blooming all over with blossoms and
fluttering with butterflies. If Lord Belmorris had searched
through his entire castle with the special desire of selecting the
most comfortable and cosy-looking room, he could scarcely have
succeeded better in his object. Nevertheless, upon the evening
when Colonel Hepburn had dined and departed, Lucy passed
many miserable hours under these same blossomy bed-curtains.
"He is gone ! he is gone ! " was the sad refrain that seemed
to be chanted and wailed close to her sleepless pillow from dark to
dawn. But then, on the morrow, came a joyful and unlooked-
for revulsion of feeling.
" He is coming ! he is coming! " the same spirit-voices seemed
to be shouting and singing triumphantly during the whole of
the following night. " He is coming over to stay for a few days
to-morrow, accompanied by Captain Sparshott! " And the voices
only ceased when she fell into a delicious slumber, brightened
by hopeful visions; and then, lo and behold! " to-morrow "
had grown into " to-day ! "
Colonel Hepburn and his military friend rode over from
Falconborough Park, and reached the door of Belmorris Castle
at about four o'clock, a dog-cart, containing their portmanteaux,
arriving shortly afterwards. Lucy's bedroom, by a fortunate
chance, was situated immediately over the principal doorway, and
from this vantage-ground she was enabled to witness both these
arrivals. Every detail connected with Colonel Hepburn seemed
to her to be fraught with an absorbing interest, down to the
very initials upon his baggage, whilst Captain Sparshott's port-
manteau, notwithstanding the first-rate trout-fishing at old Sir
Timothy's, was hauled down almost unnoticed.
TIIRO' LOVE AND WAR
Lucy observed that the armorial bearings upon the blinkers
of the horse which was harnessed to the dog-cart were the same
as those engraved upon the back of the sacred hair-brush with
which she had smoothed her tresses upon- a certain memo-
rable evening. They consisted of a horse's head, bitted and
bridled, the ancient cognizance of the Hepburns of Bothwell and
Hermitage, and a falcon, hovering over its nest, for Falcon-
borough. Was it likely that the great red lion rampant of the
Barlows would ever enter into a polygamous union with these
two illustrious heraldic beasts ?
Upon his arrival, Colonel Hepburn condescended to partake
of tea, which was already prepared in the gun-room, and which
was handed to him by Adeliza Binks. Captain Sparshott, pre-
ferring a " B and S," was likewise accommodated in the same
apartment, and here it was that Lucy, having ventured trem-
blingly downstairs, was once more confronted with the man she
loved. There was the same formal grasp of the hand as yester-
day, the same calm words of ceremonious greeting. Hope,
however, was lurking in Lucy's heart, for was he not going to
remain on at the castle for several days ?
Lord Belmorris, who had been scrutinizing her very closely,
so Lucy fancied, during this disappointing hand-shaking—but
then, at such moments, she had lately grown to imagine that
she was always unusually observed—now proposed that they
should go out for a stroll in the park before dinner. Adeliza,
who had not yet removed her walking apparel, started off with
her brother to accompany them, but Lucy, who, in an evil
moment, had taken off hat, jacket, and thick boots, felt too
timid to propose that they should wait whilst she equipped her-
self anew, and so had the disappointment of watching them
depart without her.
Adeliza led the way briskly with Captain Sparshott, Colonel
Hepburn and Lord Belmorris following at a more leisurely pace,
whilst Algernon Binks straggled along in an unpaired condition,
for the gravel pathway was scarcely wide enough for three.
Perhaps, after all, she would only have had to walk with him,
and this would have been no very unusual pleasure.
Before they arrived at the iron gateway leading out of the
flower-garden, Colonel Hepburn paused, looked back at the
house, almost as if he had forgotten something, and was about
to return. Lucy's heart, as she watched him from the window,
began beating tumultuously. What if he were to come back,
leaving the others in the garden, just to whisper the few kind
words for which she hungered ? How easily it could have been
done, and without inviting the slightest suspicion. A woman in
Colonel Hepburn's place would certainly have managed it. But
Colonel Hepburn was not a woman. The impulse, whatever it
may have been, passed off, and she saw him continuing his way
with the others.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
As soon ss they were out of sight, Lucy seated herself in the
chair lately vacated by the Colonel, and endeavoured to read
the morning papers. The house, however, seemed suddenly to
have becoriie terribly lonely. Lady Mabella was at home, it is
true, but she was resting upstairs in her own private apartments.
Gruft'y was, of course, at her tea, with the other servants; but
the housekeeper's room was too far off for any sounds from it to
reach the occupants of the upstairs sitting-rooms. In a very short
time, therefore, the feeling of solitude became too oppressive for
her to endure, and, going up to her bedroom, she arrayed her-
self in her walking costume, and went out of doors.
After passing through a part of the flower-garden, she took
her way through the rookery, crossed the carriage-road, and
found herself in a wood beyond, which was intersected by many
pathways. Thick bushes of laurel, box, and rhododendron grew
upon each side of the way, so that the now half-naked branches
of the trees beyond were scarcely discernible in the deepening
twilight. Lucy had often wandered about in these shady path-
ways before, it was a spot favourable to " maiden meditation; "
and the rustling of the withered leaves, as she flitted along,
seemed like a fit accompaniment to her thoughts, which, it must
be confessed, had been somewhat sad and desponding of late.
By-and-by, she became aware of a louder and more continuous
rustling. Some one was following in her footsteps. She looked
round, and found herself face to face with Colonel Hepburn.
Just heavens ! He was alone : she could perceive no signs
whatever of the rest of the party.
She felt paralyzed in every sense. Ho word escaped her lips,
and her heart began to behave as it invariably did behave in
Colonel Hepburn's presence. Fortunately, he very soon put an
end to the embarrassing silence.
" So you prefer your own company to ours, I see, Miss Bar-
low," he said a3 he came up with her. " Belmorris, finding you
weren't with us, has gone back to look after you. May I ask if
you always go out for these solitary strolls P "
" Sometimes," Lucy answered, helped by his conventional
tone into making a supreme effort over her emotion. " Twi-
light is the time I like best in the whole day. I can always
think better then."
" And might one inquire, without appearing to be presump-
tuous, whether your thoughts are pleasant ones?" he asked,
with a kind of mock formality which, in some circumstances, is
so particularly irritating and disheartening.
Lucy was now no longer trembling and embarrassed. Colonel
Hepburn's manner, almost a manner of condescending banter,
as it seemed to her sensitive ears, had reawakened her slumber-
ing pride. She regained her presence of mind, though her heart
felt sore with disappointment.
" My thoughts are not always pleasant," she answered calmly
152
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
and seriously. "How can they be ? There seems to be a great
deal in the world which is very sad andvery cruel."
Tears were in her eyes, but happily it had grown too dark
for him to see them.
"Poor child! "he murmured in an altered voice. "Surely,
no one can ever have been cruel to you ? Your life ought to be
all brightness and hope!"
Again that same parental, abstracted, irresponsible tone,
which had chilled her blood more than once before! He
stopped, however, took her hand, and looked down earnestly
into her face.
But just at this moment the withered leaves began to rustle
tumultuously, and Algernon Binks came scampering down one
of the intersecting paths.
" Ah, there you are, Lucy ! " he cried, in his discordant boy's
voice. " We've been hunting for you all over the place ! Here
she is!" he called out to his sister and the Captain, who were
now seen emerging from an adjacent grove. "My uncle Bel-
morris has gone all the way home to look for you ! "
Poor Lucy's heart seemed to grow cold in her bosom. Colonel
Hepburn, too, she could not help fancying, looked a little
annoyed.
They retraced their steps to the castle by a different way to
that by which they had set out, Adeliza walking on first, as
before, with Captain Sparshott. Colonel Hepburn and Lucy
loitered some distance behind them, whilst Algernon Binks
kept fastening on to and disturbing, first one couple and then
the other, and proving, if the truth must be told, about an
equal annoyance to both.
Upon emerging from the rhododendron-grove, they found
themselves upon the brink of what was almost a ravine, the
decline of which was richly wooded with forest-trees. Notwith-
standing the advanced season, some of these were still clothed
with foliage, coloured in brilliant autumnal tints. A grey
vapour clung softly to the side of the valley, concealing the full
extent of the declivity, and beyond this a wild and picturesque
tract of country lay mapped out before them, extending in
every direction as far as the eye could reach, and seeming to be
utterly indefinite in the subdued light of a newly arisen
crescent-moon.
Adeliza Binks, in spite of having strangled all her aesthetic
leanings upon the altar of fashion, was aware that this view
was generally much admired, and was determined that Captain
Sparshott should not miss seeing it, if only for what Algy had
called " the honour and glory of the family."
They contemplated it with varied feelings for some seconds
in silence. Colonel Hepburn was the first to speak.
" This is one of the finest views in England," he said ; " I
know of hardly any other that is to be compared to it."
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
153
" I don't suppose it's any finer than the view on Clapham
Common," remarked Algy archly; " eh, Lucy ? "
" Clapham Common ? " repeated Colonel Hepburn, looking at
him quickly. " Why Clapham Common ? "
" Because that's where my cousin lives when she's at home,"
replied the irrepressible Algy. "Isn't it, Lucy? And she's
always telling us how beautifully the moon rises there, apd how
grandly the sun sets, and how little we Cockneys know of its
perfections, although it isn't half an hour's drive from London
in a hansom."
"I can't help liking my own home," returned Lucy simply;
" there's a quiet old-fashioned feeling about it, which one realizes
the charm of after one has lived there for some time, although,
of course, there's nothing that can be compared in any way to
this."
" I had no idea," said Colonel Hepburn as they turned from
the moonlit landscape and continued their homeward way,
"that you lived anywhere near Clapham Common. You never
told me before."
" I didn't think you would care to know. It was not because
I was ashamed of my home."
She spoke with dignity, almost with sternness.
" He does not care for me," she was thinking bitterly. " He
could break any one's heart and then not know that he'd done it!
Why should I become the slave of one who cannot understand ? "
They were alone again, for a few minutes at least; for Algy
had walked on with his sister and her admirer. Colonel
Hepburn seemed to wish to hang back.
"Upon which side of Clapham Common do you live?" he
inquired gently.
" Upon the side which has its back turned to London and the
river," she answered. "I suppose being so very near a large town,
and yet outside it, is really what makes it seem to be so far away
from it. Sometimes, when I listen in the evening to the chimes
from the London churches, and then look at the grey walls of
our little garden, I feel as if they completely shut us off from
all the rest of the world."
"Your garden, I suppose, is at the back of the house, upon
the side which does not look out upon the Common?"
" Yes; but we have a little strip of garden upon the Common
side as well, and a beautiful lime-tree with a seat under it,
When the evenings are fine, I sometimes sit a long time at the
window and watch the people playing at cricket, as my room
looks out that way."
" The early mornings are very pleasant there, too," remarked
the Colonel absently. " I shall be sorry when anything happens
to those old lime-trees."
"You know Clapham Common then?" she said pausing, and
looking up at him suddenly. She was thinking of the mys-
*54
TIIRO' LOVE AND WAR
terious figure, so like him in every respect, which she had seen
seated one morning upon the public bench nearly opposite her
own door, and wondering whether it had been really an optical
illusion after all.
"Of course I know it," he answered carelessly; "as your
cousin says, it isn't half an hour's drive from London in a
hansom."
" But you know it well?" Lucy insisted timidly. " You sit
sometimes under the lime-trees upon the Common in the early
mornings ?"
" Have you any particular reason for asking this ? " he
inquired, as though impressed by her earnest manner.
"I fancied once that I saw you, that's my only reason.
There is a group of seven lime-trees nearly opposite our
windows, with a bench under them, and I looked out one
morning and saw a man sitting there who seemed to be just
like you. But his back was turned to me, and afterwards I
thought I must have been mistaken; but now I was wondering
whether it mightn't have been you after all."
" It's quite possible that I may have been upon Clapham
Common now and then, in the summer," returned Colonel
Hepburn vaguely. " There's an old fellow living near there
who travelled with me long ago, as a kind of tutor, and I run
down and look him up sometimes. So your house is just in
front of those seven lime-trees ? "
"Yes; it's a quiet, peaceful-looking little Queen Anne house,
standing between two much larger ones.. I shouldn't think
that you would have observed it."
"I shall observe it in future, if I ever happen to be near
there again. And is it as quiet and peaceful within as it looks
outside ? "
"Yes; the house is peaceful enough," she answered, "and
my aunt, who, though she is so old, has never had any troubles,
is peaceful and contented too. It is a house that seems meant
more for peace and quietness than for happiness; everything
seems to be so old-fashioned and toned down."
" But you are happy there ? " he asked, stopping again, and
looking searchingly at what he could perceive of her in the
growing darkness. " Why did you sigh as you spoke ? Tell
me, once, that you are not unhappy. Ah, if you only knew how
much I wish for your happiness ! "
What more he might have said will never be known, for at
this moment Lord Belmorris made his appearance in the dusky
pathway. He was whistling, not always with him a sign of
high spirits, and flicking at the leaves of the laurel-bushes
with his stick. Lucy and Colonel Hepburn started in rather a
guilty manner, and then went forward to meet him.
" Well, Miss Lucy, you're a nice young person, I must say ! "
fie exclaimed " What have you to say for yourself, giving
THRO1 LOVE AND WAR
135
the slip, and then leading me a regular wild-goose chase to try
and find you ? "
Lucy feared that he was really angry with her from his tone,
which, considering his kindness to her during her stay beneath
his roof, was the very last thing she would have desired. She
commenced, therefore, to explain her conduct in somewhat
faltering tones, but before she had proceeded far with it, her
cousin Algernon again appealed upon the scene.
" Lucy wasn't up in the mother's room," he said to his uncle,
"where you said I was to go and look for her, whilst you
searched downstairs, and the mother was in an awful wax at
being woke up, though G-uffy said she wasn't really asleep; but
when I came back, I found her iu the 'King's "Walk' with
Colonel Hepburn. Didn't I, Lucy ? I didn't go back and tell
you, because we thought you'd be sure to turn up."
Lucy acquiesced faintly. Somehow, this afternoon, her
nerves seemed to be terribly unstrung.
" How, what have you to say for yourself, Miss ?" asked
Lord Belmorris, knittiug his dark brows with sham severity.
All the others had gone on ahead, and he was walking with her
towards the house, which was now close at hand.
" Oh, please don't be so angry with me!" she pleaded. " Surely
you know that I wouldn't have offended you willingly!"
Lord Belmorris perceived to his surprise that she was in tears.
" Why, what a brute I am ! " he exclaimed, with contrition ;
" I've actually made you cry! My dearest child! Say that you
forgive me."
He, too, paused, just as Colonel Hepburn had done, and took
her hand tenderly and remorsefully. Lucy became confirmed
in her impression that life was assuredly full of the strangest
contrasts and complications.
" It's not for me to forgive," she faltered, feeling sadly at a
loss for words. " There's nothing for either of us to forgive ;
only—only I fancied you were really angry with me, and I was
so sorry, because you have always been so very kind."
" I wasn't in the least angry," he answered, drawing her hand
through his arm and stroking it paternally ; " besides, if I had
been, it wouldn't have mattered two straws. You're quite
right to prefer Hepburn's society to that of the rest of us, for
he's a very clever, well-read, agreeable fellow ; besides being so
good-looking. It's a pity he isn't a marrying man."
CHAPTER XXYIII.
The second day of Anthony Hepburn's sojourn at Belmorris
Castle brought Lucy as little solace as the first. The men went
out shooting during the greater part of it, returning to the
house soon after four o'clock. Then ensued a few conventional
156 THRO'LOVE AND WAR
■words, having reference to subjects without much interest to a
young lady in Lucy's emotional state, a stroll in the twilight,
with Lord Belmorris or Algy making an unwelcome third, and
afterwards dinner, to which Colonel Hepburn escorted Lady
Mabella, Captain Sparshott taking in Adeliza, and Algernon
straggling in, as he generally did, unprovided with a female.
Poor Lucy, paying the penalty of remote relationship rather
than of greatness, was taken in first upon the arm of the
master of the house, and found herself thus the furthest
removed of anybody at table from the object of her affections.
At these critical epochs of existence, one is prone to cling to the
slenderest straws of comfort, and so she may have derived some
sort of consolation, perhaps, from the fact that, when the
moment came for the ladies to retire for the night, it was
Colonel Hepburn who, having accompanied them to the foot of
the staircase, graciously took upon himself to light and hand
to her her bedroom candlestick, gazing lingeringly after her
retreating form as she took her way upstairs out of his presence.
But in spite of this unimportant incident, her horizon appeared
still to be clouded over with apprehension and uncertainty.
Then, sadly and swiftly, as such terrible days have a way of
dawning, came the day upon which he was destined to depart.
He was going away from her again, leaving her no tangible
evidence of his interest or affection to cling to but the light-
ing of a miserable bedroom candlestick. She was physically
weakened from having, alone and quite unaided, done battle
with so much disquiet. The last two nights had been almost,
if not entirely, sleepless; and Lord Belmorris seemed to be
quite distressed at the failure of her appetite at breakfast,
luncheon, and dinner. When, she asked herself despairingly,
would this uncomfortable state of affairs come to an end ?
It transpired soon after breakfast, however, that although
Colonel Hepburn and Captain Sparshott were of a truth about
to leave the castle, it had been arranged that the two young
ladies should make an expedition to Falconborough for the day,
accompanied of course by Lord Belmorris and Algernon Binks,
as;their natural protectors. The weather, although anything but
warm, was so fine that there was every reason to suppose the
" outing" would be an agreeable one, as the fine old Tudor
house, with its historical and family pictures, was well worthy of
a visit.
The party set out immediately after luncheon in a waggonette,
with Algernon Binks upon the box instead of a footman.
It was not possible during the drive for any of the occupants
of the waggonette to talk confidentially, and the conversation
turned, therefore, merely upon general topics.
Upon entering the lodge-gates of Falconborough Park, Lucy
gazed eagerly about her, for the night was so dark when she had
visited it before that its beauties were entirely new.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 157
" How different everything looks," she exclaimed presently,
" by daylight to what it does at night! "
The words escaped her almost unconsciously, more as if she
were thinking aloud than addressing her companions.
"You have been here before then?" said Colonel Hepburn,
seeking her eyes inquiringly.
Lord Belmorris, in a few telegraphic sentences, gave a rough
account of his and Lucy's adventure, of which, to her surprise,
she found that the Colonel had not been informed. His
servants had apparently said nothing to him about it as yet,
and Lord Belmorris was not the sort of person to volunteer in-
formation, unless it was particularly required of him. Colonel
Hepburn, therefore, seemed to experience something of the same
kind of surprise that Lucy herself had felt upon discovering his
familiarity with Clapham Common.
" I am afraid that there will be nothing for me to show you
that you have not already seen," he said, as he helped her out
of the waggonette, when they had arrived at the door.
"We only went into one room downstairs," she replied, "for
all the others seemed to be shut up, and I should so much like
to see the portraits of—of your relations."
"Ancestors," she thought afterwards, might perhaps have
been a wiser and more appropriate word. But she had spoken
the truth. He had grown so unaccountably dear to her, that
her tenderness seemed to reach back and enfold even his father
and mother, and she desired to see what these unknown loved
ones had been like in the flesh.
They all passed together into the entrance-hall, which was
lofty and oak-panelled. There was a glass door leading into
an old-fashioned flower-garden at the further end of it.
" If you would care to look round the garden for a few
minutes," said Colonel Hepburn, leading the way to this door,
and then opening it, "I will just take Miss Barlow to look at
the pictures before the light goes. I think you have all seen
them, such as they are, but 1 don't know whether Miss Binks
has ever heard the echo in the old orangery: Sparshott's a
capital hand at setting it going! "
He spoke carelessly, but there was something determined in
his tone. Lord Belmorris looked up at him as though a little
. startled at his proposal. An expression of annoyance passed
for a moment over his face. He stood as though irresolute
upon the top step, showing no sign of going into the garden.
Lucy almost feared that he was about to accompany her to the
pictures. Adeliza Binks, however, and Captain Sparshott had
darted out and were now on their way to evoke the echo.
Algernon was nowhere to be seen, and Lord Belmorris, as uncle
and chaperon, may possibly have felt bound to hover within
sight of his niece and her admirer. Be this as it may, he gazed
for a second in Lucy's face with a look that had in it something
i58
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
of a mute appeal, and then slowly, and as if reluctantly, went
down the stone steps into the garden.
Lucy Barlow and Anthony Hepburn were alone.
" Should you really care to look at the pictures?" he asked,
as soon as Lord Belmorris was out of hearing.
To Lucy, whose perceptions were quickened to intensity, it
was as though he had said openly—
"Looking at the pictures was merely a pretext. Our first
desire was to be together." And now it occurred to her that his
reserve as regarded outward expression might proceed from a
consciousness of the mutual sympathy which had become
established between them, and which seemed to him perhaps to
render words superfluous.
"I should like really to look at the pictures," she answered,
aware in every fibre of her being of this tacit understanding.
" Come then," and he led the way to the library, in which she
had found herself once before.
Passing on together through this room they entered a long
gallery beyond, in which the pictures had been arranged by the
late Lord Falconborough with care and intelligence. The
descriptions, together with the names of the masters, were
painted upon the. frames. There was no need therefore of ex-
planations, and Lucy and her host went over them in silence.
By-and-by, however, they came to a picture which was un-
described and unnamed. It was by a comparatively modern
artist, and represented a Jewish money-lender in turban and
spectacles, seated at a counter strewn over with nicknacks,
whilst a beautiful young widow with an infant in her arms, was
offering him the miniature of her husband for sale. An older
child was clinging to her garments, and gazing at the usurer
with frightened eyes.
" The meaning of this picture," Colonel Hepburn remarked,
and in his tender and concentrated tone there was nothing to
dispel Lucy's idea about the mysterious sympathy existing
between them, " can be interpreted in several different ways,
and for this reason it seems to me one doesn't grow tired of it.
Sometimes I fancy the painter meant merely to illustrate the
trials of poverty. This poor woman may have been devoted to
her husband; his portrait maybe almost her only remaining
treasure; but the childen require bread, they are more to her
even than the picture; the picture must go! This is one
reading of the subject."
"And the other?" inquired Lucy, almost in a whisper.
"The other, you willpei-haps think, could only have occurred
to a cynical mind, and I suppose I only take this second view
when I am in a morbid state. At such times I fancy that
the widow is too becomingly dressed to be really poor; she has
gold earrings you see, and a fine large cross on her neck. Why
not dispose of these trinkets before she parts with the picture ?
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
159
No! I daresay she never cared a straw for her husband! The
ornaments may serve to attract some new suitor. Let the por-
trait go first!"
"But yet," said Lucy, forgetting herself for the moment,
and taking the part of the young widow, " her face looks so
dreadfully sad, and she holds forward the picture so reluctantly.
I think she must really have cared for him ! "
" I don't attach much importance to the sad look," returned
Colonel Hepburn, seeking her eyes inquiringly, "for I always
thought that a woman could make her face sad or gay, just as
she fancied, without any reference to her real feelings."
Lucy thought that he must have said this merely to test her,
and determined, therefore, to reply with discretion.
" Some women may be able to pretend," she answered, " but
surely some are to be believed ? "
"I hope so; till now, however, I haven't been much of a believer."
"I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps the women you knew
best were not truthful."
The words escaped her almost unawares. Colonel Hepburn
seemed to wince for a moment; Lucy feared that she had,
perhaps, aroused some painful memory.
" I think," ho said, after awhile, " that women nearly always
desire to convert one from every kind of unbelief, whether it be
in heaven, or in themselves ; because a woman, whether truth-
ful or the reverse, is generally kind, and, being kind, she will
desire that you should derive happiness from the sources that
have proved a comfort to herself; and, to her, it is everything
to believe. I like to think that good women, however, do not
always care for the best men."
" Why ? " she inquired, wondering.
" Because most men, I should think, would rather be loved
by a good woman than a bad one; and because men are gene-
rally so full of failings that no good woman could ever love them
if she cared only for perfection."
" I should think," returned Lucy, " that if a woman once
really cared for any one, she would forgive his failings, however
much she might regret them."
" Do you think," he said suddenly, in an altered voice, " that
a good woman could ever care for a coward ?"
" A coward ? " repeated Lucy, looking at him inquiringly.
There was an expression of pain upon his face. She was at
a loss, in spite of her quickened senses, to divine his meaning.
" Yes, a coward," he answered sadly. " I am interested in
your reply, because I have discovered that I am a coward myself."
" You a coward ! " exclaimed Lucy in astonishment. " I
heard that you had been in battles, and fancied that you were
so brave !"
" My body is tough enough, I daresay, and I'm not much
afraid of physical pain, but morally I am a miserable coward,
160 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Without displaying personal cowardice, a man may sometimes
find himself in a position where a bold stroke would put an end
to much that he feels to be both irksome and humiliating, and
he may yet be wanting in the courage to strike."
He spoke with the manner of one who is about to make some
sort of painful confession. Lucy was thrilled to the soul at
this seeming proof of his confidence.
" I have heard that men dislike annoyance more than we do,"
she answered. " So perhaps a man might go on bearing what
was painful, if to put an end to it would entail doing something
unpleasant."
" Yes, some men carry this to an extreme, and as they have
to bear the consequences of their own acts, they are generally
more than sufficiently punished. But there are cases when this
want of moral courage may bring suffering to others, to those
they care for more than they do for themselves ; you can under-
stand this ? "
" Yes, I understand it, although I know nothing of what may
be in your mind. In such cases a woman, I think, would feel
herself obliged to strike the blow, and go through the annoyance,
however great; but then, women are so different from men."
" But supposing, in striking this blow for the sake of one you
loved, as well as for your own peace of mind, you felt that you
were behaving with heartlessness towards a third person, some
one who had given you proofs of friendship and affection, and to
whom you were under certain important obligations—in such a
case, might not even a woman hesitate ? " '
"Would to act as you would like to act annoy this friend
very much ? " Lucy inquired.
" Perhaps," she thought, " he has some uncle or cousin who
would be injured by his marrying, possibly his next heir, and
this may be why he has never married before."
" It would do more than annoy, perhaps," returned Colonel
Hepburn, still speaking with great earnestness; " it might cause
real pain, and, for this reason, the man who is a coward recoils
from striking. The blow will have to be dealt some day, but
he delays and temporizes."
" But it must be struck some day for certain ? "
" For certain, I think," he answered. " When, in life, events
take particular turns, one can perceive their tendency as surely
as one perceives that a river must flow towards the sea. The
man who is not morally brave, is always hoping for this time,
and dislikes hurrying what is inevitable."
" He is too impatient to wait for the end which must come ? "
" No; he would wait for it for years and years, if only he could
be sure that it would really come; but, unfortunately, life is
short, and the time during which it can be enjoyed is shorter
still. It would be selfish, perhaps, to make sure of one's happi-
ness, but might it not be foolish-to let it escape one altogether ?
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
161
A man may reasoD like this sometimes, and then, come what
may, he feels impelled to seize his happiness now."
He gazed at Lucy as he said this, as though his entire destiny
hung upon her answer.
" What would you do," he asked presently, " if you found
yourself in this man's place ? "
Lucy endeavomred to turn the matter over dispassionately in
her mind, but before she had decided upon her answer, he said
suddenly:
" Have you ever read Tennyson's ' Idylls of the King ? '"
"About King Arthur and his knights ? Yes; I have read
most of them. In my room at home there is a print of Blaine
floating down the river in her barge after she is dead."
It was strange, she thought, that he should speak to her about
these poems, when, upon the very first occasion of her meeting
with him, she had likened him, in her mind, to Lancelot " the
great knight, the darling of the court!"
" Well," continued Colonel Hepburn, speaking still with more
earnestness than the occasion seemed to demand; "read over
again the one called 'Elaine;' there are some lines in it which
may tell you more than I am able, more than I dare explain."
"You are telling me something about yourself ? " Lucy inquired.
" Yes; for I should like you to know the worst of me. But
we will say no more about this now. Let me show you the
picture of one of the best women in the world."
They went back again into the library. Colonel Hepburn
stopped beneath the full-length portrait of a lady in a white
dress. She was represented standing at the foot of a broad stair-
case, with one hand upon the head of a large dog.
From the reverential expression which came into his eyes, as
well as from the resemblance which existed between this portrait
and the miniature hanging in his bedroom, Lucy was quite pre-.
pared for his explanation :
" This is my poor mother."
They both looked up at the portrait without speaking.
Lucy experienced a strange awed feeling, It seemed to her
almost as if she was being presented to Colonel Hepburn's
mother upon approval, and she felt quite nervous as to what the
beautiful lady in the white dress might think of her.
"You see, she was quite young when this was done," he said
at length; " but she looked still young the last time I saw her.
She had nothing of the ' mother of the Gracchi ' about her, and
from the moment I became a soldier she was always in terror
lest I should be killed."
" I can fancy," returned Lucy, "how dreadful it must be for
a mother or a father to lose their child."
"Yes; I fancy it's the strongest instinct Nature has im-
planted in us," he replied; " except one."
He looked at her intently as he said this. Lucy was thrilled
L
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
by bis gaze, and painfully confused. It would have been almost
a relief to her at that moment if some one had entered the room
and broken the spell; for she felt that those appealing eyes were
gazing down into the very depths of her soul, and that ere long
they must read her secret. It seemed ages before either of them
spoke again, during which time Lacy experienced a sensation as
if her heart was running a race with the library clock, trying
hard to beat it, and succeeding. Suddenly a new light seemed
to break in upon her.
" Do you mind my asking you something ? " she faltered.
"Are you married ? "
" Ho, I am not married," he answered. " I swear it! "
" But do you care very much for any one ? some one you can-
not marry," she asked breathlessly; " ah, pray tell me the truth!"
" I am not married," he answered ; " and I love no one but
you, so help me God! Surely you must know this ! Tell me,
my Lucy, that you can love me too ? "
He drew her to him. For a moment she was in his arms.
"You know! you know!" was all that she found voice to
murmur. " You have known it for a long time !"
"Then I may think of you as my own Lucy?" he said
tenderly. " But for the present we must keep our secret to
ourselves. Come, let us go into the garden."
He took her hand in his, and led her back through the
deserted rooms, and she felt that he knew that she loved him.
* * * *
" I must say, Algy," remarked Adeliza to her brother, upon
their return to Belmorris after the expedition to Falconborough
Park, "that I don't think much, after all, of your boasted
valour. Here's Colonel Hepburn been and gone, and yet
you've never mustered up courage to say anything to him
about his attentions to Lucy, which I must confess are becoming
a little marked. Did you see the cool way to-day in which he
led her off into the library under all our noses ? Uncle B. was
awfully roughed up by it, and vented some of his ill-temper
upon poor me, by watching Charlie Sparshott and I whilst we
were listening to the echo, just as if he'd been a detective. He'd
much better have gone indoors and looked after Lucy."
" I'm not quite blind ! " returned Algy complacently; " and
I saw everything just as plainly as you did; but I've come to
the conclusion that I can express myself better in writing, so
I'm going to fire off a letter to Hepburn to-morrow morning
by the early post."
CHAPTER XXIX.
True to his promise, immediately after breakfast upon the
following morning, Algernon Binks seated himself at the library
writing-table. He selected a new quill pen with a broad nib,
THRO5 LOVE AND WAR
and a sheet of emblazoned writing-paper, of the consistency of
cardboard; for his letter, although friendly in tone, was intended
to be of a very firm and determined character.
The opening words, " My dear Hepburn," flowed from his
'grey goose-quill' glibly enough, but arrived thus far, he
paused for some time, and it was not before he had bitten off the
end of the pen, and stroked his beai'dless chin repeatedly with
the stump, that he was enabled to go on with his composition.
He advanced even then but slowly, for he was neither a very
good hand at writing nor at spelling, and he felt called upon in
a letter of so much importance to make use of a good many
hard words. When completed, too, the paper was so marred
by erasures and corrections, that he decided upon treating it
merely as the rough copy, and it was very nearly post-time,
therefore, before it was actually finished. When finally
corrected and approved it ran as follows :—
" My dear Hepburn,—
"I take up my pen to address you upon a delicate subject,
which I should have placed in the hands of some one more
experienced in. such matters, if my cousin, Miss Lucy Barlow,
had not been, as she is, an orphan, with no male relations
living except me. I expect by this beginning of mine, you will
be able to guess the drift of any remarks I may think fit to
make to you, and that you will take them kindly, like the good
fellow that I really believe you are, in spite of what ill-natured
people may say to the contrary. One has always heard that,
for some reason best k nown to yourself, you were not considered
a marrying man ; of which I was informed by my sister as long
ago as when we were all staying down at Hampton Court in the
summer. How being a man like yourself, I know, my dear
Hepburn" ("I had better treat him quite in an affectionate,
brotherly way, at any rate, till he turns nasty," thought Algy to
himself, as he wrote this), " I know my dear Hepburn," he
continued, "that lots of little temporary entanglements may
occur, which prevent one's wanting to settle down till one has
had one's fun, but, after all, these affairs are very easy to wind
up or ' square,' particularly when a fellow is as rich as you are;
and once a fellow has sown his wild oats, he is generally just as
ready to marry as any other fellow. Both my mother, Lady
Mabella Binks, my sister and myself" ("I think," he solilo-
quized, " that it wasn't a bad move bringing in mamma's name,
for we want rather to frighten him, and he won't know that she
doesn't take the slightest interest in anything except her com-
plaints "), " my sister and myself have l'emarked the attentions
you have paid my cousin, Miss Bailow, and I am writing this
with a view to some sort of explanation of your conduct, which
I cannot describe as gentlemanlike or aboveboard, if you are not
in a position to behave honourably to my cousin, as I have no
doubt you will think proper to do upon consideration. But, dear
l 2
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Hepburn " (the term of endearment was here inseided to console
the Colonel for any pain which might have been caused by the
severity of the previous remarks), " there is another side of the
case to be looked at which equals, if not surpasses, the first. It
is this—viz., If you do not make my cousin, Miss Barlow, an
offer, it is my firm belief, as sure as I am sitting here in this
chair, that my uncle Belmorris will, and I am as sure as any-
thing, also, that if he does so, he will be accepted like a shot, for
an earl with over forty thousand a year, and decent-looking
besides, and not too old, does not propose every day to a young
lady whose face is probably her only fortune, although she may
be lively and good form, and all that, as I am sure you will
agree with me that my cousin Miss Barlow is. But now, in this
case, my own position will really be one with which I should
expect you to sympathize with, and to help me out of, if it is in
your power, as you have had the good luck to escape from the
same kind of danger yourself.
" Belmorris Castle, and most of the landed estates, together
with the title, will go at the death of my uncle to his first
cousin, a fellow he has hardly ever seen, and who is besides a
parson; but there are three or four very nice farms, and a
whole pot of ready-money, saved up, and got by racing, &c. &c.,
but which would be settled, if he married, upon his younger
children. I have always been looked upon by my mother,
Lady Mabella, as heir to this nice little fortune, as her younger
sister, happily, did not leave any children before she died; and
I appeal to you, my dear Hepburn, as to whether you would
like, in my place, to see your own nose put out of joint in this
unexpected way. It is my candid opinion, being a fellow to
keep my eyes open, that though my cousin would, of course,
accept my uncle Belmorris if he is fool enough to propose, and
has been flirting with him perhaps, and keeping him on, and all
that, that in reality she very much prefers you, and that as
you are also one of the best matches in the county, I feel sure
she would at once accept you if you made her the first offer;
for ' a bird in the hand ' is, as we all know, ' worth two in the
bush.' I warn you, therefore, my dear fellow, for your own
sake, if you are at all 'hard hit,' and if you mean business, to
go in and win at once, if you are in a position to do so with
clean hands; and I hope you will excuse me for having taken the
liberty of giving you the ' straight tip.' Excuse also bad
writing, and any mistakes I may have made with my spelling.
I am studying, as you know, for the Army, and am going in
for one modern language besides Latin, which makes me a
little shaky now and then with my English, and with my
kindest regards to Sparshott,
" Believe me to be,
"Yours very sincerely,
"Algernon Bines."
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Lucy, in the meantime, could neither eat, sleep, nor think,
save upon one subject, for very gladness of heart. All night
long she lay in a state of beatitude, thanking G-od for the great
blessing that had befallen her, and when next morning she
tripped down to a pretence of breakfast, she felt as if she was
treading upon air instead of stair-carpet.
Some few of us, perchance, may have experienced the same
enchanting sensations, which are usually sadly evanescent. Such
emotions, however, might wear out our fragile organizations by
reason of their very intensity, were they to be of long continu-
ance. Let us be patient, therefore, under the supreme decree!
"I suppose no one in the whole world was ever quite so
happy as I am!" she thought to herself, remarking at the
breakfast-table " the loveless looks of other men" as represented
by Lord Belmorris and Algernon Binks. His lordship cer-
tainly appeared to be more silent and preoccupied than usual.
Possibly, Lucy thought, he might have had bad news from his
racing-stable. He ate next to nothing, seemingly preferring
his toothpick to anything more substantial, and the little
family furrow, which was his sister's constant companion, had
established itself upon his brow as if for good.
Algernon Binks, on the contrary, did ample justice to the
viands that were set before him, but he was meditating upon
the important letter which he had determined to write as soon
as his appetite was appeased, and so was not in his habitually
talkative mood.
How, it was the custom at Belmorris Castle, soon after the
morning's post had arrived, to set out the letters upon the
billiard-room table. Sometimes the guests were able to obtain
these before breakfast, but seeing that they were dependent
upon the speed of the postman, and upon the will and pleasure
of the servants, they could never make altogther sure of
doing so.
Lucy had not heard for some days from her great-aunt, and
in spite of the delightful frame of mind in which she now found
herself, she had not forgotten this fact, and so betook herself to
the billiard-room as soon as the morning meal was over.
The letter she had expected was there ; Miss Elizabeth Barlow
was well; Mr. Podmore, too, was in the enjoyment of good health,
and had been receiving company. Mrs. Pilchard, the cook, had
had a visit from her brother, who was a soldier. Sarah had un-
fortunately caught a severe cold, which had settled in her face.
There was, however, another letter upon the billiard-room
table, which bore likewise the Clapham post-mark. It was
addressed to Colonel Hepburn at his own country-seat; " to be
forwarded" was written upon it, however, and the Falcon-
borough servants must have sent it on to Belmorris, where by
some postal carelessness it had arrived just too late to reach
him before his departure.
166
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
As she happened to be alone in the room, Lucy took up the
letter and feasted her eyes upon the beloved name. It would
not have been in human nature to have resisted so great a
temptation. The writing, she remarked, was rather spidery and
scrawly, the characters of a woman rather than of a man, but
what riveted her attention most was that the envelope, had an
exceedingly deep black edge.
"VVho could it possibly be from ? Without being in the least
of an inquisitive nature this question naturally occurred to her.
She had often thought, with deep interest, about Colonel
Hepburn's familiarity with Clapham Common, and of how he
had accounted for it by the circumstance that " an old fellow "
lived near there who had once travelled with him as " a kind of
tutor," and whom he was accustomed, occasionally, to "look
up" in the summer. Could this "old fellow," she had since
wondered, be her dear friend the Marquis de la Vieilleroche ?
He had travelled—of this he had informed her—with several
young gentlemen of position. Had Anthony Hepburn been one
of these ? The letter before her was certainly not in the
Marquis's handwriting, but might it not be possibly in that of
his landlady ?
Was the poor old Frenchman ill, or even dead? Her aunt
had not alluded to him in her letter, however, and surely had
any misfortune befallen so valued a friend, she would never
have omitted to mention the fact.
As Lucy was debating thus, she became aware of a scratching
sound proceeding from the library beyond. "Is that you,
Addie ? " she called out.
" Ho, my dear, it's me," answered the voice of her cousin Algy.
" I'm just writing a letter to our friend Hepburn."
" There's another letter for him there," remarked Lucy with
assumed indifference, as she tripped down the flight of steps
which separated the two rooms, with the letter, which would so
soon reach the beloved's hand, pressed close to her happy heart.
" It's got' to be forwarded' on it, and it's been sent on here, but
now he won't get it so soon as if it had waited for him at home.
Perhaps it could be sent on to him by the early post, as it may
be important ? "
" It can go with mine." replied Algy. who was just in the act
of affixing his signature to the communication which has been
already made public ; " for that's very important, too. If you'll
kindly get me out a big envelope I'll enclose the two letters
together."
" Won't it save time if I direct the envelope ? " she asked. It
would be a secret pleasure, she thought, to know that some-
thing from her would be spirited into the sacred presence through
the agency of the penny-post, even if the recipient remained un-
conscious of the fact, through being unacquainted with her
handwriting.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
167
"All right," returned her "nearest living male relation,"
condescendingly. " And you can stick on the stamps, too, whilst
you're about it, an extra penny and a halfpenny one as well,
so as to be on the safe side, for my letter's an awfully long one."
CHAPTER XXX.
About a week previous to the time of which I have been writ-
ing in the last chapter, " Lord" Ealconborough, in his newly
assumed character of envoy, agent, and fashionable partner, paid
his first visit to " The Aspens," at the request of his patron and
employer. He did not present his card at the door, preferring
to reserve the power of revealing himself, in alma viva fashion,
later on, should circumstances seem to indicate that such a
course would be to his advantage. For the moment, therefore,
he was merely " a gentleman from Mr. Podmore," who had called
upon business, and as such he was described to Mrs. Van Buren.
The somewhat showy and sensational style of this lady's
personal attractions—as perceived by him whilst she was taking
her place in her victoria—had made a deep impression upon the
mind of the young adventurer, and the extreme care with which
. he had arrayed himself for his visit proved that he regarded it
with no common interest.
He was kept waiting for some time in a small apartment
adjoining the drawing-room, which struck him as being very
luxuriously furnished, and in which he perceived a faint aroma
of tobacco. Here he amused himself by contemplating his
reflection in the chimney-glass, examining the songs upon the
pianoforte, and turning over the leaves of the photograph-books.
By the time the lady of the house made her appearance he had
investigated almost every object in the room.
Mrs. Van Buren, although she was certainly a good deal
heightened, tightened, whitened, and lightened—by heels, " over-
pressure," blanc cleperles, and " auricomous fluid"—would have
been what is commonly called " a fine woman " without any of
these meretricious aids. She was tall and well-made, in spite of a
decided inclination to stoutness; her features were regular, of a
somewhat aquiline and unfeminine type, and her eyes brilliant
and expressive. She was fair and pale by nature, although not
quite so lily-like and golden-tressed as she had contrived to make
herself. Her movements were imperious, and her voice loud and
unsympathetic. One could see at a glance that she was a
woman who had fared sumptuously and lived luxuriously, and
that any one who might expect her to interest herself in the
duties of a housewife would probably be doomed to disappoint-
ment.
To some people an honest and inoffensive ugliness is almost
preferable to this sort of flaunting and sensational beauty, but
168 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
there are others—principally very young or very old men—to
whom it appears particularly to appeal. To Falconborough,
although he belonged to neither of these two categories exactly,
the handsome grass-widow seemed to embody all that was most
fascinating and attractive in woman, and he looked at her with
admiration in his dark eyes.
Mrs. Yan Buren was engaged with her toilet when Mr. Pod-
more's emissary was announced, and her first thought had been
to dismiss him imperiously. There were certain reforms and
concessions, however, which she desired at the hands of her new
landlord, and she had ended by passing on an elaborate garment
composed of sky-blue satin and white lace, in which she had at
last appeared before her visitor's dazzled gaze.
It was not very difficult for one of Falconborough's intelli-
gence to perceive that Mrs. Yan Buren was at once deeply
impressed by his good looks. Evidently, he was not in the
least the sort of person she had expected to see. She started
perceptibly upon entering the room, and did not recover from
her astonishment for some seconds.
"Mercy on us!" she exclaimed at length; "my stupid
servants have shown you into a room without a fire !"
She coughed a little nervously, and motioned him into the
adjoining apartment, with a plump white hand, glittering with
valuable rings. Here, it appeared to Falconborough, who, not-
withstanding his refined exterior and fastidious tastes,had known
what it was during some of his past vicissitudes to be lodged in
squalor, that the same profusion and luxury were revealed upon
every side. He was delighted with the warmth, the softness of
the carpet, the cushioned divans, the perfume of many flowers,
and with the trilling of a whole cageful of foreign singing birds
which stood near one of the windows, so as to catch the few rays
of wintry sunshine.
Mrs. Yan Buren was a patroness of what I shall call, for
want of a better name, the "jungly " style of upholstery, and she
had introduced palm-trees and pampas-grass enough into her
sitting-room to have served as a very respectable lair for a
Bengal tiger. Under most of the palm-trees, and overshadowed
by nodding grasses, were arranged low divans, looking like
idealized feather-beds, tricked out with soft pillows and Oriental
embroideries, some of which were shut off from the rest of the
apartment by gilded screens overrun with artificial ivy. The
stems of the palms were embellished with mirrors, photographs,
and nicknacks of almost every description, attached to them
with bows of satin after the manner of the decorations upon a
Christmas-tree, whilst a good deal of really clever manoeuvring
was required on the part of the visitor to steer clear of a whole
pack of modern Dresden pugs which were standing and lying
about upon the carpet. A portrait, representing the goddess of
this luxurious shrine, dressed in fantastic costume, stood upon an
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
169
easel, set up askew, in the midst of a grove of india-rubber plants,
and overshadowed by a gigantic wine-glass filled with bulrushes
and other specimens of aquatic vegetation, whilst by groping one's
way cautiousty, and " treading delicately," like Agag, through
the palms, the pug-dogs, the pampas-grasses and india-rubbers,
for the light which penetrated through the pink silk window-
blinds was softened and subdued, the visitor arrived eventually
at the fireplace, which, shrouded in velvet and point-lace, pre-
sented somewhat the appearance of an altar. Nor was there
a single photograph frame, mirror, or object in ormulu that
had not its own particular trappings of lace and coloured
ribbons. What a contrast this drawing-room presented to the
little parlour at Barlow Lodge, only of course " Lord " Falcon-
borough, never having set foot there, could not appreciate this,
with its black paper profiles, blue ginger-pots, and prim
eighteenth century calm! He could perceive, however, that its
" treatment" was utterly different from the " first-class waiting-
room style " affected by Mr. Podmore at Palmyra House, and
it struck him as being vastly superior to it in every way.
"What a delicious scene of enchantment!" he exclaimed, as
he flung himself carelessly upon one of the idealized feather-
beds, and gazed up at his companion through the overhanging
palm-leaves.
Mrs. Yan Buren looked a little taken aback at the extreme
ease of his manner. Falconborough perceived this, and instantly
rose from the divan. "Forgive me!" he murmured, in his
softest tones. " I was forgetting that, without your permission,
I have no more right to seat myself in your presence than the
plumberand glazier, or the clock-winder! Ten thousand pardons!"
"I must say," returned Mrs. Yan Buren, smiling, "that you
don't look much like a plumber and glazier, or a clock-winder
either, though the young man who winds up my clocks is quite
a nice-looking young fellow, I can assure you."
"A nobleman is disguise, no doubt!" said Falconborough,
glancing at her admiringly. " One whose path you may have
crossed, perhaps, for a moment, and who has conceived this
method in order to obtain a renewal of the vision. Happy
clock-winder!"
" You're talking great rubbish !" exclaimed Mrs. Yan Buren,
looking down at her rings ; " and I can't make out, for the life
of me, who in the world you are, or what you want with me!"
She had, perhaps, taken the hint which he had intended to
convey when he had spoken about a nobleman in disguise. At
any rate, she spoke less angrily than coquettish^.
"You think, perhaps, that I am like the pretended clock-
winder? Well, well, on rerra! In the meantime, I am simply
Mr. Podmore's representative, and we must converse entirely
upon business."
"Have you really anything to do with that dreadful Mr.
170
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Podmore?" the lady inquired, looking at him with an expres-
sion as of growing interest.
" I am absolutely and entirelyhis instrument and creature," re-
turned Falconborough lightly; "at any rate, for the present. Iam
saturated and imbued with Podmore's interests and opinions to
the very core of my being ; but why should we remain standing ?"
He sank down languidly upon the divan. This time Mrs.
Van Buren displayed no signs of surprise. The divan appeared
to her to be his proper place.
Amongst the embroidered cushions lay a large wax doll, with
a broken nose, and a guitar. Upon the back of the guitar was
a female name, inlaid in ebony and mother-of-pearl.
"I have discovered three things about you in as many seconds,"
said Falconborough, taking up the musical instrument as if with
tender reverence. "You are blessed with a daughter, you play
upon the guitar, and your name is ' Leonora."'
"I have one little girl," returned Mrs. Van Buren, as she
also seated herself upon the divan; " she is a sweet pretty child."
"Bella madre, bella figlia," interrupted Falconborough
with an admiring glance. " Perhaps I may be permitted to
behold this little angel some day? When we have finished
talking over Mr. Podmore's affairs," he added archly.
"My tiresome nurse has stupidly been taken ill," returned
Mrs. Van Buren, " and the child isn't fit to be seen this morning.
I bring her up to despise anybody who isn't Men mise, and never
allow her to appear in public unless she is properly dressed."
" Quite right; an excellent early education for a pretty
woman! Cruel to us, however, since it renders her all the
more irresistible! One's servants," he added, with the manner
of one who is master of a complete establishment of well-fed
family retainers, " are very apt to make themselves ill through
over-eating."
" They are; but this one is a black woman from India, and
we can't get the foolish creature to eat anything but rice, just
as the doctor says she must be kept up in every possible way!"
" They are all equally provoking," observed Falconborough,
as with the weariness of an oppressed householder. "But tell
me, is not your name ' Leonora ?' "
" Yes; but I am called ' Leonie' by those who know me best."
She had been christened " Eliza " at the font, but there was
surely no need to inform anybody of this; indeed, she had
almost forgotten the fact herself!
"Leonora is by far the more beautiful name of the two,"
murmured Falconborough dreamily. "It is warmer, more
passionate, more Italian, and it suits you better besides. If
ever a poor plumber, glazier, clock-winder—call me what you
will—were to venture to address you so familiarly, he would
call you by your own glorious name. You are too young to
remember Mario, but you may know one of his most lovely
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 171
songs. I heard him sing it once, long ago, when I was quite a
child."
He struck a few chords upon the guitar, and sang in a soft
undertone the first verse of the celebrated tenor song from the
" Trovatore," which, in spite of the ruthless manner in which it
has been murdered by the amateur and the organ-grinder, must
remain beautiful to the end of time.
Mrs. Yan Buren, who had probably accepted the "nobleman-
in-disguise " theory, in explanation of this unexpected visit, and
who had seemed disposed, after her first astonishment had sub-
sided, to abandon herself to the charms of the situation, was
now completely carried away from her moorings.
" Oh, how exquisitely you sing ! How beautifully you pro-
nounce Italian! Oh do, please, go on !" she exclaimed in a breath.
But just at this moment an interruption occurred, an inter-
ruption that occurred frequently at Barlow Lodge.
" If you please, mum," said the boy-in-buttons, appearing in
the doorway, " it's the Marquee."
_" A tiresome old Frenchman who comes to teach my little
girl," Mrs. Yan Buren explained, sotto voce. "He'll have to
come in here as there isn't a fire in the study. That provoking
woman has put everything out by getting so ill!"
Falconborough dropped the guitar, and rose from his place on
the divan. Another moment and Monsieur de la Yieilleroche
entered the apartment.
" Good morning," said the Marquis, bowing with old-fashioned
politeness almost to the ground. "There is no occasion to
inquire if Madame is well. Her blooming appearance assures
me of the fact."
"A gentleman who has called to see me upon business,"
"Madame" proceeded to explain, indicating Falconborough
with a wave of her jewelled hand.
" Upon musical business, I presume P" said the Professor,
bowing again. " I am proud to become acquainted with one
who is an artist to the very tips of his fingers."
Mrs. Yan Buren gave vent to a little contemptuous titter, as
though to apologize to Falconborough for the old man's oddity
of expression. The " nobleman in disguise." however, bowed
politely in dignified appreciation of the compliment.
" I have been listening outside your door," the Marquis went
on, as he wiped and carefully assumed his xnnce-ncz, "whilst I
was removing my paletot, and I have been in a complete state
of ravishment. Your friend, Madame, is a real Orpheus—he
has made an impression upon a ' Vieille Roche.' You may
remember, perhaps, that the young explorer of the infernal
regions was in the habit of ravishing the rocks by his strains ? "
But Mrs. Yan Buren appeared to be too much overcome by a
desire to giggle to be equal to a reply.
Having adjusted his pince-nez to his satisfaction, Monsieur de
7-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
la Vieilleroche looked at the young man before him for some
seconds with attention.
" Monsieur is Italian ? " he asked, when he had completed his
examination.
"Pardon me," returned Palconborough, with an engaging
smile, " I am an Englishman."
" Strange," muttered de la Vieilleroche, with the manner of a
person thinking aloud. " I could have declared it upon oath !
Englishmen with tenor voices of this particular calibre are
extremely rare. You are the first I have met with after a long
residence in this country. And now, my young friend, examine
me well in your turn. My name is Achille de la Vieilleroche; I
am a Frenchman, as you will have perceived, and very proud
to avow my nationality. Look at me well, consider my
features attentively, and then tell me where it is that we have
met before."
" I cannot remember having ever had the pleasure of meeting
you until to day," returned Falconborough, looking a little
uncomfortable.
" Strange! " muttered de la Vieilleroche again. " As we
grow old, what tricks the memory is inclined to play us ! It
becomes overcharged, like a page of blotting-paper which has
served us for too long. When you were quite a little boy, so
tall, only " (he held his hand not more than a foot from the
carpet) " did I never give you lessons in the French language ?
That would account to me, perhaps, for your eyes seeming to be
so familiar."
"Not that I am aware of, unless it may have been, as
Monsieur suggests, when I was very small indeed. I have no
recollection of the fact myself."
" And I never instructed you in the art of fence, or accom-
panied you upon your grand tour, or entertained you in my
more prosperous days, in the hereditary chateau of the de la
Yieilleroches, situated upon the borders of the Loire ? "
" Not that I am aware of, Monsieur. It may have been when
I was an infant in arms, but yet, one would hardly teach a
baby to fence ! "
" Then, Monsieur, it can only be that you bear a marked
resemblance to some friend. With time, I shall remember to
whom. ' Lcs amis de nos amis sontnos amis' This may surely
apply sometimes to those who are like our friends in feature !
Again permit me to felicitate you upon the possession of so
beautiful a voice; and then, to my delightful labours. How
is my dear little pupil and the faithful Rajama ? "
" Oh, that tiresome woman doesn't seem to get any better!
All last night she was moaning and groaning, and keeping
everybody awake ; talking all kinds of nonsense about her bod}''
being eaten up by vultures ! I fancy she must have been
delirious, for the fever seems to get a good deal worse towards
THRO'' LOVE AND WAR
173
evening. Mr. Bury declares that it isn't catching, but I must
say I'm beginning to feel awfully nervous; I thought of running
down to Brighton for a little blow of sea-air."
"But you would take the child with you? You would not
allow so precious a life to become endangered ? "
The old Professor looked sternly at Mrs. Yan Buren as he
said this. It seemed to Falconborough that she quailed be-
neath his glance.
"That old fellow has got the 'whip-hand' of her, somehow,"
he said to himself. " She is in his power, and seems to be
afraid of him : I must find out the reason ! "
" I'm not at all sure that I shall be able to get Lily to go
with me to Brighton," replied Mrs. Van Buren almost apolo-
getically; " and I thought it would be bad for her to force her
against her will. For so young a child, I can tell you, she's
awfully obstinate; it's as much as we can do now to get her
out of her ayah's room, and she's been crying, so that she looks
a perfect figure of fright. She's a child that takes the most
absurd fancies to people ! "
"The dear child has heart!" exclaimed the Marquis, striking
his chest violently to the left of his crumpled shirt-frill. " Her
ayah has nursed her from a baby. What wonder is it that
they should love one another ? "
" Oh, I daresay it's all perfectly natural! " returned Mrs.
Yan Buren, still speaking in an aggrieved tone; " but it's very
provoking, all the same. This was why I didn't think of
taking Lily to Brighton, once the doctor assured me that the
illness wasn't catching. I must say also that change of air
doesn't do one the same amount of good if one has a child with
one to fuss about; for, you see, now that her nurse is laid up,
my maid and I would have Lily entirely upon our hands."
" Far better this, and the temporary inconvenience attending
it, than that the little angel should suffer by remaining here !
returned the Marquis, speaking like one having authority.
"These fevers, which in themselves may not be infectious, pro-
ceed often from something unwholesome in the state of a
house. The same cause that gives them to one person, will
communicate itself to another. May I trust, therefore, that
Madame and Miss Lily will go for a change to the seaside as
1 soon as possible ? May I write to friends who may be anxious
to know, and inform them that this is the case ? "
"I've been wondering a good deal about the state of the
house," said Mrs. Yan Buren, without replying to this last
question ; " and I've come to the conclusion that there's really
something wrong with it. I've been meaning for some time
to write to Mr. Podmore about it, and I was just going to
speak to this gentleman upon the subject."
"Monsieur is a sanitary inspector?" asked the Professor,
turning to Falconborough, and again examining him through
174
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
his glasses. " A sanitary inspector with the voice of a Mario I
He must be as uncommon as the dodo ! "
" I believe I'm here in some such capacity," replied Falcon-
borough, smiling his sweetest smile. " Mr. Podmore commis-
sioned me to put forward his views with regard to this lady's
occupation of the premises, and should any repairs be needed,
I will make a point of laying the matter before him."
"Monsieur is accompanied by a builder, an experienced
working-man accustomed to these investigations P "
"Ho; but I will make it my business to secure the services
of some such person to-morrow. At what hour, Madame, may
I have the pleasure of waiting upon you again p "
He bowed low to Mrs. Yan JBuren as he spoke. The handsome
grass-widow seemed embarrassed as to how to reply under the
keen pince-nez of the old Frenchman. She looked down at her
white hands and played with her rings, as though considering.
The Marquis, however, came quickly to her rescue.
" Do not lose any time, I implore you, Monsieur!" he
exclaimed earnestly, " the matter is. of the utmost importance.
Pray call here to-morrow, at your earliest convenience, accom-
panied by an experienced workman. I will look in during the
afternoon in order to learn the result."
Eelieved thus of all responsibility, Mrs. Yan Buren dismissed
her fascinating visitor with an inclination, the formality of which
she took care to exaggerate, so that he might perceive that it was
merely assumed in consequence of the presence of a third person.
" His lordship " described his visit to Mr. Podmore something
after the fashion in which history is occasionally written.
" Well, my dear Podmore ! I called this morning upon the
syren ; but didn't get through quite as much business as I
could have wished. Ladies are a little inclined to shirk such
matters, and one has to approach them delicately. I arrived,
too, it seems at rather an unpropitious moment. The lady was
dressing, and kept me waiting for nearly an hour. Then the
fire was out and a nigger-servant down with the measles, or
something of the kind—they're not sure yet whether it's catch-
ing or not—and the brat was squalling with nobody to look after
it or put on its clothes ; and then just as we were beginning to
talk things over, in came a bothering old Frenchman to give the
child its lesson. He took me for a sanitary inspector, for'it
seems they've a screw loose somewhere in the house, which they
want you to set to rights, and I was very nearly being taken
downstairs to examine the dustbin and the grease-trap. How-
ever, I've made an appointment to call again to-morrow," he
added airily, " when, I've no doubt, I shall be able to make up
for lost time! "
" My dear fellow!" cried Mr. Podmore effusively, " how can
lever sufficiently thank you? You shock me, however, greatly
by what you tell me. How was it that you did not send in your
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
VS
card at the door, or have yourself properly announced P You
would then have been treated with proper civility."
" I can't say that I was treated uncivily exactly," returned
Falconborough, as though making the best of what might have
been a little unpleasant. "Mrs. Van Buren received me as a
lady generally receives a stranger calling upon business, and
this was precisely what I wanted. Who knows, supposing that
I had given my name, whether she might not have considered
it necessary to gossip about the opera, or the latest scandal ? in
which case, my dear fellow, your affairs would have had to go
to the wall! "
Mr. Podmore threw quite a romantic expression of gratitude
into his round green eyes, and congratulated himself more than
ever upon his talent for discovering intrinsic worth.
But there was one circumstance connected with his visit to
" The Aspens " which Falconborough determined to keep to
himself, and which had considerably heightened the interest he
already felt in the lady of the house.
Whilst awaiting the coming of Mrs. Yan Buren, with no sort
of malicious intention, be it understood, but simply for his own
amusement, he had examined the contents of a large photo-
graphic album which was lying upon the table. Most of the
portraits were those of persons totally unknown to him ; Anglo-
Indians, as far as he was able to judge by their cool costumes
and palmy backgrounds; and there were also a good many
representations of buildings, distant views of cities bristling
with minarets, and of Buddhist tombs and rock-temples.
Three separate groups of figures, however, taken upon a some-
what larger scale than the others, particularly arrested his
attention.
The first of these, as it was a good deal faded, had probably
been taken some years ago. It represented Mrs. Yan Buren, in
elegant summery attire, . and considerably slimmer in figure
than she was at present, seated in what was evidently the
veranda of an Indian bungalow. On one side of her sat a com-
mon-looking person in his shirt-sleeves, smoking along pipe, and
on the other, a handsome young man of military appearance, and
wearing a very becoming sombrero, was leaning back in a bamboo
rocking-chair, with his right arm in a sling.
In the second group, Mrs. Yan Buren, dressed in a light but
very tight-fighting riding-habit, was depicted mounted upon
horseback, whilst the same handsome young man, in undress
uniform, and wearing his forage-cap very much on one side, was
stooping down in the.act of adjusting her stirrup-leather. In
the background the common-looking person could be discovered,
standing some way off, with his hands in his pockets.
The third group, which seemed to be of a somewhat later
date, represented Mrs. Yan Buren seated smiling, the common-
loosing person seated smiling likewise, rather sardonically, and
176
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
a native ayah, dressed in loose white garments, carrying a baby.
The handsome young officer, looking a little older than in the
two first portraits, was standing holding a white parasol over
the ayah and the baby, wearing rather a serious expression, as
if of responsibility and solicitude.
Falconborough, whose memory for faces was remarkable,
immediately recognized the handsome young man who lounged
in the bamboo rocking-chair, adjusted the stirrup-leather, and
shaded the baby.
It was Anthony Hepburn, the man with whom he had insisted
upon claiming cousinship, and upon whom he had sworn that
he would one day be revenged.
CHAPTER XXXI.
The first week in December brought Lady Mabella Binks's visit
to Belmorris Castle to a close. She had already stayed there
much longer than she had originally intended, having been
pressed to remain on by her brother, first upon one pretext and
then upon another.
Lady Mabella always liked to stay long enough at a country-
house to recoup herself for the expenses of the journey, but this
end having now been more than achieved, and her snug little
house in Wilton Place made ready for her reception, she was
desirous of settling herself in town before Christmas, a season
which she had never consented to pass at Belmorris since the
decease of the late Mr. Binks, who had won her affections whilst
he was officiating there as private chaplain. The very day,
therefore, after Lucy's eventful afternoon at Falconborough
Park, the Binks family set about preparing for their departure,
and Guffy, wearing even a more agonized expression than usual,
commenced the arduous business of packing up their effects.
Lucy, too, had deposited the first and second strata, consist-
ing of books, boots, workboxes, and other solid matter, at the
bottom of her modest trunk; but Lord Belmorris had begged, as
a favour, that she would leave out her riding-habit to the very
last, so that he might take her for at least.one more ride,
promising that this time he would be careful to mount her upon
a more reliable steed. The last day of her stay at the castle
dawned at length, and, early in the afternoon, she started off
with her host for her last ride.
Lord Belmorris, who had been more than usually silent and
preoccupied of late, scarcely opened his lips until they had
passed outside the boundaries of the park. He took his way
towards the scene of their previous misadventure, and when
within sight of the little Crusoe-hut upon the edge of the
ploughed field, he pulled up his horse, and pointed it out to Lucy
saying with a sigh:
THRO'- LOVE AND WAR
177
" Look! there's the little crib where I was once so happy! It
turns one quite heart-sick to look at it now! If it was mine I
think I should have to pull it down ! "
He spoke bitterly, and Lucy noticed that he looked haggard
and unhappy. Some notion of what might be the cause ot' his
changed aspect flashed upon her as though by intuition. She
was becoming more learned every day in the mysteries of the heart!
She looked in his face inquiringly. Pity and remorse mingled
in her glance. Was it possible that because he had been so very,
very kind to her, and because she had been anxious to show him
that she was not altogether ungrateful, she might inadvertently
have given him some sort of encouragement ?
Their eyes met. He had always been clever at reading her
thoughts.
" You see how it is !" he said sadly; " and there's no help for
it now, I suppose, so it's not for me to worry you about what I
may have to bear ; but I should like, if I may, to talk to you a
little about yourself!"
"I can't bear to think that you're unhappy," faltered Lucy,
tears starting to her eyes. " Oh, I hope that it hasn't been all
my fault!"
"It's nobody's fault but m}*- own. If it hadn't been for my
abominable vanity and stupidity, I must have seen just how
things would have ended; but somehow, I never quite realized
the extent of my folly until the day before yesterday. I suppose,''
he added, after a short pause, " that you're very fond of him ? "
He pointed, as he spoke, to the dark line made by the Falcon-
borough woods upon the horizon immediately to their left.
" Do you care about him very much? "
" I think I do," she answered softly ; " as much as I can ever
care for anybody in the world! "
" Well then, look here, my child! Far be it from me to upset
your illusions. Mistrust crops up quite soon enough in this
world, and once it's there, it's apt to haunt one like one's
shadow. But I shouldn't be l'ight, considering everything, if I
didn't give you a word or two of advice. You won't set it all
down to envy, hatred, and malice on my part, if I speak to you
quite openly as a friend? You see I can't now ever hope to be
anything more! "
"I will listen to anything you have to say," returned Lucy,
feeling some misgivings, nevertheless. She hoped he was not
going to tell her anything to Authony's disadvantage, for, even
although she might not be influenced in the least by his words
they would be very painful to listen to.
" Well,then, look here, my dear little Lucy, for I think we know
each other well enough for°tne to call you by your name, have
jou anything certain to go by in the future ? Hepburn may care
for you I daresay, for everybody who knows you must grow to
love you, and I daresay he has managed to let you know this.
u
178
THRO\ LOVE AND WAR
I don't ask you how, or where, for I think I would far rather not
know; but I feel bound to put one question to you, as you've been,
as it were, under my charge : Has he ever asked you to become
his wife ? "
Remembering, as she did, Anthony's last words to her, Lucy
felt that she was bound to silence.
'"I—I—can't answer you that," she stammered. " I dare not
say; I think—I hope—that he will ask me some day! "
"Ah!" murmured Lord Belmorris, drawing a long breath,
whilst his dark eyes flashed for a moment; "I feared as much.
It isn't quite fair, upon my soul it isn't! I don't want to say a
word against Hepburn ; I believe he's a good fellow at heart,
and doesn't know the harm he may be doing, and if there wasn't
any danger of his making you suffer, he's quite welcome to
amuse himself as much as he likes; but it isn't quite fair of him
to fix upon any one like you to play with! He's placed in a very
awkward position, and has no right to bo making love to young
ladies at all. Anthony Hepburn isn't a marrying man."
Again these ambiguous words which she had heard so often
reiterated. How she longed now to contradict them !
"He is a marrying man ! " she would have exclaimed, but for
his express desire. " He has called me his own ' Lucy.' Some
day I am to be his wife ! "
As matters stood, however, she had to listen in silence.
" This being the case," Lord Belmorris went on, " and caring
for you as you must have seen that I did care, perhaps I be-
liaved like a fool in asking Hepburn over to stay. But I'm one
of those fellows that would rather know the worst at once than
go dragging on in uncertainty, and I wanted to see, before I said
anything to you myself, whether you had any room for me in
your heart. Hepburn was the only fellow I was afraid of, for I
thought you cared about him as long ago as when we were down
at Hampton Court, and when I saw him wearing the ' button-
hole' I'd given you the night before. He might have taken it,
I said to myself, against your will; but as soon as I saw you and
him together here, I knew it was all up with my hopes. I'm
afraid, however, that he can't marry you."
" Is he married already ? " she asked, feeling a death-chill at
her heart, but desiring, like Lord Belmorris, to " know the worst
at once."
" I am not married, I swear it! " he had said to her as they
stood together under his mother's picture ; but what if he had
deceived her? Alas, "mistrust," as Lord Belmorris had just
remarked, " crops up " soon enough in all conscience.
"He's not married, I believe," her companion returned, with
some show of hesitation ; " but—and this I should never have
spoken to you about, except for circumstances—he got into a
scrape about ten years ago in India, and since then he can
hardly be looked upon as quite a free man."
THROs LOVE AND WAR 179
" Bid he do anything really wrong?" Lucy inquired, turning
very pale.
" He didn't do anything particularly wise, but he did no
worse than a good many of his neighbours, and nothing what-
ever to lower himself in the opinion of his friends; for, you see,
we men are the lords of creation, and we make moral codes to
suit ourselves. He was very young at the time, and all the
women ran after him and made much of him, for he's thq sort
of manly, good-looking fellow that women like; I've no doubt
there was hardly a man in his regiment who wouldn't have
acted precisely in the same way, if he'd found himself placed in
the same circumstances."
" But what did he do ? " asked Lucy breathlessly ; " tell me
all, now that you have told me so much."
She reined in her horse, and looked into her companion's face
imploringly. He was unable to resist her appeal.
" It's better you should know, perhaps," he said, after a
pause, " for you're nearly certain to be told about it some day.
A gooddooking woman nursed him after he'd met with an
accident, and took a fancy to him, and afterwards fled to him
for protection from a brute of a husband, and there was a
row."
" And did he care for her ? Was he in love with her too ? "
She was looking at Lord Belmorris with haggard eyes, and
clinging with one hand to the pummel as if in fear of falling.
" I can't pretend to say what his private feelings may have
been, but I was in India at the time, and so heard what was
generally reported. The fancy was supposed to be chiefly upon
the side of the lady, who was said to have taken fancies of the
same kind before. I suppose, however, that having been the
means of getting her into trouble, he thought that he ought to
stick to her and make the best of it."
" But he didn't marry her; you're sure that he isn't married,
and all this happened ten years ago ? "
"Quite ten years ago, I should think. Hepburn couldn't
have been more than two or three and twenty at the time, and
he couldn't have married the lady even if he had wished it.
The husband had behaved too badly himself to be able to ' come
down' upon his wife; for there's a law by which a man can't
get rid of a woman if there are faults on both sides. These are
matters that you'll understand better as you grow older."
" And he didn't care for her very much ? You said that they
thought, in India, that he didn't really care ? "
" That was the general impression, I believe, amongst his
friends, and a good deal of pity was felt for him ; for anything
of this kind taking place when a fellow's quite young, is apt to
hamper him in after-life. I daresay, too, that, well off though
he is, it may have made a hole in his pocket."
"He isn't married, and he didn't care for her, and it all
M 2
I So
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
happened quite ten years ago ! " repeated Lucy, as if talking to
herself. " Ah, then, it was really nothing, after all."
She looked eagerly in Lord Belmorris's face for a confirmation
of her words. The colour had returned to her cheeks. It was
as though some terrible danger which she had dreaded was
over-passed.
"It wasn't exactly 'nothing,'" returned Lord Belmorris
gravely; " but it's all very difficult to explain to a child like
you. You'll be able to make out all about it by-and-by, and I
hope you won't think any the worse of me for what I've told
you; I've been trying to act as a friend."
" I shall always feel grateful to you for your kindness ; but
now please tell me one other thing. Why, if this all happened
so long ago, and if Colonel Hepburn didn't marry her, and
didn't care, mightn't he be free now to do as he likes ? After
so long, mightn't he nearly have forgotten her ? I fancied that
men could forget so easily ! Or do they only forget when they
ought to remember, and remember when it would be better for
them to forget ? Why mightn't he be quite free now ? "
" I concluded, of course, that he was free. I had too good an
opinion of him to suppose that otherwise he would have acted
as he has done. The day before yesterday, at Falconborough,
when he walked you off before everybody into the picture-
gallery, you must have seen that I was rather put out. I was
very nearly going after you, but I said to myself, ' He's got
quit of his millstone, and he's going to propose.' If he had
done so you would have heard nothing of all this, from me, at
any rate. He did not do so, however; you are unable to satisfy
me upon this point. He's made you care for him, he knows
that you're going away to-morrow. He has had plenty of
opportunities, and he's given you no sort of assurance that he
had any serious intentions. The fact speaks for itself."
They had turned out of the high-road, and were taking their
way abstractedly, at a foot's pace, over a piece of waste land
covered with dead heather and seedling firs. Ahead of them,
lay a plantation through which they could return home by a
circuitous route.
Lucy had been deeply moved by all she had heard. But
revelations of this nature are sometimes the means of discover-
ing to a woman the real depth and intensity of her affection;
and notwithstanding the painful emotions which were agitating
her bosom she felt that there was no diminution whatsoever in
her love.
The Indian episode, seeing that it had happened so long ago,
that Anthony had called no other woman by the sacred name of
" wife," and that he could say, after it was over and done with,
to his "own Lucy"—" I love no one but you," she did not
attach very much importance to, being still in that first state
of innocency when the subtler mysteries of existence are wholly
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
181
unrevealed; and slie wondered that Lord Belmorris, who did
not seem to take an exaggerated view of matters in general,
should have appeared so disposed to overrate its consequences.
They rode on in silence, Lord Belmorris looking grave and
preoccupied, until they reached the avenue leading from the
chief entrance to the castle. Then turning to Lucy, he said
earnestly :
" I hope to heaven that things will go well with you, my child,
and that 3Tou'll be happy and prosperous in the future. But
should they go wrong, and should you ever stand in need of a
friend, don't forget to write to a crusty old bachelor up in the
Xorth who loves you very much, and who'd lay down his life to
serve you. Promise me this ! "
He held out his hand in token of his good faith. Lucy
yielded him hers.
" I promise," she said, as they clasped hands ; and she smiled
gratefully at him, though there were tears in her eyes.
" Good-by, and God bless you! " he said sadly.
" Oh, look ! " she cried suddenly ; " there's the new moon !
We ought to wish ! "
It was foolish, of course, to attach any importance to such
wishes, but the appearauce of the new moon just at this moment,
in the amber evening sky, seemed like an auspicious omen. It,
was such a lovely new-born moon too, set straight up over
their two heads—
" No bigger than an eyelash or a ' (J ' "
between the dark lines made by the trees of the avenue.
The sworn friends looked up at it together with hands still
clasped.
" It isn't much good my wishing anything again by moons,"
said Lord Belmorris at length, with a sigh ; " but you can wish
something nice for yourself, and then I'll wish that you may
get it! What a blank there'll be at home, when I look at that
same moon to-morrow night! "
CHAPTER XXXII.
On the morning of this day upon which Lucy and her host had
sallied forth for their last ride together, for that year at any rate,
within the shadowy line of park-woods which was visible upon
the western horizon, the master of Falconborough Park was
sitting at home in his study, the room wherein he had been
confronted once with the man who pretended to lay claim to his
uncle's title and estates. Colonel Hepburn, and his guest
Captain Sparshott, had been out for along ride before breakfast,
and were now taking their ease, each after his own fashion.
Anthony was seated at his writing-table, dashing off in a
desultory manner the arrears of his correspondence; whilst
182
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Captain Sparshott lounged in an easy-chair by the fireplace,
smoking a cigarette, and reading the Sporting Times. Later on
they had arranged to shoot a little in the near coverts.
Charlie Sparshott, as he was called by nearly everybody, was
a smart-looking young man of extremely military appearance.
His features were delicate and slightly aquiline, his hair cut as
short as a convict's, and his complexion like that of a " Pro-
fessional Beauty." His head was somewhat high and narrow,
betokening perhaps a little too much caution and self-esteem,
with the ears set on rather high up, an evidence (as I have
heard) of keen powers of ordinary observation, as opposed to the
perception of artistic combinations. He was below rather than
above the middle height, slim and well built, as became a noted
rider and dancer, and would have been described as dark rather
than fair, although with a degree of darkness which was essen-
tially English.
In " the 18th " he was excessively popular, affording amuse-
ment to his brother officers by his display of the quaint mixture
of caution and candour of which his nature seemed to be
composed. He was one of the few people in existence who
apparently said precisely what he thought upon nearly every
subject, and his personal hopes and misgivings became at once
the property of the regiment. For his Colonel he entertained
sentiments of affection and respect, which trod, as it were, upon
the heels of worship, regarding him as the noblest, the cleverest,
the most chivalrous of men. Colonel Hepburn had been touched
by his artless devotion. Charlie Sparshott had joined the
regiment soon after he had entered it himself, for there was a
difference of a few years only in their respective ages. They
had served together in India and Afghanistan, and making
allowance for certain contrasts which existed in their disposi-
tions, the two men had ended by becoming firm friends.
Colonel Hepburn looked upon this particular morning a good
deal brighter and happier than was his wont, for the expression
of his face when in repose was usually rather serious, and at
times almost careworn. To-day, however, he seemed to have
flung aside this marble sternness ; and, as is often the case with
those who but rarely unbend, his gaiety and geniality were
fraught with a peculiar charm.
The ingenuous prattle of bis friend Sparshott prevented him
from making much way with his letters, but he was not engaged
upon anything of importance, and so was quite willing to listen
to the Captain's remarks, interspersed from time to time with
extracts from the sayings and doings of " Gubbins," " Ole Brer
Rabbit," or " the Pote."
" I say, Colonel !" exclaimed Captain Sparshott by-and-by,
speaking with more than usual animation. " Look here! I want
to ask you a question because you're clever and all that, which
I'm not! If you were a fellow whose 'governor' was always
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 183
bothering yon to marry and settle, which would you rather
choose, a girl or a widow ? "
"Well, of course, if I had been previously attached to a
widow," returned Colonel Hepburn, smiling, " 1 should probably
wish to marry the woman I liked best. But I think if I was
' heart-whole and fancy-free,' I'd rather choose some nice girl,
and start fair ! "
" The worst of it is," said the Captain, with a look of mingled
astuteness and perplexity, " you can't tell a bit how a girl's going
to turn out! You see a nice cheery girl, don't you know, with
plenty of ' go' in her, and looking as fresh as paint, and all
that; but it's just like seeing a horse in the stables with all his
clothes on ; one wants to take him a turn in the paddock, for
I'm not a fellow that likes taking a leap in the dark ! "
"Ah, you were always prudent, Charlie ! But you mustn't
overdo it! ' Nothing venture, nothing have,' you know ! "
"Yes, I think of that; and that it doesn't do to let a good
thing slip; but I must say, I'm awfully nervous about girls !
They do seem, nowadays, to be so uncommonly knowing, and
I never ' went in' much for other men's wives, even in India,
being a fellow that's bound to marry sooner or later, and not
wanting to get into a row, or run my head into a halter ; and I
think, if I marry at all, I should like it to be soon, because
then the old man would be alive to see it, and it would please
him. But I've just remembered that there were such things as
widows."
" You weren't thinking, then, of any one widow in particular P "
" No, I just saw something in the Pink 'TJn about ' a neat
little short-legged widow,' and that put widows into my head.
I'd quite forgotten about them; and I was wondering if one
mightn't be less disappointed with a widow than with a girl,
because one wouldn't expect her to be a ' guileless young
creature,' or anything t>f that sort, and one might get to know
the worst of her first. But these girls do seem, sometimes, to
be so awfully cunning."
"It would just depend upon what sort of girl you chose to
set your affections upon," observed Colonel Hepburn. " Some
of them seem to be right enough."
"Well, I was thinking of setting mine—in a kind of a way—
mind you, nothing to break one's heart over, upon that Binks
girl. She does seem such a cheery, easy-going, jolly kind of a
girl, and comes down to breakfast looking so sleek and well
groomed. But there are two things I don't, somehow, feel
quite sure about—her temper and her complexion. She's got
a wildish look in her eye sometimes, that makes me think she
might turn nasty when roused, and I fancied the other day
when she was here, and when we were listening to the echo,
.that that nice pink colour she has was ' raddle.' It looked
almost too good to be true."
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
"Keally, my dear Charlie, you'll have to take some things
upon trust," remarked Colonel Hepburn, amused at his naivete.
" These are the two things I don't feel quite sure of," Captain
Sparshott continued; " but there are others about her, I must
say, that ' fetch ' me uncommonly. She's no notion whatever
that I'm the least in a good position, fancying that poor Tim
—my elder brother, don't you know, that was drowned—is,' still
alive (I found this out from something she said to me in this
very room), in which case, as you may suppose, I should have
been just as poor as a church mouse, and not worth a rush in
the market. Well, this doesn't seem to make the least differ-
ence to her, and, say what you like, it's always nice when a
fellow can feel sure that he's cared about for himself;" and the
Captain caressed his pointed moustaches as with an agreeable
sense of gratified vanity.
"I fancy that the disinterested affection of a woman (of
course I am speaking only of a woman who is able to please) is
what tells most with us in the long run," said Colonel Hepburn,
turning round his chair from the writing-table and confronting
his guest. " A man may not always value it when he discovers
it first; but should he, in the flush of youth and prosperity, put
it from him as a thing of little account, I believe in a sort of
' Hemesis' which will cause him, at some time, to feel the want
of it—
" For beauty is easy enough to win,
But one isn't loved every day,"
as ' Owen Meredith' says."
" Yoit're quite right," returned the Captain warmly, "as I
must say I think you nearly always are. And now this is just
what takes me so much with that Binks girl, though I'm not in
love, or anything of that sort, and would a thousand times
rather go on a little longer without speaking, than run the
least risk of being imposed upon, for you«know that I'm not the
kind of fellow to be taken in. The first day I was over at Bel-
morris, I must say I took a tremendous fancy to that other girl,
the cousin, Miss Lucy." (Colonel Hepburn started rather un-
comfortably, and wheeled his chair round again to the table.)
" She's quite as good-looking, if not better, and a deal more
certain, I should say, with regard to temper; but she hasn't
quite as much ' go' about her, and I didn't find her nearly so
easy to get on with; besides which, I saw directly that she'd
paired off with the little Earl, and I'm not the sort of fellow to
interfere with any other fellow's game, or spoil a young woman's
chances in life, as you know."
"What made ymi think that Miss Barlow had 'paired off'
with Belmorris ? " asked Colonel Hepburn with assumed indiffer-
ence. "I can't say that I noticed anything of the kind myself."
" If you'd been a marrying man like me, and thinking about
the girls, you'd have noticed it directly. I never saw a man so
spoony in the whole course of my life. How he did suffer from
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
185
' the green-eyed monster,' too, when you took her back to look
at the pictures. Rather a bore for young Binks, I should say,
who seems to behave as if the whole place was going to belong
to him. However, he's an awful young ass, and wants licking
into shape very badly. Ah, here comes the letters ! "
Anthony Hepburn was not sorry for this interruption. The
conversation had taken what was to him anything but an
agreeable turn. Captain Sparshott became very soon absorbed
in his letters, and Anthony commenced likewise opening and
reading his own.
Amongst them was a well-filled envelope from Belmorris
Castle, directed in an unknown but very sympathetic female
hand. Hot Adeliza Binks's, for with that he had become
acquainted during his stay at Belmorris. An expression of
tenderness came into his eyes as they lighted upon it. What if
it were a letter from his " own Lucy ? "
His brow clouded for a moment when, upon opening it, he
discovered that it was from Algernon Binks, and darkened still
more at sight of the other letter which was enclosed.
This he turned over and examined several times, as though
impatient and yet fearful of knowing its contents.
Finally he set it upon one side, and read Algernon's letter
through first.
" As you very truly observed, my dear Charlie, that young
Binks is an ' awful young ass,' " he remarked when he had
come to the end of it.
"Wants licking into shape very badly," repeated the Captain.
" Remember me to him if you're writing, and tell him that I'm
the man that could do it."
Without acting precisely upon this suggestion, Colonel
Hepburn took up a pen and wrote off his answer then and
there, as if it gave him some sort of satisfaction to dispose of
Algy's impertinences at once. His letter ran as follows:—
" My dear Binks,—
" I have to acknov/ledge your letter of yesterday's
date, and to thank you for the interest you apparently take
in my private affairs. When contemplating any step as serious
as marriage, a man generally endeavours, first of all, to please
himself, and when in need of any additional guidance, seeks it
from those whose wisdom and experience will ensure its being
of some sort of value.
" With Sparshott's kindest regards,
" Believe me to be, my dear Binks,
" Yours very sincerely.
" Antiiony Hepburn."
" I'm afraid," said Algy to his sister when he had received
and read through this letter, upon the morning of his departure
for London ; " that it doesn't look much as if he ' meant busi-
ness,' after all! "
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
CHAPTER XXXIII.
After dashing off his answer to Algernon Binks, Colonel
Hepburn turned again to the missive with the black edge. He
felt that he would rather read this letter where there would be
no chance of his being interrupted by the witticisms of the
Sporting Times, so although Captain Sparshott seemed to have
settled down quietly to his own correspondence, he rose from his
place at the writing-table and went into the library, in order
that he might be alone.
An expression of pain passed over his face as he tore open the
envelope. It was as though a flood of unwelcome recollections,
buried for awhile, and even perhaps well-nigh forgotten, were
crowding upon him with overwhelming force. He glanced
towards the ending after he had looked at its opening lines,
turned pale, and then flinging himself into an armchair, read
through the whole attentively.
As he proceeded the careworn look returned to his face, and
by the time he had finished he appeared to have grown almost
ten years older.
These were the words which seemed suddenly to have thrust
him back into the realms of doubt, deception, and despond-
ency:—
" You will have been well aware, before receiving this, of the
terrible effect your cruel, unfeeling letter of the other day must
have produced upon me. Whilst reading it, I really and truly
could scarcely believe my own senses, and I was so upset by it
that I have been seriously ill ever since, with a return of those
awful palpitations which you used to pretend once made you
so dreadfully anxious, and which the doctor declares are nothing
but the result of a most violent shock to my system. The cold-
ness and neglect with which I have been treated during the last
five years, ought to have prepared me perhaps for the blow you
have just dealt me; but it was difficult for me to believe that
after all the sacrifices I had made for you, apart from having
once actually saved your life, I should be so ungratefully repaid.
" My affection helped me to make excuses for your almost
constant absence—your regiment, your country visits, the extra
business connected with your estate, I said to myself that these
were the causes which prevented us from meeting more often,
and I went on hoping, as it now turns out, against all hope, until
I received your last letter. I can scarcely bring myself to write
about the insulting proposal it contains without feelings of the
deepest indignation. Ho doubt the annuity that you propose
settling upou me in order, it is quite evident, to pension me off
and get rid of me for ever, may seem to you to be a very magni-
ficent sum; and if I had been some low barmaid or actress,
whom you had ruined and then grown tired of, it might have
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
1*7
served perhaps as some sort of consolation; for in such circles
female confidingness is treated with more charity, and one might
still hope to settle down comfortably with a respectable person
in one's own class. But what is to compensate a boi'n lady, and
one in the very best society, as I was when I most unfortunately
met you first, for the loss of everything that makes existence
enjoyable ?
" I can assure you that, when I think of the governor's ball, at
which you paid me so much attention, and were so loud in your
admiration of my wreath of real alive fire-flies, of the governor's
wife coming to call upon me, and almost going down on her
knees to beg me to sing at her concert, and of the charity bazaar,
at which I held a stall, and sold my own photographs for as much as
ten rupees apiece, I feel the blood positively boiling and hissing
within my veins! And then to think of these miserable Cockneys
and wretched retired shopkeepers actually refusing to visitme,and
treating me as if I was dirt beneath their feet! Now, what can
these odiously vulgar middle-class people possibly know against
me?. Nothing whatever! I have been living quietly and re-
spectably enough, goodness knows, with nothing pleasant to
relieve the mortal dulness ! But they have found out somehow
that I was separated from my husband, that I was living here
alone with no gentleman to look after my interests except that
ridiculous, half-crazy old Frenchman, who seems to have been
placed over me by you as a sort of detective, to pry into all my
actions, so that, although I am perfectly lonely and neglected, I
cannot look upon myself as enjoying the privilege of independ-
ence, and I am not able in any way to follow out my own plans.
In fact, if I had been anybody's kept mistress, sprung out of the
most obscure of gutters, I could not be treated by everybody
with more want of consideration. Even our dear little ~Li\y,
whom you used to say you would make a point of watching
over and protecting as long as you lived, is subjected to insults
which the child is sure to observe and question me about when
she gets older.
" Only the other day, for instance, I had sent her out for a
run on the Common, and was watching her from the window,
as she came back over the road, as Rajama is still laid up in
bed and utterly useless, when her hoop ran up against our
new landlord, who happened to be passing, a vulgar City
fellow, a stockbroker, or something of the kind, who pays me no
sort of attention, and has about as much knowledge of manners
as a she-bear. This snob, instead of giving the child her hoop
back again, as any real gentleman would have done, pushed it
rudely away from him, and then positively turned and ran, just
as some of the elephants used to do at sight of a pig, only be-
cause he happened to know that she was my child! What you
say in your letter about' defraying the expenses' of her educa-
tion, constituting yourself ' legally' her guardian, and settling
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
' an ample fortune upon her when she comes of age,' is all very
fine, and very generous, no doubt, and I will not stand in the
way of your doing what is, after all, only your bound duty.
But a circumstance has lately happened which will enable you
to do even moi-e than this. Yes, Anthony, just as your cruel
and unfeeling letter had cast me into the utmost depths of
despair, another, which reached me by the Indian mail, proved
to me that Providence had not yet quite deserted me, and made
me feel that you will now be enabled to make the only repara-
tion which is in your power to the woman who has endured so
much pain and humiliation for your sake. That brute, whose
violence and unkindness were the means of causing me to be-
come so easily your prey, is now no more. A sunstroke, it
seems, carried him off quite suddenly, although he had left his
bungalow apparently in his usual health, though after a rather
heavy luncheon. Some of the details are really distressing, but
it would be hypocritical of me to repine, and I can only feel truly
thankful that I am free, and spared to enjoy what will be, I
trust, a brighter and happier future for us both. You may
possibly have forgotten the promise which you gave, in writing,
a short time before the death of your mother, when the divorce
proceedings against me had entirely collapsed, but when I, in
my turn, might have brought forward the counter-charges,
and obtained my perfect freedom, had you not dissuaded me,
for fear of the scandal, and purchased my silence, as it were,
with this signed paper, to the effect that, if I became a widow
within the period of ten years, you would make me proper
reparation for the wrong I had suffered at your hands, and that
you bound yourself not to contract a marriage with anybody else
until that time had elapsed. I am a widow now, Anthony, and
for the sake of my child I must hold you to your promise.
Please remember, that there has been no sort of scandal in
England, and that the accusations made against me in India
had to be almost immediately abandoned. I consider, there-
fore, that my character is as good as that of any of my neigh-
hours ; and if there was ever any damage done to it, it was done
by you. JSTo one knew of this, however, but a few of your own
brother officers, and one or two other people who happened to
be out there at the tirpe, and several of whom have since died.
You will, therefore, be only marrying a lady who has had a
husband before, and one daughter by her first marriage, which
is a thing that occurs almost every day, and could do no harm
whatever to your reputation, of which 3'ou seem suddenly to
have become so uncommonly careful! I shall go into decent
mourning at once, as any one else in my position would do, and
put Lily into black frocks; and I suppose (though this seems a
perfect farce!) that we ought to do the correct thing, and wait
for a year before we are married ; but during this time I do not
mean to keep it a secret that I am engaged, for I feel convinced
THRO' LOVE AND IVAk
189
that, although you seem lately to have forgotten all your ohli-
gations to me, the remembrance of my past devotion and self-
sacrifice will occur to you now, and will prevent you from
endeavouring to escape from what you must recognize as the
path of duty and honour. Lily sends her love and many
kisses to dear ' godpapa,' and this little elephant, which she has
just drawn for you by laying down one of her Noah's Ark ani-
mals, and tracing all round it. The dear child's talent for
drawing is quite extraordinary! I wonder very often whether
her picture is still where you told me you hung it—by the side
of your bed, where you could see it the first and the last thing ?
and whether the threepenny-piece, which she gave you on the day
she was three years old, is still hanging upon your watch-chain,
with your mother's wedding-ring, where you said you would
always wear it ? I will not, however, recall to your mind things
you may long ago have forgotten, but will conclude with my best
love, although you will probably spurn it, and remain, still
yours, as devotedly as ever, " Leonie.
"P.S.—As I have had, so very unexpectedly, to go into deep
mourning, and to put all the servants in too—and crape is so very
expensive—you might, perhaps, write this quarter's cheque for
rather a large amount."
After reading this letter to the end, Anthony Hepburn threw
himself back in his chair and covered his face with his hands
like one who is stunned by a sudden blow. Old memories had
been awakened—bitter memories to him—and for awhile they
held him completely in thrall.
He was in India once more, and assisting, in fancy, at the
grand ball which had been given, more than ten years ago, by
the Governor of Bombay. He could hear the strains of the
music, smell the perfume of the flowers, and see the native
princes in their gorgeous costumes, the veranda lit up with its
coloured lamps, and himself, as he was then, a careless Eng-
lish lad, with no presentiment of any coming event which might
darken and embitter the best years of his life.
Then, in all the glories of a fresh Parisian toilette, there had
loomed upon his sight the golden-haired, showy-looking wife of
the " Judge Sahib," in her wreath of living fire-flies. In this
radiant vision he had recognized a former acquaintance—the
woman who, passing by chance with her husband at the hour of
his need, had nursed and tended him after a serious accident,
which had befallen him some six months previously whilst he
was upon a hunting expedition in Cashmere. Gratitude at the
recollection of her past kindness, a boy's artless admiration for
her somewhat sensational charms, had induced him to ask her
for the pleasure of the next valse.
How thick and fast events seemed to have followed one
another after that first dance, and how -suddenly and un-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
expectedly lie had found himself, as it were, involved in a web of
toils! Ah, this had all happened more than ten years ago!
But surely at very nearly three-and-twenty he ought to have
known better! Boys remain boys, however, much' longer than
girls remain girls, and the after-wisdom of both boy and girl is
often somewhat dearly purchased
He had changed in mind, in spirits, in heart since that well-
remembered evening, and yet the consequences of his boyish
infatuation were haunting him still, and seeming to stand like
spectres between himself and the daylight! Perhaps it was
quite right and proper that rash and lawless deeds should bring
in their train a whole horde of loosened demons to torture and
torment, but punishments which are administered in the name
of justice are none the less painful upon that account, and for
the first few moments his destiny seemed to him to be almost
too hard to endure.
One of the unpleasantest things about this letter was its truth.
To almost every charge brought against him by the writer of it,
Anthony felt in his heart that he must indeed plead guilty.
He realized that for the last five years, and even before that
time, he must have appeared both cold and neglectful to the
woman who had certainly placed him under the most serious
obligations. He had utilized his regiment, his country visits,
his estate, as excuses for those long absences which, under
other circumstances, he could not have endured himself. He
knew how bitter, how humiliating, all this must have been for a
woman, and such a woman, to endure. He blamed himself, and
himself only, and could have found harsher words for the ex-
pression of this blame than any she had made use of. "Was
there, in fact, one single sentence in the whole of her letter
which he could honestly and conscientiously refute? Yes;
there was one, and one only.
"You seem lately," she had written, "to have forgotten all
your obligations to me." This was untrue. Alas! neither
iormerly nor lately—neither yesterday, to-day, nor to-morrow—
could those fatal " obligations" become effaced from his mind !
The open-eyed world had looked on and seen the act. G-od, and
his own heart, knew of the motive which preceded the act and
brought it about. Had this first motive or intention been
good or evil ? It would seem like an effort at self-exculpation
were he to endeavour to prove, even to himself, that it had been
good. Good or evil, it had had, as its root and origin, this
haunting, all-pervading sense of obligation—this overwhelming
debt of gratitude, which somehow and some day he felt that he
was called upon to repay. Whatever boon this woman had
asked of him, he would have considered himself bound to grant,
and when she had seemed to crave only for his love, he had
given her the best that it was then in his power to give. But
since that time he- had known another woman, and had loved
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
her with another love, and he knew now how worthless was the
reward he had given, more than ten years ago, to the woman
who had saved his life.
When he took his hands from his face, and returned to his
own library from his imaginary journey into the Bombay
Presidency, he looked haggard and miserable. He had made
out, however, confusedly a plan of action. He would go up to
London that very day, seek an interview with the lady, double
or treble, if need be, the amount of the proposed annuity, and .
make, at any rate, one last desperate fight to recover his
freedom.
He picked up the letter, which had fluttered on to the carpet,
and repairing to the morning-room rang the bell for the butler.
"Well, Colonel," cried Captain Sparshott from his easy-chair,
as Anthony re-entered the room, "I'm still taken up with the
future Mrs. S , and can't make out, for the life of me, which
she'd better be—a girl or a widow. Worst of a girl is, that
you only get to know the best of her first; and the worst of a
widow is, that if one got to know the worst of her first, it mightn't
be quite so easy to make the best of her afterwards. Hullo!
I hope you haven't had bad news! " he exclaimed, breaking off
suddenly, and glancing up at Anthony's altered face, and then
down at the black-edged letter which he held in his hand.
" Oh, no ; nobody's dead that I cared two straws about, but
some tiresome business has come upon me which I ought to
get settled up at once, and I'm afraid I shall have to leave you
and go up to London this morning. There's no train, is there,
before the 3.15 P" he inquired, turning to the butler who had
answered the bell.
"You could just catch the four minutes to one, sir," replied
the man, looking at his watch, "if I ordered the dog-cart and
you started off now—immediately. I could put your evening
things in the bag, and send you up the small portmanteau to-
morrow."
"That'll do eapitally, Jervis. Good-by, my dear Charlie.
Behave as if you were in your own house, and do just as you
like about shooting and riding, and waiting till I can get back.
I may be kept in town for a day or two."
"I'll just wait till the first post to-morrow, and then go up
by this same train," returned Captain Sparshott, wringing his
friend's hand. " I was meaning to be back by about then;
Good-by !"
Driving post-haste on his way to the station, Colonel Hepburn
passed the western entrance to Lord Belmorris's park about two
hours before Lucy and her cavalier were destined to emerge from
it. He had no time to linger or investigate, but he cast a wist-
ful glance through the iron gateways and down the long avenue
which led to the castle. He saw nobody, however. It would
have been strange indeed if he had perceived the form he was
THRO'' LOVE AND WAR
seek-ill"1, bat yet, sometimes, such wonderful coincidences had a
way of coming to pass !
He caught the train by a miracle, secured a carriage to him-
self, endeavoured to read, to smoke, and finally to sleep; any-
thing—anything to make the day pass which had begun so
miserably !
The weather, which in the North had been crisp and frosty,
grew damp and foggy as he neared London. It was as if all
Nature lay shrouded and buried away beneath a grey pall of
desolation. The cold was intense and seemed to penetrate to
the very marrow of his bones. He drew on the "old cam-
paigner," which he had meant to use merely as a railway-wrap,
and fastened it round his throat with the military loops and
" frogs." Then plunging his hands for warmth into'the depths
of the wide pockets, he endeavoured once more to court oblivion
in sleep.
In the right-hand pocket of the coat he encountered some
sort of soft gossamer substance. He drew it forth and exa-
mined it by the light of the lamp, for by this time all was
darkness without. A woman's handkerchief, with a lace edging,
a border of pink stripes, and " Lucy " embroidered in the corner !
The old housekeeper at Falconborough, when the coat was
returned to her, had carefully pulled down the sleeves and
restored the belt to its slides, but she had evidently omitted to
search in the pockets.
To Anthony, however, unaware as he was that his " old
campaigner " had once been folded round Lucy's graceful form,
this discovery, just as his heart was so full of regretful emotions,
seemed almost to partake of the character of the supernatural;
a circumstance quite worthy of being communicated to the
Council of "The Society for Psychical Research," supposing it to
have been then in existence; and astonishment as to how he
could possibly have become possessed of what was to him like a
sacred and beloved relic, had the effect of banishing his more
melancholy thoughts for the remainder of the journey.
He arrived in London at about half-past seven, dined—that is
to say, endeavoured to dine—at a club, slept, or rather " assumed
the recumbent position," at Long's Hotel, and drove down to
Clapham soon after eleven o'clock upon the following morning.
He crossed the river at Chelsea, skirted Battersea Park,
passed under a succession of railway viaducts, and so came, by-
and-by, to the Cedars Road, where the air seemed to grow
purer and more countrified. Arrived at the top of the hill,
he directed his cabman to the right, past the scarlet pillar-post-
box, and then, for the first time during the drive, he recalled
his wandering spirit and began to observe the objects in his
material path.
The Common lay extended to his left, and piesented a gay
and animated appearance, notwithstanding that the branches
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
193
of its trees were naked and its gorse-bushes blossomless. Scwne
boys were sending their dogs into the pond to swim after sticks,
and several young couples were strolling forth in the wintry
sunshine.
When he came within sight of the public bench under the
seven lime-trees upon which he had been sitting when Lucy
had perceived him from her window, he called out to his cabman
to drive slowly. He wanted to take a good look at Barlow
Lodge, the place that was Lucy's home, and where she would
be, in all human probability, and barring, of course, any terrible
catastrophe attended with loss of life upon the line of the Great
Northern Railway, at about eight o'clock upon the evening of
that very day. He would have recognized at once, from her
chance description, and without even looking at the name upon
the gate-post, the " peaceful-looking little Queen Anne house,
standing between two much larger ones," with its unpretending
exterior and prim Adams decorations. The lime-tree just inside
the protecting wall, being naked as its fellows without, he was
enabled to take in the entire house at a glance, and his eyes
lingered lovingly over every detail.
As he was looking up at it, a buxom maid-servant, with
bare arms, threw open one of the bedroom windows, and set
out upon the sill some long strips of ermine-trimming—no
doubt, he thought, the property of the old lady. Within he
could perceive a waving white curtain, and a little square of
trellisy wall-paper.
Was not this Lucy's room, which she had told him looked
out upon the Common, and which was being made ready for
her home-coming ?
" God bless you, little white-curtained room !" he murmured
with emotion.
But the hansom cab, creeping slowly along according to
orders, had now arrived at the gate of the " The Aspens," and,
hardening his heart, he sprang out of it and rang the bell,
almost oversetting, as he dashed abstractedly across the foot-
way, an extremely pompous-looking individual, arrayed in well-
brushed broadcloth and creaking boots, who was evidently
making his way to Clapham Junction, for he carried in his
hand a small black bag, upon which the initials " S.A.P." were
painted in white letters.
To this gentleman, in whom the reader will no doubt have
recognized an acquaintance, Anthony Hepburn proffered a
hurried excuse, which, however, was somewhat gruffly received,
and following the lead of Mrs. Yan Buren's boy-in-buttons, he
went into the jungly drawing-room to do battle with fate.
N
194
THRO'' LOVE AND WAR
CHAPTER XXXIV.
The departure of Lucy and the Binks family from Belmorris
Castle was something of an undertaking, seeing that the party
numbered in all five souls and included two confirmed invalids,
for Lady Mabella and her attendant Mrs. Guffy considered
themselves fully entitled to this designation.
Lord Belmorris, who had accompanied his relatives to the
station, and was assisting Lucy and Adeliza to grapple with
their small baggage, caught sight upon the platform of a groom
in the Hepburn livery.
" Colonel going up by this train ? " he inquired carelessly,
whilst Lucy's cheeks became suffused with crimson.
"Colonel went up yesterday, my lord," replied the man;
"quite unexpected, and I've just driven down with his port-
manteau and Captain Sparshott."
It was now Adeliza's turn to blush. "Captain Sparshott
going up to London by this very train! Oh, if he could only
be induced to get into their carriage ! But the compartment,
although its full complement of passengers was not actually
made up, what with rugs, air-cushions, dressing-cases, luncheon-
baskets, umbrellas and foot-warmers, presented already an
appearance of being unpleasantly crammed; the Belmorris
footman, who was at least six feet two in height, was standing
like a dragon at the door, and it was highly probable, Adeliza
feared, that unless Algy was told off at once to drag him up as
as it were by the hair of the head, the Captain might elect to take
his place in a smoking carriage. Yielding, therefore, to Adeliza's
whispered entreaties, Algernon Binks, as there were still a few
moments to spare, started off in search of him.
He was discovered at the bookstall, in the act of supplying
himself with novels and society journals, smoking an enormous
cigar.
" My mother and sister are in the train," said Algy after the
first greeting, pointing to where the gigantic footman was
standing like a sentinel.
The Captain made at once for the carriage as though impelled
by some irresistible magnetic force.
Adeliza flew forward to the window wreathed in smiles.
" I see your carriage is quite full," he observed, after he had
glanced infiide it, and assuming an expression of disappointment
he made as though about to take his place elsewhere.
" Oh, no, it's not!" exclaimed Adeliza persuasively; " we've
got heaps of room'for you ! Do come !"
"No, no, I shall only crowd you!" returned the Captain,
making a last effort to escape.
" We're not so exclusive as not to be able to make room for a
friend !" cried Miss Binks, whilst her bright eyes seemed to be
saying ten thousand flattering things.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 195
^" But I'm smoking," pleaded the gallant Laucer, looking at
his newly lighted cigar. He felt like some poor fly struggling
helplessly in the meshes of a most seductive spider.
"Never mind your cigar !" exclaimed Addie, perceiving that
he wavered, and assuming almost a tone of command.
A guard shouting, " Take your place, sir !" came behind him
at this moment, and the gigantic footman opened the carriage-
door and assisted him on to the step. Adeliza held out her
neatly gloved hand with a bewitching smile. He took hold of
it, flung aside his cigar, and in another second found himself in
the bosom of the Binks family and hemmed in on all sides with
their belongings.
Lord Belmorris waved his hand in farewell, hurling a some-
what despairing glance towards the corner where Lucy war.
sitting, the gigantic footman touched his hat respectfully, and
the train glided out of the station on its way to London.
In order that Captain Sparshott might occupy a place next
to Miss Binks, it was suggested, soon after the commencement
of the journey, that Mrs. Guffy, who declined to travel second-
class during the winter months, on account of the draughts,
should change over and sit upon the opposite side between
Algernon and Lucy; for Lady Mabella, besides being unable to
travel with her back to the engine, had been enjoined by her
medical adviser to " assume the recumbent position " whenever
she went upon a journey, and this of course necessitated the
occupation of two seats.
Guffy, however, had always chosen to imagine that she could
no more sit with her back to the engine than could her mistress,
and she at once put on an expression of martyrdom which Ade-
liza feared must have been very annoying to Captain Sparshott,
whom she was, of course, anxious to impress favourably. She
hoped that, by taking no notice of Guffy's affectations, she would
end perhaps by becoming resigned, and that she might even seek
solace in slumber, and thus enable Captain Sparshott and her-
self to converse in comfort, which would be of course utterly out
of the question if they were liable to be interrupted every moment
by groans and complaints.
Algy, however, had been greatly annoyed by having Guffy,
whom he could not endure, placed between Lucy and himseif.
Foreseeing that his mother, if not actually asleep, would close
her eyes and feign slumber, in order to escape from the fatigue
of having to join in the conversation, and that Adeliza and the
Captain would probably engage in a sort of semi-sentimental
banter in which he could take no part, he had imagined that he
would have had his cousin Lucy entirely to himself during the
whole of the journey up to town ; and, besides the fact that he
was, as he had expressed it, decidedly " spoony upon her," he
had determined, not only to endeavour to And out how matters
stood between herself and his " uncle Belmorris," but also to
n 2
196 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
rally her on the impression she had apparently made upon the
heart of the haughty and inscrutable Colonel, who until now
had never been looked upon as " a marrying man." He would
have produced, perhaps, from his pocket the letter he had re-
ceived that very morning from Colonel Hepburn, allowing her
only to glance at a portion of its contents, in order that he might
" get a rise out of her," and revel in her discomfiture and mystifi-
cation. All this, however, had been frustrated by the inopportune
intrusion of Guffy; and as he was a spoilt child and accustomed
to be given way to in everything, he was at no pains to conceal
his irritation. His sister kicked at him beneath the fur railway-
rug in order to induce him to keep quiet, but he only kicked her
back in return, and seemed seriously disposed to lose his temper.
Just as Guffy had apparently subsided into a state of resentful
torpor, he roused her up again, and requested that she would
change places with Lucy—who was sitting also with her back
towards the engine, in the corner nearest to the right-hand
window, immediately opposite to Captain Sparshott—so that he
and his cousin might be enabled to converse together at their
ease, without being obliged, as must now happen, to talk un-
comfortably across the lap of an intermediate person. Guffy,
however, who had a perfect horror of draughts, flatly refused to
sit next to the window, notwithstanding that this one was closed.
" I'm sorry I dursn't oblige you, sir," Adeliza could hear her
protesting in a peevish undertone; " but it would be as much as
my life was worth, I can assure you it would! "
Algernon and Guffy went wrangling on after this fashion until
they had effectually aroused Lady Mabella from her pretended
slumber, who forthwith discovered to her horror that a dressing-
bag, containing some extremely valuable articles of jewellery, had
mysteriously disappeared*. This intelligence very naturally
filled every member of the Binks family with consternation;
Guffy became loud in her lamentations, whilst at the same
time exonerating herself from all blame, and Lucy adventured
a few words of sympathy and hope.
Nothing could have exceeded the kindness and courtesy of
Captain Sparshott at this trying moment. He searched high
and low in the carriage for the missing bag, groped under the
seats, and shook up the cushions and railway-rugs, until he had
raised such a cloud of dust that he and his fellow-passengers
were well-nigh smothered by it; after which, seeing that the
bag was nowhere to be found, he turned mournfully to his
newspapers with the manner of a person who has lost a friend.
After bewailing her loss for about three-quarters of an hour,
Lady Mabella, acting upon Captain Sparshott's advice, deter-
mined to send a telegram to her brother, in order to ascertain
whether, after all, the missing bag might not merely have been
left at the castle. Neither Lady Mabella, Algernon, nor Guffy
appeared to have about them such a thing as a shilling, and
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
197
Adeliza remembered to have left her purse in the pocket of her
ulster-coat, which was strapped up with the umbrellas and
walking-sticks, and as they were just arriving at a station
there was 110 time to get these undone.
Before Lucy had been able to find her money—for her new
serge travelling-jacket had almost too many pockets to be
convenient—the good-natured Captain had produced the modest
sum required, and as he was seated nearest to the door, he dashed
out of the carriage as soon as the train came to a standstill, in
order to send off the message.
Adeliza endured a moment of real agony when the train began
showing symptoms of moving on again before Captain Sparshott
had returned. She darted to the window, beckoning to him
frantically, and was just in time to save him from stepping, in
a fit of abstraction no doubt, into the wrong carriage.
The gloom occasioned by the loss of the bag cleared off a little
after this, particularly as Adeliza suddenly remembered that
she was almost certain that she had seen it placed under one of
the seats in the waggonette, where in all probability it still
remained. It was felt, however, that after so much worry and
anxiety a little luncheon would be by no means unacceptable,
and Algy set to work with a will to unpack the basket. Chicken-
and-ham sandwiches, a cold pheasant, properly dissected, hard-
boiled eggs, delicious rolls, with salt, pepper, mustard, an
enormous bunch of hothouse grapes, and two bottles of red
wine—everything, so it seemed, that the soul of the hungry and
thirsty wayfarer could possibly desire !
" Gracious heavens ! " exclaimed Adeliza, when they had all
satisfied their first cravings ; "if those idiotic servants haven't
forgotten to put in a tumbler!'"
It was too true! The Belmorris butler -had counted pro-
bably upon Lady Mabella's silver drinking-cup, which he had
had cleaned up for her upon the previous evening, and which
had always proved so useful upon long journeys ; but this, alas,
was at the bottom of the missing bag! Captain Sparshott,
however, immediately came to the rescue, and produced from a
magnificently appointed travelling-bag, which seemed to contain
almost every necessity and superfluity of life, a bright silver
cup embellished with his coat-of-arms.
" Why is it," said Adeliza, addressing the Captain in a whisper,
" that younger sons always have everything so very nice ? "
How seeing that this was the Captain's own drinking-cup,
which he had proffered voluntarily for the benefit of his fellow-
travellers, he felt constrained to drink out of it the very last of
all, and so refused absolutely to put it to his lips until every
one of the occupants of the railway carriage, including Guffy,
had thoroughly quenched their thirst, by which time its lustre
was considerably dimmed, and it had grown to be somewhat
thumbed and crumby.
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THRO' LOVE AND WAR
He rinsed it out superficially, and gave the rim a rub over
with newspaper, but he felt that it would be neither compli-
mentary, nor in good taste, to wipe it too much, and so did not
particularly relish the dregs of the last bottle of light claret
which fell to his share.
After this, all went well until the train stopped again, when
G-uffy, perceiving a boy with a tray strapped to his chest, and
having been rendered thirsty by the chicken-and-ham sand-
wiches, became possessed of an insatiable craving to indulge in
an orange.
There was nothing for it but to gratify her, and until she
had finished eating it, and had handed the pips and peeling
to Captain Sparshott to throw out of the window, he being
seated in the place nearest to the doorway, it was useless to
dream of settling down comfortably to literature, conversa-
tion, or slumber. The wintry daylight, however, was now
fast drawing to a close. Lucy could scarcely see to read the
book in which she had been trying to interest herself in
spite of these frequent interruptions, and at the last station,
where they had purchased the orange for G-uffy, a porter
had climbed upon the top of the carriage and hurled down
a lamp into its appointed aperture. Perhaps, Adeliza said
to herself, with a fluttering heart, there were going to be
tunnels.
Tunnels there were, in a little while, sure enough, added to
which, it gradually became totally dark outside. The train
went tearing on through space at a terrific rate, for it was
almost twenty-five minutes behind time, and was endeavouring
to make up speed. They would not stop again, Captain Spar-
shott said, for " a perfect age."
Lucy was leaning back in her corner with closed eyes, and
had not spoken a word for some time; Algernon and Guffy,
tired out, as it seemed, with their wrangling, had subsided into
silence, and Lady Mabella commenced making preparations for
a real sleep. The glare of the lamp, however, she found came
directly in her eyes, and Captain Sparshott rose at once to
remedy the evil. There was a small blue curtain upon one
side of the lamp, which, when drawn down and looped over the
light, made quite an effectual screen. The carriage was now
plunged in almost total darkness—a sound, as of a gentle snore,
came now and again from Lady Mabella's corner. Adeliza ex-
perienced a delightful sense of mystery. To all intents and
purposes she and the Captain had every right to consider
themselves alone; and when two people find themselves 4s
were " alone in a crowd," particularly when the crowd is asleep,
they are apt somehow to feel more than usually drawn to-
gether in their isolation.
Some sentiment of this kind may possibly have animated
Captain Sparshott's gallant breast, for moving nearer to his
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 199
only waking companion, lie felt underneath the fur railway-rug
and obtained possession of her hand.
But just at this moment a loud exclamation from Algy
awakened the sleepers, and caused the two young people sud-
denly to unclasp their hands.
It now transpired that Guffy, in consequence, as she declared,
of having been forced to travel with her back to the engine, had
just communicated to Algy that she was feeling exceedingly
unwell; in fact, that ever since leaving the station at which she
had insisted upon purchasing the orange, she had felt exactly as
if she " was sailing upon a vessel! "
Everybody, including even Lady Mabella, started simul-
taneously to their feet upon hearing this news, and displayed
signs of the keenest perturbation. What was to be done?
There was not a moment to be lost! Captain Sparshott re-
membered that he had a flask containing brandy in his
magnificent though somewhat cumbrous dressing-bag, and it
was hauled down for the second time, and the remedy promptly
administered.
Guffy, however, declared that she could sit no longer with her
back to the engine, and Algy was now strongly of opinion that
she ought not to run any such risk. The only safe way by
which the travellers could protect themselves from a recurrence
of these distressing symptoms, was by arranging that Guffy
should go over to the other side, and sit facing the engine; but
in this case she would have to change places with either Adeliza
or Captain Sparshott, and thus prevent them from occupying
adjoining seats. Of course, if Algernon could have been per-
suaded to move over likewise, all might yet have been well, but
he had now slipped into the invalid's place, next to Lucy's
corner, and declared that nothing would induce him to sit near
Guffy again, and that he was not going to be ordered about
" from pillar to post." By thoroughly reorganizing the dis-
posal of the places, Adeliza and the Captain might still have
been enabled to sit together, but this, besides looking perhaps a
little too marked, would have necessitated the shifting of the
greater portion of the " cargo," which, together with creating
dust, would have seriously disturbed Lady Mabella, who was
again endeavouring to court a well-earned repose,
Owing, therefore, to Algernon's incorrigible obstinacy,and to
Guffy's captiousness, Adeliza foresaw that she and her admirer
were destined to be separated during the rest of the journey ;
for Captain Sparshott was not the kind of person who could
look on at a female in distress, no matter what was her social
position, without doing everything in his power to assist her.
He changed over, therefore, at once, and settled himself in the
place which Algernon had just vacated.
All hope, Adeliza felt, together with all hand-pressing, was
over and done with for this afternoon, at least.
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THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" "Well, Guffy," she relieved her feelings by whispering, as the
cantankerous lady's-maid established herself by her side, "I
must say that you certainly are an old brute!" and the Captain,
who was now too far off to catch her remark, noticed the
" wildish look " in her eye to which he had alluded in his con-
versation with Anthony Hepburn.
• But I have already dwelt at too great a length upon the
vicissitudes of the journey.
In due course of time, and without any further contretemps,
Lucy, Captain Sparshott, the Binkses, aud Mrs. Guffy arrived
in London.
" I can see Upjohn waiting upon the platform," said Adeliza,
putting her head out of the window as the train glided into the
station.
Joseph Upjohn was the one male retainer of the Binks
family. He presented the appearance of a boy, but was much
older than he looked, having been taken by the late Mr. Binks
either direct from the plough or the choir, and pressed into
service for a merely nominal wage, in the hope that he might
one day turn out to be a valuable acquisition. He possessed,
however, a large appetite and small ambitions, and had never
improved.
At railway stations, and all places where there was much
traffic, he displayed terror, standing as one paralyzed, with his
arms in the position of the lower sails of a windmill. Upon
the present occasion he was worse than useless, and but for the
"honour and glory of the family" might just as well have
remained at home.
Captain Sparshott, assisted by Adeliza—for Algernon was far
too selfish to do anything which entailed trouble, whilst Guffy's
prostration only just enabled her to crawl to a four-wheeled
cab—succeeded, however, in recognizing the luggage, amongst
which, to Lady Mabella's intense relief, was discovered the
missing bag, which had been labelled and put into the van by
mistake; and after despatching a second telegram to apprise
Lord Belmorris of this fortunate circumstance, securing his
own portmanteau, and remunerating the porters, he sprang
into a hansom-cab, and drove off to his club.
Lucy accompanied her relatives in their double-brougham as
far as Wilton Place, after which she and her trunk were trans-
ferred to a cab; and bidding her aunt and cousins an affectionate
farewell, she took her way, via Cadogan Place, Sloane Street,
and Sloane Square, to the Chelsea Embankment, and thence
to Clapham Common.
Perhaps it was not altogether consistent in Lady Mabella,
who besides being, as her daughter had said, " so very
particular," had the lowest possible opinion of London cabmen,
to send her young and lovely niece so far afield alone and
unprotected after the foggy darkness had set in.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Lady Mabella, however, like a great many of her neighbours,
did not always behave with perfect consistency. It would have
been indecorous in the highest degree for Algernon to have
escorted his cousin, although he had expressed his willingness
to do so; Guffy's health was of course quite unequal to the
exertion, andUpjohn's services were required just then to " help
uj)" with the boxes. Lady Mabella, therefore, salved her con-
science by asking Adeliza to write down the cabman's number,
and packed Lucy off with a blessing.
Lucy's cabman, except for one or two unimportant deviations,
resulting from individuality of character, proceeded on his way
by the same route which had been taken that very morning by
the driver of Colonel Hepburn's hansom.
At the gate of the unpretending little Queen Anne house,
Sarah the parlour-maid was waiting to receive her.
" Glad to see you back home again, Miss Lucy! I hope I
see you quite well ? How much is it, cabman ? "
" Four-and-sixpence the fare, Miss, and twopence extra for
outside luggage," answered the wicked cabman, seeing that he
had to do only with beings of the weaker and more confiding
sex. For such wretches, had Dante ever suffered by their
extortions, he would surely have reserved a hot corner in his
" Inferno !" The unsophisticated Sarah, however, delighted at
the return of her youthful mistress, instead of handing him
two-and-eightpence with a jeer of derision, immediately paid
the money, and even added a cheerful " Good evening, cabman! "
the outcome of her trustful and ingenuous heart, as the villain
drove back to London, well pleased.
Lucy cast one look in the direction of the blurred gas-lamp,
which but for the clinging fog might have revealed to her the
public bench over the way beneath the now leafless limes, then
she followed Sarah into the house with a sigh.
The little storm-tossed bark had returned to its peaceful
haven, Barlow Lodge, once more, with its Chippendale furniture,
blue ginger-pots, and prim eighteenth-century calm !
CHAPTER XXXY.
" Ah, my dear young lady," said the old French Professor, some
weeks after Lucy's second return home, as he contemplated the
staircase window at Barlow Lodge, with its heraldic blind, " I
had imagined, nay, I had made sure, that on your coming back
I should have been informed that some noble device must be
painted without delay inside that escutcheon in outline ! My
honourable but unfortunate friend, Benvenuto Rossi, unfortu-
nate from the circumstances of his private life as well as from
his loss of fortune, and who was breakfasting with me this
morning, has never succeeded in chasing from his memory the
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THRO' LOVE AND WAR
enchanting apparition which confronted him here, when he
called to display to your aunt his completed achievement.
' How is that charming young lady who has the fisonomia of
Beatrice Cenci?' he inquired ; ' when am I to he summoned to
her gentle and dignified presence in order that, to the long roll
of illustrious devices which I had the honour to copy according
to my poor ability, I may add that of her promised husband ?' "
" I'm sorry we can't give your friend this little commission,"
replied Lucy, smiling rather sadly, as she thought of an
" illustrious device " which she had seen upon a pair of ivory
hair-brushes, and also upon the blinkers of a horse harnessed
to a certain dog-cart. " Is he really so badly off?"
"Like myself," returned the Marquis, "he has passed
through vicissitudes. He has been forsaken by those who
should have consoled him by their affection, and the misfortunes
arising from the errors and follies of his youth have over-
shadowed his riper years. Happily, however, he is possessed of
the artistic and imaginative temperament. He exists chiefly in
a world peopled by the creations of his own brain, and these, at
least, have remained his friends."
This speech aroused in Lucy a painful memory, a memory
which now was never entirely asleep.
"' The errors and follies of his youth!' " she repeated half
absently. " Ah, tell me," she added suddenly, as she looked up
eagerly into the old man's face; "you travelled, didn't you,
long ago, with several young Englishmen who wanted to see
the world; amongst them was there one named Anthony
Hepburn ? "
"Anthony Hepburn?" repeated the Professor, looking sur-
prised; " so you are acquainted with Anthony Hepburn; you
have seen him?"
"Yes, I have seen him," she answered, looking down; "tell
me about him when he was quite a boy, before everything
happened ?"
"You know then about' everything.' He has told you the
history of his life. The ideal man and the ideal woman of my
dreams have met then, at last; but, alas ! when it is too late."
"You are quite sure that we have met too late ? " She asked
this in a tone of almost hopeless resignation, as though the old
man's words had merely confirmed an impression already existing
in her own mind.
" I fear so, my child; and if, as I divine from your manner,
you take more than an ordinary interest in my gallant friend, I
can only recommend you to try to become resigned to what
appears to be the almost universal doom of poor humanity.
Sad comfort, certainly, but it is the best I can offer. What
says one of our most cultivated writers, a man who, having
thoroughly investigated facts, has in consequence a right to be
listened to ? 1 S'il se trouvait,' he says, ' par hasard, deux ctres
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
203
capables de ressentir un amour reel, ils ne se rencontraient pas,
ou se trouvaient dans la vie places dos a dos ; chacun des deux
se trouvait apparie avec un etre d'une autre nature.'" *
"And is it always like this ?"
" Nothing in lifeis always—constant inconstancy, the certainty
that all is uncertain, caprice, variety, mutability; our small
existences are composed of these elements, for the life of
prescribed and regulated stagnation is only for those beings who
can put forth no wings with which to escape from it. Those of
the finer pate must be for ever struggling and expecting; hoping
the good thing whilst they foresee the evil, knowing that by their
tears they are earning the sunshine of coming smiles, and more
free, consequently, in a dungeon than those others are in a
palace! Of such a nature is the philosopher, and it is this
awaiting the unexpected, this knowledge that we are unable to'
go entirely by precedent, which makes our existences tolerable
at all."
" I should like to think that one might always hope," said
Lucy sadly.
" You may think it, my child, but yet it would be wiser to
cultivate the nature that can say, ' What signifies this sorrow
or this exultation ? When the earth itself is of so little im-
portance, what matter the contortions of the individual worm ? '
This is what I have been saying to-day to our friend the
Colonel."
"' To-day !' " repeated Lucy aghast—" you have seen him to-
day ? Colonel Hepburn has been here ? "
" Certainly," returned the old Frenchman ; " why should he
not be here? We have been consulting together, turning
matters over, and endeavouring to arrive at satisfactory con-
elusions ; but, like most Englishmen, he has been too reserved;
he has been afraid of betraying, even to so old a friend, his
hidden motives. He has talked to me about what I already
knew, but he has said not one word to show me that he had met
you. You shall tell me all about it yourself."
"He has been here," exclaimed Lucy, as though not heeding
the Professor's words; " and he didn't care to come and see me !
He knows where I live. He knows that I must be waiting and
hoping, and he has never wished to see me when he has been
quite close to my door ! Ah, who would think that he could be
so cruel! "
"You shall tell me about all this when you are calmer," said
the old man soothingly; " for at present it all seems like a
mystery. Do not think, however, that our friend is cruel. He
dreads only too much the idea of giving pain. He is for bearing
all the suffering himself."
But Lucy felt crushed with humiliation at the news she had
just heard. Anthony so near to her, yet passing by without
* Alpkonse Karr.
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THRO' LOVE AND WAR
pausing at her door ? Was she then as nothing to him after
all ? Did men always speak and act so lightly ? Why had no
one warned her that they were creatures who could neither feel
love nor pity ? Before she had recovered from her agitation she
heard her great-aunt's black silk dress rustling upon the stair-
case; another moment and Miss Elizabeth entered the little
sitting-room, and all signs of emotion had to be suppressed.
Lucy looked at her with yearning and disappointment in her
glance. An old woman, she found herself thinking, who had
lived so verj', very long, and endured the monotony of rising
up and lying down so very often, and who yet had known none
of those soul-stirring and absorbing emotions which enable us
poor mortals to find something of divine inspiration in the most
prosaic act! A woman who had looked, morning and evening,
"for so very many years in her glass, in order to make herself
neat and comely and attractive, for nobody in particular ; who
had wandered, peradventure, in the days of her far-off youth,
by ocean and wood and running stream, unglorified and un-
scathed by the faintest spark of that sacred fire ! A woman,
born a woman, but who had learned nothing to make her forgive
the destiny which had cursed her with the narrower vision—the
weaker arm. A woman, whom no lover had ever held in his
embrace, whom no child had ever called by the sacred name of
mother. How little could such a woman know of life, despite
the passing of those seventy-seven years !
Looking for consolation and sympathy in her great-aunt's
withered face, Lucy seemed, with her newly awakened eyes, to
read in it no trace of bygone struggles, of heart-aches over-
passed, temptations overcome, or affections blighted.
" Oh, if I had only a mother! " was the cry that came now
constantly from her heart. "I could tell her about all this,
and she could advise and comfort and understand! "
It will be surmised from the foregoing pages that the horny
hand of adversity had descended somewhat heavily upon the
Lucy of my story. A letter from Anthony Hepburn, received
upon the day after her return home, was what had dealt her
the first blow. It ran thus :—
"I must write to you the saddest words that I have ever had
to write. I hope to God that to you, who are at a more hopeful
time of life, they may be less bitter to read than they are to
write. We spoke, you may remember, when last we met, of
what I fancied must surely happen in time. I ought to have
waited for this time before speaking to you of my feelings, but
I feared it might be long in coming, and love made me impatient.
How, what I hoped for seems further from my reach than ever,
and, indeed, an unexpected circumstance which has lately taken
place, may render it altogether impossible. My natural impulse
would be to ask you still to wait; I might delay the pain of
bidding you farewell, in the hope that, after all, the words need
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
205
never be said. But by temporizing thus I might ruin your
happiness as well as my own. Brighter prospects may open
out before you, and I have no right to blight them. I can only
implore you, therefore, to forgive me, and I feel that I ought to
ask you to forget me as well. 1 This, however, I cannot bring
myself to do quite yet. I long to occupy a little corner in your
memory, and I long, too, to be able to make you believe that I
am not really quite so heartless or so selfish as I must appear
to you to be. You must think of me as of a doomed wretch who
cannot now hope for any true happiness in life, and that this is
owing to my own folly does not make my fate seem to be less
bitter. You, however, deserve that your future should be
bright and unclouded, and I will not darken it with the shadow
of my misfortunes. I wish I might once more call you my own
Lucy, and hold you again, for one moment, in my arms. The
day when I did so will always seem to me the happiest and most
triumphant day of my life. Pray believe this, and believe also
that I loved you, and love you now, better than any other
woman I have ever either known or dreamed of. Good-by, and
may God bless you always. " A. H."
Lucy had kept this letter folded to her bosom by day and by
night, feeling that she could almost forgive its terrible signifi-
cance for the sake of the concluding words.
To a woman there is so much, too much perhaps, in a declara-
tion of affection. A man, once he has delivered himself of these
verbal assurances, is apt to imagine that the lady of his heart
will consider herself loved once for all, and will rest contented
with the deeds that go to prove it. These she will accept with
all thankfulness if she be worth the serving, but ever, in her
heart of hearts, will linger a secret yearning after the joy be-
gotten of spoken words, and something will seem still to be
wanting, unless she can hear repeated from time to time those
delightful formulas expressive of an enduring passion.
Most men, however, once they have captured and secured
their bond-slaves, dole out these precious words with a disheart-
ening parsimony, as though they dreaded the exhaustion of
some sort of commodity, or stock-in-trade, which would become
more valuable in the hoarding—like old port. And it may be that
the love of " making scenes," of which women are often accused,
has something to do with this mistaken economy, and with this
feminine longing, so often ungratified, for words and protesta-
tions. Since, in the dramatic situations and emergencies of
life, be they situations suited for congratulation or for con do-
lence, a man may produce these hidden treasures from the
depths of his being, just as he will send down to the cellar for
his choicest vintages upon the occasion of marriage-breakfast
or funeral-feast. He will write, however, sometimes what he is
so chary of saying, and hence the joy and delight of love-letters,
At the begiuning, perhaps, and almost certainly at the ending
2o6
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
of his letter, he will let his pen run on, if only from indolence
and the force of habit, into the old familiar groove; and thus it
happens that to a woman the letters of the man she loves are
so inexpressibly precious, so terribly difficult always to tear up
or burn!
Lucy Barlow had now in her possession one of these price-
less treasures. A declaration of despairing affection written by
that beloved hand, addressed to herself, and signed "A. H.; " and
it was impossible, therefore, for her to be altogether miserable.
For to a girl, young, loving, imaginative, but ignorant as yet
of the dominating passions of existence, the notion of marriage,
with all its new responsibilities and severing of old associations,
is not always very attractive in itself. Her longings and aspi-
rations are often as well fulfilled by an idea as. by a reality, and
the secret consciousness that she is loved will atone to her for
the absence of the material lover. A romance, an inspiration
to all good and noble deeds, a companion wno can be with her
in imagination in all solitudes; this, with a vague sense of
something nearer, dearer, and altogether incomprehensible,
which may be awaiting her in the far future, will generally
suffice to her until she has tasted of the fruit of the Tree of
Knowledge; and to Lucy, during the first few weeks after her
return home, the warm love within her heart, and the treasured
letter outside it, seemed to ensure her an immunity from all
doubts and uncertainties, even if she might never now hope to
be Anthony Hepburn's Wife.
So, like Elaine, she " lived in fantasy," until the Hear Tear
was past and the first days of the chilly English spring were
close hand at hand, when the trees in Miss Elizabeth's little
garden, as well as the limes upon the Common beyond, began
to show signs of breaking into tender leaf, and the sparrows
commenced twittering and coquetting upon the house-tops.
But then, influenced, it may be, by the same universal law
which orders the budding of limes and the pairing of sparrows,
there came into her heart an intense and insatiable longing to
look once more upon the face of the man she loved and to hear
his voice.
So the days went by, feverish, expectant, uneventful days,
but still not altogether ban-en of hope.
Clapham Common now had become, as it were, hallowed
ground. It was some sort of consolation, as the weather grew
warmer, to stroll across the road and sit down upon the bench
underneath the seven sacred limes, and to know that he had sat
there one morning reading his newspaper and smoking his
cigarette, unconscious of her straining eyes.
Talking of newspapers, she had induced her aunt to exchange
the Standard, the Tory organ Miss Elizabeth had formerly
patronized, for the Morning Post, and she had been rewarded
by beholding Colonel Hepburn's name in print, amongst those
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
207
of the officers present at the annual regimental dinner of the
18th Lancers at Willis's Rooms. Lucy's ideas with regard to
such dinners were, naturally enough, extremely vague, and with-
out actually believing that officers who failed to attend them
were either cashiered or shot as deserters, she rightly imagined
that the Colonel's absence from so important a " function " might
be remarked and commented upon. Had she seen it chronicled
in the newspaper that he had attended a ball or any social
gathering of a frivolous description, she might, perhaps, have
felt somewhat shocked and disheartened ; deeming that for any
one placed in so unfortunate a situation it would be unseemly
to caper and pirouette with careless worldlings. Nevertheless,
as she looked out over the walls of her narrow garden, she found
herself contemplating London with altogether different eyes.
He was there, probably, pacing its noisy streets, mingling with
its teeming human life, breathing the atmosphere which, seen
from a distance, looked so murky and obscure. Oh, if she could
only be in London, too ! Then, in the midst of all this longing
and uncertainty, came the news that he had actually been within
almost a stone's-throw of her! He had "looked up" the old
fellow with whom he had travelled long ago as a " kind of tutor,"
but he-had not taken the trouble to turn aside even to knock
at her door! He had passed by the peaceful-looking little Queen
Anne house, in which he must have known that she was waiting
and hoping ! Ah, men could, indeed, find it in their hearts to
be very cruel sometimes ! But why should this man select as his
victim the woman who loved him so much more than anybody
else in the whole world ?
CHAPTER XXXYI.
In a life so uneventful as that which Lucy was obliged to lead
during the giddy season which showers notes and visiting-cards
upon the hall-tables of fashionable Londoners, the most trivial
circumstance is apt to assume a fictitious importance.
Thus, the drawing up of a brougham one afternoon outside
the entrance to Barlow Lodge caused her almost to faint with
emotion. She happened to be looking out of her bedroom
window at the time, which, but for the screening lime-tree within
the wall, would have commanded a full view of the road. As it
was, however, she could see quite distinctly that the carriage
was a private one. Somebody let down the nearest window.
"Who could it possibly be ?
Before, however, she had had time to make any conjectures,
she recognized the clumsy figure of Hpjohn climbing awkwardly
down from the box-seat. He rang loudly at the bell, and then
went back to the carriage window. Lady Mabella Binks had
evidently come to call upon Miss Elizabeth Barlow.
Upon making this discovery, Lucy immediately flew down-
2oS
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
stairs to apprise her great-aunt, who had lately developed a
habit of dropping off to sleep over her knitting, and who would
have disliked above all things to have been " taken unawares."
The old lady was dozing, as her niece had anticipated, and it
was necessary to arouse her rather suddenly. She muttered,
as she woke up, something incoherent about a ship foundering
" off Vigo with all hands ;" but, after a few hurried words of
explanation, was enabled to grasp the situation, and by the
time Lucy had gone out to the front door in order to welcome
her relatives, had satisfactorily reassembled her wandering senses.
But as Lucy looked out into the road, she saw Upjohn re-
mounting the box of the brougham. Lady Mabella had merely
deposited her card, and Lucy saw her black-gloved fingers
scratching out something with a pencil from a paper, probably
inscribed with a list of visits, as the carriage drove off.
Poor Lucy's heart had been set beating, and Miss'Elizabeth
had been awakened from her dreams, for nothing more than an
unsympathetic piece of pasteboard. Lady Mabella Binks had
" called," and, for the present at least, this was all that came
of it!
As the Binks' brougham disappeared in the distance, Lucy
could not help experiencing a sense of disappointment. Since
her return home, she had been invited more than once to
luncheon, and to spend the afternoon in Wilton Place; but,
feeling in very indifferent spirits and somewhat shy of Adeliza's
fashionable friends, besides being unwilling to leave her great-
aunt, from whom she had lately been a good deal parted, in
total solitude, she had declined upon each occasion to avail
herself of the invitation. She found herself regretting this
now; Adeliza, who was probably still pursuing Captain Spar-
shott with her attentions, might" have been able to tell her
something authentic with regard to the Captain's commanding
officer. At any rate, when she had found herself actually at
Lucy's door, it seemed rather unkind, after all the affection she
had professed for her suburban cousin (for the two girls had
parted the very best of friends), not to come in and say a few
words of friendly greeting.
Lucy had seen and spoken to her little friend at " The Aspens"
several times since her return from the North. The first time
she had done so was only just before the old Frenchman's
unwelcome communication.
The child was wandering about alone, close to the boundaries
of Miss Elizabeth's garden, looking very forlorn in her little
black frock. She was nursing a large wax doll with a broken
nose, which was also dressed in deep mourning.
" Lots of people are dead," little Lily observed in explanation.
" The earth must be very full of dead people, and upstairs, in
the nursery, I've got a whole drawerful of dead dolls; so I put
my dolly on a black frock, to be in mourning for them; and I
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
209
tell her she must he sure and not die too, or else I shall have to
punish her by cutting off her head."
She looked very solemn and sad, Lucy thought, and her little
face wore an expression of quite grown-up pain and anxiety.
" My ayah's dead," she went on by-and-by; " God didn't mind
her not being white a bit, but took her up to live with Him in
Heaven. I daresay Heaven's a good deal nicer than Clapham ! "
" I daresay it is, dear," Lucy had answered, touched at the
child's earnest simplicity. She had already heard of the death
of the faithful black woman, and of Mrs. Van Buren's recently
assumed widow's weeds. Sorrow, which Lucy now realized must
come one day to all who are capable of feeling, had evidently
visited this poor child betimes.
"Jane washes and dresses me now," the little girl had con-
tinued, in the same tone of sorrowful regret; " but she doesn't
know how to do it properly, and let's all the soap get into my
eyes. She can't make my hair curl with only water, like my
ayah could, but has to put it up in paper every night, and. so
it's in hard knobs all over my head, and I can't go to sleep; but
last night, for a great treat, it wasn't curled at all, because Mr.
Perkins, who Jane's going to be married to some day, came in
just at my bedtime; but it doesn't signify how I look now,
because my mamma's gone down to stay at Brighton. If it
wasn't for my dolly, I should be left quite alone."
Little Lily went prattling on in the half-wise, half-foolish way
in which children are apt to talk when, through being cut off
from the society of companions of their own age, they have
begun to think too soon. Lucy felt for the child in her solitude,
and had she been sole mistress of Barlow Lodge would have
straightway lifted her and her doll over the garden-paling, and
taken possession of her for the rest of the day. As it was, how-
ever, she had to content herself with stroking her golden locks,
which certainly looked somewhat tangled and unkempt, and
with kissing the little face which seemed too thoughtful and
serious for the face of a child.
So, gradually, spring-time turned into summer. The fledgling
sparrows began with their independent bird-life, and the seven
lime-trees upon the Common, together with their fellows, burst
forth into all their fulness of leaf.
The water-cart went regularly to work now in the road in
front of Barlow Lodge, notwithstanding which the dust had
blown over the wall and powdered all the nearest flower-beds
like a miller's coat. Strawberries became cheaper and cheaper
every day, and were being hawked about by thousands upon
barrows. Nearly all the men upon the tops of the omnibuses had
taken to white hats, and there had been two cases of sunstroke,
and one of hydrophobia, in the vicinity of Ciapham Common.
Smartly dressed people from London went whirling by the
windows on their way to suburban breakfasts and garden-parties,
0
210
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
the ladies having for the most part, Lucy thought, faces looking
like beautiful barbers' blocks as they leant back in their open
carriages under white veils and pink parasols. The London
season, in a word, was just at its height.
But to Lucy Barlow the summer days brought no glad tidings.
Praying and longing ever " for the touch of a vanished hand,"
she. waited and watched, hoping, as it seemed, against all hope.
In vain, in vain! Had her image faded entirely from his
heart ? Was he trifling and flirting in London with women with
beautiful doll-faces, like those she saw driving past with the white
veils and pink parasols ? How much better to have been born
like one of these, if, indeed—as she unjustly assumed from their
appearance—they were merely the frivolous butterflies of passion,
than to possess such an intense capacity for loving, and feeling
pain!
During the first days of solitude and disappointment, she de-
rived consolation from the knowledge that Anthony had wrested
from her an avowal of her love, deeming, in the innocence of her
heart, that the certainty which he must now feel with regard to
her affection would serve to strengthen and confirm his own.
Love, she said to herself, begets love. Knowing how inexpressibly
dear he had become to her, was it possible that he could find it in
his heart to turn from her for ever without even one word spoken
of farewell P
But when, looking as she did upon the old Drench Professor
as an embodiment of all that was experienced and instructive
with respect to such matters, she had spoken to him upon this
subject—entirely in the abstract—his answers had not been
altogether reassuring.
He began with the formula which Lucy had learnt now to
expect from most of her elders, and which, monotonous though
it was, could not at any rate be applicable for ever.
" It is difficult, nay, almost impossible, to confide to a child
of your inexperience my opinion upon such a subject. Quotations
from authors who have made it essentially their study do not.
assist me much. ' Unefemme qui avo-ue qu'elle ciime cest un roi
qui cibdiquehere is an applicable quotation. But who is it that
avows her love ? The person of experience, the achieved woman.
The woman who has conferred upon her adorer substantial proofs
of her friendship and esteem, who has conferred them even with
too lavish a hand. Of all this, my dear Miss Lucy, you are still
profoundly ignorant."
" But I shall not remain ignorant always ? "
" Decidedly not. During the greater part of your existence
you will probably be enrolled amongst those who know, and you
will then discover that it produces often a demoralizing effect
upon a man to be aware that he is too exclusively beloved. It
was intended that the affection of the woman should be nourished
and developed by the devotion of the man, and it is this endear
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
211
votir to retain what he may at any moment lose through his
neglect, which raises him from the condition of an animal, and
makes of him a being capable of enjoying that higher life which
is known only to a few, and which cannot be experienced without
a complete self-abnegation. But a man will not call forth the
grand qualities that lie dormant in his nature, his chivalry, his
fidelity, the sacrifice of what may have been until now an in-
domitable will, for that which will flourish of itself. You cannot
induce him to esteem the passion he inspires because it is
greater, or nobler, or superior to that of another. He will not
regard it as a man regards a cabinet specimen. He will esteem
it more often because he has obtained it with difficulty, because
it droops, fluctuates, shows signs of becoming extinguished,
because he is obliged contantly to watch, to tend, to encourage,
and that, in doing all this, he calls to the surface his nobler
qualities. These, you may be sure, do not escape his own notice—
he is surprised at them, and admires them in himself, and so,
partly by the growth of his own self-esteem, he is rendered happy
in his passion."
Lucy pondered these words attentively, applying them, of
course, to her own case.
Had she, then, been unwise to confess her love ? "You know,
you know ! You have known it for a long time! " she had said
to him in the library at Palconborough Park, when his arms
were around her and his lips so close to her own. If she had
left him in doubt as to the true state of her feelings, would he
have been less cruel and less regardless of them since ?
Then, before she could arrive at any satisfactory conclusion,
the Professor had added these somewhat enigmatical words :
" But all I have said can be of no service to one of your in ex-
perience. My observations were for the achieved woman. With
you, my child, it is altogether different. Ho one as yet has up-
rooted you from the native soil of your innocence and planted
you in his garden, and it is not possible for a man to grow weary
of a treasure which he has never possessed."
CHAPTEE XXXVII.
The person styling himself "Lord Falconborough " had followed
up his first visit to Mrs. Van Buren by several other visits of the
same description. Each time that he found himself in her
presence his admiration for the lady's flashy attractions had in-
creased. He had been enabled to reveal himself upon the occa-
sion of his second visit, thanks to an accidental circumstance. A
letter had been brought to Mrs. Van Buren shortly after his
arrival. By the expression upon her face, he guessed at once
that it was a letter to which she attached some interest, and he
begged that she would read it without standing upon ceremony
o 2
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THRO' LOVE AND WAR
with him. She opened the letter thereupon, glanced at the first
words, and then, with a gesture of petulant impatience, thrust it
into her pocket. The envelope, however had fluttered to the
floor. Falconborough picked it up, and was about to return it to
its owner, when his keen eye detected the words " Falconborough
Park'' in spite of their being partly hidden by the seal. He
divined immediately who the letter was from.
" Why am I for ever pursued by these strange coincidences ? "
he murmured dreamily, as he gave back the envelope into Mrs.
Van Buren's hand.
Naturally enough, she begged that he would explain himself
further ; whereupon, drawing from his little finger a signet-ring,
he handed it to Mrs. Van Buren and begged her to compare it
with the seal upon her letter.
The same two heraldic creatures which had been observed by
Lucy Barlow upon hair-brush and blinker ! A facsimile of the
armorial bearings upon the seal of Mrs. Van Buren's letter, only
surmounted, in the case of the signet-ring, by a Viscount's
coronet!
Fuller explanations followed in due course. The young
" nobleman" revealed his pretended relationship to Anthony
Hepburn, and described, more or less correctly, the circum-
stances which had brought him into connection with Mr. Pod-
more and his affairs.
Mrs. Van Buren had never heard Colonel Hepburn refer to
any such first cousin, nor had he ever mentioned to her that
there had arisejL a claimant to his new estates. But his acces-
sion to the Falconborough property had occurred at a time when
the confidential relations, which may be assumed to have ex-
isted once between him and the wife of the Anglo-Indian official,
had apparently ended for ever, and, even at their very beginning,
he had never spoken to her much about his private affairs. The
close of the dramatic or emotional period had not been followed,
in this instance, by the dawning of a more enduring friendship.
The recollections of the preference which Mrs. Van Buren had
manifested for him in the past oppressed Anthony, it is true,
with an almost unendurable sense of obligation in the present.
He was unable to forget the smallest detail connected with his
Indian adventure, and he was not the kind of man who, because
a woman has made him the most important sacrifices, will deny
her the courtesy and attention which should always be the
privilege of the weaker sex. A man, however, may cloak a
woman when she is cold, or offer her his arm when she is weary,
and yet be removed, so far as his spirit is concerned, thousands
of miles from the recipient of these formal civilities.
The " flame " of Anthony Hepburn's boyish heart was utterly
uncongenial to him at the period of his awakened experience.
He had realized this sooner, perhaps, than most men would have
realized it, and he had become embittered by the disappointment
which such a consciousness had brought with it.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
213
Some of this bitterness and disappointment, as must needs
happen when such sentiments have once been called into exist-
ence, had reacted upon the being who unconsciously inspired
them, so that he had had to endure his full share of passionate
reproaches, regretful comparisons, and unprofitable repining.
The contrast which is nearly always apparent between a man's
demeanour during the hopeful or expectant period, and that
which he is wont to assume after all hopes and expectations have
been fulfilled, must have sent a death-chill to many a tender
heart, even where there exists a secret consciousness of dormant
affection ; and women are prone to speak about their grievances
to those they love.
Where the heart is not tender enough to feel, the vanity is
often all the more sensitive, and the woman who has been accus-
tomed to command will not be likely to endure the loss of her
sovereignty with equanimity.
" Aud lias it come to this ? . . . the suppliant rules! " *
she will say to herself, although, perhaps, in other words ; and
that a suppliant should come to rule at all, however benignly,
must always seem to her an injustice and an incongruity.
The man, therefore, who has " loved out," rapidly and irrevo-
cably, an unwise and an unlawful love, and who has grown
thoroughly weary of the woman who inspired it, cannot expect
thenceforward to derive much enjoyment from her society; and
of late years Anthony Hepburn's brief visits to "The Aspens"
had been distasteful enough to him to seem to partake of the
nature of a penance, which merited almost to be turned " to the
use of edifying."
Mrs. Yan Buren, although her complaints may not seem to
be deserving of much sympathy, had certainly some grounds
for discontenb. Colonel Hepburn, whilst denying her no luxury
or comfort which could minister to her personal well-being,
appeared almost, by the coldness and formality of his manner, as
though he were punishing her now for the favours which she had
bestowed upon him at, perhaps, the only period of his existence
when he could have appreciated them.
Looked at from a woman's point of view, there would seem
naturally to be something of injustice in this. Just, or unjust—
" What breath shall fire and re-inspire
A dead, desire ? "
And herein lay Mrs. Yan Buren's real grievance. Whenever he
found himself in her company, Anthony Hepburn was " lord of
himself " to a degree which seemed to her to fall little short of
being insulting. Upon him she had become utterly dependent,
even for her daily bread. From her, he neither desired nor de-
manded anything. He was her lover no longer, and yet more
than ever her master, and the advantage of his position over her
* Earl of Rosslyn,
214
THRO LOVE AND WAR
own could not fail to wound and gall her. It was no doubt in-
tended by Nature, that even where real affection exists between
two persons of different sexes, the man should seem to rule and
be strong, whilst the woman obeys and is weak. But I have
often wondered—being a woman myself, and so taking, probably,
the narrow feminine view in such matters—why a man who can
be so truly great, both by reason of his better brain and because
of his more vigorous physical strength, whenever he chooses to
display it, should so flaunt his power and glory before the eyes
of his female slave who, once she has become his slave indeed, is
about the most helpless and vulnerable of God's creatures ?
I should have thought, on the contrary, looking still through
my narrow woman's eye, that the really strong man, in the
presence of a being so miserably feeble, would out of common
humanity make no sort of display of his superiority; just as a
modest rich man might hesitate about pouring forth all his
wealth before a beggar. It seems to me that, if he felt bene-
volently disposed towards the beggar, and yet could not alto-
gether satisfy his needs, he would, at any rate, dissemble his great
riches for the time being, or even simulate a kindred poverty in
something—for there are ways in which we are all of us poor—
and so set the mendicant more at his ease without affecting much
the contents of his own money-bags.
Rich men, however, are often rather purse-proud than generous,
and although Dives may not have fed Lazarus with anything
very sustaining, he was no doubt pleased that the beggar should
see how sumptuously he dined.
Anthony Hepburn had as little of the ostentatious tyrant in
his disposition as was consistent with his manhood. Without,
however, making any conscious display of his strength, he ap-
peared to Mrs. Yan Buren to be painfully exempt from most
human weaknesses. Her tears, threats, and supplications were
wasted upon one who endured them less like a man than like a
statue of stone. They elicited no flow of tender or consoling
words, no generous vintages were poured forth from the hidden
cellars of his being to make glad her heart! She was powerless
now either to influence or to move him, and sought in vain in
the depths of his grey eyes for a ray of the sacred fire which had
inspired them once. In the presence of his former mistress he
was strong, impassive, and self-controlled. He was glad that
it was so, and she knew that he was both strong and glad be-
cause of his strength.
But now, to this woman, smarting under a sense of anger and
humiliation, a man had appeared who seemed to be as free from
all Anthony Hepburn's shortcomings as he was deficient, in
reality, in his nobler qualities. Young, handsome, eloquent, and
pre-eminently un-statuesque, Jfalconborough was the very
person to console a woman who was, or conceived herself to be,
the victim of neglect, The interest and admiration with which
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
215
lie regarded her, had evidently been mutual from the first. He
thought her beautiful, whilst she imagined that he was sym-
pathetic. He believed her to be rich, and she believed him to be
noble. In these circumstances, it was not wonderful that their
friendship should have advanced with gigantic strides.
In common with most women who have not mingled much in
intellectual circles, Mrs. Yan Buren was disposed to converse
about people rather than things, and the person in whom she
could take the most sympathetic interest was the " first person
singular." Whenever she enlarged upon the hopes, disappoint-
ments, and tribulations of this particular person, she found
herself thoroughly at home ; and Falconborough, who had just
entered upon the hopeful and expectant period, was only too
glad to listen, in the intervals between a good many similar
reminiscences of his own. The name of Anthony Hepburn very
naturally cropped up in the course of these confidential conver-
sations; but Mrs. Yan Buren's amour propre had not permitted
her to describe the facts of the case precisely as they were.
After listening to her account of the matter, Falconborough
had come to regard Anthony Hepburn in the light of an ardent
and importunate suitor, who had long pursued her with his
unlawful attentions, and who, over and over again repulsed,
had returned over and over again to the charge. The old Indian
photographs—one of them faded now to a pale mustard-colour—
went certainly some way towards confirming this impression,
and whenever he happened to find himself alone in the smaller
sitting-room at " The Aspens," Falconborough returned to the
contemplation of them with malicious satisfaction.
Alas! what memories they may awaken, those old mustard-
coloured photographs, which owe their existence to the rays of
suns that have for ever set; and how they may mislead and
torture, when they appear before us like spectres, tricked out in
their old-fashioned garments of the past!
Of the three Indian photographs, Falconborough preferred
the one which represented Mrs. Yan Buren on horseback. It
gratified him to observe Anthony Hepburn's slavish and obse-
quious attitude as he stooped down to adjust the stirrup-leather.
Supposing that he could wrest from this man, who had defied
him, the affection of this woman, whom it appeared evident that
he loved, would there not be good reason for him to triumph ?
And when, in addition to this, the woman in question was rich,
handsome, and seemingly not averse to respond to his advances ?
Must not such a situation seem, to a susceptible and revengeful
nature, to be fraught with the keenest possible dramatic interest ?
At the commencement of Falconborough's connection with
Mr. Podmore, it had merely been his intention to obtain some
sort of lucrative employment for a time, and to amuse himself,
whenever he happened to have the opportunity, by flirting with
his new patron's good-looking neighbour. He had determined
2l6
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
that the pour-'parlers relative to Mrs. Van Buren's evacua-
tion of "The Aspens," should not be brought to a conclusion
until he had grown weary of them himself, and he had devised
complications which would have the effect of detaining her at
Clapham whether Mr. Podmore desired it or no. But, as his
keenness for the adventure had become intensified by the min-
gling of warmer and fiercer emotions, he had felt impelled to
change his tactics altogether.
Pie was impatient now for Mrs. Van Buren to remove from
her present abode to take up her residence in London, where
the frequency of his visits would not be observed and commented
upon by Mr. Podmore; and all his persuasive eloquence began to
be directed towards the furtherance of this project, which did
not seem to be at all distasteful to the lady herself.
He commenced by expressing his sui-prise that any woman,
possessed of so many attractions, should consent to bury herself
alive within actually walking distance of the most brilliant
society in the world; and he then proceeded to lay great stress
upon the probably unhealthy condition of " The Aspens," which
condition, he was enabled to state upon authority, Mr. Podmore
had no intention of remedying at present. All seemed to be
combining satisfactorily towards the conclusion he desired, when,
with the news of Mr. Van Buren's death, Mr. Podmore's inten-
tions unexpectedly underwent a provoking change.
The reasons that he gave for thus departing from his original
plan appeared to Palconborough to be somewhat shadowy and
unsubstantial, and he at once suspected the existence, in Mi*.
Podmore's breast, of motives which he was unwilling to avow.
Money complications, Palconborough came to the conclusion,
lay, most likely, at the root of the matter. Mr. Podmore had,
perhaps, found out that he was unable just yet to set about
the demolitions and additions which were to transform "The
Aspens " into an estate worth three times its present value, and
he desired, probably, to retain Mrs. Van Buren as a tenant
until he saw his way to making these expensive improvements.
He had been a little too hasty, he averred, in his estimate of
the lady's character and position. She had possessed a real
husband, at any rate, who seemed, from an account which Mr.
Podmore had seen reproduced from an Indian newspaper, to
have been rather a distinguished person. Added to the ample
pay of an Anglo-Indian official, he had possibly a private
fortune of his own, and this would account for the luxurious
manner in which his wife and child had been enabled to live in
England—for the early peas, forced asparagus, and barrels of
native oysters. The " separation " had very likely been merely
an amicable affair of climate, for it seemed to be an almost inva-
riable rule that, when the climate of India proved congenial to
a husband, it disagreed seriously with the wife; and the
fashionably dressed young men who had driven down from
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
217
London in hansom cabs were, in all probability, Mrs. Yan
Buren's brothers. Perhaps, now that she had lost her husband,
and gone into such very respectable mourning, she might not play
andsing quite so loudly as before her bereavement. Andperhaps,
again, the change which had taken place in her circumstances
might necessitate her leaving " The Aspens " of her own accord.
Anyhow, Mr. Podmore did not see any particular reason, he
declared, why she should be as it were almost forcibly ejected.
His matrimonial projects, too, Falcon borough could not help
perceiving, seemed to have undergone several important modifi-
cations. Had Mr. Podmore ever really nourished any such
projects at all? the reader may be tempted to inquire.
When, some six or seven years ago, he had first made the
acquaintance of Miss Elizabeth Barlow, and had beheld her
great-niece, Miss Lucy, seated, hemming dusters, under the
gnarled medlar-tree in the back-garden, it may, perhaps, have
occurred to him that, as it is not good for man to live alone, he
would probably find himself one day on the look-out for a help-
mate, and that this sort of pretty, meek, duster-hemming kind
of wife was just the one that would be best suited to his need.
Or, it may have been that, as he was possessed of a somewhat
" fussy " and officious nature, and delighted in occupying himself
with other people's affairs, and in being looked up to as a sort
of benevolent Providence, he may have found the house of Miss
Elizabeth Barlow, who had fully ministered to his vanity in this
respect, a pleasant one to frequent; and in order to furnish him-
self with a plausible excuse for so doing, he may have hinted at
these shadowy matrimonial projects in the dim future ; or he may
even have advanced them from other and more unworthy motives,
with a view of obtaining possession of some of Miss Eliza-
beth's savings in order to invest them in shady and hazardous
speculations.
Perhaps, however, this apparent change in his plans was occa-
sioned by the changes which had taken place in Lucy herself.
Instead of the meek and subservient " childie " of the old
time, in her simple morning dress and flowery lawn-tennis
aprons, the gaping pockets of which—seeing that lawn-tennis
had never become established at Barlow Lodge—were filled
with tapes, bobbins, and buttons, instead of with india-rubber
balls, Mr. Podmore was now confronted, whenever he called at
Miss Elizabeth's residence, with what may have appeared to
him to be a languid and fashionably dressed young lady, who
treated him with coldness, not to say haughtiness, and who
seemed to have entirely given over the hemming of dusters.
The old Frenchman's indiscreet revelations, following as they
did upon a natural repulsion, had indeed rendered Mr. Pod-
more altogether odious in Lucy's sight. She regarded him
as a being to be classed with those "men-slugs and human
sepentry" to which the Quarterly Reviewers took exception in
218
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
John Keats' " Endymion," and with the view of averting, if
possible, his dreaded proposal of marriage, she had been at no
pains to conceal her feelings.
Between himself and this haughty and supercilious beauty,
Mr. Podmore may have perceived that there existed no
sympathy whatsoever. Miss Elizabeth had refrained from
questioning him of late as to his matrimonial views. Perhaps
she, too, would have desired that this matter should end by
dying a natural death, and Mr. Podmore perhaps saw no
reason why he should return to the subject uninvited. Sup-
posing that he had, indeed, irrevocably changed his mind, he
might find himself compelled, no doubt, to give some explana-
tion of his seeming fickleness, if Mrs. Elizabeth Barlow chose
to live on very long after the usually allotted time. If, however,
she departed this life within a reasonable period, he would be
spared even this ingenious effort of the imagination.
Thus it happened, then, that just as Falconborough was
congratulating himself upon having carried out successfully
his own as well as his patron's wishes, Mr. Podmore came to
the conclusion that it would be of more advantage to his in-
terests for Mrs. Yan Buren to continue his tenant. It was as
yet too early in the day for the young adventurer to act in
open opposition to received instructions, but with the assist-
ance of the lady herself he was enabled to fall back upon what
seemed to him to be a very satisfactory compromise.
Mrs. Yan Buren decided, after a good deal of vacillation, to
go down to Brighton for about a fortnight or three weeks, for
change of air; and at about the same time Falconborough also,
after mentioning to Mr. Podmore that a near relative of his own
was lying dangerously ill "in Sussex," took his way to the
same fashionable watering-place.
Acting upon the suggestion of her new admirer, Mrs. Yan
Buren did not take her child with her to the seaside. She left
little Lily at " The Aspens," under the charge of her own maid,
and making the most of this act of apparent unselfishness,
started off alone, with an agreeable sense of freedom and of
emancipation from maternal cares.
Notwithstanding that "his lordship" had begged her from
the first to make no mention of his name to Anthony Hepburn—
the cousin, between whom and himself there existed, as he
had informed her, a most unfortunate family feud—it was not
altogether impossible that, by a mere accident, these two men
might one day clash, and the notion of this contingency—un-
pleasant of contemplation as it was to Palconborough—did not
seem to be at all disagreeable to Mrs. Yan Buren herself. She
had had good reasons, perhaps, for taking a somewhat cynical
view of human affection, and shared Monsieur de la Vieilleroche's
theory, to the effect that the love of man is often stimulated by
Ci sense of insecurity or a dread of loss,
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
219
"Who could say whether, upon discovering that she had cap-
tivated this handsome young nobleman, Anthony Hepburn
might not be piqued into returning to his old allegiance ?
Judging by the behaviour of other men she had known, she
felt that this was not altogether impossible. The effect which
had been produced upon Falconborough by her confidences as
to his " cousin's " devotion had not escaped her notice. Might
not Anthony be influenced somewhat after the same fashion,
if rumours of " Lord" Falconborough's attentions were to
reach his ears ?
Animated by some such ideas as these, and overjoyed to
escape from the dull monotony of her suburban home, Mrs. Yan
Buren quitted "The Aspens " a few days previous to Lucy's return
from the North, and proceeded to Brighton, vid Clapham June-
tion, in order to join her new admirer and " play with fire."
CHAPTER XXXYIII.
About this time there came to Lucy a communication from the
outer world, in the form of a letter from her cousin Adeliza,
and as it contained a good deal of sound worldly wisdom, toge-
ther with an interesting piece of family news, I venture to
transcribe it in full:—
" My dearest Lucy," wrote Miss Binks, " since I last
wrote I have not had one single moment to spare, otherwise I
should have tried to make another assignation with you, so as
to have ensured a meeting. But it is impossible, with all our
numerous engagements, to be sure of what a day may bring
forth, and so I have never been able to fix upon a time ; and as
all my intelligence is sloughed away in replying to invitations,
I naturally avoid writing more letters than I can help. But
besides all this there is the everlasting question of dress. Putting
on, taking off, fitting, altering, letting out and taking in, and
buying bonnets and hats that go with one's gowns. Then,
just at the very last moment, when one fancies one is rigged
out becomingly for a ball or a garden-party, ten to one if you
don't find that your fan or parasol is of the wrong colour, or
that your best open-work stockings have run into ' ladders,' or
that your long gloves have all gone off to the cleaners ! Why
not dress in a more simple way, you will say, for living where
you do, you can go on, no doubt, through nearly the whole of
the summer with only a couple of frocks. In London, however,
you have no idea of the competition, and whilst one is upon
approbation one is obliged to make every possible effort to
please. Besides which, one is really bound, for the honour of
one's order, to try and cut out those horrid, flirting married
"women (chiefly Americans) who spend whole fortunes upon
220
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
their clothes, and who, not content with having captured ugly
but eligible husbands, endeavour to take away all the best-
looking and most agreeable men from us poor girls! However,
I won't say another word against married women, for I must
tell you I am about to become one of them myself! Yes, my
dear Lucy, Charlie Sparshott has at last come to what Algy
will speak of as 'the scratch,' and, I do assure you, I feel just
like a battered vessel that has got into port. I must relate
how it all came about, even at the risk of wearying you.
When first we came up to town, after that dreadful journey in
the train, when Guffy tried so very hard to destroy my pro-
spects, I must say I felt anything but sure of him!
" He is one of those people I am happy to know—for I dis-
cover new virtues in him every day—who are too honest and
too gentlemanlike to plunge into a flirtation unless they actu-
ally mean ' business,' and at that time he had evidently not quite
made up his mind.
" I was careful, however, to tell him our London address,
which I not only repeated several, times, but wrote down for
him on the back of an envelope, for I know what dreadful
memories young men generally have, particularly during the
season. I never heard or saw anything of him, however, until
well into the month of May, and, as nobody else better had
turned up in the meantime, I really felt upon the very brink of
despair, and was beginning to turn quite serious and religious.
The dear boy, however, had not forgotten me; for one Satur-
day, upon returning from paying some visits with mamma,
what should I see but his beloved card upon the hall-table !
"But as he had called just at the very time when I had told
him we were perfectly certain to be out—viz., between half-past
three and half-past four—I did not feel altogether encouraged.
The season for cotton-gowns and washing-silks had now arrived,
in which, I always think, one looks awfully well in the morning ;
and so, upon the following Monday, I asked Algy if he would
take me into the Park at half-past twelve, and as, although he
is selfish in most things, like all boys, he is very good-natured
about going with one to places where he is amused himself, he
at once consented. We treated ourselves to chairs and sat down
under a tree and watched the people who passed riding and
walking. I can't say that I much expected to see Captain
Sparshott, knowing that his regiment is not quartered in
London; being Monday, however, it was just possible that he
might have come up on Saturday to have his hair cut—as Algy
says.officers quartered near London constantly do—and remained
over the Sunday ; I had, therefore, just a ray of hope. As all
this was passing in my mind, I looked down the path, and saw
him looming in the distance walking with a friend, looking most
delicious, although not in uniform, and with a beautiful red
carnation in his button-hole.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" I looked hard at him, in order to attract his attention, and
was certainly under the impression that he saw me, and I should
have fancied, if I had never seen him again for him to explain,
that he meant to avoid us, for he suddenly darted across the
walk, dragging his friend through the row of chairs where there
was no natural opening, and continued his way behind us, down
the back path. As I don't suppose you have ever been really
in love, you will be quite unable to imagine my feelings!" (" As
I have never been really in love ! " Lucy could not help repeat-
ing audibly, as she read these words.)
" It turned out, however, that I was quite wrong.
" Captain Sparshott had not seen us ; being, what I had
never found out before, tremendously near-sighted. I felt, in a
few minutes, that he was passing behind me by a sort of electric
thrill which ran all down the back of my dress, but had not the
courage to turn round at once, and when I did so, he had got
very nearly as far as Hyde Park Corner. I was, of course, in
a state of utter despair, but kept my eye upon him all the same,
and saw him part with his friend, and then turn back and come
towards us, keeping, as before, to the path which goes down
behind the first row of seats. But by this time I had settled
upon a plan of action. When he reached the place where we
were sitting, I suddenly started up, pretending that I fancied
there was something wrong with the leg of my chair, and by
this means dear Charlie and I were brought face to face. Pind-
ing that escape was impossible, he drew up an iron chair from
the back row, and sat down.
"We plunged at once into conversation, I doing all in my
power to flatter and encourage him, when, by-and-by, what
does that miserable Algy take it into his head to do, but invite
him to luncheon, in a sort of generous, hearty manner, as if we
were accustomed to keep opemhouse !
" I positively shuddered when Captain Sparshott, who had at
first refused, yielded to Algy's importunity, and accepted, for it
was not mamma's day for asking people to luncheon, and besides,
being Monday, when there is always only cold beef and pickled
walnuts, I remembered that "Upjohn had asked permission to go
to his father's funeral (his father has had a funeral already at
least twice before), so that the door-bell would have to be
answered by a maid, which always looks so disgusting !
" As it happened, however, everything turned out for the best
—dear Charlie declaring that, next to me, cold beef was the one
thing he preferred—which was pretty strong, I thought, for a
first visit, particularly as being, as he said, ' rather chippy,' he
had only drank a pint of Apollinaris water ! When men tell
one that they are ' chippy,' one naturally feels that they have
been gambling, or plunging into all kinds of horrible dissipa-
tions, so it was quite a relief to me when he explained that he
had attended a very long military banquet upon Saturday night,
THRO" LOVE AND WAR
having come up to London for the express purpose, where there
had been a good deal of gas in the room, which always upsets
him ; and sure enough, upon looking through the Court Journal
upon the following Saturday, I saw that he had dined at the
Annual Regimental Dinner of the 18th Lancers, which had
taken place at "Willis's Rooms. One finds men out so often in
terrible falsehoods and prevarications, that it was a delightful
surprise to me to discover that Captain Sparshott had spoken
the exact truth!
"Mamma, who was a little taken a-back at first at our having
so unexpectedly brought home Charlie to luncheon, did not put
in an appearance until after that repast, when she came down
looking quite beaming and cordial, for which I felt, of course,
everlastingly grateful. She invited him to dinner, naming the
following Tuesday week, but upon that day he was, unfortu-
nately, already engaged. Mamma, then, to my great astonishment
and delight, asked him to name his own day, and after a good
deal of reflection he ended by selecting that day month—Tues-
day, the 23rd of June. It was rather a disappointment to me
that he should have fixed upon such a distant day, because one
felt that before it dawned an earthquake might have swallowed
us all up, or that one might have been driven, out of sheer
desperation, to take up with somebody else. There was nothing
for it but to wait, however ; for, as mamma has had to give up
going this year to Hampton Court on account of the lending of
apartments being abolished by the Government, my only chance
ot' a meeting with Charlie was in London.
" Well, my dear Lucy, the happy day came at last. As you
can fancy, I was in a great state of trepidation about the dinner.
Algy, who is very sharp about such matters, as he hears what
men say to each other after the ladies have gone upstairs,
fancied that Captain Sparshott*only drank Apollinaris water
that day at luncheon because he mistrusted the wine, and had
pretended that he was ' chippy' in order to save our feelings,
for it seems, after I had left the room, he poured out a large'
glass of mamma's favourite brown sherry, which he did not seem
much to care for, and left, and which Algy confesses he considers
a little ' treacly,' though this did not prevent him from finishing
it up afterwards, whilst Charlie and I were talking in the back
drawing-room. I made up my mind, therefore, to try and induce
mamma, who, as you know, is terribly economical, to get in some
really good dry champagne, for Algy declares that he has heard
men say that sweet champagne, which is certainly much the
nicest, sows the seeds of gout, and all sorts of horrible diseases,
though he says he has never found out that it disagreed with
him much himself. I was in a terrible state of mind, too, about
the cooking, for our own cook, although a most respectable
middle-aged woman, who was once married to a policeman who
ill-treated her and left her very nearly destitute, and who is not
TNROi LOVE AND WAR
223
at all a bad band atffried"soles, or a joint, is fearfully uncertain
with regard to her soups and entrees, and decidedly heavy-
handed with her seasoning.
" At first I thought of trying to persuade mamma to have in a
most excellent French man-cook we know of, who had once lived
with a member of the Royal family, but who can now be had
very cheap, having taken to drinking in consequence of the
failure of a building society in which he had invested his savings.
But I ended by abandoning the idea, having heard that one
could never be quite sure of him, and feeling that at such a
moment any catastrophe might ' do' for one's whole future!
As, however, Gunter's (the Motcomb Street establishment) is so
very near, it occurred to me that we might get in some Julienne
soup and two nice little made dishes, also some cream and lemon-
water ices; and I proposed this to mamma, although rather with
fear and trembling. To my great joy, however, mamma rose to
the notion like a trout at a fly, and Guffy was sent round at
once to enter into negotiations and bargain with the confectioner.
After a good deal of goinghackwards and forwards, mamma and
Gunter at last came to terms, mamma having said that she did
not mind the creme de volatile being partly made up of rabbit,
and that she preferred tinned peas to fresh ones with the lamb-
cutlets.
" Still, although everything seemed to be going on so smoothly,
I was dreadfully nervous by the time I went up to dress for
dinner. But I shall only weary you, my dear Lucy, by entering
into all these minute details. Suffice it to say that the dinner
went off very well indeed, though mamma was much vexed to
see that, after all our efforts, Captain Sparshott only partook of
the fried soles and the joint; for, of course, she had not gone to
the expense of delicious entrees, and cream, and lemon-water
ices to see them all gobbled up by Algy, which was what actually
came to pass. The champagne, however, which was got from a
place under the Pantechnicon, was pronounced excellent by
everybody. Mamma had had in six bottles, having come to an
understanding with the wine merchant that those which were
not opened were to be taken back, but to her surprise Upjohn
declared that they had been all finished, which I daresay might
have annoyed her if dear Charlie had gone away without ex-
pressing his feelings. When one has been, or fancied oneself,
in love as often as I have, and all to no purpose, I can't say
what a satisfaction it is when one gets at last a real, genuine
proposal. It took place upon the g/een velvet sofa in the back
drawing-room, and to my dying day I shall ever look upon that
spot as sacred ground! Mamma had invited three old friends
of her own who were fond of whist, and a young Scotch lady,
who can sing old Irish melodies,_but who always prefers that
people should talk whilst she is singing, as otherwise she feels
so horribly nervous. At first the elders all sat together and
22\
THRO% LOVE AND WAR
talked about their complaints and the high prices of everything,
whilst Algy sat by the piano, and encouraged our other guest to
' give tongue,' as he calls it, alluding, of course, to her singing.
Then, in the back drawing-room on the sofa, as I told you, it
happened at last, for the first time in my life I confess with
humiliation ; and one felt all the blood positively tingling in
one's veins with triumph and delight, and the feeling of how
pleased mamma would be to get me off her hands! I cannot
tell you what a change the whole thing has made in me, or how
differently I look upon Captain Sparshott since he has actually
come to the point! To write about being in love to a person
who has never been in that delightful state, is like speaking of
colour to a blind man, so, my dear Lucy, I will not weary you
with a description of my feelings ! When your own time comes,
as no doubt it will some day, you may be, perhaps, better able
to understand ! But although I have been writing all this time,
I have not yet arrived at the gist of my letter, which was written,
at mamma's request, in order to say that on Monday, the 6th of
July, this day week, we are going to have another dinner-party
here of the same character, and that we hope so much that you
will give us the pleasure of your company at a quarter to eight
o'clock. Upon that evening we propose entertaining Sir Timothy
and Lady Sparshott, dearest Charlie's father and mother; but I
shall not be unmindful of your interests, and so that you should
not be bored by looking on at our billing and cooing—for, of
course, Captain Sparshott will be dining here too—I shall get
mamma, if you agree to come, to invite one of your most devoted
admirers to talk to you!
" I daresay you wondered the other day when we left cards,
why we didn't come in and see you—for I might then have told
you all this, instead of writing you such an enormously long
letter ; but the fact is, mamma and I were on our way to Wim-
bledon to call upon dear Charlie's parents, who have taken a
house there for the summer, and wishing naturally to make a
favourable impression, I was afraid of getting in and out of the
brougham for fear of tumbling my dress !
" And so, my dear Lucy, I shall soon bid farewell to my hated
bachelor-state ; and I can assure you I am not sorry for it. I
shall not have time upon the evening of the 6th to give you the
result of all my London experience, but am determined to pass
it on to you one of these days, for I am sure that girls often miss
very good chances of getting settled in life more from ' green-
ness' and stupidity than from positive vice ! As for men, it
takes one at least three seasons to find them out; and even then
so wicked are they and so deceitful (of course I am not inclu-
ding Captain Sparshott, who has behaved always in the most
gentlemanlike way), that one can only know them by halves ! I
should say the kind of man to be most mistrusted in a general
way by a girl beginning a London life (particularly if one's
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 225
mother, like mine, is an invalid, and one's brother, like Algy, so
young and so greedy that he is always thinking of the refresh-
ments at balls and breakfasts, and never looks after one at all),
is the tall, good-looking, dyed, and 'done up,' middle-aged,
married man, with the plain wife (married, of course, for her
money), and the large and hideous family (all taking after the
mother's side), whose two objects in life seem to be to keep his
waist, and to make fools of all the pretty girls who are inclined
to flirt with him. He misleads one at first by his paternal
manner, introducing one to his eldest daughter, who is usually
quite as old as one is oneself, but a perfect noodle, and by
sending one tickets for cheapish entertainments, to which he
offers to escort one with his daughter, preferring generally night
things or places where there are bushes and summer-houses,
such as fetes at the Botanical Gardens, fireworks at the Crystal
Palace, &c. Here, the first thing he always does is to manage
to lose his daughter, and then gives one his arm and sets off to
pretend to look for her in all sorts of out-of-the-way corners and
conservatories, talking all the time the most absurd nonsense for
a man of his age, or trying to kiss one if one happens to be at
the Crystal Palace in the seclusion of the Pompeian Court, or
down by the artificial lake amongst the extinct animals ! Then,
when this kind of thing has gone on for some time, and other
people who might have had more honourable intentions, have
been kept off, his poor, long-suffering, bruised reed of a wife be-
comes jealous, and goes about vituperating one right and left,
behind one's back, until there is nothing awful that she hasn't
said of one, although one would not have been married to her
husband for all the untold wealth in the world ! This sort of man
is very easily found out if one is only wide awake ; and he sheers
off as soon as he is unmasked in search of some more confiding
victim, after begging one not to be such a ' little fool' as to tell
one's mother of his goings on and make mischief!
" But I have just remembered another kind of man, who is
even more dangerous than this one, and who is, of all others,
to be avoided, for I will not count the good-looking younger
son with nothing—who is afraid to propose because he knows
he will be refused—or the tremendously^ rich out-and-out
' swell,' who is afraid to do so because he is certain of being
accepted, and who puts off asking any one to marry him until
he is nearly eighty years old and wishes to spite his nephews! The
man I mean, my dearest Lucy—and I beg you will pay attention
to my words—is the man who is secretly but irrevocably tied up
with somebody that nobody knows anything about! As he is
seldom allowed to dine out or go to parties, he has plenty of
time to cultivate his mind, and he enjoys his liberty awfully
whenever he is able to get it; and yet, behind a kind of ' bird-
escaped-from-the-cage' manner, which prevents him from seem-
ing absent or inattentive, there is something melancholy and
226 THRO* LOVE AND WAR
resigned about him, which is, I must say, dreadfully attractive.
He surprises one by knowing all about one's dresses and one's
ways—for the mysterious object of his affections has taken
care to grind all the selfishness out of him, and taught him
exactly how to please women. Peeling that he is known not
to be a marrying man, he is perfectly at his ease, and not at
all afraid of committing himself, and so he strikes one at once
as being utterly and entirely different from everybody else ! But
believe me, my dear Lucy, he is not of the slightest real good to
us girls ; and, since my engagement to dearest Charlie, I feel so
benevolently disposed towards my whole sex, that I can't help
giving you these few hints for your future guidance ! As my
engagement is not yet announced, I have not received any
wedding presents, but expect, as soon as it appears in the
Morning Post, that they will come pouring in.
" How I wish that, without giving offence to common decency,
I could publicly proclaim that I should very much prefer really
valuable jewellery to trumpery ormolu, stuck all over with sham
onyxes, and that no author need present mo with his (or her)
works, however beautifully they may be bound ! I must con-
elude, my dear Lucy, by hoping that your own time may not be
long in coming, and that you will be as fortunate as I have
been in your choice.
" And now, good-by at last, and with my kind remembrances
to your great-aunt (oh, Lucy, how perfectly appalling to have
arrived at her age and still to be an old maid !),
" Believe me to be
"Your very affectionate Cousin,
"Adeliza Binks."
" One of your most devoted admirers ! " Lucy repeated to
herself, when she had finished reading this long letter.
Was it possible that Adeliza, brimming over with benevolence
because of the happy change in her own circumstances, could
actually contemplate inviting ?
After all, there was nothing so very preposterous in the
notion. Had not Adeliza and. her brother been cordially wel-
corned at Falconborough Park ? Was not Captain Sparshott a
brother officer ? Who could say what such a meeting might
not bring forth, however formal and constrained it needs must
be in the presence of company p Adeliza, however, had alluded
in her letter to a green velvet sofa in the back drawing-room, •
upon which Captain Sparshott, at any rate, had contrived to
make a proposal of marriage unheard. Might not Colonel
Hepburn also find an opportunity for saying a few kind words
in this same secluded spot, particularly if the nervous young
Scotch lady happened to have been likewise invited, and could
only be induced to sing one of her old Irish melodies just at the
right moment!
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 227
The bare hope, even, that she might be about to see Anthony
Hepburn again, came to Lucy like a breath of new life ; and,
after acquainting her great-aunt with the contents of the
letter, she sat down and replied to'it at once, warmly congratu-
lating her cousin upon her engagement, and expressing the
great pleasure she would have in availing herself of her hind
invitation to dinner on Monday the 6th of July.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
I wonder now not nearly so much as I once wondered at the
extreme rarity of the infatuation we call " Love," when it is in
its highest state of perfection. I am, on the contrary, sur-
prised, considering the number of ingredients that go to com-
pose it, and the years (with their memories, their joys, and
their sorrows) which must aid in the maturing of them, that it
should not be even a still greater rarity than it is; and I am
not astonished either, that those persons who have had no taste
of it themselves should disbelieve altogether in its existence.
Eor, like all the very best and most precious of earthly things,
the perfectly harmonious union of two beings of uttefly different
•natures must, of necessity, be uncommon.
Think of how much is required, independent of all individual
action or design, to bring it about in the first instanced It is
not enough, though this is one step to the good certainly, to
have been created with a heart capable of the warmest and
tenderest emotions. How many beings, secretly thus dowered,
have passed unblest through the barren spring and summer of
their lives to the time of withering and whitening, when even
Hope must perish! Xay, not all of them have endured to
this desolate season. Many have fainted and fallen by the
way. They are shut off from their fellows by the bars of a
madhouse, or the grey river crawls over them and their vanished
dreams, or they have so turned aside from their better impulses
that they are as much lost to life as the maniac or the suicide.
Ho; this first step to the good, the sensibility to emotion, is
not quite enough, at any rate for a woman.
She of the tender heart must meet with her predestined
counterpart, and he must be set up where she will know him
for what he is. Ages, tastes, the accidents of appearance and
position, should in some sort coincide, and even, I think, for
the better chances of a perfect understanding, the accident of
nationality, although love is not to be shackled and restrained by
such trifles as oceans, mountain ranges, or other geographical
demarcations.
Still, it is better that the two people who decide upon be-
coming, if possible, one, should begin by belonging to the same
country, because from the differences and disagreements which
p 2
228 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
will probably arise between them in the future, howsoever well
they may be mated, a goodly number at least, having to do with
creeds and customs of private living, down to the very manner
in which they bake, break, and eat their daily bread, will in such
cases be excluded, and it is something at any rate to be enabled
to make a fair beginning.
But yet, should external circumstances combine favourably,
something too is required of individual action and design, though
these will achieve nothing of themselves.
There must be courage, constancy, forbearance. Courage to
withstand unmoved the chorus of cruel and cavilling voices,
crying aloud that all men are false, that no woman is steadfast,
that crowned love will assuredly perish. Constancy of heart,
not only in the resisting of what may prove to be a temptation
when it has been too closely approached, but in the striving, for
loyalty's sake, by no inducement thus closely to approach it;
and besides this constancy and concentration of heart, there
must be constancy and concentration of purpose. Then for-
bearance on the part of both ; but chiefly, because he is so much
the stronger, on the part of the man, particularly when he has
to do with a certain sort of romantic, idealizing woman, who is
not able to love entirely without pouring forth her whole sub-
stance in oblation, and who stands thenceforward helpless and
bare in the presence of her master—discovered, conquered, and
despoiled, with no new gift either to give or to withhold.
There is a passion, a voracity, and yet a seeming hopelessness
about the loving of this kind of woman, which is ntterly unknown
to her more placid and complacent sisters, and which is nearly
always incomprehensible to its object. To be jealous, with a
jealousy which seems to sap the very mainsprings of existence,
and which reaches from the remotest past to the uttermost
future, is an agony reserved for imaginative natures alone; and
in matters connected with the emotions, women are generally
much more imaginative and susceptible than men.
The hungry tigress, crouched all ready to spring, will not be
over-nice as to the quality of her prey, and so, to a certain sort
of material and impulsive woman, the present, with its tangible
and available enjoyments, will be all-sufficing. "What need is
there of questionings, of comparisons, of torturing retrospec-
tions and anticipations ? What matter whether the idol of the
moment be fashioned of gold, or of the commonest clay ? Let
us enjoy the hour and let it go ! This is the sum-total of her
philosophy.
And so also, to the woman who is tender, trusting, maternal
almost in her instincts, whose heart is unseared by those fiercer
fires that consume or by the memories that embitter, the
present, with its sweet meed of requited affection, will bring
contentment enough.
" He has loved others," she may say to herself, " but so have
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 229
not all men ? Others have loved him in return, and no wonder!
He has fallen; how sorely he must have been tempted! He
has sinned, but has he not also suffered ? He has deceived me,
perhaps, but was he not bard pressed and eucompassed? I
forgive him, and I am so glad to show him that I am able to
forgive ! I have no wings that can carry me out from his pre-
sence into the perilous regions of fancy! He is kind, he is well,
he is here—and. I am content!"
But to the woman whose longings are keen as is the hunger
of the tigress, and who has lost all power either to conquer or
ensnare; who can outlove the mother in her tenderness and her
devotion, and to whom it is yet given to reflect, to imagine, and to
remember, God and man seem to be alike unjust and unmerciful.
To her, indeed, Jealousy is "cruel as the grave," and the
flame thereof " most vehement," since it is her accursed privi-
lege to assist, and look on in fancy, at the very incidents which
were the means of calling these sufferings into existence.
" So you are kind, I should not pause to ask
Where, or with whom, you pass the envied hour
That may not be for me ; what honeyed flow'r
Allures you, or in whose warm smile you bask
When I am absent! But, alas, a dow'r,
A fatal gift is mine, to lift the mask,
And rend the veil, and so I have the pow'r
To read your fancy like an easy task.
I ask, yet need not ask; I see, I know,
I feel, to all the sources of my being
The slightest secret shadow that may grow'
Across our path, till feeling, kuowing, seeing,
Even your vanished Past, I sigh, ' 'Twas so
He kissed her!' though 'twere twenty years ago!"
Heaven help the poor woman whose love has thus recoiled
upon her, and turned her into this miserable sort of snake-
tormented seer; for when, in such a mood, she passes trembling
and faltering into the presence of the beloved, there is scarcely
one man in ten thousand who will aim at even the most rudi-
mentary knowledge of what may be the inward and spiritual
state which, is productive of such unprofitable regrets !
It is the woman who sleeps well and eats well, conducting
herself rather more like a spectator than like an actor in the
struggle, who generally receives from man his most devoted
service, as seeming to him to be the embodiment of something
pre-eminently tractable and feminine, and her placid tempera-
ment enables her to grow fat, like the queen-mother of the
termites, or white ants, upon caresses.
It is she who triumphs, as a rule, over the poor slave of nerves
and fancies; and when she has succeeded in ousting her, the
comparison will always be favourable to the stolid usurper ; for,
considering the strength of man's physical and mental build, it
is astonishing how little he can submit to in the way of restraint
230
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
or disquietude, and notwithstanding that he is apparently en-
abled to fling aside his cares as easily as he can take off his hat.
So, then, there is forbearance needed, chiefly, as I have said,
on the man's part; but self-control, too, on the part of this first
sort of fanciful woman, so that the wings of her imagination
may not carry her too far afield; for though she can no more
change her inward nature than she can change the colour of her
eyes, the very weakest amongst us are able to dissemble—nay,
dissimulation is especially the weapon of the weak—and, with
the feigning of perfect contentment, it may be that contentment
itself would come to her in the end.
For my own part, so long as my bed was made and shared to
my liking, I would much rather not possess the faculty of seeing
further than the four posts of it, and I commend this sentiment
to all imaginative married couples. Human nature, however,
was made before bedposts, and men in the flesh and women in
the spirit have nearly always been incorrigible rovers.
But, ah! when all these pangs and anxieties have been endured
and overcome, when all asperities and disparities are softened
and reconciled by the soothing influences of time, how blessed
is the state of those two faithful lovers who have clung together
bravely to the end! Hand in hand, and heart to heart, they
sit as though enthroned up high over the heads of other men,
and seem to quaff the very nectar of the gods. Theirs is no
tinsel crown, no cheaply earned reward. What matter if his
locks be scanty, or her tresses silvered PThey are garlanded with
budding myrtles, the time of their probation is over-past, and
they can rest together in peacefulness and trust, and be content.
I had taken up my pen, meaning to proceed conscientiously
with this story, after saying just a few words, at the beginning,
having reference to love in the abstract. But the subject proving
congenial, these few words have grown into a long and prosy
dissertation; and Lucy Barlow and Adeliza Binks, with their
military admirers, have been left standing precisely where they
were before I sat myself down to write about them.
For this I shall endeavour to atone in the forthcoming chapter.
CHAPTER XL.
A few days after Lucy had received the letter from Adeliza
which informed her of her engagement to Captain Sparshott,
she took up the Morning Post, in order to see if this interesting
piece of intelligence had as yet been made public.
Glancing down the column upon which the fashionable news
is recorded, she came suddenly upon a couple of familiar names
—the formal announcement of an approaching marriage—not,
however, the announcement she had expected.
As one in a dream she read on to the end of the paragraph,
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
23I
and then paused, dazed and stupid, like a person who has uu-
expectedly received a severe blow.
These were the printed words that had met her bewildered
gaze :—" We understand that a marriage has been arranged, and
will shortly take place, between Colonel Hepburn, 18th Lancers,
and Leonie, widow of Gustavus Van Buren, Esquire, of the
Indian Civil Service."
"Colonel Hepburn, Mrs. Van Buren!" Lucy repeated the
two names in utter bewilderment, saying them over aloud for
the better comprehension of their unnatural union.
The newspaper fell from her hand, and she remained staring
vacantly at space. Eor some moments she could neither see
nor hear, a cloud of agony seeming to shut her off from all con-
sciousness of material existence. Then, by-and-by, her faculties
returned, as though oppressively intensified. The clock ticked
louder and more monotously than ever, whilst every object in
the room seemed to stand out with painful distinctness.
" Colonel Hepburn, Mrs. Van Buren!" How terrible—how
wonderful—how incomprehensible ! The idol raised by her un-
questioning devotion upon so high a pedestal, and the woman
who was not thought good enough by respectable Chapnamitcs
for their wives to visit! Between these two a marriage had been
" arranged," and would " shortly take place ! " What could it
all jnean ?
It was fortunate for Lucy, perhaps, that whilst she was in
this first state of bewilderment, and before she had come to
realize the actual significance of the paragraph before her, she
was forced by circumstances to control her emotion. Miss
Elizabeth Barlow had ordered her bath-chair at eleven o'clock,
and she expected her great-niece to accompany her whilst she
took the morning air, and eleven was just upon the point of
striking by the ticking timepiece.
As a rule the two ladies did not converse much upon the
occasion of these morning airings, experiencing a certain sense
of restraint in the presence of the chair-man. Lucy felt, there-
fore, that, by lagging a little behind, she would beenabled to
ponder over this terrible piece of news at her leisure, for it seemed
to her almost impossible to take it in all at once.
She put on her hat mechanically, settled her great-aunt in her
bath-chair, and started the chair-man upon his monotonous
course round Clapham Common.
Then, as she walked demurely behind, without visible sem-
blance or show of emotion, she commenced wrestling with her
misery under the modest shade of her white parasol, enduring
silently the most acute mental agony.
She recalled conscientiously all the circumstances which had
led to the gradual development of her love—from the day of her
first meeting with Anthony Hepburn in the railway carriage.
She perceived now, or fancied that she perceived, why he had
232 THRO* LOVE AND WAR
entered the train at Clapham Junction, and why—as was evident
from the respectful inquiries of the "Yet" relative to the
weather in the Isle of Wight—he must have previously inferred
that he was absent upon a visit to Cowes instead of to " The
Aspens." This discovery of what seemed like disingenuousness
on the part of one who, in spite of certain manly defects, had
appeared to her to be possessed of great nobility of character,
went like a sharp knife to Lucy's heart. Dissimulation, which
I have just referred to as being especially the weapon of the
weak, must always seem, to a woman, unworthy of man's
stronger nature. Surely it is a little cowardly of him thus to
invade her armoury and pick out her favourite weapon, when he
has at his disposal so many nobler means of self-defence ! So,
since the " Yet" would probably not have cared in the least
where the Colonel had been staying, Lucy wished now that he
had replied quite openly: " I know nothing whatsoever about
the weather at Cowes, because I have been staying at Clapham."
Then, woman-like, as soon as she had arraigned him and found
him guilty, she set about pleading with herself in his behalf.
Why, after all, might he not have stayed at Cowes previously
to having visited " The Aspens ? " He had started, perhaps,
from the Isle of Wight at an early hour upon that very morn-
ing, partaken of luncheon at Mrs. Yan Buren's, and then visited
the detachment of his regiment which was quartered at Hampton
Court, travelling (most unfortunately) in the railway carriage
in which she—Lucy Barlow—was unsuspectingly taking her
way. Because he had not at once blazoned forth to the world
precisely where he had been, and because, at the very commence-
ment of their accidental acquaintance, he had not confided to
her the whole story of his past, there was no reason why she
should imagine that he meant wilfully to deceive or betray. It
was evident that he was, by nature, rather reserved than expan-
sive; a man like Captain Sparshott might possibly have rattled
out many of the details of his private life during a first railway
journey. Anthony Hepburn, however, was utterly and entirely
different. Captain Sparshott and he were not to be mentioned •
in the same breath! But still, in spite of Colonel Hepburn's
habitual reserve, if she had not been more than usually blind
and deaf and stupid, must she not have suspected, from the
first, that he was involved in some sort of mysterious entangle-
ment ? Had he conducted himself in the train like a person
who was eager to embark upon any new adventure or flirtation P
No; he had at first taken no notice whatsoever of his fellow-
passenger, but had calmly and quietly composed himself to sleep
in his corner. Then it was, when his grey eyes seemed to be
quite fast closed under their dark lashes, that she had ventured
to allow her own to dwell timidly upon his face. He had
suddenly looked up, and smiled—which was only natural—
whilst she had looked down and blushed, which, after all, was
thro' LOVE AND WAR 233
only natural too. But then that foolish old woman had arrived
upon the scene—with the edible Chinese female dog with the
male name—and it was her persistence in the stupid blunder
that she had made which lay, in reality, at the root of all the
mischief. Lucy's own blunder, however, had certainly had
something to do with it as well. She had foolishly allowed
herself to imagine, after her meeting with Adeliza, that Colonel
Hepburn was the regimental "Vet." Supposing, after having
been courteous and respectful to him in the train (when she
had fancied that he must be, at least, a prince), she had become
distant and haughty to him upon her arrival at Hampton Court,
might he not have suspected that this change in her manner
proceeded from her having discovered that he was only a
veterinary surgeon ? And, seeing that we are all of us fashioned
out of the same sort of clay—although there seems, certainly,
to be a good deal of difference in the way in which it is kneaded
into shape—we ought always to be so particularly careful not to
wound the susceptibilities of our so-called social inferiors !
Perhaps, however, in thus striving to steer clear of any show of
pride, she may have allowed the interest she felt in her new
acquaintance to carry her a little too far in the opposite direc-
tion. Perhaps, when she had so unexpectedly found herself
alone with him in the shadowy passage which looked into the
tennis-court, she ought not to have permitted him to take her
hand ? This momentary contact had called into existence some
sort of mysterious magnetic influence, which had reduced her
ever since to the helpless condition of a slave ! Then came the
Boldero dance, bringing with it the discovery that he was not a
veterinary surgeon after all. The revulsion of feeling occasioned
by this intelligence must have totally confused and unnerved
her for the time being, otherwise how could she possibly have
been so imprudent as to wander forth, with almost a total
stranger, into those shadowy, ghost-haunted corridors ? How
could she possibly have allowed ? Oh, sacred and never-to-
be-forgotten evening! Oh, balmy and delicious summer breezes!
Oh, silvery moon ! Oh, whispering fountain ! and ye too stern
Imperial Caesars in your rounded niches ! Ye were the silent
witnesses of Lucy Barlow's initiation to the first soft mysteries
of love !
But now—was this enchanting dream to end as suddenly as
it had begun ? Were all the romance and excitement and joy
in living to pass away from her ?
In the library at Falconborough Park Colonel Hepburn had
evidently striven to prepare her for what might one day happen.
" I am a coward," he had said to her upon that memorable
afternoon—" a miserable coward; " and then, when she had
taken his words literally, and expressed ber surprise, he had ex-
plained that it was in moral courage that he had discovered him-
self to be deficient. "Without displaying personal cowardice,"
234
TliRO' LOV£ AND WAR
he had continued, " a man may sometimes find himself in a
position where a bold stroke would put an end to much that
he feels to be both irksome and humiliating, and he may yet be
wanting in the courage to strike."
To what could these and his ensuing words possibly refer, but
to his humiliating entanglement with Mrs. Van Buren?
But, then, how had this same interview ended ?
" I love no one but you," he had declared; and he had drawn
her to him, and held her in his arms. He did not then feel any
affection for Mrs. Van Buren; or was it possible for a man to
be in love with two women at the same time ?
So Lucy continued—reproaching, pleading, extenuating—as
she walked behind her great-aunt's Quakerish black bonnet and
fringed lilac parasol of past date, unconscious of these as of all
other visible objects.
By the time that she had made the entire circuit of the Common
and was facing Barlow Lodge upon her homeward way, Anthony
Hepburn was absolved from all charge of duplicity or intent to
deceive. She herself—lured on by a whole host of combining
circumstances—had been the first to embark upon this miserable
adventure. For this she was now being punished according to
her deserts. "Words were powerless to describe her wretchedness,
and, even supposing that they had been forthcoming, to whom
were they to be addressed ?
Mr. Podmore's "chaste" brougham was drawn up at the outer
entrance of Palmyra House, and its proud possessor was standing
just inside the gateway, drawing on a pair of tightly fitting
lavender kid gloves. Miss Elizabeth prodded the bent back of
the patient chair-man with her parasol, and the squeaking and
grating vehicle came to a standstill.
Greetings of a friendly character were, of course, exchanged.
Mr. Podmore had forgotten his keys, it was explained, and the
faithful Hitchens had gone back to the house in search of them.
Luc}r, who had gradually encouraged in herself a feeling of posi-
tive repugnance to Mr. Podmore, purposely averted her gaze,
after a polite but formal " Good morning," lest his round green
eyes should discover her misery. Inadvertently she looked in
the direction of " The Aspens," and the sight of the gateway
which Anthony must have entered so often made her faint and
sick at heart. Turning her gaze for comfort in an opposite
direction, she encountered a face that seemed somehow to be
familiar. An elderly lady, finding the pathway blocked, had
apparently been obliged to diverge into the high-road, making
the tour of Mr. Podmore's brougham. She had regained the
pathway immediately to the rear of Miss Elizabeth's bath-chair,
and was now looking back as though seeking for some one who
should have followed her.
" Changie! Changie! Ohangie ! " she began calling out, with
an abortive attempt at a whistle.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
235
It was the deaf and blundering old lady of the edible Chinese
female dog.
Was it likely that she would recognize Lucy ? It was a little
over a year since they had met. During that meeting, however,
they had been seated close together. They had conversed. The
deaf old lady, as if to compensate for her defective hearing,
seemed to possess a keen and penetrating eye, and Lucy's face
was not one to be easily forgotten.
Yes; she appeared to remember Lncy at once, and she ad-
vanced, smiling, to the back of the bath-chair.
" Ah, my dear madam ! " she exclaimed effusively, " charmed
to see you again after our agreeable railway journey iast summer.
4 Changie' and I have been taking a little run upon Clapham
Common—am I right in supposing that we are neighbours ?
And your kind, good husband? I trust he is in the enjoyment
of good health."
" Changie's " voluble mistress—as is sometimes the case with
deaf people—was in the habit of talking as though all mankind
partook of her infirmity, so that it was impossibie for Mr. Pod-
more to avoid overhearing her remarks.
At the allusion to Lucy's " husband," and to her journey with
him in the train, he pursed up his mouth with an expression
which seemed to say—
" How very reprehensible and shocking! " and, at the same
time, " I almost thought as much! "
Poor Lucy became suffused with painful blushes at the words
of this persistent jumper at wrong conclusions. It seemed now
to be too late in the day to say—
" That tall gentleman was not my husband. He was no rela-
tion to me whatsoever. I had never set eyes on him before !"
"For why, pray," the old deaf lady might naturally rejoin,
"should a young person like you be travelling alone with a
gentleman to whom you were not related ? And, if he was not
related to you, why in the world did you not tell me so before,
instead of appearing to encourage me in my mistake ? "
So it seemed quite a fortunate circumstance to Lucy that just
at this moment " Changie," who had toddled off in the direction
of the Cedars Road, should have fallen in with an ineligible
member of the canine race—a bold, big, mongrel "of the baser
sort"—who appeared inclined to become far too familiar.
" Changie's " mistress, after a, few incoherent words, flew off,
brandishing her umbrella, in order to nip this imprudent ac-
quaintance, lest it should blossom and bear fruit; and all danger
of an embarrassing explanation was over for the time being.
" 'Your kind, good husband,' " Lucy repeated to herself, when
she had gained the seclusion of her own bedroom. Words which
might have filled her heart with such joy and peace and grate-
fulness to God! But, alas, seeming only a bitter and miserable
mockery when they were applied, as now, to a cruel and un-
faithful lover!
236
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
CHAPTER XLI.
Fifty times at least before the date of the Binks's dinner-party
Lucy was upon the point of writing, to excuse herself from
keeping to her engagement.
It was extremely unlikely now, she said to herself, that Anthony
Hepburn would dine in Wilton Place, and, even supposing that
he should be there, what could such a meeting bring forth save
pain and misery to them both ?
But then Hope, which " springs eternal in the human breast,"
began whispering to her that perhaps after all—who could
tell?—some unexpected complication, some sudden turn of events,
might delay, or for ever frustrate, this unnatural and ill-assorted
union ; that it would be some sort of consolation at least, how-
ever matters were destined to end, to see him just once more
before he was irrevocably bound to another; and that, supposing
she failed to avail herself, through cowardice, of this last oppor-
tunity for so doing, the memory of her faint-heartedness would
probably haunt her all the days of her life. Finally, a second
letter which she received from Adeliza Binks decided her, come
what might, to adhere to her engagement.
" I have not the least doubt," her cousin wrote, " that you re-
ceived quite a ' turn ' upon reading in the Morning Post the
announcement of the approaching marriage of one of your most
devoted admirers—and to such an odd person, too; nobody that
anybody has ever heard of except me, and I had only suspected
that she existed from a few dark hints which dearest Charlie
has let fall, from time to time,, in the course of conversation.
Knowing, however, what base, inconstant wretches these men
are (with, of course, one beloved exception), I should not have
been so very much surprised even if I had not had my suspi-
cions; but I felt how awfully upset you would probably be, and
meant to have written to you at once, but was prevented by a
woman who came with most lovely nightgowns and delicious
peignoirs, &c. &c., for mj trousseau; and as it happens lam
glad I did not fire off a letter upon the spur of the moment, for
now, dear, I am enabled to throw you a sort of crumb of com-
fort. Here it is: 'Dearest Charlie ran up against the individual
in question the other day in Piccadilly, and at once asked him—
in his frank, cheery way—whether he oughtn't to congratulate
him ? Whereupon he merely put on rather a surprised ' stand-
offish' sort of manner, and declared that he had no notion of
what Captain Sparshott meant; and when dear Charlie pro-
ceeded to explain that he referred of course to the paragraph in
the Morning Post, he said he had no idea whatever of how it
came to be put in, so that Captain Sparshott thinks after all
that it is quite possible the report may turn out to be an entire
fabrication, although a certain individual did not positively deny
it, and dear Charlie has several reasons for suspecting that it
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
237
may contain a germ of trutb. He looked, however—Captain
Sparshott says—exceedingly ' down on his luck'—anything but
like a person who is going to marry for love, and dearest Charlie,
who is the very essence of tact, perceiving immediately—as he
told me—that he had ' put his foot in it,' turned the conversa-
tion upon other subjects. But I have no doubt that we shall be
better informed by Monday, and know for certain whether it is
' to be, or not to be !'"
So there was still just a ray of hope.
Colonel Hepburn had denied all knowledge of the terrible para-
graph, and he had looked unhappy—" anything but like a person
who is going to marry for love."
Lucy was too much of a woman not to feel a good deal re-
vived by this piece of information. Unconsciously, too, she de-
rived some sort of solace and encouragement from reviewing in
detail Mrs. Yan Buren's imperfections.
As she was not personally acquainted with her she could only
go by what she had heard, and the voice of rumour, she acknow-
ledged, was not always very reliable. Still it was evident from
her appearance that the occupant of " The Aspens " was not a
woman of much refinement. " That vulgar, that magnificent,
that insupportable woman! " These were the terms which the
old French Professor was wont to make use of regarding her upon
the rare occasions when he alluded to her at all. She was large
and flaunting in appearance; she dressed in all seasons with un-
necessary extravagance and ostentation, and her voice, at any
rate when she sang, seemed to Lucy to be exceedingly shrill and
unsympathetic.
How could Anthony Hepburn have cared for such a woman ?
she asked herself over and over again, in her girlish ignorance
of all the subtle influences, imaginary as well as real, which may
combine towards the beguiling of " a young man's fancy." How,
if his nature was what she had conceived it to be—proud, critical,
fastidious—could he have been in the least attracted by Mrs. Yan
Buren in the first instance P And how, assuming that he had
been thus attracted, could he have felt afterwards the slightest
inclination for one so utterly different from this former object of
his affections as was she—Lucy Barlow ?
For it was evident to Lucy from the first moment of her pain-
ful enlightenment, that she must be different in every respect
from her " magnificent" next-door neighbour. Not, of course,
superior upon this account (she was not vain enough to encou-
rage such a supposition), but still certainly different, and with a
difference that she Could not altogether regret.
There exists a natural tendency on the part of woman, when
she finds herself in the sad situation of having been deserted for
another by the man she loves, to dwell for comfort upon any de-
fects which may seem to be apparent in her more fortunate rival;
and she is even prone to anticipate and forestall those which are
238
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
as yet less fully developed. As for example : " There is an im-
perious look in her eye," she will say to herself, " which shows
that she has been accustomed to command. How will he endure
her tyrannies when he was too proud to yield to my entreaties ? "
Or,
"She is vain, ostentatious, extravagant; to me he always
preached humility, economy, moderation."
Or, to descend to personalities—
" She is too massive and unwieldy in figure; at forty she will
have grown into a porpoise."
Or,
" What a ratlike and insignificant creature ! By-and-by she
will shrivel up like a mummy !"
Or,
" I am told that she takes a very large-sized shoe," and so on,
ad infinitum.
Alas! poor straggler upon the stream of destiny, snatching so
eagerly at these unsubstantial straws ! The man who has for-
saken you may desire, indeed, that the woman he has turned to
in your stead could become endowed with some of your many
virtues and attractions. He may miss in her of a truth your
slavish submission to his will, your humility, your moderation,
your trim figure, or your small foot. But you yourself, taken
and considered as a whole, he will neither miss nor desire. The
tale is told and the sands in the glass have run down. The tale
that is twice told becomes weai-isome, and the hour that has run
out is done with and dead. The sunshine of his love has de-
parted from you for ever, and neither your own good qualities
nor your rival's shortcomings will make it glow for you again.
Least of all will he be touched by the manifestations pf your en-
during affection. He will make almost a grievance of the fact
that it has survived his own. " Ce sont de bien jolis vers," Louis
XIV. is said to have admitted after he had read poor Louise de
la Valliere's harrowing verses of farewell, " mais, malheureuse-
ment, je ne l'aime plus! "
Whether to Lucy Barlow or to Leonie Van Buren belonged
the better right of being classed with the deserted heroines of
history, my readers will judge for themselves. Certain it is that
in Lucy's breast there arose much of the bitterness and humilia-
tion which is the portion of those who have loved and been de-
ceived, and by the time that Monda}r the 6th of July had dawned
her recent experiences of man's inconstancy had made her feel
at least ten years older.
Nevertheless, in spite of these painful emotions, she dressed
herself with more than ordinary care, and it was quite impossible,
she found, as she stepped into the hired brougham which her
great-aunt had provided, to prevent her heart from throbbing
and fluttering with hope. Miss Elizabeth Barlow, who was
personally acquainted with the driver of the hired brougham—
THRO* LOVE AND WAR 239
a most respectable married man with a large family—commended
Lucy to his paternal care with many injunctions as to steadiness
of pace, &c. &c., particularly when he came in sight of the rail-
way bridges, with their shrieking and flashing trains; seeing
that his horse had, as she remarked to him, " a very frisky and
ferocious look ;" and she conjured him also to be sure to be in
waiting at the door of Lady Mabella's house in Wilton Place,
at half-past ten o'clock punctually; and, moreover, to announce
to Lady Mabella's servants that Miss Lucy Barlow's carriage
had arrived. But still, as it was possible that Lady Mabella's
dinner-party might not break up quite so soon, he was to be pre-
pared to be kept waiting some time longer, perhaps; and as it
was not to be expected that Lucy would be home much before
half-past eleven o'clock, by which hour it was highly important
that Sarah, the parlour-maid, who, as well as Mrs. Pilchard, the
cook, had to be stirring betimes, should have retired to rest—
" Here, ray dear child," Miss Elizabeth had concluded with
solemnity, " is the latch-key of the front door, and also the key
of the outer door in the wall. I have never entrusted them to
any living creature in my life before. Sibthorpe " (the name
of the driver) "will wait, I hope, until you have opened the
inner door, and pray be very careful to bolt it afterwards, both
at the top and bottom, and also to fasten the chain."
Lucy took the keys with a due sense of responsibility, and
placed them, as she did not possess a pocket in her evening dress,
in her bosom, where they would, of course, be perfectly safe, and
attainable at a moment's notice, since the discomfort they
occasioned could not fail to remind her of their whereabouts.
Sibthorpe, having been so earnestly entreated to be careful,
set off at a snail's pace, although his horse was long-toothed
and hollow-backed enough to have been deemed worthy of im-
plicit trust.
Lucy, who was in a perfect fever of nervous excitement and
anticipation, relieved the monotony of the first part of the drive
by putting on her gloves and arranging her silver bangles, but
although the gloves were fashioned to suit the exigencies of
modern taste—that is to say, of considerable length, and took,
consequently, some time to adjust and button—she had quite
finished drawing them on before she arrived at the turn to the
Cedars Road, and then again all was fever and impatience.
" Will he be there ? How will he look ? What will he say,
and how shall I be able to meet him with proper composure ? "
were the thoughts that kept on agitating her brain.
" Oh, do go on a little faster!" she exclaimed at length,
tapping the front window of the fly impatiently with her fan;
for she felt that it would be a great advantage to be amongst
the first to arrive, instead of having, perhaps, to come tottering
and faltering into the room under the gaze of those wonderful
grey eyes!
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THRO' LOVE AND WAR
They were within sight now of the first of the railway
bridges, and a train went dashing and screaming over it as Lucy
spoke, but the long-toothed, hollow-backed one displayed neither
fear nor emotion. Sibthorpe by desire made a feint of applying
the whip, without, however, producing any perceptible result,
and by the time that they had arrived at Chelsea Bridge, she
was in the last stage of feverish impatience.
But at length the river was crossed, and the snail-like animal,
after turning to the right, just short of the Barracks, traversed
Ebury Street, and made its way through Chester, Eaton, and
Belgrave Squares, to "Wilton Place.
The clock of St. Paul's Church only pointed to twenty minutes
past seven when " Miss Lucy Barlow's carriage" drew up at
Lady Mabella's door, and, by the look of consternation and
embarrassment upon Upjohn's face, she perceived that she had
arrived a good deal before the appointed time.
" Perhaps it is better thus ! " she thought to herself, as she
proceeded upstairs with a fluttering heart.
Upjohn, who possibly may not have been quite such a fool
as he looked, coughed several times in a marked manner before
entering the drawing-room, and rattled the door-handle.
Lucy was under the impression at first that the apartment
was empty, but, upon glancing towards the back drawing-room,
she perceived Adeliza and Captain Sparshott seated together
upon the green velvet sofa.
" Gracious goodness!" exclaimed her cousin, starting up from
her seat, " you are early! Charlie has come half an hour before
the time to help us with our arrangements, but we didn't expect
you," she added, in rather a tone of disappointment, " until a
quarter-past eight, at least."
CHAPTEK XLII.
It was a terribly anxious moment for poor Lucy when the guests
began to arrive in good earnest. Every time the drawing-room
door was flung open her heart seemed to start off at a fresh
gallop.
The party was to consist of twelve persons altogether, Adeliza
had informed her; " rather a risky number to invite," her cousin
had added, " as a thirteenth person—a relation, or somebody
one couldn't help asking to stay on, was very nearly certain to
turn up unawares ; and so many people objected to thirteen ! "
More than this, however, Lucy was unable to ascertain.
The family-party, so to speak, was already assembled—to wit,
Lady Mabella, Algernon, her son (who was to assume the
responsibilities of master of the house "for this night only "),
Adeliza and Captain Sparshott, and Lucy herself. Eive persons
in all; ergo, seven more were still expected. Would he be
amongst them or not ?
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
241
It was evident that Lady Mabella, in spite of her habitual
limpness, was capable of rising to an emergency, and of making,
upon important occasions, the necessary effort.
" The mother has pulled herself together wonderfully, hasn't
she ? " Algernon whispered to Lucy, as his parent entered the
drawing-room. " You mustn't think that she's collared the
family diamonds, but my Uncle Belmorris allows her to wear
them for the present. If he's unkind enough to get married, you
•know, she'll have to give them up again."
Lady Mabella, indeed, without looking positively handsome,
presented, now that she was arrayed in the Belmorris family
jewels, a very refined and distinguished appearance. She had
disposed them about her head and ears, something after the
fashion of a charger's trappings, mounted upon a structure of
black velvet. Her dress was of course black, as usual, and of
the same vague and indefinite form ; but she had replaced the
skimpy fringed shawl, so often associated with deserving penury,
by a black lace wrap, partaking rather of the character of a
mantilla—so that, although the little furrow of resignation to
martyrdom was still upon her brow, she looked less like a dis-
tressed needlewoman than some " wan cathedral saint," who
might have been prevailed upon to come to a London dinner-
party wearing her aureole.
Adeliza, aware of her mother's rooted distaste for all mental
and physical exertion, had taken the chief responsibilities of the
evening upon her own shoulders, and had now established her-
self close to the doorway, where she was busily engaged in
conning over the names of the guests, which she had set
down, according to their order of precedence, upon a scrap of
paper.
How Lucy longed to know whether one particular name had
been inscribed there or not! Perhaps the whole idea was evolved
out of her inward consciousness, and there had never been any
intention of asking him to dine in Wilton Place! The bare
notion of such a possibility seemed almost to paralyse her with
despair. What should she do—having braced herself to this
supreme effort—if her hope of seeing Anthony once more were
to evaporate into thin air ?
Lady Mabella sank languidly upon the sofa, close to Lucy and
her varied emotions, whence she could command the doorway at
which her daughter was standing. Captain Sparshott, with
laudable show of devotion, hovered about his affianced bride,
whilst Algy, stationed at one of the windows, was ready to
give the very first intimation of the arrival of any of the ex-
pected guests.
The clock upon the chimney-piece struck eight just as Lady
Mabella had finished buttoning her black kid gloves, and
almost simultaneously the same hour was more solemnly pro-
claimed from St. Paul's Church over the way. Within a very
Q
242
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
few minutes Lucy would know either the worst or the best—as
it seemed to her—that she could now hope for.
Her sense of hearing became so intensified that she felt as if
she would have surely recognized Anthony's step even if it
had pleased him to come on foot.
Almost before the church clock had finished striking she heard
the sound of approaching wheels—grating and hesitating, as if
the driver was considering the numbers of the houses—then a
carriage drew up at the door. It seemed, however, to be too'
slow and too heavy for a hansom cab.
" Oh, I say ! " exclaimed Algy from his post at the window,
" here is a rummy turn-out! "
Lady Mabella drew herself up for a moment, and assumed a
more animated expression, whilst Adeliza gave a little start of
expectancy. Captain Sparshott sauntered up to the window and
looked out.
" Ah, I thought so," he observed quietly ; " it's the old family
mustard-pot! " And he took up his position again by Adeliza's
side.
It was, in truth, Sir Timothy and Lady Sparshott, in their
old-fashioned yellow chariot. They had started from Wimble-
don in good time, seeing that their horses were fat and well-
stricken in years, and so had arrived punctually at eight o'clock.
Upon hearing of the arrival of " dearest Charlie's " father
and mother, Adeliza also flew to the window, upon a pretence
of eager affection, but in reality to administer a sharp pinch to
her brother to enjoin discretion: for the parent Sparshotts had
almost as much right as their time-honoured equipage to be
described as " rummy," and, as the houses in Wilton Place have
the advantage of possessing a small garden between their front
door and outer gate, there would be every opportunity for
observing them, as it were, "in the open." After these two
first arrivals, the knocks upon the front door fell thick and fast,
until, by a quarter-past eight o'clock, eleven souls in all (count-
ing both the guests and their entertainers) were assembled in
Lady Mabella's drawing-room. One person was still to come.
Who could it be ?
Lucy, who was by this time in a terrible state of agitation,
began counting over the company, in order to discover the pro-
bable sex of this lingering guest. Six women, and only five
men. The belated one was evidently a male !
" Shall we go on waiting for him any longer?" Lucy heard
Adeliza whisper to her mother.
" I think, dearest, we had better go on waiting," Lady Mabella
made answer.
" I should think we'd much better have up the dinner," cut
in Algy ; " he's evidently missed his train."
" Don't you see that it'll put out all my arrangements if we
don't wait, you stupid boy ? " returned Adeliza, in a tone of
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
243
irritation; " and that a lady will have to go down by herself?
Of course you're much too greedy to care, but I would rather
wait on. You remember how late our train was the last time
we came from the North ? "
The train from " the North ! "
A thrill of gratitude, as for a crowned hope, electrified Lucy's
whole being. Probably he had been staying at Ealconborough
Park, and had only arrived in London that very evening. • No
wonder that he was a little late !
Adeliza now presented^Lucy to a short, stout, elderly man,
with gold spectacles and dyed whiskers—Doctor Somebody—
but she was unable to catch the entire name. He began to
converse upon a variety of uninteresting subjects—all subjects,
indeed, except one, would have seemed uninteresting just at this
moment. She replied mechanically and abstractedly, for she
was listening all the while, with a beating heart, for the coming
of the expected hansom.
After she had imbibed quite an exhausting dose of the Doctor's
platitudes, Lucy observed that Adeliza was again displaying
signs of perturbation. She'consulted the clock anxiously, com-
pared it with that of the church, and then whispered something
in her brother's ear. The guests, having got through the ordi-
nary amount of before-dinner small talk, relapsed for the most
part into a languid silence, as though fearful of encroaching
upon the supply which had beem reserved for the enlivening of
the repast itself, for which it was evident that they were grow-
ing rather impatient.
" If you'll only ring the bell for dinner," Lucy heard Algy
suggesting, " you'll see that he'll be sure to arrive directly.
People always do."
Thus adjured, and seeing that it was nearly half-past eight by
both the clocks, Adeliza somewhat reluctantly rang the bell. Upon
this occasion, at least, Algernon Binks proved a true prophet.
Almost before the bell had left off tinkling, a swift-speeding
" hansom " drew up outside, with a jerk which brought one of the
wheels on to the kerbstone with a grating sound familiar to all
Londoners. Its doors were flung open with a bang, and a quick
footstep was heard coming along the stone-paved way between
the garden gate and the front door. The longed-for, yet terrible
moment, had at last arrived !
Poor Lucy, in a state of breathless emotion, leant eagerly for-
ward, so as to get a good view of the door, which was now partly
obscured by the stout figure of the Doctor.
"The Hearl of Belmorris ! " cried Upjohn, flinging open the
door as wide as it would go.
Lucy would never have believed, only a little while ago, that
she could have been so filled with bitter disappointment at the
sight of a faithful and valued friend.
But "humanlongings," says George Eliot, " are perversely oh-
Q3
244
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
stinate; and to the man whose mouth is watering for a peach
it is of no use to offer the largest vegetable marrow."
Lucy Barlow was not a " man," any more than Lord Bel-
morris was a " vegetable-marrow," or " large" ; but the adage is
applicable nevertheless, as it was his lordship's misfortune at this
particular moment to play " marrow " to Anthony Hepburn'E
" peach."
He began by excusing himself on account of the lateness of the
hour. The train from the North, as Adeliza had surmised, had
been behind its time, and this had "thrown everything out."
Then he drew his niece aside, into a corner :—
" So you've landed him at last! " Lucy could hear him whisper,
the overstrung condition of her nerveshaving intensified her sense
of hearing; and he thrust a sealed packet into Adeliza's hand.
Lady Mabella next presented her brother to Sir Timothy Spar-
shott and his lady, but before many words had been exchanged
Upjohn announced that dinner was served.
" Oh, do look, mamma! " cried Adeliza, who had by this time
opened the sealed packet; " what a beautiful diamond bracelet!
How very, very kind of you, my dearest uncle ! I always said
that I so much preferi*ed jewellery to anything else."
But the guests were waiting to be sent down to dinner in their
proper order, so, after one more admiring glance at her uncle's
wedding present, Adeliza proceeded to marshal them in couples.
" Algy dear, as master of the house, will you take down Lady
Valentina Winnington ? Dear Lady Sparshott, you have already
made the acquaintance of our Uncle Belmorris ? Miss McTavish,
you behold your fate in General O'Reilly! Doctor Winnington,
you are to take down my cousin, Miss Lucy Barlow. Charlie,
you know that you have become my property. Sir Timothy, will
you kindly give your arm to mamma ? "
Upon entering the dining-room, Lord Belmorris, who had not
yet spoken to Lucy, beckoned her towards the place next to his
own, so that she found herself seated at the table between " the
Earl and the Doctor." By this time, however, she was over-
whelmed by such blank despair, that everybody in the room, in-
eluding the sporting nobleman upon her right, seemed to be alike
indifferent to her.
Until dinner was actually announced, she had been buoyed up
by a thousand wild expectations, and had fixed her eyes foolishly
and feverishly upon the drawing-room door, in the mad hope that
by some miraculous chance, brought about by her yearning
prayers, the thirteenth guest, whom Adeliza had spoken of as
" very nearly certain to turn up " at dinner-parties of twelve,
might suddenly put in an appearance, and might prove to be the
one whose presence she so eagerly desired.
But now even this absurdly improbable hope (for upon such
occasions it is not always possible to hope quite reasonably) had
been finally blighted, and all was despair and disappointment.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
245
Lucy's legitimate partner at the feast was that same Doctor
Winnington whose elopement only a year or two ago with Lady
Yalentina de Bohun had been a nine days' wonder. How dif-
ferent he was from the ideal Doctor of Lucy's imagination.
And how different too was that ideal—stiff, formal, and unim-
passioned—from what seemed now to her to be the only one ad-
missible type of manly perfection !
The real Doctor as beheld in the real flesh—of which he had
an abundance and to spare—was a being of another species
altogether, plain, vulgar, and apparently consumed by a ridicu-
lous vanity. Kind-hearted, perhaps, and possibly intelligent in
his profession, but the very last person one would naturally have
associated with a " ladder of ropes " and a clandestine marriage.
But then, Lady Yalentina was externally quite as unattractive
as her husband ; and had Lucy at this moment been in full
possession of her critical powers, she might perhaps have given
utterance (mentally, of course) to some such remark as that of
the little girl who, after looking on in surprise at the blandish-
ments of two affectionate earwigs, exclaimed with disgust, " Hor-
rid creatures ! I wonder how they can be so fond of each other! "
The Doctor conversed to Lucy about the grand personages
with whom he was intimate, of the confidence they reposed in
him, of the delicate missions with which he was constantly en-
trusted by them, and of their protestations of gratitude and
eternal friendship.
She heard what he said certainly, but only indistinctly, reply
ing vaguely and abstractedly, as a person might reply in a dream.
Lord Belmorris, who sat upon her right, seeing her looking so
intensely wretched, glanced at her with affectionate concern, but
beyond begging her sympathetically to pass him an adjacent
salt-cellar, and inquiring, in the same tone, whether the French
roll which was set between them was her property or his own,
he was unable during the commencement of dinner to express
his feelings in words, because of the amiable importunities of
Lady Sparshott, to whom he had been told to make himself par-
ticularly agreeable.
By-and-by, however, whilst Dr. "Winnington was compliment-
ing Lady Mabella upon the deliciousness of her second entree (a
replica of that same mixture of creme cle volatile and rabbit to
which reference has been made upon a former occasion), he took
advantage of a crash of plates to murmur in Lucy's ear—
" My dear child, what in the world's the matter ? Is there
anything I can do to help you ? "
To which' Lucy answered gratefully but incoherently, and
speaking likewise in a whisper— '
"Oh, no, no ! Indeed, you can't do anything ! You would
only think I was mad. Thank you a thousand times."
" Do tell me!" he pleaded earnestly ; "I might be able to do
more than you think."
246
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
But before Lucy had time to answer him, the Doctor, having
finished singing the praises of the second entree, turned to her
again, and took up the thread of his narrative—for she realized
now that he had been narrating an anecdote of some sort for a
considerable time—where he had broken it off.
"Well, now, to proceed : how do you suppose the noble lady
in question behaves in this critical emergency?—for I don't
mind telling you this much—(which won't be any kind of breach
of confidence, for if you were to go down on your knees to me, I
shouldn't tell you her name!)—that she is a personage of the
highest rank and distinction—a duchess, in fact—though one of
my very kindest and dearest friends, as I feel sure she will con-
tinue to be to the end of our existence in this wicked world—
well, how does-this dear good woman proceed ? 'There's only
one human being in the whole of Europe,' says she to the Duke,
' who can possibly get us out of this infernal scrape'—(I don't
mean to say that these were her grace's actual words, but I give
you the gist of them—she made use of an expression very nearly
as strong)—' because,' she was good enough to say,' his wisdom,
his benevolence, and, above all, his discretion, are known to be
altogether without parallel; and you and I, my dear, have had,
I think I may say, proofs of all three. This dear, good friend
of ours, who has stood by us in so many vicissitudes, will help
us now with his valuable judgment and advice, and will pull us
out of this horrid mess if anybody in the world can. We must
send immediately for our dear Doctor Winnington !'"
Lucy probably made use of such conventionale xclamations
as " Yes ! " "ISTo ! " "Really ! " " Oh !" "Exactly ! " "Fancy!"
&c. &c. &c., in their proper places, for the Doctor continued his
story without appearing to be conscious of her lack of interest.
He succeeded, of course, in extricating his noble friends from
their "infernal scrape;" but how he managed it, and what was
the nature of their " horrid mess," Lucy found afterwards that
she had not retained the faintest notion.
Lady Sparshott, however, had seemingly grown jealous of
Lord Belmorris's interest in his left-hand neighbour, for Algy,
who sat upon her other side, was too much occupied with his
knife and fork to make much effort to divert her, and she had
taken quite a fancy to the sporting Earl, having been, as she was
at some pains to inform him, a most enthusiastic sportswoman
herself. Lord Belmorris, therefore, would have been prevented
from continuing his sympathetic inquiries, even supposing that
the Doctor had not resumed his wearisome story.
Lady Sparshott, previous to her marriage with Sir Timothy,
had been a provincial belle of some reputation, and she retained
even now, in spite of a rather weather-beaten appearance, decided
traces of good looks. It was from her, no doubt, that the Captain
had inherited his sporting proclivities and his knowledge of
horse-fieshj since Sir Timothy, as his wife remarked during the
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
247
course of dinner, notwithstanding that he had been reared in
the country, and, like his son, had entered the army at an early
age, "did not know the difference between a hunter and a chest
of drawers."
During the first portion of her married life she had followed her
husband's regiment both at home and abroad; and some of her
military reminiscences were exceedingly racy and entertaining.
She had a way, however, excusable in an old campaigner, of
calling persons and things by fine, simple, Biblical names, of
conscientiously dotting her " i's " and crossing her " t's," which
Adeliza foresaw might possibly make Lady Mabella feel rather
nervous, particularly before company, for with regard to such
matters she was somewhat over-squeamish and "lady-like."
Upon Sir Timothy's retirement from the army, Lady Sparshott
had resided with him at Sparshott Priory, county Tipperary—
the ancestral home of the family—where she had devoted herself
to dog-fancying and to the pleasures of the chase. In one of her
hunting accidents, however, she had had the misfortune to break
her leg; complications ensued, which had necessitated a serious
surgical operation—in a word, " dearest Charlie's " mother was
now the possessor of a cork leg. It was since the time of this
occurrence that Sir Timothy, in order to divert his lady, who was
now debarred from so many of her favourite amusements, had
passed a portion of each summer near London. The atmosphere
of the town itself had been pronounced bad for the asthma from
which he suffered, but it was quite possible to enjoy a little polite
society whilst living at Norwood or Wimbledon.
Sir Timothy himself seemed to possess less individuality than
his wife. He was a large, heavily built man, with a bald head,
and a face like that of an elderly cherub. He spoke in gusty
whispers, on account of his asthmatic affection, and puffed like
a walrus after the slightest physical exertion. Lady Sparshott,
whenever she was within hearing, answered for her husband, in
order to spare him superfluous labour, for, although she was in
the habit of speaking somewhat slightingly of him in public, and
was wont to express great contempt for all prudish and strait-
laced notions; besides, having been surrounded in her youth by
a crowd of military admirers, she was in reality a pattern of
conjugal devotion, her "bark" being, as Algernon expressed it,
" a good deal worse than her bite;" whilst, as for " calling a
spade a spade," this was done, in the opinion of her future
daughter-in-law, entirely in order " to shock people who were
too particular, and give them a scare."
Adeliza, who was seated at dinner between Sir Timothy and
his son, behaved with commendable self-denial, neglecting her
affianced in order to assist her mother in entertaining the
wheezing baronet, although she found it, as she afterwards re-
marked, " most awfully uphill work."
Lady Mabella had not been " taken down " by Lord Belmorris
248
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
—the personage entitled to pay this penalty of greatness—
because, as the reader may remember, he strongly objected, on
account of the existing consanguinity, to be coupled with his
sister during the whole of dinner, added to which it had been
deemed advisable in the present circumstances to yield the
place of honour to Sir Timothy.
Captain Sparshott, as Lucy could not help observing, after a
glass of the boasted Sub-Pantechnicon champagne had some-
what steadied her nerves, was much more silent and preoccupied
in manner than was his wont. Possibly, on account of his ap-
proaching alliance with the family of his entertainers, he may
have shared in some of their anxieties; or, perhaps, he was ap-
prehending a more formidable outbreak of the paternal asthma,
or a more than usually pungent anecdote from the maternal
lips; 01* it may have been that Miss M'Tavish (the young Scotch
lady who could sing old Irish melodies), who sat upon his right
hand, knowing him to be already betrothed, and in consequence,
as Adeliza had expressed it, referring to a different person, "not
of the slightest real good," did not go to much pains to entertain
him, but addressed herself chiefly to General O'Reilly, who had
taken her down to dinner. The General, a dried-up veteran, who
occupied an appointment of some importance, conversed a good
deal upon military matters. Alarming news had arrived lately
from South Africa—our troops had met with reverses—and the
General's prophecies regarding coming events were listened to
with attention.
Matters would become a good deal worse, he feared, before
they grew better. The movement was of far greater importance
than people seemed to imagine; the British reverses in South
Africa would seriously affect our prestige in India: more troops
ought to be sent out, and that at once.
" Your regiment won't have to go out, will it, Charlie ?" Lucy
heard Adeliza murmur to her betrothed. "It seems only the
other day that it came back from foreign service ; surely they
won't send you out again just yet! "
"No, I'm afraid they won't," returned the Captain,in rather
a disappointed tone. " Worse luck! "
"'Worse luck!' Oh, you naughty, unfeeling boy! Don't
you call that a very hard-hearted remark of your son's, Sir
Timothy ? " and she turned playfully to the asthmatic Baronet,
whose reply Lucy was unable to catch.
" I must say," the Captain went on by-and-by, still speaking
as with something of regret, " I should like to see a little real
fighting, for that business with the Afghans was merely child's
play. Lots of fellows '11 volunteer, whether their regiments are
ordered out or not;" and he twirled his dark moustaches re-
flectively.
"'Volunteer!' what a horrible idea! returned Adeliza, as
though aghast'. " ' Real fighting' isn't intended for engaged
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 249
people, is it, Sir Timothy ? You must leave that to poor'miser-
able, solitary wretches, who have nobody to care for them, or to
men who have married unhappily, and want to get away from,
their wives."
" When I was a young woman of about your age, my dear,"
cut in Lady Sparshott, speaking across the table, " I was only
too proud to follow my husband wherever his regiment was
ordered; and if everybody had had their rights, I should have
gained my Crimean and Indian Mutiny medals as honestly as
Sir Timothy. Girls were different, however, in those days, and
weren't nearly so keen as they are now about their comforts.
Many's the time I've slept upon the bare ground with nothing
but a waterproof for my night-shift, for, whenever we were
skimped as to our baggage, I always preferred taking out the
weight of a camp-bedstead in something else. But the worst
hardships I ever went through in my life was when we were
lodged in so-called ' comfortable winter quarters,' when I and
Sir Timothy had to cram into a bed only six foot by three.
Never shall I forget the ' B-flats ' and the snoring of the men! "
_ Captain Sparshott, who had heard before of the discomforts
his mother had endured upon the occasion to which she alluded,
looked a little nervous and responsible during this speech. He
seemed to breathe more freely, however, after her mention of
the "B-flats," perceiving that the calling of these little members
of the genus disgustans by so polite a name was a proof that she
did not desire to ride roughshod over Lady Mabella's suscepti-
bilities.
Lucy's spirit, meanwhile, was wandering miles away, hovering
over all sorts of varied scenes, to which she travelled with sur-
prising velocity. Now she was at her bed-room window at
Hampton Court, in the first early days of her infatuation, over-
looking the glimmering river, with the cavalry barracks upon
her right, in one of the rooms of which she pictured Anthony as
he lay asleep, with his sword and sabretache slung over the bed-
post. Now she was seated with him upon the oaken bench near
to the Haunted Gallery. She recalled, with the utmost vividness,
all the sensations she had experienced, of mystery, of awe, of
enchantment, upon that never-to-be-forgotten summer night,
and of how, mingling with these, there had been a vague sense
as of a consciousness of predestination and ominous historical
coincidence—a fear, an inward struggle, a pleading for protection
against she knew not what incomprehensible danger, which had
seemed somehow to be mixed up with Henry VIII. and Katherine
Howard, and the cruelty and inconstancy of man. And then
there were his kisses, to the accompaniment of distant music
and a murmuring fountain.
She could recollect every one of Anthony's words upon that
memorable evening. " When a man was thoroughly tired of a
woman," he had said, amongst other things, "the kindest
250
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
thing he could do to her sometimes would he to cut off her head;"
and she remembered how, after this strange speech, he had sighed
quickly, but for which she would not have believed that he was
in earnest. Whose head would it be kind of him to cut off now,
she fell to wondering; her own or Mrs. Yan Buren's?
"You remember the three Miss Bolderos, Lucy, dear, at
Hampton Court, don't you P and our friend ' the Yet ? ' "
It was the voice of Adeliza appealing to her across the table.
Observing her cousin's abstracted manner, Miss Binks was de-
sirous of recalling her wandering spirit. Lucy started.
" Oh, yes," she answered; " I remember them quite well; and
I remember the 'Yet' too."
"Well, only fancy! Charlie tells me that 'Beauty' Boldero
and he have eloped together. It's caused the greatest sensation
in the Palace, as you may imagine. How could she possibly
have liked such a little monster P "
" The 'Vet's' a very good little fellow," returned Captain Spar-
shott loyally; " and at Miss Beauty's time of life it doesn't do to
be too particular. One has to take what one can get."
" Do you really mean that she mayn't care for him ? " asked
Adeliza, assuming quite a shocked expression; " but that she
only wishes to get a husband? Well, for my own part, rather
than marry any one I didn't care for, I'd go into a convent 01*
thx*ow myself into the Thames."
Lord Belmorris smiled at Lucy during the expression of these
high-flown sentiments. He met, however, with only a very feeble
response, for she had once more started off upon her travels, and
was journeying rapidly to " the North " by a train which is never
behind its time. She had gone over in spirit Anthony's stay at
the Castle and the library-scene at Falconborough Park, Lord
Belmorris's personality the while being but dimly shadowed
forth, merely as a sort of accessory or supernumerary person,
when the voice of Lady Spar shott recalled her to the present.
" The mare slipped up backwards," she was saying, " and then
set to and rolled over me several times, so that if I hadn't been
made of pretty tough stuff, I should have been squashed as
flat as a pancake. My skirt was completely torn off me, and
there I lay, in only my boots and 'inexpressibles!' By-and-
by, a young fellow rode up to my assistance. ' I'm not a bit
hurt," said I, trying to get up; but I found that I couldn't stir
to save my life, and when I looked down I saw that one of my
legs was bent all the wrong way, like this "—(she hastily dashed
off a rough sketch of the position of the legs upon Lady Mabella's
best damask table-cloth with the point of a fork). " It looked
so odd," she went on, " that at first I couldn't help laughing,
for I never felt a twinge of pain, only a sort of numbness. I
can tell you a different story, however, when they began cutting
off, my high boots to make splints of. ' Good Heavens,
Georgie!' said Sir Timothy, riding up at the moment, 'yon do
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
251
look a figure of fun, and no mistake!' ' Fun or no fun,' I
answered, " they tell me I've broken my right thigh, and that
it's a ticklish place for a smash. You may very likely find, one
of these days, that you're tied to a woman with a cork leg !'
and, as it happened, my words came as true as Gospel."
During this account of her ladyship's hunting misadventure,
Captain Sparshott's good-looking face again assumed an expres-
sion of anxiety, and he appeared to be relieved when the anec-
dote was concluded, although he could not have failed to appre-
ciate the motive which had induced his mother to substitute the
word " inexpressibles " for " breeches."
But at last this dinner, which seemed to Lucy to be so hope-
lessly interminable, came to an end, and the ladies proceeded to
the drawing-room. Lady Sparshott, who graciously begged
them, because of her lameness, to " stand not upon the order of
their going," being assisted upstairs by her future daughter-in-
law, last of all.
As soon as the gentlemen had finished their wine, the young
Scotch lady turned to her old Irish melodies, and proceeded, as
Algy had expressed it, to " give tongue " vigorously.
Whilst she was singing to the assembled company in the front
drawing-room, the back room was entirely deserted. Anthony
would have had ample opportunity, supposing that he had been
present, to have whispered a few tender words of farewell upon
the green velvet sofa. What was the use, however, of thinking
now, about what might have been p
Before " Miss Lucy Barlow's carriage " was announced, Sir
Timothy and his lady bade good-night to their hostess, as they
had so long a drive before them. Captain Sparshott, who had
promised to sleep that night at Wimbledon, accompanied his
parents, and all the pleasure of the evening was over for Adeliza
Binks. One by one the other guests prepared to depart, and in
another ten minutes Lucy and Lord Belmorris were all that
remained of the party.
Upjohn now informed Lucy that her carriage was at the door,
and she too rose to depart.
" Oh, do stay a little longer, Lucy ! " exclaimed Algy, forcing
her back again into her chair. " All those tiresome people are
gone now, and we're just going to talk them over !"
CHAPTER XLIII.
When the family were once more alone, Lady Mabella immedi-
ately assumed "the recumbent position," being, no doubt, fatigued
with her unusual exertions.
" I am glad that it is all over," she murmured, as she sniffed
languidly at her smelling-salts. " Don't you remember, dearest
Gussy," she went on, addressing her brother, " how poor dear
252
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
mamma used always to say that baronets'wives had so very often
a decided touch of vulgarity, and that it was one of the things
she was never able to account for ? I think dearest mamma was
hardly ever wrong."
" Rather liked the old lady myself," returned Lord Belmorris.
" Plenty of pluck, and all that, and yet just as tender-hearted
as a spring-chicken. You'll be able to ride her on the snaffle, I
should think, Addie ! "
" I like her very much indeed," said Adeliza demurely. " She
seems to be so very kind and good-natured; and I like Sir
Timothy very much too, although he wasn't very easy to get on
with at dinner. I think I'm an extremely fortunate girl."
" I'm sure I think so too," exclaimed Algy, in his discordant
tones ; " although you did hold your head so high when you first
came out, and talked such ' rot' about marrying a Duke ! And
I'm sure I hope baronets' wives will have improved by the time
that you're one yourself; you'll have to try and polish them up
a bit, for I suppose we needn't go on pretending any longer that
we fancy Charlie Sparshott's a second son, need we ? "
"I must say, Algy, that you haven't got particularly polished
manners yourself," was all that Adeliza condescended to reply.
" What can make them like this, I wonder ? " murmured Lady
Mabella dreamily, as she screwed and unscrewed the top of her
smelling-bottle. " I'm sure they usen't to be quite so bad.
They seem to have become much worse lately."
It would not have been easy to make out from her words
whether she was alluding to the degeneracy of smelling-salts or
of baronets' wives, for it was her habit to wander from one
subject to another without confiding her mental transitions to
her listeners.
" They used to have a very strong pungent smell," she went
on by-and-by, " which made one's eyes water directly they were
opened. The fact is, they are too much adulterated."
" Ah ! mamma is going to talk about her complaints and her
remedies," whispered Adeliza in Lucy's ear, " which won't be at
all amusing. Come into the other room for a few minutes ; I
want to give you a little advice before you go." Adeliza led her
cousin into the back drawing-room, and the two girls seated
themselves upon the green velvet sofa.
" I can see, my dear," said Adeliza, in a low voice, " that you're
not quite yourself to-night. You're unhappy about something.
Has it anything to do with the paragraph in the Morning
Post ? "
Adeliza spoke much more kindly and tendei'ly than usual,
Lucy thought. Now that she was evidently about to be sympa-
thized with, it required all her fortitude to prevent her from
breaking down and'bursting into tears. She pressed her cousin's
hand gratefully, but could not trust herself to speak. By-and-
by Adeliza continued:—
THRO' LOVE AND .WAR
^53
" I'm sure it's about that without your telling rne. Well, I do
assm-e you, my dear Lucy, that if I were you. I would give up
all idea of marrying the individual in question, and turn my
attention to something more profitable. It's my firm belief that
he's no good whatsoever, and that even if he doesn't marry this
dreadful woman he's irrevocably tied up with her somehow.
Even dearest Charlie, who's awfully devoted to him and wouldn't
say a word against him to save his own life, confesses now that
it's always been suspected in the regiment that he had some-
thing mysterious hidden away somewhere, although he wasn't
the kind of person that any one could ' chaff' about it. One
can't expect of course that men can behave exactly as if they
were angels with wings sprouting out of the back of their necks;
but still there are limits to one's forbearance, and in this case
I'm sure it would be much wiser to forget all about him. I don't
believe that you're really in love!"
" Ah !" sighed Lucy, with a sad smile. " This sort of sound
practical advice, which is always so easy to give, seems often
somewhat difficult to follow."
" Without saying a word against him," Adeliza went on,
" Captain Sparshott has told me several things about him, in
the strictest confidence, which would have made my flesh posi-
tively creep if I'd had any hopes of him myself. One day, for
instance, at Hounslow, when he had been up to London, he
brought back a large parcel with him and left it on a chair in
the mess-room. Dearest Charlie opened it by mistake before
several of the other officers, and what do you think it contained P
An immense wax doll, with blue eyes that opened and shut by
pulling a wire."
" A wax doll! " exclaimed Lucy. She was too unsophisticated
to divine the new vistas of speculation which this discovery must
have opened out to Anthony Hepburn's brethren in arms.
" Tes, a wax doll," her cousin repeated, pursing up her lips.
" Dearest Charlie was so frightened that he dropped it as if it
had been a scorpion, and he's afraid he must have, damaged its
nose, after which he carefully wrapped it up again so that Colonel
Hepburn shouldn't know that the parcel had been undone; and
next day he mysteriously disappeared, taking it with him, and
saying something about running down from Saturday till Mon-
day to stay with a friend in the Isle of Wight. How, wouldn't
this have opened your eyes P "
" What, the wax doll P I should have thought that he'd bought
it as a present for his friend's child." •
" Ho doubt," returned Adeliza mysteriously, " and that child
—was ? "
" Ah, I see what you mean. You mean that it was for Mrs.
Yan Buren's little girl, and that he was going to see her."
" You knew then that she had got a little girl ? " said Adeliza,
as though rather surprised.
254
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
"Yes; she happens to live quite near to us at Clapham; and
I know too that the child has a large wax doll such as you de-
scribe."
"You seem to know a good deal," remarked Adeliza reflec-
tively," and yet to be wonderfully unsuspecting. When people are
so terrifically' green' it's very difficult to advise them or put them
on their guard. Wow I've never pretended to be innocent or ro-
mantic or anything of that sort, and I've made a point of checking
myself if ever I felt inclined to be maudlin or sentimental, so I
can only give you worldly practical advice, because I've ' gone in'
for being nothing more than a worldly and practical girl. All
the same, it's impossible for you not to see, because everybody
must see it, how utterly and entirely devoted I am to Captain
Sparshott, and yet I can assure you if he were to behave to me
as a certain individual seems to have behaved to you, to lead me
on by paying me marked attentions, and then to trifle with my
affections and make me look like a perfect fool before all my re-
lations, I should certainly not go about 'wearing the willow,'
with a face half as long as my arm, and I've even said as much
to dearest Charlie himself. I should dress myself in my best and
look as jolly as I possibly could, and show him that I didn't care
one brass farthing, and flirt right and left and try to take up at
once to somebody else. I hope I don't shock you by my plain
speaking P "
Before Lucy could reply to this question their conversation
was interrupted by Algy.
" Well, girls," he exclaimed, " I don't know what you think,
but I think that it's not very good manners to get up into a
corner and talk secrets, and leave everybody else quite out in the
cold. Addie's very fond of making out that I'm so selfish. I
call this being selfish herself."
" Oh, Algy ! " cried Adeliza impatiently ; " I wonder when
you'll learn to have a little tact. Can't you see that Lucy and
I have got something to say that's very important ? "
But their confidential talk was over for the evening. Lord
Belmorris, perceiving that it had beeninterrupted by Algy, came
towards them from the front drawing-room.
" Are you two young ladies going out to-night to any of these
scenes of dissipation ? " he inquired. " Can I be of any service
as a chaperon ? Miss Lucy knows what a good one I am."
" I'm not going anywhere this evening, thank you," Adeliza
answered. " Mamma says that now my ' prospects are assured,'
it's no use taking me out any more. You see she's had a good
long spell of it, poor thing."
" And you, Miss Lucy?" his lordship next inquired. "Wot
going to honour the world with your presence P I should have
thought this beautiful ' get up ' ought to have been more exten-
sively admired."
Lucy had certainly taken more pains than usual with her per-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
255
sonal adornment, but from no desire to court the admiration of
the fashionable world.
" I'm not invited anywhere," she answered. " I don't know
any of the people who give parties."
, " That's their misfortune," he remarked, casting an admiring
glance in the direction of the green velvet sofa.
Just at this moment the clock upon the mantelpiece struck
half-past eleven.
" Oh, I must go home," cried Lucy starting up." She realized
that Sibthorpe and his snail-like horse must have been waiting
for quite an hour at the door.
She bade good-night hastily to her aunt and cousins. Lord
Belmorris likewise took leave of his relatives.
" I shall look in at the club," he said, " and find out if there's
anything fresh from South Africa."
He offered his arm to Lucy, and they proceeded downstairs
together, leaving Algy at the door of the drawing-room looking a
good deal disappointed. In his character of master of the house,
he considered that it was his place to escort his cousin to her
carriage. Prudence, however, forbade him to interfere with the
will and pleasure of his Uncle Belmorris.
" You might give me a lift to the club," said his lordship, when
he had assisted Lucy on with her cloak. " The Travellers'
isn't much out of your way," he added—not, alas! quite
truthfully.
Of course Sibthorpe had never heard of the Travellers' Club,
and had no notion in which direction lay Pall Mall. He would
have been an exceptional suburban flyman if he had.
"Drive down Piccadilly," said Lord Belmorris, as he followed
Lucy into the fly, " and I'll direct you."
Sibthorpe, having been instructed as to the situation of Pieca-
dilly, they set off at a slow trot. It was one of those deliciously
clear and balmy evenings which are rare in England, and, above
all, in London, even in the month of July. There was not a cloud
to be seen in the heavens, the tail of the Great Bear, which made
a flourish over the clock at Hyde Park Corner, was more than
usually accentuated, and all the less familiar constellations and
fixed stars were glittering and twinkling like diamonds.
The gates of the Park were soon about to be closed for the
night, and crowds of people, the women arrayed in light summer
clothes, were trooping out of them. The streets too, particu-
larly the thoroughfare through which they were passing, were
thronged with carriages. Lucy, who had never been in the
fashionable part of London in the season and at night, was quite
surprised at the animation of the scene. Even here, she thought,
in the very heart of that great city which seemed so dim and
murky when looked at from without, it would be quite possible to
feel bright and happy and contented in certain enviable cir-
cumstances.
256 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Some such idea must have occurred at the same moment to
Lord Belmorris.
" How nice it would be," he exclaimed suddenly, as they drew
near to a large house, the windows of which were brilliantly
illuminated, and perceived the guests, who had been set down at
the door, making their way in under the superfluous awning,
" if only you belonged to me, and we could both go into the
woi'ld together. What a different life ! "
Lucy and her companion were by this time hemmed in and en-
compassed upon all sides by a dense crowd of carriages, for Sib-
thorpe, bent upon doggedly continuing his way in spite of ob-
stacles, had plunged into the very midst of the string of equipages
which were bound for the fashionable entertainment hard by.
His reckless defiance of all established precedent soon drew
upon him the notice of the police, and he was precipitated head-
long into the stream of public traffic, which was also much
swollen and disturbed by reason of the party. Here, however,
the hired suburban vehicle and its driver did not fare any better,
being evidently regarded, by cabmen and fashionable coachmen
alike, as neither " flesh, fowl, nor good red-herring." Several of
the former made use of very insulting language, the driver of a
" hansom" inquiring sarcastically where in the world Sibthorpe
was driving to? (only, as Dr. Winnington had said, when re-
lating his anecdote about the Duchess, this was rather the " gist"
of his speech than his " actual words "), a question which was
promptly, though rudely, answered by the driver of a " four-
wheeler," and the probable place of destination as rudely indi-
cated ; whilst a vulgar young man, standing upon the back step
of an omnibus, suggested that it would be far better for the
" common-weal" if Sibthorpe were to get inside his own convey-
ance, and be driven by his fare, a remark which was received
with a good deal of rough applause.
Whilst they were being thus tilted at by poles, buffeted by
policemen, and sworn at by the drivers of public vehicles, it was
quite impossible for the occupants of the hired fly, seeing the
really imminent risks to which they were every moment exposed,
to enter upon anything like a sustained conversation. By-and-
by, however, they succeeded in extricating themselves safely from
the crowd, and turned down St. James's Street, where the traffic
seemed to be in its normal condition. Here Lord Belmorris took
Lucy's hand and begged her again to tell him her sorrow.
" I suppose," he said, " that it has something to do with Hep-
burn's marriage ? "
" His 'marriage!' " she rejoeated aghast. " Is he then married
already ? "
" Hot yet, I fancy. But I read in some newspaper that he
was going to be. You see, it was as I feared ; he wasn't free of
his fetters when he was at Belmorris. I should think better of
him now, if he hadn't behaved as if he had been."
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
257
" Oh, but he didn't!—he really didn't! " Lucy protested. " I
know from what he told me that there was something, what, I
didn't quite know; but he made me understand that he wasn't
free yet."
" Ah, you defend him, of course ! You're no doubt right to do
so. I liked him once, and would defend him now if I could, but
I like you still better, ' like,' in fact, is scarcely the word, and so
I can't help feeling rather sore about his behaviour. It might
have happened, under some circumstances, that I should have
been grateful to him for throwing you over from selfish motives
of my own, but, as things are, I can only remember that you may
be made to suffer. Even Hepburn himself won't gain by his own
recklessness ; and I'm afraid a consciousness of his imperfections
won't make you any the more indulgent to mine, will it ? "
As he spoke, he leant towards Lucy eagerly, as though half
dreading, and yet longing, for her reply.
"I don't see that you have any imperfections," she faltered :
" I ouly wish that everybody seemed as kind and good as you do."
" Well, now, look here, my dear little Lucy, try and lay to heart
what I'm going to say. Hepburn mayn't really care two straws
for this Mrs. V~an , whatever her name is, and yet he may be
so bound to her—for there are probably ties between them of
which you know nothing—that he may consider himself pledged
all the same to make her his wife. Supposing he marries her and
settles down with her, and you never set eyes on him again, are
you going to pay him the compliment of remaining single for his
sake all the days of your life ? "
" I don't know," she answered sadly; " I haven't thought much
about the future."
" But it's high time you should, or that your friends should for
you, I don't mean to say that you're not young enough to wait,
for you're a mere baby in most of your notions, but the old lady
at home must be getting on in life. How old is your aunt, Miss
Elizabeth ? "
" I am not quite sure about her age; about seventy-six or
seventy-seven, I should think."
" Then she can't be looked upon as quite a chicken; and you've
no notion whether she's made any provision for you ? "
" No; she settles all her money matters herself. A French
gentleman, who comes to see us sometimes, told me that he
thought she had been speculating lately, but I know nothing
about it myself."
" Is this French gentleman, who sometimes comes to see you,
young or old ? " Lord Belmorris next inquired.
" Oh, quite, quite old," replied Lucy, smiling in spite of her
unhappiness, at the idea which had evidently arisen in his mind.
His lordship appeared to be at once relieved.
"Well, now, look here, my child," he went on, still holding
her hand, and gazing earnestly at as much as he could see of
R
25S
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
her face; " I've not lived over three-and-forty years in the world
without knowing something about life, and there are many
things which would seem to you to be uncommonly strange if
3rou knew of them. You don't, however, as yet, and I do ; and
this places me in a position to advise. Now, one of the oddest
of these things is the way in which you young ladies sometimes
shift and veer about after marriage. I've known cases where a
woman—after being so much in love that you'd have sworn she'd
have broken her heart if she hadn't been ' given her head'—has
married the object of her affections, and loathed and abomi-
nated, and thrown crockery at his head for ever afterwards.
And then, there are cases where, having loathed and' abominated
him before, she's taken to him so kindly afterwards, that she's
followed him about like a dog, and made herself quite foolish
by exalting him into a kind of hero. Now, how do you account
for these seeming inconsistencies in your sex ? "
" I can't account for them at all," Lucy answered. " As you
say, I no doubt know very little about life as yet."
" Still, you must know that these wonderful changes can't be
brought about by simply going to church in a smart dress, and
having a gold ring thrust upon your third finger by a man in a
blue coat and light trousers, can they P "
"No; of course, there must be other causes; being so much
together must make one find out one's husband's faults as well
as his virtues. Sometimes, perhaps, he may have more faults
than one expected; but still, I should think, one would forgive
them if one cared about him, for he, too, would be sure to dis-
cover defects."
" All you say is very sensible, but there's something more
than this, which has nothing to do with virtues or defects. It
partakes of the nature of a magnetic attraction or repulsion,
and this is what really lies at the root of all conjugal lovings
and hatings; but one doesn't always discover its tendency until,
as you very wisely remark, with regard to mutual defects, one
has been thrown a good deal together. Now, this is what 1 find
myself pinning my hopes to."
" In what way can it affect your hopes ? " Lucy inquired.
" In this way : as all lasting human affection depends, in
reality, more upon this magnetic attraction than upon anything
else, we are not absolutely the slaves either of beauty or of
merit. Once a person possesses, for one, this mysterious charm,
one thinks her beautiful, even if she's as ugly as sin, and tries
to persuade oneself that she's good, and, what's more, one
doesn't break one's heart if one finds out that one's mistaken,
so long as one doesn't run the risk of being parted from her.
That's how a man feels. Now, looked at from outside, simply
as two individuals of the male sex, Hepburn must always cut
me out in everything; but how do I know whether—just by
way of compensation—Nature mayn't have secretly thrown
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
259
into my composition what I should value far more than any-
thing else—the power to make you care for me, if you'd only
give me a chance of trying ? "
Lucy felt deeply impressed with the truth of her companion's
words. One did not need, she thought, to have lived over three-
and-forty years in the world to realize that life was fraught
with unaccountable attractions and repulsions.
"Now, I can't believe," he went on, after a pause, "that such
an attraction as I've always felt towards you can be all one-
sided. I'm not vain enough to fancy that you care about me a
rap as yet, or that you've imagined it to be possible that you
ever could. But, as I'm so much older than you are, I have a
right to look on ahead, and consider what may seem like impos-
sibilities to a person who only sees things as they are at present;
and so I implore you to give me a chance of trying my luck
before I make up my mind that you're altogether out of mv
reach. Promise me—promise me, Lucy, that you'll let me try?"
Poor Lucy was terribly embarrassed at this unexpected vehe-
mence. She had nothing whatever of the heartless coquette
in her nature, and felt real distress and remorse at having
awakened so hopeless a passion in so manly and deserving a
breast.
Those amongst my readers who are familiar with London will
know that Sibthorpe must long ago have driven past the
Travellers' Club. He went steadily on through Pall Mall,
utterly unconscious of the varied emotions of which his humble
vehicle had suddenly become the theatre. Lord Belmorris had
pulled the check-string, unobserved by Lucy, when he had
reached the turning to the Haymarket, and had directed him to
the right—past the Trafalgar lions, and so on through White-
hall and Westminster—to the Thames Embankment.
Lord Belmorris still continued his appeal in an impassioned
tone—
" Why—if it was all to end in nothing at all—did I feel what
I did about you from the very first moment I set eyes upon you,
that evening when I took you down to dinner at Hampton
Court? How lovely you looked in your simple white dress!
Do you remember that night, Lucy, and how we walked to-
gether through the cloisters to the ball, and how I picked up
the flowers that fell from your dress ? Look here ! "
He drew from one of his pockets some sort of card-case or
memorandum-book, and Lucy perceived what looked, in the un-
certain light, like the mummified remains of the rosebud which
she had gathered more than a year ago !
So tangible a proof of devotion could not fail to impress her,
but the impression was painful rather than agreeable, bringing
with it a sense of mortification and disappointment, as at the
sight of a good thing wasted and flung to the four winds. How
differently she would have felt if Anthony Hepburn had pro-
it 2
26o
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
duced from his pocket-hook Lord Belmorris's faded "button-
hole," which she had also worn upon that eventful evening !
" Oh, pray don't talk like this, I beg, I implore you ! " she
exclaimed in real distress. " What can I do ? What can I say ?
How could I foresee what has happened ? I am quite miserable
when I think that I have to seem to you to be so unkind !"
How many compassionate maidens, in like case, have given
utterance to similar protestations !
" Try ; do tell me you'll try to care for me just a little ? " he
made answer, speaking still with embarrassing earnestness. " If
I thought you could ever succeed I should be one of the happiest
men in England."
It seemed to Lucy, at this moment, that Sibthorpe was pro-
ceeding at a more uncertain and vacillating pace. Perhaps,
she thought, this painful situation was about to be brought to a
close by their arrival at the Travellers' Club.
She glanced over Lord Belmorris's shoulder to the right, and
perceived, under the curved tail of "Ursa Major"—who ap-
peared, somehow, to have become ubiquitous—an imposing
though rather gloomy-looking pile. This was, probably, Lord
Belmorris's favourite club—one of those mysterious head-centres
of forlorn bachelorhood of which she had heard so often. To
the left lay the river, twinkling with the reflection of many
lights, and forming, no doubt, a very convenient roadway for
such " Travellers" as chose to arrive from foreign parts by water.
" I think we must be just coming to the gate of the ' Travel-
lers'' Club," she said, as she shrank back into her own corner
of the fly.
Lord Belmorris, in spite of his emotion, could not repress a
smile.
" That's Millbank Prison," he said, following the direction of
Lucy's glance. " Your ignorance is almost as charming as your
innocence."
" Then we have gone past the ' Travellers'' Club ?"
" Of course we have, some time ago. We were in the middle
of such an interesting conversation that I hadn't the heart to
pull up."
" And so you've come all this long distance out of your way!"
" I can't say the way has seemed particularly long to me, and
I'm sorry you should have felt it to be so. The fact is, I didn't
like the idea of your driving so far, all by yourself, in the middle
of the night, and so I thought I might just as well see you
safely home."
" Home! Do you mean to say that you're going all the way
to Clapham ? "
"Unless you object to my company, I was proposing to do
so. I meant only to escort you in the capacity of footman, but
fear I've been tempted to make rather a fool of myself. You
must try to forgive me."
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" But the house will he all shut up !" exclaimed Lucy in con-
sternation; " and the servants gone to bed, and the candles put
out. My aunt gave me the latch-keys so that the maids
shouldn't have to sit up."
" I can get on without either the candles or the maids, so long
as I see you home. And look here, Lucy, I won't teaze you any
more about my own feelings—for you must understand them,
by now, almost as well as I do myself. I daresay I've been a
fool to speak of them again so soon. I ought to have waited
till Hepburn got married and settled with his Indian widow,
and then come forward and tried my luck. Remember one
thing, however, whether in the future fortune favours me or
not, should you ever be in want of a friend don't forget to write to
me. You know where a letter will always find me sooner or
later, and though you mayn't care to be bothered with me now,
you can't say what the years may bring forth. People are very
fond of saying this kind of thing—placed as I am—but I really
mean it. Will you remember this, and do as I ask you?"
" I will remember," she answered, relieved to think that, by
thus assenting, she could bring this embarrassing situation to an
end. " I don't know what I have done to deserve such kindness !"
Lord Belmorris pressed her hand as though in grateful ac-
knowledgment. He was silent during the rest of the way, keep-
ing well into his own corner of the fly, and Lucy almost fancied
that, wearied out with his emotions, he had fallen asleep. He
roused himself, however, when Sibthorpe drew up at the entrance
of Barlow Lodge. " So this is where you live, is it ? " he said,
looking up at the peaceful little Queen Anne house which stood
wrapped in slumber beneath a clinging mass of clematis and Vir-
ginian creeper. " Is that your window which is left wide open ? "
" Yes; my aunt sleeps upon the garden side for quiet,
although she's getting very deaf, and hardly any carriages go
past at night. How are you going back to London ? " she added
suddenly.
" I shall pickup a 'hansom ' on the road, or walk, if the worst
comes to the worst."
"' Hansoms ' are not easy to get at this late hour. Do let
the flyman take you to a cabstand; there's one in the town of
Clapham ? "
" Ho, no ! " he answered; " don't trouble your head about
me. I shall get home all right."
They descended from the fly and dismissed the trusty Sib-
thorpe. Lu»y produced the two latch-keys, and Lord Belmorris
opened the outer door with the largest of them ; the one which
had caused her the most discomfort iu its temporary resting-
place. Lord Belmorris came into the quiet little garden, and
made as though he was about to unlock the front door. Lucy,
however, notwithstanding her gratitude for his attentions, was
now extremely anxious to get rid of her protector. Supposing,
262 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
after all, that her aunt had decided to await her return, arrayed,
probably, in a modest though somewhat unbecoming night-gear,
might not Lucy's appearance, accompanied by a stranger, pro-
duce a terrible effect upon the old lady's nervous system ?
" You must go—you must go ! " she whispered therefore,
holding the garden-door ajar, so as to allow of his passing out.
" Thank you a thousand times for all your kindness. I hope
you will soon meet with a hansom cab. Good-night."
" Good-night," he answered sadly, holding her hand in both
his own, and looking—by the light of Mr. Podmore's flickering
gas-lamp—unutterable things. Then, before she had quite
closed the door upon him and his aspirations, he pushed it open
—just far enough to admit of the passing in again of his hand—
and wringing hers for the second time, he repeated the injunc-
'tion so mysteriously uttered upon a solemn occasion by " King
Charles the Martyr" to the Archbishop of Canterbury—"Ke-
member!"
CHAPTER XLIV".
It seemed to Lucy, after she had finally closed the garden-door,
and when the retreating footsteps of her faithful friend had
died away in the distance, as if all communication with the
outer world—its loves, its ambitions, and its crowding hopes—
was cut off for ever.
She paused before retracing her steps to the front door, and
contemplated the quiet, sleepy little house from under the
drooping branches of the great lime-tree, which stood like a
sentinel just inside the wall of the garden.
How could she ever return to this dull, suburban, " middle-
class " life, and endure the tedium of its monotonous days and
nights, unilluminated by the hopes—delusive hopes, for the
most part, it is true—which had shed their rays upon her path
for more than a year, hallowing and idealizing an existence
which must have appeared dull and prosaic enough when looked
at from the outside ?
It is the inner vision, however, which lends enchantment to
surrounding objects, and those beings who derive the truest of
their enjoyments from purely imaginary sources, would cer-
tainly be to be envied, if only they could bring more philosophy
to bear upon the discovery of their delusion. To
" Cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast,"
is disappointing, certainly, when we have found out that there
is no feast forthcoming; but, even then, there is the consolation
of thinking that it might not have been worth the eating.
Lucy, however, was as yet a mere novice in all things—
philosophy included—and the view of her future, as it was then
presented to her, seemed to be lonely and loveless in the extreme.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
263
The latch-key, with its " dangling fellow " beneath, was still
in the lock, and with a sigh she was about to remove it, when
the sound of approaching wheels arrested her attention. It
proceeded from the right, as she was then standing, the oppo-
site direction to that taken by Lord Belmorris. An empty
"hansom," evidently, by the leisurely pace, going back to the
cabstand in the town.
What a pity it had not appeared a little earlier upon the
scene, as then Lord Belmorris would have been spared the
fatigue of a long midnight walk, for it was unlikely that he
would fall in with one, at least for some time. She reopened
the door, and went out into the road. The driver glanced back
at her, and held out his whip interrogatively. No ; she was not
in want of a cab, so she shook her head.
Unfortunately, Lord Belmorris was completely out of sight.
She remembered now that he had always been a fast walker.
She bethought her that she might have explained to the cabman,
as he passed, that he would see a gentleman, further on, who
was in want of a cab, but she could only have done this now by
going some way down the road and calling after him.
She turned again to her silent home, sadly and rather reluc-
tantly ; but before she had time to recross the footpath, she
heard the gate of " The Aspens " swing upon its hinges, and a
tall figure stepped out into the road, apparently with the object
of hailing the retreating cab or of looking out for another.
No need of the " friendly light of stars" to enable Lucy to
recognize that familiar form ! It was Anthony Hepburn, the
man upon whom she had lavished all the affection of which her
girlish heart was capable, looking out for a cab to take him
from the presence of his affianced wife, with whom he had pro-
bably been sitting far into the summer night.
Crushed and humiliated at this thought, Lucy shrank back
into the shadow of the doorway like a wounded spirit. But he had
already perceived her, and in another instant he was at her side.
" Lucy!"
There was a ring of something very like anguish in his voice
which quite took her aback. If she had had time to make con-
jectures, she would have expected him to be self-possessed and
formal in manner; seeming a little sarcastic, perhaps, and em-
bittered; but this merely out of compliment, and because it
would not seem quite decent to flaunt any signs of happiness in
the sight of so miserable a victim. By-and-by (if she could
have found voice to blame or reproach) he would have been
primed, no doubt, with wise, sorrowful saws, having reference
to the passing nature of all pleasant things, mixed up with a
o-ood deal of trite, worldly wisdom, with here and there a stray
phrase to the effect that she knew nothing at all as yet, not
even what was in her own heart, and that some day she would
arrive at the conclusion that he had acted entirely for the best.
This, from what she knew, or fancied she knew, of his dis-
264
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
position, was what she would have anticipated, had she foreseen
any such meeting. To see him thus, haggard, broken, looking
and speaking like one who had actually loved and suffered, filled
her with pity and astonishment. A feeling of intense tender-
ness flooded her whole being, causing her to forgive him, upon
the instant, for all the sorrow she had borne, with this first con-
sciousness that he, too, had suffered.
And yet—so complex and involved is the nature of even the
most ingenuous of women, because these evidences that she was
still beloved, gave, as it were, new life to every nerve and fibre
of her being—■ she was enabled to find strength sufficient to seem,
at least, to be calm and unmoved, when the man, for whose
coming she had been hoping and praying for the whole evening,
stood beside her at last.
"Yes ! " she answered quietly, when he called her by name.
" "What do you want with ' Lucy ' now ? "
" I want you," he said, " in every way in which a man can
want a woman. I have been lost and wretched without you."
Two youths, who passed by at this moment, stared back
curiously, surprised, no doubt, at seeing the tall gentleman in
the white necktie, and the young lady in the evening dress,
engaged, seemingly, in such an earnest midnight conversation.
" Come inside," said Anthony, as be pushed open the door,
and he drew her into the quiet little garden of her own home.
There was a bench underneath the drooping branches of the
sentinel lime, and here they sat down.
" Speak to me," he whispered, taking both her hands ; " for
God's sake be like your own self! Don't you care for me any
longer P "
"What can it signify to you now," she asked bitterly,
" whether I care about you or not ? "
For all answer, he made as though he would fold her in his
arms, but she thrust him from her.
" Oh, no, no ! " she cried, warding him off. "Not when you
have just come straight from her! "
" Listen, Lucy," he protested eagerly. " I have not come
straight from her. I have not seen her for weeks. She is away
at the seaside. On my honour she is not here! "
" Ah, don't talk about ' honour !' " she exclaimed, feeling all
the same that she could believe his words. " What can have
brought you here but this? It was not to see me that you
came. You must have passed this house often and often, and
you have been to her and not to me."
"Because I would not come to you straight from her, or
because I could not come to you first, knowing that I must go
to her afterwards. Because, too, I could not have told you that
I was free from my promise, made years ago, before I had ever
seen your sweetest face. But to-night they sent to me to say
the child was ill. I had no intention whatever of coming down
here; I was dining at a club, having been only in London a few
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
265
hours. I came on here at once, and have been here ever since.
That is the truth, I swear to you ! "
" Why isn't the mother with her own child when it is ill ? "
" Why, indeed P She's away somewhere—angry, offended,
because I cannot at once fall in with her views. The child has
been neglected, and left to ignorant people who don't understand
her. She felt the loss of her Indian nurse dreadfully, and has
been pining ever since, being a child capable of intense affection."
" She inherits this, I suppose, from her mother ? " Lucy found
courage to venture with bitterness.
" From her father, I fear," he answered, speaking sadly and
regretfully. " Ah, Lucy! " he went on, after a pause; " don't
let me make you hard and cynical and embittered, for Heaven's
sake ! Can't you understand ? Surely you must know—you
must have read about it in books—that a man may be bound
to make reparation for a wrong done long ago ? He may have
become entangled, when quite a lad, by circumstances which
had nothing whatever to do with real affection—as he may
come to understand it later—and so, he may have a hard fight
to obtain his freedom, even although he may detest his chains.
Answer me," he continued earnestly, as she still remained silent.
" Be my own kind, gentle, forgiving Lucy ! Tell me that you can
imagine such a case, and some miserable wretch condemned to pay
thus dearly for the folly of a moment, because of circumstances ! "
But all feelings of bitterness and resentment had vanished
from Lucy's heart. It was only by an .effort, indeed, that she
had been enabled to harbour any such sentiments at all. By
calling to mind some of the phrases of Adeliza's " plain speak-
ing"—her remarks, for instance, to the effect that she had been
" made a perfect fool of " before all her relations—she had sue-
ceeded until now in preserving an appearance of anger and
wounded pride, but she could wear the mask no longer.
Mingling with the love of a good woman there is almost
always a touch of something maternal; and, strange as the
assertion may appear at the onset, this sentiment is usually
the more dominant in the love of a good woman when she is
very young. Perhaps it may be merely a continuation of what
she felt, only some few short years ago, for her doll, " for
bachelor-bullfinch or gay gold fish," or for anything else she
once fondled and petted, and stood towards in the position of a
Providence. Or perhaps the material alloy which often com-
mingles with more matured passion, although it may serve,
like the copper in our gold coinage, to strengthen and make
endurable what might have proved too ductile and susceptible
without it, is apt to a certain extent to smother and outweigh
those sentiments which are purely unselfish and ideal.
Be this how it may, Lucy, seeing the man upon whom she had
become dependent for all that seemed to make existence desir-
able thus humbled and abased before her, striving to excuse
himself so as not to appear, in her eyes, to be too utterly erring
266
THRO> LOVE AND WAR
and unworthy—explaining, pleading, craving for her pardon
and her forbearance, realized only that her previous affection
for him was confirmed and intensified. Her whole being was his
to hold or to loose, as it seemed good unto him, whilst the present
blissful consciousness that shewas near him once more triumphed,
for the moment, over all her fears for the miserable future.
" Try—try to understand how it all happened! " he pleaded,
taking her hands in his again and drawing her towards him.
" It had nothing to do with love like this ! "
" But she loved you, I suppose ? "
Lucy felt impelled to ask this question by a variety of mixed
feelings, all of them essentially feminine. From a wish to know
for certain that another had once been as weak and helpless in
his hands as she now was. From a yearning after the consola-
tion which might be afforded by the consciousness that she had
triumphed over this other, in one sense at least, in spite of
obstacles; and, finally, from that strange propensity for self-
torture which so often lures a woman on to know the worst, when
the worst may prove more bitter to her than death.
" I suppose," he answered, "that she may care for me in her
way. I should act differently if I knew that she did not."
" You don't wish to be unkind, then, to those who love you?
You are not really heartless and cruel and unfeeling ? "
Then, before he had had time to answer her, yielding to what
seemed like a supreme andincontrollable expression of sorrowful
renunciation, she passed her hand gently over his face, smooth-
ing back his hair lingeringly and regetfully, with the compas-
sionate maternal instinct warm at her heart, and the tears, born
of tenderness and despair, starting to her eyes.
He snatched eagerly at her caressing hand, and covered it with
kisses ; mingling with his kisses, warm, passionate words—words
which have been uttered by so many lovers—fell from his lips.
He drew her to him and rested his head upon her bosom. He
seemed to be as much unnerved and overcome as if he had been
a woman.
Lucy was surprised, and a little frightened, at seeing his
emotion ; but yet to know that he was " near—so near," was the
greatest of all possible joys.
" This is happiness, this is home, this is love! " he murmured
with a sigh, as of some hunted and tortured creature that has
at last found sanctuary.
Lucy's heart, beating beneath so dear a burden, awoke to all the
intenser mysteries of human passion, unrevealed to her until then.
" Ah, why are you not free P " she asked despairingly. " How
am I to go on living without you ? "
For all answer, he lifted his head and joined his lips to hers.
She had neither the will nor the strength to resist him. How
long they remained thus, locked in one another's arms, neither
of them could ever have told. So still and so silent were they,
that any one peeping over the grey wall, and through the quiver.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
2 67
ing leaves of the sentinel lime-tree, might have taken them, in
the uncertain light, for two figures sculptured out of granite or
marble—" Hero and Leander," perhaps, clinging despairingly
together, or some other classical or mythological group, set out
in a garden by way of ornament.
The two tail-stars, however, of the ubiquitous Great Bear were
the only eyes that could have penetrated their leafy retreat, and
had this constellation been indeed the four-footed beast which it
so little resembles (for I could never perceive much likeness), he
would surely not have been at the trouble of turning round his
head in order to look down upon a sight which he must have
seen before so often—in so many gardens, kingdoms, and climes !
The sight of two finite beings striking the first chord of that
entrancing music which must go on re-echoing through the
spheres as long as there are men and women on earth and stars
in heaven.
CHAPTER XLY.
Anthony Hepburn was the first to break the silence. He rose
from the bench and shook himself, as a man might do who
awakens from a dream.
" I ought never to see you, or speak to you, or touch you," he
said, " till I can tell you I am free—till I can make you quite
my own."
"You will be free then some day?" Lucy added, speaking
also with the manner of a person descending upon earth from
other spheres.
" I can never feel free of responsibility whilst that person lives
—or her child," he answered; " but I might be free to marry if
she would release me from a promise which I made her before I
knew what such a promise might entail. It is not binding in
law, and for this very reason I feel bound to keep it; but there
are moments when the sacrifice seems almost too great. Then,
again, there are times when fresh complications seem to drive me
to it. Ah, Lucy ! " he exclaimed, suddenly changing to a tone
of supplication,." have mercy upon me ! Eorgive me if you.can !
God knows whatl feel when I think that I have made you suffer!"
" Can nothing help us ? "
She rose from the garden-seat and looked up at him earnestly
as he stood before her in the warm summer night.
"Yes; one or two events that might happen, could. This is
what has made me go on temporizing—hoping—deluding myself
'—until I ended by almost forgetting, sometimes, the position in
which I was placed through my own folly; and now 1 seem sud-
denly to be hemmed in and encompassed upon every side. I have
written ; I have made one last effort. If I am free, I shall come
to my darling at once ; if I am not, I must never see her again."
" Never ? " the word escaped her like a cry of pain ; " oh, it
cannot be meant that we are to be quite parted!"
26B
Thro* love and war
" Perhaps not," he answered in an altered tone—reckless rather
than despairing; " perhaps it was meant that I should take you
here now, to-night, lor my very own! Perhaps I am acting like
a fool to let you pass out of my life. Man arranged marriages,
and ordained that there should be priests and shrines, but God
alone has taught us how to love! Which voice should be the
most sacred ? "
Awed by something tragical in his manner, and feeling just
then in no mood for theological discussion, Lucy remained silent.
" I have made all sorts of wild plans," he went on, " at times.
I have thought of every possible way by which we might be
together in the future. This way, amongst others ; of fulfilling
my promise—marrying this woman, making over to her every-
thing I possess, except just enough to set me up in another land,
and then, of leaving her at the church-door, and taking you with
me across the seas—to Australia orHewZealand, somewhere,any-
where, to be my own real darling wife, in a new home, under bluer
skies, where there would be nothing to remind us of the miserable
past, and where we might look forward to a future such as I
sometimes dream of. Here, however, I fear it can only come in a
dream. Would you come away with me, my Lucy, if I asked you P "
Luc}r realized, in this supreme moment, that for the bare hope
of being with this man always, of waking to look upon his face,
of watching his coming and going to and fro during the day, and
then of feeling that in the darkness of the night he would not be
divided from her, she would journey, willingly, to the uttermost
ends of the earth, daring shame, poverty, and all other misfortunes,
which would not seem to her to be like misfortunes then. Was
this, indeed, the voice of God, as Anthony had just called it,
speaking within her, or the voice of that same arch-tempter
who had whispered once too often in the willing ear of a woman,
in the good old antediluvian time, and in a larger and much
more luxuriant garden than this poor little "acre of earth" in
the London suburbs ?
Alas, in all times, climes, and gardens, this whisper, be it of
God or of the devil, has made itself heard in the unruly heart
of Man ! In the heart of Woman, too, when it has been lured
into beating in such tender unison with his.
" Loves of all shades and colours—many-voiced,
With song-notes variable as the birds'
By sunny shores, and under bluer skies
Beguiled and won ! "
My business, however, is only with the loves of Anthony and
Lucy.
Anthony took Lucy again in his arms, and dre w her to his
lips.
The " old, old story" once more ! The sight of which the
" Great Bear " must have grown weary even unto death, if only
he had been a bear at all I
" I love ycu too much to ask you to make sacrifices for me,"
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
269
he murmured at last, as he stroked the head tenderly that rested
upon his breast; " but I must go from you—I must leave you,
if I am to do you no more harm ! Good-by, my darling—the
wife and love of my heart; go to your peaceful home, and try
to be happy and to forget me—if we have to be parted for ever!"
He passed his hand over his watch-chain, as if seeking,
amongst the trinkets that hung from it, for something which he
could give her by way of a keepsake. His fingers, however, en-
countered only the wedding-ring, the gold key, and the three-
penny-piece with the hole in it; and two of these were fraught
with memories either too sacred, or too much at variance with
his present mood, for him to be able to leave them with her;
whilst the other locked up everything of a private nature which
he possessed in the world.
" Give me your lips once more," he said, letting the chain drop
into its place ; " good-night, and may God bless you always ! "
As though mistrusting his man's nature, he put her quickly
from him, opened the garden-door, and was gone, Lucy sank
down upon the bench, overcome with conflicting emotions.
Gratitude to Heaven for the precious gift of his love seemed, for
the moment, to triumph over all sadder considerations.
" He loves me ! He loves me!" she repeated to herself, cover-
ing her eyes with her hands, as though to exclude every object
which might interfere to dispel so blissful a belief. Then, start-
ing to her feet, she flew to the garden-door.
Whilst he was yet within reach, before he was gone from her,
perhaps for ever, she must see him, speak to him, hear again
from his lips the assurance which was to compensate her, in
some sort, for whole years of misery and desolation!
She looked out into the road, but all was bare and deserted;
unusually deserted for a district so populous. A sudden gust
of wind came wafted across the Common, flickering the gas in
the lamp over the gate of Palmyra House, and rustling through
the branches of the sentinel lime-tree, with a sound like that of
a long-drawn sigh. Anthony Hepburn was nowhere to be seen.
" Oh, Anthony, my love, my love ! " she moaned despairingly,
as she re-entered the deserted garden, and felt that he had bidden
her indeed farewell.
" An altogether accursed thing," exclaimed Gopa, the wife of
Buddha, "is the forcible parting of a man and a woman who
love; " and, like every uttered expression of what must be true
in all ages, this passionate lamentation has never yet been
suffered to die into silence, but is reawakened, perpetually, in
many a desolate heart!
CHAPTER XLYI.
Upon the morning following the night of Lucy's parting with
Anthony Hepburn, Mr. Podmore, in his adjacent "villa
residence" mi^ht have been seen standing before his looking-glass,
2 70
TIIRO' LOVE AND WAR
apparently in rapt contemplation of his own image. He had
adjusted his hat, which was particularly new and shiny, a good
deal to the right side of his head, and then tilted it somewhat to
the front, in a jaunty and at the same time rather a bellicose
manner. His coat was, as usual, very carefully brushed, his boots
were as shiny as his hat, whilst just the right proportion, as far
as becomingness went, of blue-bordered cambric handkerchief,
protruded, corner-wise, from his breast-pocket, and added an
effective note of colour to his ensemble. Before leaving the room,
he added one or two finishing touches to his costume, and further
accentuated the determination of his expression by a contraction
of the brow and a tightening of the lips. One might almost
have fancied, in fact, from his manner, that he was rehearsing
for some important dramatic part.
In the entrance-hall he encountered the faithful Hitchens.
" Shall I do?" he inquired of that functionary. '£ I think I
look the outraged benefactor to a 'T' ! Once I have disposed
of my imaginary matrimonial engagement, we must make ready
for our little continental trip. We have played for high stakes
and lost; but the old lady, of course, will know nothing of this.
Recollect, I am going to quote you as a witness."
"It's never been my intention," returned Mr. Hitchens
gravely, " to do an injury to any fellow-creature; but I saw
what I saw ! "
Upon quitting the precincts of Palmyra House, Mr. Podmore
directed his steps towards the entrance to Barlow Lodge, where
he rang the bell. Sarah, who appeared to be somewhat
" flustered " and surprised at the arrival of so early a visitor,
repliedto his inquiry that Miss Elizabeth Barlow was within,and,
in another minute, he was ushered into the old lady's presence.
Miss Elizabeth, who was seated at her writing-table, rose
politely from her chair. She, too, was a little startled at this
unusual morning visit, which something in the expression of
Mr. Podmore's face led her to suppose must be upon important
business.
At her request Mr. Podmore, as soon as the door was closed
behind him, seated himself upon one of the spider-legged Chip-
pendale chairs, which, at first sight, looked scarcely equal to its
consequential burden.
Once seated, Mr. Podmore delivered himself of a little pre-
monitory cough—a cough which seemed to Miss Elizabeth to be
full of sinister presage. She immediately bethought her of her
investments, with regard to which she had felt some delicacy
about questioning Mr. Podmore of late.
" I hope, dear Mr. Podmore," she said timidly, as she drew her
chair nearer to that of her visitor, " that nothing has gone amiss
with our little pecuniary venture ? You will excuse my anxiety,
I feel that you will, knowing, as you do, my intentions with
regard to this money. As you know, it is what I have set aside,
not without some trouble, I do assure you, in order to make dear
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
271
Lucy independent after my death. Till I possessed an experi-
enced friend, like yourself, to direct me, I was afraid to pursue
a very spirited course ; but upon your kindly representing to me
how much dear Lucy's future portion might be increased, I gave
it over, as you will remember, into your hands; for at that time,
owing in a great measure to what you had confided to me your-
self, I looked upon this money as being almost' as much yours as
hers, for there seemed then to be every probability that your
interests and Lucy's might one day become identical. Since last
year, however, I fancy that you may possibly have changed your
mind, as we have all a perfect right to do in such matters; and
so, as I realize every day more clearly that I must very shortly
take up my abode in a house ' not made with hands' (for I shall
be seventy-eight on my next birthday, and the most favoured
amongst us cannot expect to walk this earth for ever), you will
forgive me, I'm sure, if I confess that I have been just a little
anxious with regard to this particular sum—foolishly anxious,
perhaps; but then, you know, I am only a foolish old woman! "
She uttered these last words with a touch of playfulness which
was intended to cajole and conciliate in case the first part of her
speech might have proved unpalatable.
Mr. Podmore again delivered himself of the ominous cough.
" With regard to the disposal of Miss Lucy's fortune," he said
grandly, " I'm quite ready to excuse your anxiety, although, I
confess, I am unable to account for it. I am unaccustomed, too,
to have my opinion upon such subjects called in question; but
I will not permit myself to be offended at your mistrust, ladies
being, as we all know, proverbially nervous about what they do
not understand. To split up and redistribute my capital would
be extremely inconvenient to me just at present, but for which
it would be easy for me to set your apprehensions at rest. As
I am now situated, however, I must content myself with remind-
ing you that I have invested more than three times the amount
to which you allude in the same concern, so that, whatever hap-
pens in the future, we shall sink or swim together."
Now, had there been any question of an actual swimming-
match between Mr. Podmore and his venerable neighbour, instead
of a mere figurative allusion, it would not have been difficult to
predict which of the two competitors would have run the greater
risk of being immersed in a watery grave; since, apart from all
considerations of age and sex, " adipose matter," by reason of
its nature, has always a tendency to keep to the surface; and
in the event of any sort of financial crisis, was it not more than
probable than the " man of substance " would be the least likely
to suffer permanent inconvenience ?
Some thought of this kind may possibly have flashed across
the old lady's mind.
" Indeed, dear Mr. Podmore," she exclaimed, " I do not feel
the slightest mistrust. Were I as wealthy as you are I should
never trouble my head about such matters; but, placed as I am,
272
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
I am sometimes a little anxious about dear Lucy's future—Lucy,
the dear child in whom you used once to take so great an interest."
" And in whom I take a great interest still, my dear Miss
Barlow—the very deepest interest possible, although, at the same
time, a somewhat painful one. If you will allow me, I should like
to speak to you upon this subject, leaving for the present the
discussion of our little financial venture. You alluded just now
to an apparent change in my feelings with regard to your niece.
Your obseiwations were correct; my sentiments have undergone
a change, but then Miss Lucv is greatly changed as well."
" Dear Lucy is still very young," returned Miss Elizabeth.
" To me, of course, she seems younger than she does to you;
still, this is a defect that will improve. You may have noticed
in her, perhaps, instances of carelessness, of unpunctuality, which
might seem blamable in the mistress of an establishment, but
she is very quick and obliging, and never objects to being told of
her faults; and although she is certainly not one of those giggling,
chattering girls whom I look upon as thoroughly objectionable,
she possessesgood even spirits,and is never sulky or out of temper.
She is, I admit,n thorough Barlow; and the Barlows were always,
to a certain extent, original and difficult to understand. Any-
body, however, who did not consider that she would be able to
hold her own as the wife of the first nobleman in the land, would
exhibit, to my mind, a very deplorable want of judgment."
Miss Elizabeth spoke proudly and almost defiantly, as though
conscious of the influence in her blood—of the fierce old mediaeval
Barlows with their battle-axes. She had experienced quite a
comfortable sense of indifference with respect to Mr. Podmore's
matrimonial intentions ever since Lucy had been so affably
patronized by her fashionable relatives; and although she had
not felt that it was necessary just yet to rearrange her ermine
trimmings, she was certainly not going to remain passive and
listen to disparaging remarks about a young lady who had been
so much admired in circles which Mr. Podmore had altogether
failed to penetrate.
A strange expression passed over Mr. Podmore's face. " Still
you will admit, my dear Miss Barlow,55 he said, smiling cruelly,
"that it is not unreasonable to suppose that even "the first
nobleman in the land,' whoever he may be, might expect of the
young lady he honours with his preference that she should be
well conducted and circumspect—to speak quite plainly, that
she should be chaste ? "
Mr. Podmore had employed the word " chaste " advisably. It
was a word which, to some minds, must seem absolutely shocking
by reason of its antithesis. Miss Elizabeth Barlow, a maiden lady
of very nearly seventy-eight years of age, was likely to possess
a mind of this character, and Mr. Podmore had evidently deter-
mined to open the campaign by shocking and paralyzing his
aged victim.
Nor had he miscalculated the telling effect of his words.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
273
" Chaste! " repeated the old lady, starting up from her Chip-
pendale chair as though she had been stung by an adder. " Be
so good, sir, as to explain the meaning of your words ? "
V ^ ^ ' " rephed Mr. Podmore in a tone of suppressed
agitation; " painful as such an explanation must necessarily be.
I will endeavour to be as brief as possible. Well, then, last night
I happened to be dining at my club with a friend—with a young
nobleman, to be correct as to details. AEter dinner we did what
I have not done for many years, for I am not, as you are aware,
a man of pleasure. We visited the Italian Opera. I proposed
afterwards that my friend should accompany me home to sup
and sleep—supper, in fact, had been prepared; merely a light
repast—but he declined, being obliged to return that very night
to Brighton by the last train, where he was in close attendance
at the sick-bed of an aged relative. I mention all these particu-
lars in order that I may be quite exact as to my facts. I accom-
panied him to Victoria Station, and, being there, it occurred to
me that I would return home by train, for I had not taken my
brougham out, thinking that there would be so much waiting
about. Well, upon arriving at the Junction here there was not
a cab to be seen. I dislike walking at such a late hour along a
lonely road—I don't deny that I dislike it—I waited, therefore,
fully a quarter of an hour before I could obtain a conveyance.
At last a cab was procured by a porter, I handed the man a
shilling, sprang into it and reached Palmyra in safety at about
twelve forty-five. By this time, however, Hitchens, my servant,
had grown extremely uneasy. He had been several times to the
gate to see if I was in sight, and upon one of these occasions, per-
ceiving a vehicle about to draw up, made certain that I was at
hand. I come now to the painful part of my narrative. This
vehicle—a fly from the livery stables round the corner—con-
tained Miss Lucy and a gentleman. How you have often
alluded to a young relative of Miss Lucy's—a Mr. Binks—and
I concluded at first that this young gentleman might, perhaps,
have escorted his cousin home—an indiscreet proceeding cer-
tainly,as I should say, with my old-fashioned notions of propriety
—but still not utterly inexcusable, as he would probably not have
done so without the sanction of his mother. Hitchens, however,
assures me that this person was no mere lad. He could not ob-
tain a vei*y distinct view of his face, but observed that he was a
fashionably dressed man in a white cravat, and that he carried
a light overcoat upon his arm. He assisted your niece from the
fly with the greatest attention, pressing her hand familiarly, and
retaining his hold of it afterwards. They dismissed the fly;
Miss Lucy produced the latch-key. They unlocked the door and
entered the garden stealthily together. The whole thing is ter-
ribly distressing to my feelings as well_ as to yours, believe me,
my dear Miss Barlow. Before proceeding any further, however,
I should like to ask you one question; your answer may possibly
s
274
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
afford me some sort of relief. Tell me then, my dear lady, I beg
of you, did Miss Lucy inform you this morning that she had
returned to your house late last night accompanied by a gen-
tleman? Did she make any allusion to so exceptional and
compromising a proceeding ? "
He stared fixedly in Miss Elizabeth's face for fully a minute
with his round green eyes, but the old lady made no reply.
" Ah, I see! " he resumed with a sigh as of resignation; " she
has made no mention whatever of the circumstance. Don't dis-
tress yourself by answering my question. I will proceed with
my painful duty. Unfortunately, the worst is yet to come. My
servant, as you may suppose, being a highly respectable man with
strict notions, was much scandalized and astonished at Miss
Lncy's extraordinary behaviour; but the yard, which is in front
of my stables, being, as yon are aware, situated between the walls
of the two gardens, and the door leading into your grounds being
closed, it was impossible for him to see or hear anything more for
some time, which I must confess, although he is an old and valued
servant, who would never have made any bad use of his know-
ledge, I cannot help looking upon as a fortunate circumstance,all
things considered. In a short space of time, however—Hitchens
is unable to say how long to a moment—our fine gentleman of
fashion takes his departure. Miss Lucy opens the door for bim
noiselessly, and they exchange farewells. My servant has an
opportunity of observing him as he passes my gate under the
lamp, and can swear to his being slim, actively built, of about
five-and-thirty or so, and clean shaved. He walked fast and was
very soon out of sight. Hitchens, my servant, remained some
minutes at the gate lost in conjecture. By-and-by he is again
aware of approaching wheels; and now, my dear Miss Barlow,
I must prepare you for another mystery."
" For another! " repeated the poor old lady, looking terrified.
" Yes, for another, as inexplicable, if not more so, than the
first. Hitchens, who naturally concluded that this time there
could be no mistake as to who was approaching, remained waiting
for me as he thought just inside the entrance-gate. A hansom
cab appeared in sight. It was empty, however, and my servant
was about to re-enter the house, when who should dart out into
the road but Miss Lucy! She looked anxiously after the hansom
cab as though expecting somebody—at twelve o'clock at night,
my dear Miss Barlow, you. will please to make a note of the hour
—then, quick as lightning, a tall figure steps out of the shadow.
The two exclaim, clasp hands, and disappear together into your
garden, closing the door behind them as before. Hitchens, as
you may imagine, is utterly bewildered. He thought at first of
ringing your bell and alarming the house, but, upon reflection,
he decided to await my return in order to consult me. He could
hear no voices in the garden, as there was a slight breeze rust-
ling the branches; also he is not quite so quick of hearing as he
used to be. He is unable to say, therefore, whether Miss Lucy
THRO* LOVE AND WAR 2?$
received her admirer within doors or remained with him out in
the garden. My servant waited for some time at the gate—
twenty minutes or half an hour at least, as far as he is able to
judge—and then, failing altogether to solve the mystery, he was
about to retire when the door in your wall was again stealthily,
opened. He crouched behind the gate-post so as not to be ob-
served. A man's tread passed by quite close to him, and upon
looking out into the road again he perceived a man's figure in the
distance. Hitchens, as you know, is not quite so young as he
was, and the night, although extremely fine, was not quite like
daylight. He cannot speak, therefore, very positively as to the
stranger's appearance. One thing, however, he is prepared to
affirm upon oath. He was a different person altogether from the
first man; taller considerably, and he walked less hurriedly. You
will agree with me, however, that the personal appearance of
these individuals is of very little consequence. The facts of the
case remain the same whatever they were like; and these facts
are, that late last night, after the rest of your household had re-
tired to rest, Miss Lucy received the clandestine visits of two
gentlemen, and that, from the systematic manner in which she
went to work, it is to be inferred that she is no mere novice in such
matters. In acquainting you thus with her behaviour, I have felt
that I was discharging a very painful duty. This, however, is
now over, and I will spare you the distress of any further com-
ments. You will see, my dear Miss Barlow, that as far as I my-
self am concerned, only one course is open to me."
" And to me, too," faltered the old lady, rising, and going
towards the door, " only one course is open. I will call Lucy
and ask her for an immediate explanation—for an explanation
which, I feel convinced, will set all your suspicions at rest. It
is quite impossible that she can have gone so thoroughly against
her own nature, against all the precepts she has been educated to
respect. There must have been some deplorable mistake."
" How, my dear, good lady ! " exclaimed Mr. Podmore, rising
also, and barring her advance to the doorway with his plump
white hand, " I must really implore you not to create a commo-
tion. Although I must confess that I have but little experience
in such matters, I can perfectly well imagine the annoyance a
young lady would feel upon finding that her indiscreet behaviour
■—to call it by no harsher name—had been discovered. Why,
neither I nor my poor faithful old Hitchens, would be able'to stay
in the place. It would be made much too hot for us."
" And is my niece to remain under this disgraceful imputation
in order to protect you and your servant from her very just in-
dignation ? You have admitted that Hitchens is both deaf and
near-sighted. How easily such a person might be mistaken as
to Lucy's identity!"
"This was, very naturally, my first notion," returned Mr.
Podmore sadly; " and had you confided your latch-keys to any
s 2
276 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
other young lady, or engaged a local fly for anybody else, there
might have been some reason for such a supposition. As matters
stand, however, I fear there is very little room for a doubt."
" I shall call Lucy at once," said Miss Elizabeth, turning again
to the door. She spoke with firmness, but it was evident to her
visitor that she was deeply agitated.
" Listen, my dear lady," he remonstrated.^ " It's perfectly
natural that you should wish to investigate this matter, and I
can make no objection whatsoever to your doing so, but I must
bargain for one thing—you must permit Hitchens and myself to
get out of the way first. It would be extremely unpleasant to us
both to have to undergo the young lady's ' very just indignation,'
as you have designated it. I am going very shortly to indulge
in a holiday. Hitchens will accompany me—we are both in want
of a change. Yery possibly we may take a little trip abroad.
Please reserve your investigations, my dear lady, until after we
have departed. I don't think, under the circumstances, that I
am asking too much of you."
" And you propose starting—when ? "
" To-morrow evening at latest. So I am only asking for a very
trifling postponement. I feel sure that you will oblige me in this."
" Yery well," returned Miss Barlow, as though consenting
reluctantly. " I will say nothing to Lucy until the day after to-
morrow, in spite of my impatience that she should clear herself,
as I am convinced she will do, of these shocking charges. I sup-
pose I am at liberty to consult with a friend in the meantime? "
" Anybody you like," replied Mr. Podmore cheerfully, " pro-
vided that Hitchens and I can get clear off before the young lady
herself is informed of our unfortunate discovery. Nothing re-
mains for me to do now but to apologize for having troubled you
at so early an hour, and to wish you good morning."
As soon as Mr. Podmore had departed, Miss Elizabeth sank into
an armchair, like one who has just been half stunned by a blow.
" Ah, Lucy! Lucy!" she murmured faintly, in tones of
mingled reproach, disappointment, and distress. Then, rising
slowly, as though more than usually conscious of her burden of
years, she made her way feebly towards the chimney-piece, and,
after a glance at her own withered countenance in the looking-
glass, she turned to the contemplation of one of the framed pro-
files in black paper which was hanging upon one side of it.
The portrait upon which her gaze had become riveted was
that of a gentleman with regular features, as far as could be
inferred from this manner of delineation, the nose protruding to
no unnatural length, and the head seeming to be well shaped and
carried with dignity. What appeared to be a naval uniform of
some sort (the cocked-hat being worn " athwart-ships") was in-
dicated by faint gold touches, which were made to lend to the
features likewise some semblance of humanity. As far as one
could judge, in fact, it was the portrait of a good-looking man in
the prime of life.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
2 77
" All!" murmured the old lady, after she had gazed for
some time at this portrait through spectacles which were
becoming misty. " If only she cared about some one more like
him! Then I could forgive her anything! But the visits of
two gentlemen—both upon the same evening, and so late too !
And the very first time I had allowed her to have charge of the
latch-key ! Ah, Lucy, Lucy! how can it all be possible, and you
a Barlow! I shall send for Monsieur de Vieilleroche," she
decided, after awhile. " He is a gentleman, and a man of the
world. I will ask his advice in this matter. I know—I feel quite
certain—that there must have been some terrible mistake!"
CHAPTER, XLVII.
Upon the afternoon of this same day, Lucy, who had been
wandering about the Common like the unquiet spirit she had
now become, fell in, at the further end of it, with Monsieur de la
Vieilleroche, on his way to obey Miss Elizabeth's summons.
The old Professor's keen, wolfish glance, and "fire-eating"
expression, belied, as Lucy knew well by this time, a tender and
compassionate heart.
This poor old Frenchman, she had come to realize, who looked
for all the world like a hungry and superannuated Mephistoplieles,
was possessed of a nature lamb-like in point of amiability. He
was vain, of course—because every Frenchman is vain—but with
a vanity which, like his sensitiveness, was altogether feminine
and pathetic. His own weaknesses, plausibly excused and
accounted for by himself, had enabled him to sympathize with
and excuse the weaknesses of his fellow-creatures. Above all,
he was never either surprised or shocked at anything.
Had Lucy informed him that she had just strangled her aged
relative, anil deposited her body at the parcels office at Clapham
Junction, wrapped up in American cloth, he would have re-
gretted, no doubt, the tragical ending of so estimable a person,
but would have searched for, and quickly discovered, extenuating
circumstances on behalf of the doer of the deed, for, agreeing in
the Shakesperian view, to the effect that
•l All the world's a stage,
And all tlie men and women merely players,"
he seemed to be always prepared for the most dramatic and
startling combinations.
As for the secret meeting of a couple of lovers in a garden at
midnight, such an incident would take rank in his mind merely
amongst the ordinary occurrences of every-day life. Lovers
who had never thus met in starlit gardens, and starlit gardens
which had never thus received the visits of lovers, had left un-
fulfilled an important part of their appointed mission.
This is the stuff of which a confidant, to be of any comfort at
all, ought to be made, Let the man who aspires to the post of
278
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
professional " guide, philosopher, and friend," only endue him-
self with this patient spirit .of toleration, with no liftings of
astonished eyebrows, and he will have the whole parish flocking
to him to confess its sins!
During the leisurely walk back to Barlow Lodge, Lucy con-
tided to her old friend—making only some few reservations of
trifling importance—the events of the previous evening. How,
after Lord Belmorris had escorted her home, Anthony Hepburn
had suddenly emerged from the gateway of " The Aspens," and
how they had met and talked together in the garden.
In some mysterious manner—how, Lucy knew not as yet—the
old Professor had become associated with Mrs. Yan Buren and
her child. He was acquainted with Anthony Hepburn, too, and
had travelled with him, years ago. What was the meaning of
this incongruous confederation ? Surely the moment had come
for the clearing up of enigmas ? " Tell me," she pleaded earnestly,
" I have a right to know. Why is Anthony Hepburn under such
obligations to this woman ? Why, if he does not care for her, is
he so bound and tied to her ? Why can't she be told the
truth ? "
"As you say," returned the old man gravely, "it is time, in
all conscience, that you should know. To begin, then, with the
obligations. Primo : this lady was the means once of saving
the Colonel's life. It occurred in this way. When he was with
his regiment in India he obtained leave of absence in order to go
upon a shooting expedition ; a thing your Englishman delights in.
He was accompanied by a friend, a young comrade named Spar-
shott, who had but lately joined, and by a large retinue of native
servants; shikaris, coolies, black men who collect in the train of
the hunter, as jackals follow in the track of the lion. Upon one
occasion, during a long day's chase, our young friend, for at this
time he was not more than two or three and twenty, became sepa-
rated from his companion. He encamped for the night, alone,
upon the borders of a forest, some of his attendants disposing
themselves by the banks of a river close by, for the hunters were
making their way partly by boat. In the middle of the night,
he was awakened by a commotion outside his tent. Rising from
his sleep, he imprudently went out, unarmed, to discover its
cause, when he was set upon furiously by some half-dozen pariah
dogs, enormous yellow animals, more to be dreaded than wolves,
which had been attracted to the place by some remains of pro-
visions. He called to his attendants to bring him his guns. They
ran to his assistance in all haste, dispersing the dogs with oars
and boat-hooks. They were, however, not in time to prevent our
hunter from being terribly mangled about the right arm."
" The right arm ? " Lucy repeated, the remembrance of a
murderous-looking scar upon a certain manly wrist recurring to
her mind. "Has he the mark of this still ? "
" Ah ! So you have seen the mark ? Yes; he will carry that
gqar with him to his grave? and for this reason, the native doctor
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
279
who cauterized the wound, burnt, by some unpardonable blunder,
entirely through the principal artery. Next day, our friend finds
himself, many miles distant from any civilized town, bleeding,
apparently, to death, through the ignorance of this charlatan.
Shikaris, coolies, the rabble of attendant jackals, stood round
him helplessly, awaiting the death of the lion. His favourite
native servant bent down his ear to catch his last dying depo-
sitions, pressing his thumb meanwhile upon the wound in order
to arrest the flow of blood. Our young hunter was fast sinking
from exhaustion—another moment, and he lost all consciousness
of his situation."
" Ah, don't tell me about it," cried Lucy, turning pale; " it's
too terrible."
" I will pass over, then, the moment of his extreme danger.
When he regained his senses he found himself established com-
fortably in a luxurious bungalow. His arm Had been bound up
and attended to by an English doctor. Stimulants were admin-
istered, and an excellent constitution coming to his assistance, he
was restored to life.
" A woman—young, elegant, and handsome—was seated at his
bedside, and he soon learnt that he was an inmate of her hus-
band's bungalow ; the country residence, in other words, where he
—a Bombay judge—was accustomed to speud his vacation. This
woman, who nursed our young friend through a long and trouble-
some convalescence, wasLeonie VanBuren. Now we have dis-
posed of obligation the first."
During the whole of this narrative, Lucy had felt chill and
faint at heart. For the time, it seemed as if all that lent her
warmth and animation had become arrested.. Jealousy, to some
sensitive natures, even when it is retrospective, is a real physical
agony. I can imagine cases where it might kill outright, as cer-
tainly as poisoned draught or assassin's dagger.
Why had this woman, Lucy thought miserably, obtained,
through a mere accident, a perpetual claim to Anthony Hep-
burn's gratitude, whilst she, Lucy, had never beeu able to render
him the slightest service ? Imagination, which taken as a whole
may be looked upon as a somewhat doubtful blessing, seemed to
make her at once familiar with every circumstance of what the
old Frenchman had spoken of as Anthony's " troublesome con-
valescence." " Troublesome," to whom, in the name of Heaven?
To Mr. Yan Buren, perhaps, the husband of this too fortunate
woman, who may have chafed, possibly, under a sense of neglect,
whilst his wife, " young, elegant, and handsome," was minister-
ing to the requirements of the interesting stranger. Alas! it
was more than probable that, to the principal actors in this
romantic drama, the " convalescence " had seemed anything but
"troublesome." There must have been so many tender, emo-
tional, never-to-be-forgotten episodes connected with this time,
memories of which were lingering still in Anthony Hepburn's
mind, Oh! for some magic spell which would compel him to
28o
THRO' LOVE AND WAR]
lose all trace of this past adventure. Oh, that he might forget
it as utterly and entirely as if it had never been !
Mingling with all these miserable thoughts, there arose a
poignant and irrepressible regret, a regret which to anybody un-
acquainted with the intricacies of the female heart might have
seemed incongruous. Anthony, as the Professor had observed,
was possessed of an excellent constitution. Yery possibly (and
surely, in this, there should have been matter for extreme thank-
fulness ?) he might never again be stricken down and disabled
by serious illness. A matter for extreme thankfulness of course,
but then Mrs. Yan Buren would have enjoyed an absolute mo-
nopoly of nursing, and in this thought there lurked an extreme
bitterness.
The worst of men generally, when looked at from the tender,
ministering, maternal point of view, is, that they are so terribly
stalwart and self-reliant. And yet, when thejr are by nature
feeble and valetudinarian, they seem to be even "poorer crea-
tures " than women. But a strong man stricken down and dis-
abled by temporary illness (by an accident, or a wound, an illness
of course, from which he is quite certain to recover), who is made
to feel, for once, his dependence upon the frailer and more sub-
missive nature; a strong man tamed and humbled for the time
being, who has to be watched, and dressed, and combed, and fed,
just like a baby, who cannot even walk without the aid of
woman's weaker arm, and who may be read to, and sung to, and
amused in a dozen different ways; this is an ideal which must
have been hugged and cherished in many a loving female breast.
The voice of the old Marquis recalled Lucy to the present—
"Obligation number two," he remarked, continuing his narra-
tive, " is more difficult to explain to a young lady like yourself.
I will, however, try to convey some idea of it. Our young friend
is recovered. He bids farewell to his host and hostess, and re-
joins his regiment. All would have been well if things had
finished here, but Destiny had ordained differently. At a grand
entertainment given, some months later, by one of your resident
governors, he remarks a lady, radiant, surrounded by adorers,
arrayed in the height of the fashion. He recognizes at once his
benefactress, the person to whom he is indebted, maybe, for his
very existence. It is the wife of Yan Buren the judge, who sue-
coured him at the moment of his extremest need. What reward
is this woman to have ? "
" I should say," exclaimed Lucy vehemently, " that it was but a
poor reward to take away her affections from her husband ! Ah,
how could he do it ? Look what misery it has brought! If h e did
not consider her husband, he ought to have thought of her child."
Love, jealousy,humiliation, together with an irrepressible sense
of wrong, had gone far towards revolutionizing Lucy's usually
gentle nature, and, for the moment, those fiercer elements which
had contributed towards her composition assumed the ascendency.
To nobody, however, save to this faithful and partial old friend,
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
281
ever ready with his palliative specifics, could she have brought
herself to acknowledge that Anthony Hepburn had ever delibe-
rately erred. And in the present instance she experienced such
an eager craving for the Professor's justifications that she was
willing to invite them by her reproaches.
As she hoped and expected, Monsieur de la Yieilleroche took
up the cudgels at once for his absent friend.
" It was no question," he said, " of taking away affections from
a husband. Van Buren and his wife were already sufficiently
estranged. More openly so, in fact, than is the case with the
generality of Anglo-Indian couples—and at this time the lady
did not possess a child. There appears to be something in the
atmosphere of India which, like my own beloved Paris, produces
upon most English ladies an effect which is little short of demoral-
izing. Is it, one asks oneself, because you are more spoilt and
complimented than you are at home ? and is it that this does not
agree with the English temperament? I know not. What is
there in Paris likewise—that en chanting capital—which so utterly
transforms your women ? I intend it as a compliment, you may
be sure, when I say that by a residence in Paris, you English
ladies generally gain nothing. You return to your own land,
having lost many of your own graces, without having acquired
any of ours. Nowhere, in fact, are you English ladies so charming
as you are at home! What Leonie Yan Buren may have been
previous to her residence abroad I know nt. At the time of her
meeting with our friend, she was a woman who, in a very young
man, might possibly awaken admiration, but who was utterly
incapable of retaining affection. Yan Buren, who had been
married to her some four or five years, would have strangled her
willingly, could he have escaped detection; a frame of mind at
which it is my belief her young admirer might have arrived not
long afterwards, had he not been a man of a more chivalrous and
forbearing nature.
" Your Englishman, when he selects a female companion, pre-
fers one who has some attachment to home-life; who will open
her workbox, seat herself at the table close to a candle, and begin
to mend something—so much the better if it is something that
he has torn himself. But Leonie Yan Buren was not a person
of this sort. Consumed by an intense vauity, she delighted in all
that was melodramatic and sensational—in all that would bring
her face, or her name, before the public—and she preferred to be
spoken ill of than not to be mentioned at all. This woman, then,
who is so publicly remarked, admired, condemned—whose name
is in every mouth, who entertains with hospitality (for the Yan
Burens were in affluent circumstances, and their country residence
was not far from where Anthony was then stationed), and of whom
all other women, of course, are furiously jealous—honours with
a decided preference this young English officer, with whom she
became first acquainted under such romantic circumstances.
" The institution of ' cavaliere serventeit would seem, exists
282
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
in India as well as in Italy, and when a lady openly makes known
to a young man that he may aspire to this situation—a first
stepping-stone, it maybe, to more tender relations—his position
is extremely difficult. If he accepts the flattering invitation, his
comrades are made jealous by his success—his conduct is con-
demned by all persons of severe morals-—he runs a risk of be-
coming permanently entangled, and of incurring the displeasure
and vengeance of the lady's husband. If, on the other hand, he
avoids profiting by his good fortune, he is ridiculed by his com-
rades as an ' imbecile '—the persons of severe morals (secretly)
do not esteem him one bit the more, for he has defrauded them
of the excitement of an expected scandal—and last, but not least,
he incurs the displeasure and possible vengeance of the lady her-
self. Without reflecting, probably, upon any of the consequences
which might follow, Anthony—young, adventurous, and impul-
sive, caring at that time for no other women—accepted the invi-
tation at once.
" The pretended jealousy of the lady's husband—for, from what
I have heard, I am convinced that it was only assumed—was the
means of bringing affairs to a crisis. Exasperated by the caprices
and extravagances of his wife, Yan Buren, a coarse, brutal, and
unscrupulous man, perceived that the marked attentions of this
young officer might furnish him with a means of getting rid of
her. With this object, he permitted them to be much together,
whilst he rendered himself more than usually odious to his wife
by his violence. No doubt, his intention was to drive her to elope
with her admirer. Our young friend, during his frequent visits
to the Yan Burens, became the witness of many painful matri-
monial disputes, in all of which, as in duty bound, he very natu-
rally sided with the lady. He is, as you must know, kind and
considerate to all women. The thought that a man could permit
himself to swear at his wife—to strike her, even—awakened his
fiercest indignation. It awakened also other sentiments—senti-
ments of interest and obligation. By acting in accordance with
this lady's flattering wishes, he had seriously compromised her
character, and brought misery to her home. For his sake, she
was subjected to insult and ill-treatment—what a situation for a
young man of heart! Here, then, was obligation the second."
" Oh, why, why didn't he go away ? " exclaimed Lucy, who was
now pale and haggard with emotion. " Oh, if he had only left
the place !"
" This was the very idea that occurred to him, but Fate was
not to be cheated thus. Unfortunately, obligation the third
followed as soon as was possible upon the track of obligation the
second. Our young friend withdraws himself from the society of
the syren, saying that he will no longer continue to sow the
seeds of dissension in her home. An excellent pretext is fur-
nished him. as his regiment is just then transferred to other
quarters. So far, so good. He cannot, however, deny to this
lady—to whom he has done so much harm already—the com
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
283
solation of letters. They correspond, therefore, and one of these
letters—from Madame to our young friend—is intercepted by
the husband. It is in the highest degree compromising—ad-
mitting of only one interpretation. In consequence of what he
had read, Van Buren repudiates the baby, who has not been
very long in existence, and commences proceedings for a divorce.
Anthony, who has again started upon a hunting excursion, does
not hear of all i,his*until some time afterwards, and by the same
messenger a telegram is put into his hand informing him of the
serious illness of the mother whom he adores, and begging him
to return to England at once. Conscious that his departure,
just at this crisis, might be misconstrued, he wrote to Mrs. Yan
Buren in explanation, enclosing the telegram he had just re-
ceived, and started as soon as was possible for Bombay, where,
before embarking, he confided his affairs to the care of an expe-
rienced lawyer. Upon setting foot on the steamer, however, the
very first persons he encountered were Madame, her child, and
her faithful ayah, Bajama, bound also for England. The hus-
band had found it would be impossible for him to obtain a
divorce, in consequence of certain well-known facts connected
with his own conduct, but he had refused any longer to support
either his wife or her little girl. The doors of her home were
closed against her, and she threw herself, henceforward, upon
Anthony Hepburn's protection. Our youug friend, as you may
imagine, had perhaps not quite bargained for this, but he could
only act, in such circumstances, like a man of honour. For the
first time the seriousness of his situation was revealed to him.
Immediately upon his arrival in London he held a consultation
with me—his old friend and former instructor. Mrs. Yan Buren
—violent and excited by what she considered her wrongs—was
for bringing before the notice of the public the brutality of her
husband—his injustice in retaining possession of her private
belongings—for the restitution of which she threatened that
she would go to law. Anthony, who had not a moment to spare,
having that very eveningto take a train to the North, left me to
pacify her as best I could, and, fearful lest some breath of this
scandal should embitter the last moments of his suffering
mother, he purchased her silence, unknown to me, by signing
the promise of which she now demands the fulfilment. His
good mother, happily, passed away in total ignorance of her
son's Indian escapade; and then we behold him—young, rich,
attractive—possessing, in a word, everything that can render
existence agreeable, burdened already with the cares of a family,
and bound in honour to a woman older than himself, whom he
cannot really love. The affection, however, which he was unable
to bestow upon the mother, descended—although in a different
form upon her child. You have seen and spoken to this child,
who should rather be described as'a little angel. You can
imagine, can you not, that seeing her often, and being, as he
then was, lonely, for the first time, in his country home,
284
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
Anthony should feel his affection centring upon this beautiful
child P"
But Lucy was, by this time, very nearly speechless. All the
agonizing emotions which such a revelation could not fail to
awaken in a tender and susceptible nature, came crowding upon
her with overwhelming force. It seemed to her of but little
moment, in comparison with the rest, whether Anthony Hep-
burn was, or was not, attached to Mrs. Yan-Buren's child.
" Go on," was all that she was able to reply to the old man's
question; " tell me what this promise really was which she made
him sign."
They were not very far now from the gate of Miss Elizabeth's
dwelling, and she was impatient to hear on to the bitter end.
CHAPTEE XLYIII.
" He made her a solemn promise, in writing," answered the
Professor, "that, provided she would do nothing to create a
public scandal, he would make a permanent settlement upon
herself and her child, and would himself remain unmarried for
the space of ten years, and that if, before this period had expired,
he found himself in a position to make her his wife without the
disgrace and exposure of a divorce, he would hold himself in
readiness to do so. As, however, it was of some importance
that he should marry eventually, and as he realized already that
sentiments of this kind are liable to change with the years, he
did not feel obliged to bind himself indefinitely, and he begged
that the lady herself would feel at liberty to make any changes
she thought fit in her mode of life. He reserved to himself,
however, in such a case, the sole guardianship of the little girl.
Had our friend known, at this time, for certain that his mother
would die so soon, this fatal paper would never have been in ex-
istence at all. But he dreaded that, in the event of her re-
covery, she would be distressed by hearing of his misdoings, and
his chief desire was to temporize. At the moment of his meet-
ing with you, my dear young lady, the years of his probation
were gradually drawing to a close- To him they had not been
happy ones, and a prisoner of the Bastille could scarcely have
longed more ardently for liberty than he did. With the view of
preparing for his emancipation, he now saw but little of Mrs.
Yan Buren, excusing himself on the ground that he was im-
mersed in military affairs, and in the cares of his estate, and
visiting the child, the only object at this time of his affection,
when I had informed him that the mother was from home. They
met occasionally, as a matter of course, but I could see that his
visits to' The Aspens ' were never happy ones, dictated by duty
rather than affection, and that he left the house with feelings of
relief. It was my old friend Benvenuto Eossi, painter, poet,
musician, I may add, indeed, ' almost universal genius,' who,
upon one of the occasions when he happened to be my guest, per-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
285
ceived that the desirable villa residence, ' The Aspens,' was to
be let upon lease, just as Colonel Hepburn was seeking for a
house in the neighbourhood of London. It was taken at once
for the lady and her little girl, and, as it had the advantage of
being near the place at which I was residing, I was enabled to
attend to their interests, and furnish our friend with occasional
news of them."
" Oh, would to Heaven that you had taken a house for her
somewhere else ! " interrupted Lucy passionately ; " thousands of
miles away from this place. "What a terrible coincidence that
she and I should live nest door to one another ! "
" You are mistaken, my child," returned the Professor gently.
" In your living in the next house to this lady there is no coin-
cidence whatever. One is obliged to live next door to somebody.
The strange fatality consisted in your getting into the same rail-
way compartment with the man who had once been her favoured
admirer,. and who probably would never have visited this place if
she had not been established here. But for her, you might never
have made his acquaintance-"
Lucy had it upon her quivering lips to exclaim that she would
have been only too thankful to have escaped this fatal acquaint-
ance, which had so disturbed the placid current of her life. Some-
thing, however, restrained the reckless words. Had the fruit of
the tree of such knowledge as she had gained been, then, so
utterly without sweetness? and to whose magic influence was any
such sweetness due? No; she would not behave like those
savages who beat and abuse their idols when things do not turn
out exactly to their mind.
" The thing that first started these distressing complications,"
the Professor went on, " was the bite of that accursed pariah
dog. How little do we know, when these events happen, what is
to come of them ! The next misfortune is, that Yan Buren, a
greedy man, of a full habit of body, should over-eat himself, and
succumb to an apoplexy, just three days before the expiration of
the ten years. A thousand maledictions upon the cook who pre-
pared for him that tempting meal! "
" And just before he heard of his death did he fancy that he
was free ? "
She was thinking of his words in the library at Falconborough
Park, when he had answered her questions so earnestly, and with
such apparent truth, saying, " I love no one but you," and of the
grateful and tender expression which had come into his eyes as
he spoke, as though some heavy burden had, at last, been taken
from him.. Surely he must have believed that he was a free
man then ?
" He believed it indeed," answered the old Frenchman; " for
the ten years were gone by, and he was commencing to make
projects for the future about which he had hardly dared to think
till then. (All this he has told me since.) _ He feared to seem
unkind bv acting with too much precipitation, but he was im«
286
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
patient, as every man must be when he is in love- Then came
this intelligence like a thunderbolt. He did not, however, at once
lose hope. He came up to London that very day to try and
arrange matters. He sent for me to meet him and dine with him
at his club. I did so. He has a face which easily betrays emotion,
and I perceived at once that there was something amiss.
" ' The child is not ill ? ' I asked, ignoring, at this time, that
there was another being who was still dearer to him.^ I had not
been for two days to ' The Aspens,' and I feared that if any mis-
fortune had happened there, he might have thought me neglectful.
" ' Not that I know of/ he answered me; ' but Van Buren
has just died of an apoplexy in India.'
" ' Ah!' said I, not dreaming, of course, of the worst; ' and
so he has died just after the critical moment, when the ten years
have, at last, gone by.'
"' They have gone by now,' replied he sadly, ' but they had
not elapsed at the moment of his death. It wanted just three
days to the time.'
" 'Malediction! but wemust triumph over this contretemps some-
how. There is a difference between English and Indian time ?'
" 'There is,' he answered,' but I require more difference than
exists to make things come right.'
" ' But surely,' said I, ' you will not adhere to a promise ex-
torted from you under such conditions ?' *
" 'A promise is a promise,' he answered;' but I am going to-
morrow morning to try and get off it.'
" ' But if it should not suit her to free you ? Surely you will
not embitter the happiness of two lives for the sake of an ex-
aggerated demonstration of honour ? Madame and you cannot
agree together for an hour. How are you to exist together after
you are married ? '
'"Oh, there would be no question of " agreeing,"' he replied
decidedly. ' I should bid farewell to her at the church-door! It
has been done before. The case would not be exceptional.'
" ' What, just after you had sworn to love, to comfort, and to
honour her ? To forsake all others and keep only to her ?' I
exclaimed, quoting from your marriage ceremony. ' These are
promises, I assume,, which every husband is prepared to break.'
'" I am afraid that I might break them,' he answered, 'situated
as I should be then.'
" ' Situated as you find yourself now,' said I; ' for I am a
regular old Jesuit, who will do evil, always, so long as good can
come of it; and having made up your mind that you must be
false to one promise, why not make a wiser selection, and break
the first in order that you may keep the second to some one whose
charms and virtues will help you to be a true husband ?' And
then, by the look which came into his face as I spoke, I per-
ceived that Mrs. Van Buren possessed a rival."
" And he came down here next morning to try to get himself
freed p "
THRO" LOVE AND WAR
" Yes ; if it liad not been so late be would bave gone that very
night. 'Perhaps,' said I, seeing his melancholy expression when
we parted, ' YanBuren may not be really dead. Why should
a man who is scarcely fifty years old expire of an apoplexy ?
It must have been owing to some gross mismanagement of his
doctor. Why was it that they did not have him bled ? '
" 'It is the age at which Englishmen die of an apoplexy in India,'
he answered sorrowfully; " and so he left me for the night."
" But you saw him again soon afterwards ?"
"Yes, upon the following evening, just as I was about to retire
to rest, there came a knock at my door. The Colonel was there,
looking pale and miserable, like a broken man. ' For God's sake,
de la Yieilleroche,' he said, ' see if you can't help me somehow.'
Then we sat down and discussed the situation."
" Ah, of course she would not let him off his promise ? "
" Of course not; but that is not the worst of it. She made
him another promise herself."
" Another promise ? "
" Yes; suspecting, as I suspected, the existence of a rival, she
vowed to him most solemnly that in the event of his contemplat-
ing marriage with any one but herself, she would do some deadly
injury to his intended wife, and then poison both herself and the
child. Our friend tried to dissemble his alarm at this terrible
declaration, but I could see that it had affected him deeply. ' Of
course,' he said,' it is only the meaningless threat of an angry
woman. She can have no serious intention of the kind.' He
seemed to await my answer with anxiety."
" But you thought as he thought," interrupted Lucy, " that it
was only an angry threat ? Surely no woman could, really do
anything so horrible! "
" There are many kinds of women in the world, my dear Miss
Lucy, and of most of them it is easy enough to predict how they
will behave. "We know when they are in earnest and when they
speak merely for effect. We know that though their words may
be terrible, they would shrink from the commission of terrible
deeds. But this woman is different. She possesses, it is true, a
certain amount of good-nature, and has her moments of generous
impulse. But she adores all that is sensational, extravagant, out
of the ordinary run. She is tired to death of her obscurity, and
longs to electrify the world by performing the first rule in some-
thing—comedy or tragedy—I do not think it would matter to her
which; she is devoid of all moral sense ; she does not know either
shame or fear ; whilst so great is her personal vanity that I think
she would almost prefer to have her head cut off than that it
should not be looked at at all! 'My poor friend,' I said, address-
ing the Colonel and taking his hand, ' you must be careful how
you behave in this important crisis. Do not subject yourself to
a lifelong remorse by hurrying on events to a tragic conclusion.
Above all, do not altogether make ligbt of these extravagant
menaces. Leonie Yan Buren is of the material of which great
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THRO' LOVE AND WAR
criminals are made.' After this he could no longer conceal his
alarm, and then transpired what I had suspected all along. His
affections were engaged elsewhere. No name was mentioned, ajud
it was only from your words, not long afterwards, that I dis-
covered the whole truth."
" And did he say that he really cared for somebody else ? "
asked Lucy eagerly.
" From his manner I perceived that he ' really cared,' hut he
is not a person who says much upon the subject of his own feel-
ings. ' As you value her safety,' I said to him (little guessing at
the moment to whom I was making allusion), ' do not allow her
name, or the place where she is living, to transpire. Visit her
with the greatest precaution ; be discreet upon the subject of
letters. Madame may possibly make use of a detective. I have
met a stranger lately at the house.' "
" Oh, I see now why he was afraid to come and see me! " cried
Lucy; " why I have had so few letters. But I have no fears my-
self. What harm could this woman possibly do me ? "
" Into that it is useless to inquire; suffice it to say that I know
of a case of this kind when a catastrophe actually took place.
The betrothed husband of the person sacrificed never recovered
from the shock. Colonel Hepburn was deeply moved by my nar-
ration of this episode. ' It would be far juster,' he said, as I let
him out of my house, ' if she would be content to wreak her ven-
geance upon me. I'm the one that deserves it; and on my word
of honour I do not care one rush for my life!'"
Lucy shuddered involuntarily.
" Oh, no, no ! '"she exclaimed ; " let me be the one to suffer."
" Now we arrive at the culmination of tragedy," said the Mar-
quis, smiling; " two people, young, beautiful, well off, and with
excellent constitutions, and yet desiring, purely from motives of
sentiment, to have done with existence ! Those who have en-
dured more material privations and sufferings would scarcely
believe in it."
" A year ago I might not have believed in it myself," Lucy
answered with a sigh. "People often don't believe in a great
many true things."
" About the time of the announcement in the newspaper," .
Monsieur de la Vieilleroche went on, " to the effect that our friend
and Mrs. VanBuren were to be married, I discovered, as you know,
who was the real object of his affections ; a young person," said
the old man, pressing Lucy's arm affectionately, " with whom I
have been in love for a very long time myself. With regard to
the announcement in question, the Colonel had certainly no hand
in it. Madame also protests her innocence. It is one of those
things that upon especial occasions fall down from the clouds.
Now I have told you all."
"You have kept nothing back—nothing that I may find out
some day ? "
" Not willingly; all depends upon how much you have under*
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
289
stood. Do not suppose that I have been abusing confidence.
4 Have you told her all P ' I inquired of the Colonel only upon
the occasion of our last meeting. ' I dare not tell her,' he an-
swered. 4 Do it for me some day if you can,' for by this time he
was aware that I had discovered the object of his love. Do not,
either, think too hardly of him, I pray you. Your heroes of
romance must not be too immaculate, or your romance will be a
dull one. Our friend has his share of human defects, but they
are those of a generous and impulsive nature, and he has paid for
them dearly. Remember, he did not start in life with very severe
or ascetic notions. He was rather a ' Lancelot' than a 4 Gala-
had.' Your poet-laureate, accounted a pure writer, has told the
same story before, and I have myself seen young English ladies
reading it. It cannot, therefore, be devoid of a salutary moral."
Yes; many young English ladies had read and sighed over
this pathetic idyll; one of them had read it with very particular
attention. " Read over again the one called 4 Elaine,' " Anthony
had said to Lucy in the picture-gallery at Ealconborough Park.
44 There are some lines in it which may tell you more than I am
able; more than I dare to explain;" and needless to say that
since that time she had read through the poem in question con-
tinually. But now, immediately upon her return home, she would
read it through yet again. With eyes enlightened by this further
knowledge she might be able to discover the very lines to which
Anthony had alluded.
It was strange now, she thought, that the Professor should
liken him to Lancelot, when upon the occasion of her very first
meeting with him she had instinctively associated him, in her
mind, with Arthur's greatest knight:—
" . . . . the darling of the Court,
Loved of the loveliest."
And, seeing that she had at this time formed no conception of
Lancelot's 44 outward man," this notion could only have been
inspired by some subtle moral resemblance, made manifest to her
by way of warning !
But yet, she said to herself, he is 44 Lancelot" with a difference
—his love being no longer given to the woman who was once his
Queen. Thank Heaven for this, at any rate ! And yet, what
might not this other woman be suffering now, by reason of his
change of heart ?
The picture of the 44 Lily maid of Astolat " floating down the
river in her barge: —
" Pall'd all its length in blackest samite,"
rose up vividly before her mind ;
" In her right hand the lily—in her left
The letter."
Might it not be better and happier for everybody, Lucy asked
T
290
THRO5 LOVE AND WAR
herself, if she could triumph thus quietly over all this darkness
and desolation ? Like Elaine in the poem, " Him or death " was
the cry that came forth from her aching and despairing heart.
" Now, then, you know everything," said Monsieur de la
Vieilleroche as they drew near to the door of Barlow Lodge.
" Y"ou comprehend the danger and delicacy of our friend's posi-
tion ? "
" I think I understand it," she answered faintly.
" And you understand, also, his anxiety whenever he hears
that the little girl is not feeling well ? "
" Yes; he may be afraid her mother may have given her
poison ? "
" And you understand why he, of all people, should feel bound
to protect her from any such misfortune ? "
" Yes ; he would fancy that it all came about by his fault."
"Now,then,for the concluding exhortation. Let your charitable
feeling towards the actors in this unfortunate drama extend even
as far as that;" and he pointed with his stick in the direction
of Mrs. Yan Buren's abode. " She and I have had terrible
pitched battles together inside those walls, and yet I cannot say
that she has not her wrongs, or that I can consider her in the
light of an enemy ! What I have said of her to you has been
for your ears alone. You have heard, perhaps, Corneille's
celebrated verses upon Richelieu ?
' Qu'on parle mal ou bien du fameux Cardinal,
Ni ma prose ni mes vers n'en diront jamais rien,
II m'a fait trop de bien ponr en dire du mal;
II m'a fait trop de mal pour en dire du bien.'
Change merely the name and the sex, and these are my senti-
ments with respect to Leonie Yan Buren ! "
" Leonie ? " repeated Lucy, possessed by a new and sickening
suspicion. "Then her Christian name begins with the letter
' L ' like mine P "
The memory of those blissful moments passed with Anthony
in the shadowy cloisters at Hampton Court Palace, recurred
vividly to her mind, whence, indeed, they could never be entirely
effaced. She recalled the quick start he had given when she had
alluded—inspired by unwonted boldness—to the letter tattooed
upon his arm, and then his careless explanation, to the effect
that he had been branded thus in order to please " a fellow in
the regiment," who prided himself upon his tattooing skill. No
doubt this " fellow's " hand may have been responsible for the
actual tracing out and puncturing of the letter, which must seem
now like an indelible stigma; but by whose will had that hand
been directed ?
" How many years does it take for the marks of tattooing to
wear out ? " she inquired of the old Frenchman, in a voice
hardened and altered by misery.
He divined her meaning at once.
" They can never come out of themselves," he answered; " and
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
291
to cut them out, besides making a deeper disfigurement, would
be painful, even dangerous. Ho; he must carry that letter with
him to his grave! "
" Ah, then the past can never be quite wiped out! "
" Hobody's past can ever be entirely effaced," returned the
old Professor. " He is happy if that letter is all that remains
of it! " and they went together into the house.
The afternoon sun, as though in mockery, was shining through
the staircase window as they entered the hall, and Sarah, per-
ceiving this, drew down the great genealogical Barlow blind with
an energetic " whirr ! " so that, as constantly happened, Lucy
could not help beholding, on her way upstairs, her own particular
lozenge, linked irrevocably to the phantom shield.
Maidenhood? Widowhood? Desolation? Of what might
not this blank escutcheon be possibly the symbol ? Might there
not have been, after all, something ominous and prophetic in
Benvenuto Rossi's flattering conceit ?
Upon reaching her bedroom, Lucy went at .once to her book-
shelf and took down her '' Idylls of the King," turned to " the
one called Elaine," opened it midway—in " sortes Virgiliance "
fashion—closing her eyes, and placing her forefinger upon the
centre of the right-hand page.
Upon looking at the place, she perceived that her finger was
pointing to where it is thus written :—
" The shackles of an old love straiten'd him,
His honour rooted in dishonour stood,
And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true."
Ho wonder that, at her first meeting with him, Anthony Hep-
burn had become associated in her mind with '' Sir Lancelot du
Lake !"
CHAPTER XLIX.
The foregoing mention of Benvenuto Rossi and his blind reminds
me of an incident which occurred shortly before the conversation
I have just recorded ; for, although it may seem to be of little
moment, its effect upon some of the personages concerned in this
story obliges me to relate it.
It was the sixtieth birthday, then, of this same Benvenuto
Rossi—''painter, poet, musician, almost universal genius," as
the old Professor had declared—and the two friends, in order to
celebrate the occasion, had dined together with more prodigality
than was their wont at a restaurant in the vicinity of Leicester
Square ; after which they had arranged to commit a still greater
extravagance—that of attending, for the first time for many
years, the Italian Opera.
Achille de la Yieilleroche and Benvenuto Rossi had been the
victims of too many sad vicissitudes for them ever to experience
now what is called " le vin gai " circulating in their shrunken
1 2
292
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
veins, no matter liow generous had been the evening's repast.
Their " after-dinner mood,"—whenever they had partaken of
what might be styled by courtesy a " dinner " at all—was, as a
rule, sombre, cynical, and censorious; relieved, from time to
time, perhaps, by a quivering about the lips or a mistiness about
the pince-nez, as some memory arose connected with man's
ingratitude or woman's folly. The bottle of light Burgundy
which the two friends had consumed upon this particular even-
ing had not produced a more than usually exhilarating effect.
Upon first entering the Opera-house, they experienced chiefly an
uncomfortable feeling of self-consciousness, and a sense of doing
something unusual, and perhaps foolish. These sensations,
however, they endeavoured to dissemble by the assumption of a
somewhat arrogant and tigerish demeanour; and after haughtily
declining to remove their overcoats—from a want of confidence,
perhaps, in the garments they served to conceal—and glaring
defiantly at the occupants of the adjacent places, they settled
themselves with superb dignity in their eight-and-sixpenny
seats.
There is no occasion to describe a scene which must be so
familiar to my readers as the interior of a London Opera-house.
Suffice it to say, that " Faust" was the opera about to be per-
formed, with Patti as Marguerite. A Frenchman's opera, with
an Italian prima donna, the entertainment promised, conse-
quently, to be of equal national interest to the two friends.
Benvenuto Bossi, without possessing exactly what his country-
man has termed the " dono infelice di bellezza," might certainly
have been described as a good-looking man for his years. He
was neither so tall, nor of so commanding a presence, as his
companion, nor did he pretend to any such illustrious associa-
tions, his forefathers having been, for the most part, artistic
rather than aristocratic. To hear him talk, indeed, one would
have thought that all such accidents of birth as are usually
accounted fortunate, appeared to him to be both vain and con-
temptible ; and it is possible that, had the old French Marquis
derived any material benefit from the possession of his ancestral
appanages, Benvenuto Rossi might not have condescended to
remain his friend.
He had fine dark eyes, grey hair, a broad brow, and a warm
Southern complexion, with a firm Napoleonic chin, a little
bluer, perhaps, than it would have been could he have had
access, as of old, and at as cheap a rate, to the barber of his
native village. A face, in fact, which must have been almost
handsome in youth, but which, with increasing age, might
possibly degenerate into commonness, and a figure which, but
for his straitened circumstances, might have become fat and
clumsy.
De la Yieilleroche, who generally assumed towards this
" almost universal genius " somewhat the attitude of a patron,
whilst treating him with all the cordiality of a friend, was the
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 293
entertainer of the evening. It seemed, therefore, to be only right
and proper, if merely with the object of depreciating the value
of his own beneficence, and lessening, in consequence, Eossi's
burden of obligation, that he should let loose upon his immediate
surroundings what Charles Lamb has termed " the accursed
critical spirit—the being called upon to judge and pronounce "
—which burns more fiercely in the Gallic breast than in that of
the plethoric though splenetic Briton.
I suppose that, occasionally, in his own country, a Frenchman
must see something worthy of being admired—a picture, a
woman, a well-clipped poodle. Here, however, the same objects
will rarely awaken his enthusiasm, whilst upon our manners
and our institutions, he vents, generally, his supremest and
bitterest contempt; pouring out upon them what we must speak
of for the future (vide the Eevised Version of the Scriptures) as
the " bowls " of his wrath—a more appropriate expression, in
this case, than the more familiar one; for I take it that a
" bowl" will hold very nearly three times as much wrath as a
" vial." May the wrath of others, then, if there is as much
difference, as I fancy, between the sizes of the two vessels, always
descend upon us in " old style," whilst, like the countryman who
preferred his whisky " in a mug," we measure out our own
according to the newer reading ! But this is a digression.
The nil admirari spirit on the part of the French to which I
was alluding is probably merely the remains of a very excusable
national jealousy. "Words of praise and commendation may
rise here, as elsewhere, to the very " gates of speech," when the
remembrance of Cressy, Poictiers, Agincourt, of the six bur-
gesses of Calais kneeling barefoot in their halters, of Blen-
heim, of Waterloo, and of the harsh treatment of Bonaparte by
Sir Hudson Low, rises up like a choking fog and impedes their
utterance.
The Marquis was no exception to this ordinary rule, although
he was capable, as we have seen, of concentrating his sympathies
upon certain favoured individuals. He seemed upon this parti-
cular evening to be thoroughly out of harmony with the assembled
audience; and the " Sage of Chelsea" himself could scarcely have
been more severe in his strictures upon the " poor phantasms "
seated hard by, notwithstanding that, for the time being, they
had divested themselves, at any rate, of most of their tangible
and material " outside wrappages."
Of the representation itself, however, he found nothing to
complain. Both the friends were passionately fond of good
music, and the singing of the artists before them called forth
their enthusiastic applause. The story of the opera likewise
awakened in their breasts many slumbering memories. De la
Vieilleroche was old enough to sympathize profoundly with
Faust's lamentations over his lost prime, whilst Eossi was young
enough, or so he chose fondly to imagine, to realize the full force
of the Fiend's subsequent temptation.
294
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
The scene in which Marguerite tries on the jewels before the
mirror seemed to affect the two friends about equally.
" Ah, women have always been the same," sighed Rossi, " to
he taken with a few pinches of gold dust and half a dozen glit-
tering pebbles ! "Why, then, have I more reason to complain than
another ? "
. . Sabine, un jour,
A tout donnd, sa beautd de colombe,
Et son amour,
Pour l'anneau d'or du Comte de Saldagne,
Pour un bijou!' "
murmured de la Yieilleroche, quoting Victor Hugo. " Well, let
her go off with her Comte de Saldagne if she prefers him. These
are not the losses for which one should shed one's bitterest tears."
Perceiving in these words an allusion to the loss of some blame-
less and cherished object, Benvenuto Rossi merely grasped his
friend's hand in silent recognition of his emotion, and said
nothing.
The scene in the garden recalled lighter and gayer reminis-
cences, not all of them, perhaps, to the use of edifying. In some-
what similar circumstances, apparently, both the friends had
played, in days gone by, the part of the hero, to the destruction
of just such another innocent maiden as Goethe's Margaret.
"Alas, poor girl! " murmured de la Vieilleroche with a sigh,
" and to think that now I cannot so much as remember the
colour of her hair! "
" Ah ! he was no relation of hers," said Rossi, after they had
witnessed the fatal termination of the duel scene, with Margue-
rite's brother writhing in his death agony; " he was a rival only,
who supplanted me because of his rank and his fortune. In any
other country but this I might have obtained the satisfaction
for which I longed."
"And supposing that he had been a relation," returned the
old Frenchman, assuming his most ferocious expression, as he
twirled his heavy grey moustaches with his thin nervous fingers;
'• had you been enabled to challenge him, you would not have
hesitated because he was related to you or to her. Are not the
obligations of the duel quite as sacred as the ties of family?
Directly I find myself standing up in front of the man who has
insulted me, I know that I am bound to run him through the
body meme si c'etait mon <pere I"
Before Marguerite had fully expiated her frailty the female
portion oftbe audience began struggling with their opera-cloaks
and collecting their fans and pocket-handkerchiefs. The two
friends rose from their places and contemplated the last scene
with visible emotion.
" So it all finishes," exclaimed de la Vieilleroche, sighing.
" So, also, everything ended with me. Mother and child both
taken from me at nearly the same moment. And I, who have
always adored children and }umng people! But for yourself,
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
-95
Benvenuto, and one or two others of my good friends, I should
he a lonely old man indeed."
Benvenuto Rossi, knowing probably which of the Marquis's
late wives had been borne aloft to the accompaniment of a full
chorus of angels, perceived why he was thus affected by the stage
representation, and murmured a few words intended to console.
" Better so, my friend," he said; " believe me, it is far better.
Only contrast your fate with mine, and you must admit that
you are the most fortunate. Of what happiness to me is my
child ? Has he not gone from me as irrevocably as yours ? "
"You have no news, then, of your son ? "
"Hot a word, not a sign, for more than three years now. His
mother, before her death, had forfeited all claim to my love and
esteem; but why should she have estranged the affections of my
boy ? "
"You think that it has been her doingP"
" Whose doing, else, could it have been ? His heart was not
so bad at the beginning, but he was easily led. If you could
have seen, too, how handsome he had become ! "
" I saw bim last when he was a lad of seventeen," returned the
Marquis, "then, being the living image of his father, I could only
admire him. Let us talk, however, of other things."
They had passed out now into the corridor, making but slow
progress on account of the crowd. Some way in advance of them
Monsieur de la Vieilleroche perceived a figure so well known to
him that he recognized it by merely seeing the back.
Mr. Podmore, accompanied by his friend Jfalconborough, had
visited the Opera-house upon this identical evening. They had
occupied the more expensive places immediately behind the
orchestra, and the Marquis had not observed them during the
representation itself.
" Look," he whispered now, addressing his companion; " one
of the most austere of our Clapham neighbours ; the self-made
man, above indulging in any sort of pleasurable relaxation ;
the censor of our suburban morals! Ah, he is only of flesh
and blood, like the rest of us ! We surprise him at the Opera,
although he has about as much ear for music as that calf's-
head we partook of this evening, en tortue! I would wager that
he has not comprehended one word of it, and that he would be
vastly astonished if we were to tell him thathe has been assistingat
the representation of a story of seduction and infanticide. Let us
show him thatwehave perceived himbeforehehastimetodepart."
They quickened their pace, and came up with Mr. Podmore
and his " noble friend " in the vestibule. Monsieur de la Vieille-
roche greeted them with ostentatious politeness ; Benvenuto
Rossi, not imagining that he was acquainted with either of
them, lingering somewhat in the rear. When he came forward
to rejoin his companion, he and Falconborough were brought
face to face. Both started perceptibly. Rossi gave utterance
to what was rather a moan than an exclamation.
296
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" Vincenzo! my son ! God is good to me; I have met yon at
last! " he murmured in Italian.
Falconborough's face assumed an ashen pallor.
" Madman! Would you ruin my prospects for the second
time ? " he replied in the same language, affecting a tone which
was calculated to mislead his listeners as to the true import of his
words. " Tell me where you are living, and you shall hear of me
to-morrow, if you will only leave me in peace now."
He drew a pencil from his pocket as he spoke, and wrote down,
from dictation, the address of Benvenuto's humble lodging upon
his spotless shirt-cuff.
Meanwhile Mr. Podmore, with round " wonder-waiting eyes,"
stood looking on in silence. The Marquis, too, with no external
display of interest, had been an attentive listener.
" You understand Italian, of course ? " said the " young noble-
man," turning to Mr. Podmore when he had disposed of his un-
welcome acquaintance.
" Well—yes," Mr. Podmore answered, hesitating a little never-
theless—" that is to say, I did understand it once perfectly; but
of late years polite accomplishments have had to be sacrificed to
business, and I have somewhat neglected it. But, my dear fellow,
how pale you look! I trust you have heard no distressing news ? "
" Not a bit of it," returned Palconborough lightly ; " it's only
the heat of the theatre. That old fellow is a countryman of my
poor dear mother's, and from time to time he crosses my path,
and duns me for the price of some family portraits which she
employed him to copy out of charity, and for which he pretends
he wasn't sufficiently paid. I send him a cheque whenever he
bothers me, and hear nothing more of him for some time. Rather
a foolish system, I've no doubt; but the poor old fellow is needy,
and a little crazy as well. Come, let us get out into the fresh air."
CHAPTER L.
Lucy received a letter from the old Professor on the day which
followed upon that of his painful revelations. It ran thus :
" A word of warning, my child, from your old Jesuit! The aunt
has been informed of your romantic meeting with our unfortunate
friend. Podmore, that pattern of suburban propriety, has in-
formed her of all; for his servant (whom I have long suspected
of being his father in disguise, but on this point be prepared for
further disclosures), played the part of amateur detective, and
watched the Colonel enter your garden. Like me, however, he is
old and half-blind, and he can make sure of nothing, so I have
been enabled to excuse you by a device which I hope you will
consider ingenious, and excusable as well, when you can feel
confident of the good motive.
" You were escorted home, I have told your aunt (for of this
I could truly say you had informed me) by the nobleman at
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 29?
•whose chateau you were residing in the autumn—an honourable
and illustrious personage, to whom your aunt could take no sort
of exception. As for the tall man who appeared suddenly from
the entrance of 4 The Aspens'—be not angry with me, my child,
for my effrontery, if I have, at my time of life, assumed the rdle
of jeune premier for one night only ! ' That individual,' I said
to your good aunt, 4 tall once, no doubt, but bent now with years,
is standing now in your presence !' Old, hopeless, incorrigible
sinner that I am—without either conscience or remorse when it
is a question of the affections ! But the aunt was rendered happy
immediately; and to make another happy, which of us will not
occasionally deceive P I hope to see you again soon, and to de-
scribe to you more fully the results of my interview. Believe in
the devotion of your old friend.—Adieu! "
Satisfied, apparently, by this pious fraud, Miss Elizabeth
Barlow refrained from making any allusion to the taller of her
niece's two midnight visitors, concentrating all her interest upon
the slim, actively built, clean-shaved person (as he had been
described by Mr. Hitchens), carrying the light overcoat, with
regard to whom Lucy could speak without fear and without re-
proach, assuring her great-aunt that this was, of a truth, no
other than her 45 honourable and illustrious" host of the previous
autumn, who, in spite of her reiterated remonstrances, had in-
sisted upon escorting her to the door of her suburban home.
This act of chivalry upon the part of the 44 little earl" seemed to
afford the old lady such unaccountable pleasure that Lucy could
not bear, in spite of some severe prickings of conscience, to dis-
turb her satisfaction by any more definite explanations. Some
day, she said to herself, she would make a clean breast of every-
thing, but she would bide her time, and await a really favourable
opportunity, which, in the event of a more fortunate turn of cir-
cumstances, would not be difficult to find.
Then followed long weary days of doubt and uncertainty—
which seemed to Lucy like the longest of months; and then
there came at last a letter—a letter directed in a bold hand,
upon thick, bluish writing-paper. It was sealed, and looked as
though it had emanated from a club or some such place of manly
congregation and resort—a letter to set the heart beating
tumultuously, to drive the warm blood from the cheeks, and
then to send it back there again with painful impetuosity. In
a word, it was a letter from Anthony Hepburn.
How impossible is it, when looked at from outside, to guess at
the purport of a letter written by a man ! _ A woman, when she
sends forth the message of hope or desolation, will generally be-
tray—either consciously or unconsciously—some sort of warn-
inghint in her caligraphy. Were I a man I should never feel
alarmed at receiving a woman's letter whereupon the stamp was
stuck with regularity, the address neatly and carefully written,
with jaunty independent dots and dashes, and a triumphant final
flourish at the bottom of the envelope, traced there for no useful
i9S THRO' LOVE AND WAR
purpose imaginable, but merely as an uncontrollable outlet for
sheer exuberance of spirits. Such a letter would speak for itself,
and say to me just as plainly as words—
"All things are going on brightly and prosperously. Iam
the letter of a happy woman, and I come, too, to bring you an
anticipation of happy hours. Do not be afraid to tear me open
and read!"
But the letter of an utterly miserable woman will seldom seem
to have been very carefully written. Besides its incoherency of
expression, the characters themselves will bear witness to a limp
and helpless despondency, faltering a little here and there, and
looking as though shaky and infirm of purpose. Even the very
postage-stamp, it may be, will be stuck on upside down or askew,
a result of the terrible mental and moral topsy-turveydom which
is pervading and revolutionizing her entire being. How is it pos-
sible, when the heart and eyes are alike filled to overflowing, to
pay much attention to handwriting or punctuation, or to care
whether all the blood seems to be running down into the Queen's
head upon the postage-stamp or not ?
Men, however, are possessed of natures much less complex than
ours. They think, I suppose, much nobler and wiser thoughts
than we do; but they seem less prone to anticipate or to adapt
themselves to the thoughts which their most trivial actions may
awaken in the breasts of others. In the supreme moments of
existence, it is only the man possessed of a somewhat feminine
nature who will allow the flood of his emotion to escape and spend
itself in narrow runnels.
" I have failed," Anthony wrote now, quite calmly and steadily
—too steadily, poor Lucy thought, as she read over his words—
" in what I desired so earnestly to bring about. My best plan
will be, I think, to leave England, which will seem unbearable to
me for awhile." Only unbearable " for awhile " ! At the end of this
indefinite period it would seem then like the England of the past.
" A wing of the 18th," the letter went on, " will probably be or-
dered out to South Africa. If so, I shall take the command of it
and go out there for a time ; for whilst I am here it would be quite
impossible for me to resist the temptation of seeing you, and I
have no right to do you harm or stand in your way. I am inclined
too much, perhaps, to set things down to the force of circum-
stance, instead of blaming entirely my own folly and infatuation.
"Whatever was the first cause of my misfortune—of' our' misfor-
tune I fear that I ought to say—I can assure you I do not go un-
punished. I should be less wretched if I could feel that I suf-
fered alone. Active service, however, is the best thing to divert
one's mind in such cases ; perhaps even now it may help me to
forget. Do not, therefore, allowyourself to pity one who has pro-
bably richly deserved his fate. Forgive me, my darling, for any
pain that I may have caused you. I love, and have loved, you
tenderly, passionately, desperately, devotedly, and I will prove
this to you if ever God brings us together in the future. How,
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
299
however, I feel that it is unwise even to hope. Good-by then,
my Lucy, perhaps for a long time. Your dearest face will accom-
any me wherever I go, and your memory will live for ever in my
eart. God bless you always."
Anthony had failed, then, once more to free himself from his
fetters! He was about, perhaps, to leave England bound for a
distant land,
"Fraught with danger of death and pain,"
the fathomless depths of the perilous sea would lie between them,
and there would be no moment in any one of the miserable days
or nights which must pass during his absence, in the which she
might say to herself in hopeful confidence,—" He is well! he is
safe! he is alive ! "
But this "wing" of his regiment—she thought presently, striv-
ing to catch at every slender straw of comfort—would take some
time to prepare for the expedition. The authorities at the Horse
Guards—so she hadread in the newspapers—were accounted dila-
tory and procrastinating. Thank Heaven for this ! Then again,
although he might apply for the command of the "wing" in ques-
tion, would he be perfectly certain to obtain it? Did not the
colonel of a regiment invariably remain with the bulk of his
men ? How many men constituted a " wing " ?
These thoughts, in quick succession, flashed through Lucy's
mind.
Anthony's letter was tender, passionate, devoted, as he had
described his love to be. She read it over and over again, find-
ing the greatest solace in the ending of it, because there he had
written what a woman can never read too often, when the words
have been traced by the hand of the man she loves. The sen-
tence which Anthony had no doubt meant for some sort of balm
and consolation was not quite so well calculated to serve its in-
tended purpose.
"Active service, however," he had written, "is the best thing
to divert one's mind in such cases. Perhaps even now it may help
me to forget."
It had occurred probably to Anthony Hepburn's finite man's
mind, that the notion of his permanent and inconsolable misery
would add a new pang to those which Lucy must already have
to endure, and hence, perhaps, this hint thrown out of possible
diversion of thought, nay, even of forgetfulness, maybe, through
the opportune assistance of " Active Service." .
To Lucy, however, there was certainly something a little dis-
heartening in the idea that he should at once have recourse to
so powerful a remedy, whilst the fact that lie should confide to
her, by way of comfort, how much it was likely to benefit him,
convinced her that there must indeed be a wide difference between
the mainsprings of their two natures.
It has been almost universally conceded that the true love of a
true woman is in the highest degree disinterested and unselfish.
THRO' LOVE AMD WAR
When, however, she is " a true woman " only, and neither an
angel, a martyr, nor an altogether heroic and uncommon person,/
her disinterestedness will unusually be of a peculiar and ex-
elusive kind.
To shield the being she loves from physical suffering, I do not
believe there is any agony of mind or body from which she would
willingly shrink. To afford him sunlight or fresh air, were he to
be deprived of them, she would go forthwith and take his place
in a dungeon. Or she would endure all the gnawing pangs of
thirst and hunger, if by such means she could supply him with
the food he required.
But here, save as I have just remarked, in very exceptional
instances, her disinterestedness and unselfishness will come to
an end.
Inquire of her, after she has " kissed the book," or otherwise
prepared herself for the taking of a reliable oath, whether—
supposing that her lover's immunity from suffering, his sunlight,
nutriment, and fresh air must come to him through the inter-
vention of a rival—she would not prefer rather that he should
languish on in his torment than owe his deliverance to the de-
votion of another ?
I know not what such a woman would reply when questioned,
but I know this, at least— that women do not always avow what
is the truth.
" I hope that you will be very happy with somebody else, and
quite forget that I ever existed."
These are words which have been said, no doubt, by a great
many women to a great many men; but they must either have
been men about whom these women did not particularly care,
or else these women did not quite mean what they said.
" Good-by ; and I trust that you will thoroughly enjoy your-
self! " This, too, has been said many a time to the husband
or lover, who is bound for a long journey, a pleasure trip, or what
not. But the seeker after truth will discover a hollow ring of
unreality in the words.
The true desire of the true woman is, that the happiness and
well-being of the man she loves should be derived wholly and
exclusively through her ; and the consciousness that he is per-
fectly well able, by reason of his different nature, to enjoy life
without her, must always be to her a secret source of disappoint-
ment and humiliation.
But she will desire often to deal out and apportion him his
unhappiness as well. Her great love perhaps has made her
acquainted with great sorrows, and half-unconsciously she thirsts
for some sort of reprisal or retaliation. Is it quite fair that she
alone should pine and languish % Ought he to go wreathed in
smiles while she is weeping ? Shall his heart be permitted to
be light whilst hers is heavy ? May he so readily forget, whilst
she is condemned to remember ?
So, when she is very, very miserable indeed, it is comforting
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 301
to be able to think that he, perhaps, may be just a little miserable
as well. Prom the reverse of this thought, at least, that he is
disporting himself as if nothing had happened, the most disin-
terested of women will hardly derive consolation.
For my own part, I can perfectly well conceive the state of mind
of a woman who, in the tyranny of her affection, and yearning
after undivided possession of her idol, should desire to shut him
up between four walls, and feed him through prison-bars, only
allowing him to smile or frown, or to close or open his eyes,
when she should pull at an invisible wire, like a doll. But I am
betraying some of the secrets of my sex, which had better not
become too freely circulated abroad.
The Lucy of my story, however, had yielded as yet to none of
these exaggerated and unreasonable longings ; and so Anthony
Hepburn's words—admitting the possibility of his forgetting—
only called forth a gentle sigh whenever they recurred to her, a
sigh which seemed to say rather reproachfully:
" So he will be able to divert his thoughts and forget me !
Alas, why have we women so seldom any equivalent for ' Active
Service!' "
All day, after the receipt of this letter, she was a prey to fears
and apprehensions. Monsieur de la Vieilleroche, to whose pro-
bable coming she had looked forward, had not appeared at Barlow
Lodge for several days. Perhaps, she thought, she might have
persuaded him to go to Anthony, or to write to him, in order to
implore him to remain in England, and to give up his perilous
adventure. By the time night came, however, she had almost
made up her mind to write herself. She would write, at any
rate, the rough copy of a letter which she might, or might not,
send upon the morrow. It would be some consolation to her in
her unhappiness to wait until the rest of the little household was
wrapped in slumber, and then to sit down in the silence and
solitudeof her own chamber and commune with the man sheloved.
But it seemed as if Sarah, who as usual had assisted her to
undress, would never depart and leave her in peace. She had
brushed through Lucy's long hair conscientiously, folded up
her clothes neatly and placed them upon a chair; but still she
lingered, as though loth to say good-night. Her young mis-
tress, who was in the very throes of composition, having already
mentally evolved what would have filled more than a dozen
letters during the brushing of her hair, was burning with im-
patience to be left alone.
" Good-night, Sarah," she said at last, collecting her writing
materials by way of a still broader hint; "it's nearly half-past
eleven—I really mustn't keep you any longer."
" Oh, Miss ! " exclaimed Sarah, rushing with an expression of
terror towards the dressing-table, " you've gone and put three
candles all on one table! It's bad luck."
It was too true. Two tall tapers were already alight upon the
dressing-table, not contented with which, Lucy had just set
302
THRO> LOVE AND WAR
down there, in a moment of mental aberration, the flat bedroom
candlestick with which she had found her way upstairs.
" So it's bad luck, is it ? " she observed carelessly, as Sarah
removed and extinguished the offender. " Ah, well! I think
my bad luck must all have come by now! " and she heaved an
unconscious sigh.
" Indeed, Miss ! but still I wouldn't not quite make light of
such things, even if there's no truth in them; and I wouldn't not
put my new shoes upon a chair either, Miss, if I was you."
" What, is that unlucky, too ? I seem to be doing all sorts of
unfortunate things to-night. I must try and have good dreams."
"Talking of dreams, Miss," said Sarah, assuming an air of
mystery ; " me and cook's had the most awfullest dreams lately
that it's possible for anybody to imagine. I says to cook thig
very evening, coming upstairs, 'I'm certain, cook,' I says,
' there's something most awful and unexpected going to happen
in this house,' I says. ' So am I, Sarah,' she says, and this was
just the very minute before I come up into your room, Miss."
What young woman, however strong-minded or however much
in love she may be, will resist the temptation of listening, once
the conversation has veered round to the eerie, the uncanny, the
occult ?
" Sit down, then, Sarah," said Lucy, notwithstanding her im-
patience to be rid of her attendant, " and let me hear about your
wonderful dreams before you go."
" The one I had last night, Miss, was much the awfullest of
them all," began Sarah, as she settled herself in a chair near the
dressing-table; " and it was that natural that I couldn't get it
out of my head the whole day long. Me and cook, I thought,
was standing together, looking out of the front gate, when,
coming from the direction of Tooting Common, I seemed to see
a lot of white carriages, drawn by beautiful white horses, all
coming towards us very slowly. 'Why, there's a grand wedding
orv something coming,' I says to Mrs. Pilchard. ' Wedding,
Sarah P 5 cook says, when it got a little nearer; ' it's nothing of
the kind. It's a white funeral,' she says, ' which I never saw
before in all my life, and which isn't put down in any dream-
book. It must betoken something terrible strange !' And when
it come by the gate, sure enough, Miss, a white funeral it was,
and there was banners floating in the air, and streamers, all
made of the most beautiful white satin, worth, I should say,
quite fourteen-and-sixpence or fifteen shillings the yard ; ancl
when we looked at the people that was following the carriages,
that we thought at first was mutes and undertakers, we was
astonished to see that they was all soldiers ! "
" Soldiers !" interrupted Lucy, interested now in spite of herself.
" Yes; soldiers, Miss, all marching two and two, keeping step
in the most awful solemn way possible ; and they was chanting
some sort of hymn, which I could hear just as plain as if I was
in church, and they all touched their caps to me and cook as if
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
303
they knew us, as they went marching by, and I heard the 'tramp,
tramp,' of their footsteps shaking the ground like, long after
they'd passed by the gate."
^" And you're quite sure, Sarah, that they were soldiers ? What
kind of uniform were they in ? "
" Well that I can't say exactly, Miss, for certain, for I was so
flurried and took all of a heap that I can't remember. But it
must have been some kind of a dark sort of a colour—navy-blue,
oi- invisible green—else I never should have thought at first
sight that they was mutes, and I know that they was horse
soldiers, because I remember noticing that they all had on
spurs."
"Horse soldiers ! " Dark uniforms ! Spurs ! Was it possible
that the phantom-shapes of Sarah's ominous vision could have
been blue Lancers ?
" Cook's very learned about dreams," Sarah continued, after a
ause; " because she once had Bonaparte's own dream-book, what
e had with him when he fought the Battle of Waterloo, only it
was stolen from her by a friend; and she says she hadjust the same
dream as me about a year and a half before she lost her first hus-
band, for she's been married twice in ten years. ' But it isn't
likely, cook,' I says, ' that we shall all have such good luck as
you, and we can't not lose a thing which we haven't yet got, and
I haven't found a husband yet,' I says; ' and I'm not likely to,
either.' But, anyhow, Miss, it's a dream that betokens mis-
fortunes."
" And you don't think," asked Lucy, more earnestly than the
occasion seemed to warrant, " that anything put the notion into
your head—about the soldiers, for instance ? "
" Hot unless it was seeing cook's brother that was going out to
the war, and came to bid her good-by. He looked in the day
before yesterday, just about tea-time, as his regiment was ordered
to start off sooner than he expected, and he was telling us about
all the fighting he'll get with the niggers, till he nearly gave
cook and me a fit of the hysterics. He says they're the dread-
fullest people in the whole world for fighting. Do what you like,
he says, they never will run, and they all carry great, long,
ointed spears, that's most of them poisoned. Directly as he
eard as there was going to be more fighting, he says, and that
a wing of his regiment was going to be sent out, he applied to the
Colonel for his discharge; but the Colonel only said that if every-
body was just like him, the Queen wouldn't have no British army
at all, and that a fine young fellow like him ought to be glad of
getting a chance of distinguishing himself, and so, as he says,
he'd lay down his life for the Colonel any day, because he's one
of the right sort, he's had to go out after all, poor young fellow,
and such a fine, handsome young man too. Cook says she doesn't
never expect to see him come back again."
Little did poor Sarah guess the torturing effect produced by
her words.
304
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" What regiment is the cook's brother in ? " Lucy inquired, in
faltering tones.
"Well, that I can't quite remember, Miss," returned Sarah,
who seemed to possess the unretentive memory peculiar to most
persons of her class; " but I know for certain that it's a horse re-
giment. ' Pretyman's5 his name, which was cook's, too, before she
was married first, and when you was going to stay at Hampton
Court last summer he was quartered at the barracks there, be-
cause cook says, just as we was driving off to the station, ' I'll
write and tell Tom to look out and see and get a sight of our
young lady ;' and some time afterwards he wrote a letter to her,
and he says,' I think I've spotted your young missus,' he says,
' I mostly see her of mornings and evenings, sitting at her win-
dow, and looking out over at our barracks.'"
The name of " Pretyman" seemed to Lucy to be somehow
familiar.
She possessed a good memory, and the name was a peculiar
one. An uncommon one, too, perhaps because so few people may
have been thought worthy of it at the very beginning of sur-
names, when appellations indicative of occupations, habits, or per-
sonal merits and defects were first dealt out to the community.
Making an effort of memory, she was able to recall the occasion
upon which she had first heard mention of it. It was when she
had been seated, one morning before breakfast, under the elms
overlooking the glistening river, just in front of the apartments of
the admiral's widow in Hampton Court Palace, and when her tMe-
a-tete with the beloved had been suddenly interrupted by a non-
commissioned officer of imposing appearance, who had com-
plained of the behaviour of this very same Private Pretyman, the
own brother, as it now transpired, of Miss Elizabeth Barlow's own
cook ! "Within how narrow a circle do we strive, seethe, struggle,
despair, or triumph, and in how strange and absurd a manner do
the most trifling circumstances seem sometimes to become mixed
up and associated with matters of graver and intenser interest!
" And when does the cook's brother expect to start ? " Lucy
just found voice enough to inquire.
" He have started, Miss," returned Sarah, displaying likewise
visible signs of emotion. " He told us the vessel was going to
put off to-day, and he wanted us both to get leave to go down
and see him off; but I says I knew I should be certain to break
down and burst out crying at anything to do with soldiers,
particularly as there was sure to be bands, which always strikes
up playing, " The girl they left behind them," whenever they
goes off to battle, and cook says she didn't think she could man-
age it either, as Miss Barlow had ordered a beef-steak pudding
for dinner, and she's been looking so poorly lately, and I haven't
an over and above light hand with pastry."
" Oh, Sarah, I wonder you didn't both of you go. He was
going out, I suppose, with the rest of his regiment ? "
"Yes, Miss, with the half that was ordered to join the war, as
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
far as I understood him; not with the whole of it. He spoke
of it as a 4 wing.' "
"But I suppose," said Lucy, who was beginning to awaken
to a terrible fear, " that there were officers ? "
Her question was of course in the highest degree absurd, but
there are moments when one does not care whether one's words
are absurd or not, and this moment was one of them. Even
Sarah assumed a look of wondering reproof as she replied to it.
" Well, Miss, I never heard before of soldiers going out any-
where without officers! The officers that was ordered out are
sure to have gone with their men."
Anthony Hepburn's letter then, supposing that he had taken
the command of this "wing" as he intended, must have been
written upon the very eve of his departure.
" Oh, what a dreadful thing, Sarah, if anything were to happen
to them! " exclaimed Lucy impulsively.
" Yes, indeed, Miss ! " returned Sarah, tears coming into her
eyes. " If you could only see what a fine,handsome young fellow
he is, too. Cook says she feels she's seen the last of him."
Alas, poor Sarah! It was but too evident that she had not
passed out unscathed from the presence of the cook's fascinating
brother. Ho need to tell her now, Lucy thought, since it seemed
so utterly unlikely that he would ever return, that he was pro-
bably no better than a gay deceiver, who had once been actually
reprimanded for his indiscreet conduct when in company with
" a young female " at Hampton Court! Private Pretyman had
departed then in the "vessel" which was to bear him and his com-
rades to that distant land whence, as his sister had prophesied,
he might never be destined to return.
It was terrible to surmise who had probably departed with him!
" War is a most horrible thing, Miss," remarked Sarah, wiping
her eyes with her muslin apron. " If I was the Queen I wouldn't
allow it for a moment! "
" It is indeed dreadful," returned Lucy with a sigh ; " what
terrible misery it brings, and to, so many different people! I
even pity the poor savages, for they, too, will lose quantities of
husbands, and sons, and brothers."
" I don't seem to care so much about them," said Sarah, echo-
ing her young mistress's sigh nevertheless.
She rose from her chair, lit the flat candlestick, bade Lucy
good-night, and opened the door.
" Why, good gracious, cook! " she cried, starting back sud-
denly; " who would ever have thought of seeing you here ? "
It was in truth Mrs. Pilchard, the cook. She was standing
just outside Lucy's door as though upon the point of knocking at
it. She carried a small basin of gruel in her hand, and was
looking as pale as a ghost.
" Oh, Sarah, do ask Miss Lucy to come here ! " she exclaimed
in an agitated whisper. " I've just been in to take Miss Baidow
the cup of gruel she ordered, and I see she's been took in a fit."
u
306 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
CHAPTER LI.
When persons who have arrived at the mature age o£ seventy-
seven years are suddenly " took in a fit," it is not often that they
permanently recover. Miss Elizabeth Barlow's "fit" proved to
be a stroke of paralysis. She was apparently entirely uncon-
scious when Lucy went to her, and the doctor, who arrived soon
after, entertained but little hope of her rallying.
Lucy was, of course, distressed and alarmed at this new and
unexpected calamity, seeming, as it did, to prove that sorrows
come not as " single spies, but in battalions ; " her senses, how-
ever, were too much numbed and blunted by previous shocks for
her to experience any very poignant agony of grief—
" Crabbed age and youth cannot live together."
The great reader of human hearts who wrote thus, alluded of
course to the ill-assorted union of persons of different sexes, but
the same words will apply as truly to cases where a very old
woman and a very young one are condemned by Eate to pass any
portion of their existences together. I have used the word " con-
demned " advisedly, for between two perSons thus situated there
is seldom any real sympathy. They may " live " together, it is
true, in spite of the Shakesperian assertion to the contrary, but
without enjoying that free and unrestricted communion of souls
which is one of the choicest of earthly blessings.
For this both are in some measure responsible.
Age, even when it is the very reverse of " crabbed," is apt to
plume itself too much upon its ' unenviable burden of years—as
though longevity partook of the nature of a personal merit.
It stands often, in its own opinion, upon too much of a
pinnacle, high over the heads of the younger generation, to
whom it is generally intolerant and didactic, till, from dealing
perpetually in saws and sermons, it comes to be regarded
altogether in the abstract—pulseless, passionless, mummified—
a "thing," rather than a breathing human incarnation.
Youth, ever wayward and independent, and sometimes even
a little cruel as well, is naturally inclined to take umbrage at
Age's ridiculous assumption of superiority, seeing that, in no
community, can blear eyes outshine bright ones, grey hair
seem lovelier than golden tresses, or a bent back lord it over
one that is straight and lissom.
" What ideas can we two possibly have in common ?" Golden-
locks will say to herself, and she sets a seal, forthwith, upon the
door through which all confidences must pass.
Miss Barlow the elder and her great-niece had now occupied
the same habitation for over twenty years—deducting such
times as had been passed by Lucy in visiting her mother's rela-
tions ; but, notwithstanding the affection which existed between
them, something of the restraint consequent upon so marked a
THRO1 LOVE AND WAR
307
disparity in age, had prevented the development of any closer
intimacy as the days went by.
Ever since the time of Lucy's initiation to the mysteries of
the heart, she had been possessed of an intense craving to con-
fide in some being who would turn a willing and sympathetic
ear to the recital of her sorrows, who would advise and comfort
her, and, above all, lead her to suppose that he (or she) was not
unfamiliar with the varying phases of the malady from which
she was suffering herself.
She would have preferred that this confidant should be a
woman, because to a woman she could have spoken so much
more openly than to a man, before whom one must always
experience a certain sense of humiliation when describing the
encounters wherein one may have been disastrously worsted by
one of his own species. But yet Lucy felt that it would have
been ten times easier for her to confide her troubles to the
flippant and worldly Adeliza, to Lady Mabella herself, to Sarah
the parlour-maid, to Mrs. Pilchard the cook, or even to the
misanthropic and hypochondriacal Guffy, whose asperity might
possibly have proceeded from the fact that she had been crossed
in love, than in the amiable, placid, and cheerful old lady who
had acted towards her as a second mother.
If Lucy could have believed it possible, by a daring flight of
the imagination, that, long, long ago, her aged companion
arrayed in all the glories of turban and gigot-sleeves, had loved
and been loved in return by some being in tight pantaloons and
Hessian boots, things might, very likely, have been altogether
different. Adeliza the flippant was, or imagined herself to be,
desperately in love with Captain Sparshott. Lady Mabella,
the fretful, the languid, the intellectually vague, had been, as
was well known, so deeply attached to the Rev. Mr. Binks, her
late husband, that, since his demise, she had become altogether
a new creature, dressing herself everlastingly in rusty and in-
expensive mourning, and passing her existence almost entirely
in "the recumbent position." Sarah the parlour-maid, and.
Mrs. Pilchard the cook, must have been in love, too, as a matter
of course, because it is in the nature of cooks and parlour-maids
to love early and often ; and perhaps, or rather most probably,
the morose and cantankerous Guffy. In the breasts, therefore,
of all of these it might not have been impossible to awaken a
chord of sympathy; but to the sealed-up septuagenarian heart
of Miss Elizabeth Barlow it would be vain and useless to appeal,
seeing that she had elected to live single all the days of her
long life, and had seemed perfectly resigned and contented with
her lot. It was unlikely, therefore, that she could ever have
been really in love. .
Alas! for the purblind and finite perceptions of the
young. 9
' Two or three days after her great-aunt s alarming seizure, as
tj 2
3°8
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
Lucy was sitting watching by her bedside, an expression as of
returning consciousness illuminated her withered face. She
opened her eyes, which until now had remained almost entirely y
closed, and fixed them upon her niece with a look of gratitude
and affection. Lucy, who, in spite of her close proximity to the
invalid, had been wandering miles away from her in the spirit,
became upon the alert at once, and leant down towards the bed
in order to catch any words which might fall from her aunt's
lips. But although these moved, as if making an effort to
speak, no sound escaped from them. Lucy looked and listened
with still greater attention, but failed altogether to understand.
The old lady raised her left arm, the only one over which she
now possessed any control, and taking her niece's hand in her
own, directed it, with more energy than Lucy could have sup-
posed her to be still capable of, in one particular direction,
straight out into the middle of the room, and then, sharply, and
almost impatiently, to the right.
Being still unable to comprehend, notwithstanding her earnest
endeavours, the meaning of this gesture, Lucy fell to consider-
ing what the object could be that a person, evidently nigh even
unto death, would be likely to desire so ardently. By the time
that Miss Barlow's pale fingers had relaxed their hold from ex-
haustion, Lucy came to the conclusion that this object could be
no other than her " last will and testament." Perhaps she
desired to read it over, in order to rectify some omission, or to
make some alteration in it. Where was this will likely to have
been deposited ?
Where, but in an old-fashioned combination of bureau and
bookcase situated between the fireplace and the furthest of
the two windows. The position of this piece of furniture agreed,
too, with the direction taken by her aunt's hand. Lucy went
quickly towards it. Miss Elizabeth's pinched countenance
betrayed an expression of satisfaction. It seemed even as if
she was faintly smiling her approval. Lucy could no longer
doubt but that she was upon the right track.
The centre part of this bureau opened by means of a drawer,
which, when pulled out and flattened down, formed itself into a
writing slab. Inside there were pigeon-holes, filled, for the
most part, with bills, all neatly tied up in bundles, and there
were also some of Lucy's own letters, written from Hampton
Court Palace; but for the good old bulky traditional will, she
perceived at once that there was no room whatever.
Lucy returned, empty-handed, to her aunt's bedside. The old
woman's face assumed a look of disappointment. She turned
wearily upon her pillow and sighed. Although bereft of speech,
it was evident that, for the moment at least, she was mentally
conscious.
" Can you not tell me what it is ? " Lucy asked, bending over
the withered form. " Make some sign to tell me what it is not.
Is it your will ? "
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
309
Miss Elizabeth shook her head almost impatiently, and
pressed her thin hand to her bosom.
" Are you in pain, dear aunty ? " Lucy next inquired.
Again Miss Elizabeth made a sign of dissent, and again she
raised her hand to her neck. Something was missing, appa-
rentl}', that she had been accustomed to wear—a ribbon, a neck-
lace, a keepsake of some kind, which she desired should be near
her at the last, and might even wish, perhaps, to have buried
with her when the last was over. Lucy remembered to have
perceived sometimes the glimmer of a gold chain inside the collar
of her aunt's black silk dress, and, without knowing what trea-
sure might possibly be suspended from it, she came to the con-
elusion that it was for this chain that the thin fingers were
seeking now. She went back to the bureau, but upon search-
ing through it again discovered only Miss Barlow's pince-nez
threaded upon its black string, and set as a marker between the
leaves of the butcher's last weekly account (unpaid). Then,
seeing that nobody could wish to be buried with either their
eye-glasses or their butcher's book, whether paid or unpaid, she
directed her investigations to the dressing-table.
Here, nestling up against the cover of an old-fashioned book
of devotion, and half concealed by the folds of a lace pocket-
handkerchief, she came upon what she conceived to be the
missing treasure. A likeness, in miniature, of a very handsome
young man in an obsolete naval uniform, hanging upon a long
gold chain. A portrait, seemingly, of the Cosway and Plimer
period, but yet obviously by neither of those great masters; the
kind of miniature which may be always easily obtained by such
collectors as are not discriminating with regard to art, but from
which the eye of the connoisseur must ever turn with disap-
pointment, however deeply the heart of the man may be touched
by the pathetic wisp of dead hair upon the reverse side, or the
linked initials in seed pearls which stand now for a forgotten
name, so dear to somebody, it maybe, in "the days that are
done!"
Melted almost to tears by this unexpected discovery, Lucy
returned with the miniature to her aunt's bedside.
"This is what you meant?" she whispered, feeling that the
restraint of years was suddenly banished for ever. " Dearest
aunty, it's the picture of some one you cared for, isn't it ? "
The withered hand closed upon the soft young fingers in token
of assent. Lucy, who had grown terribly tender-hearted with
regard to all subjects connected with the affections, fell upon her
knees by the side of the bed and burst into uncontrollable sobbing.
" Ah, why didn't you tell me this before ?" she murmured
regretfully, still retaining her hold of the withered hand and
caressing it gently. " We should have known each other so much
better. It's the same with me, so I could have understood all
•about it. I care for somebody too."
Tears nrsvented her from saying more. A look of intelligent
3T0
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
sympathy passed over the old woman's face, and she pressed
Lncy's hand affectionately. It was quite evident that she had
understood. Would that this mutual understanding could have
become established sooner!
By-and-by Miss Elizabeth released her niece's hands and felt
nervously for the portrait. Her lips moved, but no sound came
from them.
Lucy could read her meaning now, however, without the assist-
ance of words.
" You would like me to put it round your neck, wouldn't you ? "
she said gently, " to wear always ? Quite always," she added in
a significant tone; " it's never to be taken off any more ? "
Miss Barlow gazed at her niece with a look of grateful acknow-
ledgment, and Lucy clasped the chain about her neck, to remain
there, as she had expressed it, " quite always—never to be taken
off any more."
The old woman turned aside upon her pillow as though wearied
out with striving after what had now been accomplished. Lucy,
the tears still dimming her eyes, moved away gently, and took
her place by the window.
She gazed at the narrow strip of sunburnt suburban garden,
wearing already a brown autumnal air, and at the shadowy de-
lineation of the great city beyond, without perceiving either the
one or the other. MingHngwith her dreams of Anthony, of her
love for him, which she realized now must prove the master-
passion of her whole existence, of the gliding troop-ship which
was but too probably bearing him further and further away from
her as the moments ticked on, were other musings and specula-
tions, awakened by the pathetic revelation which had so newly
come to her.
That pale, shrivelled old woman, the sands of whose life were
gradually running out within a few feet of where she sat, had
actually been in love, after all, in the spring or summer-time of
her long and apparently unruffled existence, with a young gentle-
man with handsome dark eyes, wearing "mutton-chop " whiskers,
and a naval uniform of a past fashion. Why had she never
been united to him at the altar ? It was evident, too evident,
that he must have died young, since, had he proved heartless or
unfaithful, she would never have clung so eagerly to the posses-
sion of his portrait. How, when, and where did he meet his
doom ? Did his "heavy-shotted hammock-shroud" drop in his
" vast and wandering grave," or did he perish less romantically
upon dry land of some one of the many ills the flesh is heir to ?
But then, after his death, caring about him as it was evident
now that she did care, how had it been possible for this woman
to go on living as she had lived—at any rate ever since Lucy had
arrived at an age capable of observing her—quietly, cheerfully,
contentedly ? Occupied, nay, even interested, in the trivial and
prosaic matters connected with her limited household, not alto-
gether despising the echo of a little scandal, suffering no seeming
THRO1 LOVE AND WAR
agony from the contemplation of his pictured face, nor from that
of the great spiked and spotted ocean shells which were pro-
bably the memorials of some of his far voyages, and deriving
positive pleasui-e, apparently, from a quiet rubber of whist and
from the profitless study of heraldry ?
During all the years that Lucy had been domiciled with her
paternal great-aunt, she could not recall, upon Miss Elizabeth's
part, one single fit of unaccountable depression or of pessimistic
repining. Brisk, contented, and cheerful, with a cheerfulness
which rose at times to actual sprightliness, Lucy had never sur-
prised her with so much as a tear in her eye or a tremor in her
voice.
There were some women, of course—Lucy was old enough to
have discovered this fact—who, by reason of sheer physical un-
attractiveness, appeared to be debarred, by nature, from a par-
ticipation in the intenser joys of their more fortunate sisters.
Wan, hard-featured, and flat-footed, they seemed to have been
predestined, from the very beginning, for nuns, dentists' assist-
ants, or for the helpmates of blind men who must remain for
ever blind. Miss Elizabeth Barlow, however, was not of these
unfortunate beings. There could have been no reason why, in
the far-off days of her youth, she should not have indulged in
all the romantic dreams and aspirations which must have been
common then, as now, to most of the well-favoured and agree-
able young ladies of the age. Of course, after the demise of the
gentleman in the naval uniform, it was only natural that she
should decide upon a life of perpetual celibacy, seeing that all
other men must then have appeared to her as mere hollow phan-
toms, possessing neither interest nor individuality; but still, of
the many women who may have been compelled, by a like mis-
fortune, to arrive at this melancholy resolution, how few there
were who could have endured the desolate years with such perfect
patience and equanimity!
Lucy seemed to perceive now, by the light of this recent reve-
lation, what it was that had supported her great-aunt in her
widowed maidenhood. With a piety as sincere as it was unos-
tentatious, she had been looking forward to an eventful reunion
with the beloved, a union overshadowed by the dread of no
possible parting, final, indissoluble, eternal!
With the help of a vivid and exuberant imagination, it did
not take long for the narrow strip of suburban garden, beneath
the window, to lengthen and expand, before Lucy's gaze, into
what might have passed for the "counterfeit presentment" of
" the fancied fields of Heaven."
Boundless, infinite, interminable, the green savannahs seemed
to stretch away to the uttermost visible edge of the horizon.
What enchanting groves of palm, tamarind, and pomegranate !
What a profusion of hanging yellow bananas, figs, grapes, oranges,
and other delicious fruits! As balmy zephyrs wafted aside the
laden branches, Lucy could perceive between them the glimmer
312
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
of a silvery river, its bosom strewn with floating water-lilies and
gliding swans. So there were swans in Heaven ! Ay, and other
birds as well; long-tailed, crested, flashing the most gorgeous
colours as they flew from tree to tree, and yet warbling just as
melodiously as any of the more sober-suited thrashes or night-
ingaies of earth. To the right of this imaginary landscape,
whither the shimmering river was taking its course, lay a blue
expanse of placid ocean, alive with painted bai-ges and fairy
skiffs, upon whose shining sands the great spotted cowries and
wide-mouthed spiked shells were cast up already scoured and
polished, like those which were grouped about the fender in the
sitting-room downstairs. Statues, sculptured by no mortal hand,
long bowling-alleys, sided by "peacock-yews," and piducely gate-
ways of ironwork, magnificently wrought, lent to the garden au
aspect which was, perhaps, Watteauesque, rather than celestial;
the imaginations of our hearts, however, are usually merely the
reproductions of what we may have beheld with our outward
vision, so that Lucy need not be too severely censured for her
somewhat free rendering of " the eternal joys of Heaven ! "
"Wandering beneath the shade of these delightful groves, re-
posing in sociable groups upon the wide-spreading velvet lawns,
or breasting the sapphire wave in skiff and galley, the elect—
men and women resembling in almost every respect the men
and women of earth, except* that their faces and figures seemed
to have undergone some sort of process of illumination and ideal-'
ization—invested the landscape with an air of gala and anima-
tion. With such enchanting surroundings, Lucy thought, as
she went on with her fantastic day-dream, it was not to be
wondered at if everybody appeared to be joyful, radiant, in
peaceful and sympathetic communion one with the other.
Wbat a delightful vision! and not, it maybe, so utterly im-
possible of realization, one day, after all!
But ah! she perceived by-and-by that her conclusions had been
somewhat premature. Hot everybody seemed to be perfectly
happy, even in Heaven. .
Who is yonder handsome young man, roaming solitary and
disconsolate, aloof from the radiant groups of contented spirits ?
Clad in a British naval uniform, with heavy old-fashioned epau-
lettes, he paces up and down the long bowling-alley nearest to
the principal entrance, and gazes anxiously in the direction of
its massive gateways of wrought-iron. He is pale, impatient,
preoccupied. He has been expecting, and for so long, the being
he loved best upon earth, and he can neither rest nor be content
until she arrives. As he turns and confronts Lucy's mental
vision in the course of his "quarter-deck" pacings, she is enabled
to examine his features. They are those she has just seen de-
picted in the sham " Cosway " miniature. It is that same sea-
captain who was the love of Miss Elizabeth Barlow's early days!
By-and-by, as he still lingers, expectant, the heavy gates slowly
reyolve upon their hineres. A fresh convov of the rHsem'hr.rNpcl—
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 313
accepted, regenerated—have presented themselves for admission.
A gentle flutter, as of welcome or anticipation, is apparent
amongst the permanently established spirits within. Some-
thing seems to say to the pale sea-captain that she has come at
last!
Trembling with grateful emotions, he advances to the gateway.
His heart spoke truly, for he can hear her calling upon his name.
But ah! what cruel trickery is here ? Who is this aged beldame
who comes forward to greet him with so much effusion ? His
mother ? His grandmother ? His faithful old nurse ? Ho, surely!
He has never beheld her before! Bent, withered, pinched in
form and in feature, how can this be the sunny girl to whom he
once plighted his troth ? An explanation follows. Reluctantly
he is brought to a recognition of the truth. She points to the
portrait which she is still wearing round her neck; the portrait
which resembles him still. His heart—or rather the precipitated
substance which does duty now for that organ—is benumbed
within him. He has met her at last, and what happiness has
this meeting brought him ? Alas, but sorry consolation ! And
this, after waiting and hoping for her coming for such a very
long time! Because of it, in fact, because during all this time
she had been withering and whitening upon earth, and turning
gradually into this venerable crone, whom he must have failed
altogether to recognize but for his own portrait hanging about
her wrinkled neck!
Arrived thus far in her musings, Lucy, too, felt suddenly dis-
couraged. Warm as was the interest with which the discovery
of her aunt's early attachment had inspired her, it was improbable
that she would have let loose her spirit upon so protracted a
flight, could it have acquired in its aerial wanderings no subtle
impressions suitable to a personal application.
Anthony, her own Anthony—as she could not resist calling
him still, in spite of the obstacles which were threatening to
separate them for ever—who at this very moment, perhaps,
was pacing the deck of that receding troop-ship and thinking
of her, might, too probably, never live to retrace his course.
Strong, loyal, and courageous, he would, of course, be ever
foremost in the fray, and the painful uncertainty which existed
with regard to his future, might even tempt him to seek posi-
tions of exceptional peril, in order thus to escape from having
any future at all. Out off, in the flower of his youth, by the
cruel Zulu assegais, what would remain to her, Lucy Barlow,
but to wrinkle and shrivel, in disconsolate spinsterhood, as her
great-aunt had wrinkled and shrivelled before her ? But then,
her great-aunt had not been in the least disconsolate, because
she had entertained the blessed hope of an eventual reunion.
To Lucy, however, this hope seemed so fraught with doubts
and difficulties that she was uncertain whether it could ever
afford her much real consolation. The future—in fact, the ex-
tyeme and ultimate hereafter—appeared at this moment to be
3M THRO' LOVE AND WAR
as dreary and uncertain as that which was hounded by an
earthly horizon. Her surmises, however, were probably alto-
gether idle and erroneous. In the perfect heaven, was it not
more likely that everybody would seem to be of a perfect age ?
Hay, had we not the highest authority for supposing _ that not
only our spirits, but the shapes also in which those spirits were
to be made visible, would be glorified and idealized? Lucy's
grey and shrivelled great-aunt, therefore, might spring forward,
rosy-cheeked and golden-haired, to meet her faithful and ex-
pectant sea-captain—who, with whiskers eternally black, and
hazel eyes of an enduring brightness, would welcome her joy-
fully to the realms of an abiding bliss!
But then, how, thus physically changed and rejuvenated,
would Miss Elizabeth Barlow be recognizable to Lucy herself,
who had only known her when she was quite an old woman ?
Ah, well! This recognition would not be of so very much im-
portance after all. So long as all the faithful lovers, and all
the well-assorted husbands and wives, could make sure of one
another's identity, it would not matter so very much about the
rest of the community.
Hay; but how about the great-nieces, who, for lack of hus-
band or lover, had concentrated their warmest affections upon
their great-aunts, and the great-aunts who ardently yearned
for this second meeting with their great-nieces ?
Lucy, as the reader will have perceived—in no conscious
spirit of profanity, but simply by the ingenious working of an
imaginative brain—had been lured on, imperceptibly, into fields
of abstruse and unfamiliar conjecture, and the mind that per-
mits itself such an unwarrantable license must be prepared to
encounter new difficulties at every turn.
The sky had grown amber above the shrouded mystery of the
great city whilst she had been dreaming on. The " fancied
fields of Heaven " had disappeared, and she beheld, as usual, the
narrow garden beneath her, bounded by its walls of mellowed
brickwork, with its formal flower-beds, across which the even-
ing shadows were lengthening, and the gnarled medlar-tree,
under the shade of which she was wont to sit and hem dusters
in what seemed now quite like olden times.
Her aunt had been dozing, quite peacefully, apparently,
ever since she had regained possession of the precious portrait.
Lucy felt afraid of disturbing her by rising from her place. She
remained, therefore, patiently seated, until, some twenty minutes
later, the door opened softly, and Sarah, followed by the doctor,
entered the room. They went straight to the bedside. To
Sarah's inexperienced eye, her aged mistress seemed to be
quietly slumbering. The doctor knew it at once for " the
slumber of the just."
" Ah ! she has passed away very comfortably," he remarked.
Then, turning to Lucy, he added cheerfully, " I was scarcely
prepared for so speedy a termination to her illness. These
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
315
hopeless cases drag on, sometimes, for a very long while. Ee-
covery was impossible from the first."
Lucy came from the window, feeling awed and bewildered.
This change, which for years would have seemed to most
people to be within the most reasonable limits of probability,
seemed now almost like a shock and a surprise ; and this even
after she had followed her aunt, in spirit, to within the very
gates of eternity!
There is a Spanish proverb which says that " neither death,
nor the sun, can be regarded fixedly and it is fortunate for us
that it is so, since the fleeting moments of many a joyous meet-
ing would be too often embittered by the ever-present conscious-
ness of approaching separation. Constituted as we are, how-
ever—although, as George Eliot has remarked, " in every parting
there is an image of death "—it is an image which is evoked only
for an instant, and the human mind is provided with such
numerous appliances for exorcising the unwelcome apparition
that even his most necessary and unavoidable visitations are
regarded by us in the light of intrusions.
" The end of all, the poppied sleep! "
Insensible, indeed, must be that man, or that woman, who
can contemplate, without emotion, the evidences of this eternal
rest, no matter how weary and travel-stained may have been
the wayfarer who lies to-day at peace with all the world!
CHAPTEE LII.
Upon the death of her paternal great-aunt, Lucy, as in duty
bound, wrote off at once to inform her mother's relations of the
fact.
The morrow's post brought her, in reply, a letter from her
cousin Adeliza, which I transcribe in full, for although the
literary style of this young lady was by no means perfect, her
ractical common-sense, shrewd worldly wisdom—nay, even the
ippant and irreverent manner in which she seemed to regard the
most solemn subjects—will serve, perhaps, to relieve the gloomy
impressions which may have been awakened by the last chapter.
" I condole with you, my dear Lucy," Adeliza wrote, " from
the very bottom of my heart! Poor, dear old soul! So, she has
gone at last; and I daresay, at first, you will feel quite lonely
without her, for one can't help missing things one has become
used to. She was very old, however, and could not, anyhow,
have lasted much longer; as it is, she has lived a good deal
longer than most people, and this, and the thought that you
did everything for her that you could, must be a great consola-
tion to you now. I suppose you have not yet heard about her
will, and don't know whether she died well off P Mamma thinks
she must have put by something, having lived so economically
316
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
for years, although she did not begin life rich. Of course she
has left you everything. You will be quile a small heiress,
which must make up, I should think, for a good deal. You
can't imagine the relief that I feel to know that soon, very soon,
I shall have a settled income of my own, for I have stipulated for
three hundred a year pin-money, and that I shall not be obliged
to scrimp and screw, and twist and turn, and fly to mamma to
drag out every farthing that I require for even the barest neces-
saries of life. All this, however, has not been arrived at without
trouble. Ah! Lucy, what troubles, what miseries, what awful
anxieties I have had lately to undergo ! Going to be married, I
can assure you, is not all roses. It is to be hoped that marriage
itself will compensate one for all these previous bothers. Oh,
Lucy! this terrible, terrible war! "Whenever there have been
wars before I have never taken the slightest interest in them, and
have always felt so bored with all the people who did ! In the
Ashantee war, I never cared a bit how many people were killed,
or whether they were black, white, or piebald ; for, as Algy was
not then of an age to go into the army, and even thought at times
of going into the Church instead, to save trouble, I really did
not care in the least which way things turned; as, supposing
that Algy did Anally decide upon being a soldier, I thought
it would be better to get as much fighting as possible over before
he ' passed,' for in those days one stupidly fancied that one's
brother would always be one's first thought. But alas ! what
changes have come ' o'er the spirit of one's dream' since that
time! I must tell you, as briefly as I can, of all the terrible
complications that have come to pass since last we met, in case
you have not heard of them from another quarter. Perhaps it
may cheer you up a little to know how miserable other people
have been, for I think this is always some sort of consolation to
one in sorrow. Well, then, to begin with, as I have no doubt you
already know, a wing of dearest Charlie's regiment was ordered
off to this horrible war. The second officer in command, it
seems (who is a highly respectable married man, but not strong
—a very different person, by all accounts, from a mutual friend
of ours who shall be nameless), was not over and above keen
about going, particularly as his wife was just upon the point of
expecting a baby, and so ther& was some doubt at first as to
which officer should go out in command, as a certain individual,
not knowing that any part of the 18th was to be ordered out,
had sent in his papers some time before, intending to leave the
army and travel. When he found out, however, that the autho-
rities thought of sending out half the regiment, he moved heaven
and earth to keep them to the notion, and declared that nothing
would prevent him from taking the command if they went out.
It was all arranged just as he wished, and it seemed for a day or
two as if everything was satisfactorily settled, without interfering
in any way with one's future plans. As I was thinking, one after-
noon, how very much worse matters misrht have turned ont,. I
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
3*7
saw Captain Sparshott drive up suddenly in a hansom, with a
face half the length of my arm. I flew downstairs and let him.
hp before he had time to ring, and begged him to tell me if any-
thing dreadful had happened, for I felt morally certain, from
the expression of his face, that either Sir Timothy, or that awful
old mother of his, had gone off in an apoplectic fit. But what
do you suppose had really happened ? He, too, had been ordered
off to South Africa ! The news had ' fallen upon him like a
bomb-shell,' he said, for some time he could ' scarcely hold up
his head.' By-and-by, however, he remembered that ' England
expected every man to do his duty;' hoped I would ' put a good
face on the matter, and keep up my pluck.' The $ worst of it
was' our marriage would have to be postponed, &c. &c. &c.
You can imagine, I daresay, what my feelings were when I
heard this awful announcement; 01* rather, you will be quite
unable to do so, never having been engaged, as I am, to the only
being on earth that you feel you could ever really have loved !
His going out to the war was, of course, bad enough, but when
compared to the postponement of our marriage it seemed as
nothing ! I could not, of course, interfere with the orders of the
Commander-in-Chief, much as I should have liked to have done
so, but knowing how very slippery men are, particularly officers, I
determined immediately upon one thing—that I would be mar-
ried to dearest Charlie before he quitted these shores, no matter
how hurried or how private the wedding; for even if he should
afterwards have the terrible bad luck to be killed, the position
of a widow has so many ' pulls' over that of a girl, that I felt it
would be wrong of me to allow my fears to stand in the way of
my future. As soon as Captain Sparshott was gone, I went up
to mamma, who was lying down, and talked over the matter
with her. She was perfectly horrified when she heard that dear
Charlie was thinking of leaving England a free man, and said
that whatever happened, we must certainly be married first.
When once mamma takes an idea into her head, she is as obsti-
nate as(a mule, so I felt that I had gained a really valuable ally.
She wrote off immediately to uncle Belmorris, who happened to
be in London, and who arrived soon afterwards, and we all held
a regular council of war. It never entered into the head of uncle
Belmorris, who is, as you know, open as the day, and truthful
and honourable to a fault, to imagine for one moment that
Captain Sparshott had been playing us, in any way, false.
Mamma, however, who is a good deal sharper than any one
would suppose, and awfully cunning, was full of suspicions from
the very first—fancying, I don't know why, that dear Charlie
contemplated wriggling out of his engagement; and without
admitting that this idea was altogether well founded, I must
confess to you, with pain and humiliation, that Captain Spar-
shott was not acting altogether ' upon the square.' Uncle
Belmorris had an interview with him upon the subject of hasten-
ino- on our marriage. He appeared, it is true, to be just as keen
3i8
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
about it as I was, but feared, be said, that he would be unable
to get sufficient extension of leave for the purpose, as his orders
were that he was to sail at once with his men; and he then
alluded to the serious risk I should run of being left a widow,
if he married me before he came back. I had prepared my
uncle, however, that if any allusion was made to this point,
he was to get over it as best he could, without displaying any
want of proper feeling; and, as he knows perfectly well
that I would sooner risk being left a widow three times over
than miss the chance of being once a wife, this little
difficulty was very quickly disposed of. But to make a long
story short, what do you suppose transpired when uncle
Belmorris, thinking to do a really Christian act, went to the
authorities at the War Office to try and get Charlie an extension
of leave ? He had volunteered! and the story of his having been
ordered out with his troop was an utter and entire fabrication
from beginning to end. At first, of course, we were all very much
disgusted, I, most of all, as you may imagine, for I had believed
Captain Sparshott to be utterly different from all other men, who
I have always known were fearfully treacherous and deceiving.
All the same, when my uncle began to talk about offering to give
Charlie his liberty, or at any rate putting off the marriage until
there was a ' cessation of hostilities,' I felt my heart regularly
sinking down into my boots, and I determined that I would forget
and forgive. We sent for Charlie, and he and I had the most
harrowing interview upon the green velvet sofa in the back
drawing-room, the very place where, as I reminded him, he had
told me he cared for me first. I cried bucketsful of tears, and
I did, indeed, feel dreadfully wretched and unsettled, and he, I
must say, was awfully kind and affectionate, and even, now and
then, perfectly impassioned in his manner. After hearing his ex-
planation of the circumstances, too, they assumed altogether a
different aspect. He had been seized, it seems, when he heard
that his Colonel was going out in command—for whom, like some
other people I know of, he seems to have a sort of blind infatua-
tion—with an utterly uncontrollable spirit of martial ardour ; and
we must remember, dearest Lucy, that men are not quite like we
are. Inspired by this feeling, and finding that he was not one of
the officers ' down' for active service on account of its being
known that he was going to be married, and that he was to be
left, probably, at the depot, he sent in his name to the autho-
rities, scarcely knowing at the moment what he was doing. He
did not tell me of this at the time, fearing, dear boy, that it might
' give me a turn,' and not knowing, after all, whether his ser-
vices would be accepted. "When he heard that he had been
selected to go, he mentioned this to me without saying that it was
in consequence of his having sent in his name, because, he said, he
feared that we might have ' misinterpreted ' his ' motives.' I told
him that this was exactly what we bad done, but that he might,
perhaps, make it all right with mamma and uncle Belmorris, if
Thro' love and war 319
he would only obtain an extension of leave and push on the
settlements. I said, however, that they were, naturally, much
upset by his conduct, and that, unless he set about repairing it
at once, I fearea no power on earth would ever induce them to
consent to our marriage. I very soon found that my spirited
tactics had produced an effect, for it is astonishing how much
fonder of one men seem always to become when they think there
is a chance of their losing one altogether. Captain Sparshott
immediately did exactly what I told him to do; so now our
wedding is settled to take place, quite privately, next Tuesday
week, entirely owing to my own exertions ! As you may suppose,
my family were delighted at this result, and they all compli-
mented me warmly upon my diplomatic skill. Algy remarking,
in his brutal, blunt, brotherly way, that' a fellow who had been
found out telling such a terrific " whopper,"' ought certainly to be
' collared ' at once, as there was no saying what other ' tricks ' he
might not play one if one allowed him to escape from one's
' clutches !' And, I must confess that, although I do not now
believe for one moment that poor dear Charlie meant to tell a
•' whopper' at all, there is certainly in what Algy said a very de-
cided germ of truth, Captain Sparshott's conduct having been,
I can't help admitting, uncommonly ' fishy ;' and this makes it
a great comfort to think that the day for the wedding is now
actually fixed. In consequence of his falling in so kindly with my
views, the part of his regiment that was ordered out had of
course to start without him, and he will now have to pay for his
own passage and go out three weeks later, by one of the ordinary
steamers, which, however, as I tell him, will be a great deal more
comfortable, so that he is not really so very much to be pitied
after all. Lady Sparshott, who is rabidly fond of soldiers, and
who ought certainly to have been a man, insisted upon going to
see the troops off, and as Charlie was, of course, bent upon going
too, I also had to rise with the lark and rush off without any
breakfast to witness the departure, for knowing that Captain
Sparshott would be ' pawing the ground ' to accompany his men,
I did not dare trust him out of my sight. W e all went down to
Gravesend in a special steamer which had been chartered by a
friend, and drew up when we got there alongside of an enormous
troopship. Our steamer wobbled very unpleasantly whilst we
were waiting to go on board the other one; and had it not been
for my more melancholy feelings, I should have felt a little un-
comfortable. After some delay, however, a rope Avas thrown over
and a plank put across for us, and we soon found ourselves on
board the troopship, tightly packed in a dense crowd, composed
chiefly of the soldiers and their friends. Some of the men, I
noticed, looked rather pale and dissipated, as if they had been
' making a night of it.' I saw a good many Avith black eyes, and
pieces of sticking-plaster on their faces; and as they had evi-
dently cast off all ceremony upon going on board, they were not
half so carefully ' got up' as usual. The officers, of course, looked
320
THRO» LOVE AND WAR
awfully nice (there were several of these who belonged to other
regiments going out); although some of them looked, I thought,
a little rough about the chin, as if they were determined to lose
no time in letting their beards grow ! I looked Everywhere for a
certain individual, but could see nothing of him at first owing to
the crowd. I never let Charlie out of my sight for a single
secoud, except once, when he and his dreadful old mother started
off to look at the chargers in another part of the ship, and then
I sent Algy, who came with us, to keep a sharp look-out upon
him in order that he might not come under any dangerous in-
fiuence! Before leaving they settled me upon a large deal pack-
ing-case, in a secluded corner, for all the chairs and benches were
occupied, and as I was almost ready to drop with fatigue, I was
very thankful to obtain any kind of seat. Ah ! Lucy, how I
thought of you when I read the direction which wa3 written
upon this case. I have copied it down for you :—
' Colonel Hepburn,
Commanding 18th Lancers,
H.M.'s Troopship Cleopatra.
(Vommcmj Sf Qreno, Reims. Extra Sec. 18 dozen.)
Class with care. This side upwards.'
I saw that there were several other packing-cases from the same
place piled up close by, so it is evident that the Colonel intends
to keep up his spirits during the voyage. Just as this idea was
occurring to me, I happened to look, quite accidentally, through
some iron railings down on to a lower deck, and there, who should
I see talking to Algy and Captain Sparshott but the very indi-
vidual himself! He was looking particularly well, and did not
seem to be at all cast down at the idea of going. Thinking
that if I got up and made any sort of friendly demonstration,
I should lose my place, I remained sitting where I was, upon
his champagne-case, and, in a few minutes, he totally dis-
appeared from view! I questioned Algy, however, afterwards
—knowing how interested you would be in the matter—as to
what he said, what he had on, &c. &c. &c., but you know how
provoking boys are ! All that I could drag out of Algy was,
that he ' looked all right,' and ' seemed awfully cheery,' but
I could get no details. Some of the officers had on most
delicious-looking high light-coloured campaigning boots—very
becoming indeed—something like those worn by the Cavaliers
in the time of Charles the First, but that stupid Algy said he
actually had not observed whether the Colonel had on boots of
this kind or not! The day had turned rather damp and chilly,
and I saw, when I looked down at him, that he was wearing
(half on and half off) a very romantic-looking long cloak—dark
grey—trimmed with ' astrachan,'—but this is all that I can
tell you with regard to his appearance, for, just at that moment,
a bell rang, which was the signal for all the friends and relations
of the soldiers to leave the ship; and when Charlie, and Algy,
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
321
and Lady Sparshott rejoined me, your particular friend was
not with them. As soon as we got on board our own steamer
again, we started down the river, in order to accompany the
troopship for a short distance. It soon overtook us, of course,
and as it glided by us deafening cheers rang from each ship,
accompanied by tremendous wavings of hats and handkerchiefs,
whilst a band somewhere struck up "The girl I left behind
me ! " Several of the officers climbed up into the rigging so as;
to be able to get a better view of their friends, and I recognized
Colonel Hepburn standing on the deck as the ship passed. He
waved his hand to poor dear Charlie, whose eyes, I saw, were
quite full of tears ! I believe it was really an awful blow to
him to be left behind, even when he knows that it is because
he is going to be married ! Men are, certainly, very differently
made from what we are, as I have said before ! Fancy any of
us actually weeping with disappointment because we couldn't
go out to run the risk of being killed quite so soon as we had
expected; for I daresay a great many of those fine fellows will
never come back to these shores ! The scene, I must say, was
really too awfully harrowing ! I have become a good deal
hardened to most things, on account of all that I have had to
go through, but I don't mind confessing that, if it had not been
for the fear of getting a red nose, and looking a positive monster,
I think I should certainly have been unable to help breaking
down and crying myself! How, dearest Lucy, I have given
you a thorough description of some of the worries I have had
to go through. Mamma—who is in bed with bronchitis—begs
me to join her love and condolences to my own. She would
have liked you to have come to us now—if it were not for the
terrible state of confusion we are in with all these preparations
on hand—but she hopes for this pleasure a little later on, and
has no doubt but that you have plenty of kind neighbours who
will be a comfort to you at this trying moment; and it will be
easier for her to act, she says, when she knows the contents of
your aunt's will, and what her desires were with respect to
your future. Algv begs me to say, his love, and will it be any
comfort to you if he puts in an appearance at the funeral ?
Because, if so, he will, with pleasure—only, he must know at
once, as he has no black coat. I would run down and see you
myself, but that I am so busy getting ready for my wedding.
With much love, and hoping that you will keep up your spirits,
" Believe me to be,
" Ever your affectionate Cousin,
"Adeliza Binks."
As may be easily imagined, the foregoing letter—not with-
standing that it contained so exhaustive an account of Adeliza's
troubles'—did not produce an altogether cheering effect upon
poor Lucy!
322
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
She allowed it to fall listlessly from her hand after reading
through its eight closely written pages, and remained for some
time wrapped in a profound reverie,fraught with bitter memories
and gnawing apprehensions.
From beneath a burden of sorrow and desolation, two or
three of the careless sentences in her cousin's letter kept on
recurring to her mind. Over and over again, she found herself
repeating them, half unconsciously, and each time they seemed
to cause her new disappointment and humiliation.
" He was looking particularly well, and did not seem to be at
all cast down at the idea of going." "He looked all right,
and seemed awfully cheery;" and then, last, though not
least in its power to contribute a passing sting, because of its
seeming cruel incongruity—" Pomery & Greno, Reims. Extra
Sec. 18 dozen. Glass with care. This side upwards; " and
Adeliza's subsequent remark to the effect that it was evident
that the Colonel intended " to keep up his spirits " during the
voyage.
These were the haunting words which seemed to blight and
crush the little hope that still remained in her heart! And
this even as she sat alone, in a shrouded chamber, whither she
had gone with an earnest desire to pray; within sight, too, of
the narrow coffin-lid and its simple inscription, in the midst of
which the two long-tailed " sevens " stood close together, in
indication of her dead benefactress's accomplished years !
Life is, indeed, a strange medley of contrasts, combinations,
and contradictions!
CHAPTER LIII.
Miss Elizabeth Barlow's last will and testament, when it was
eventually discovered in the depths of the tin box which con-
tained the once highly valued ermine trimmings, was concise
and explicit enough for even Lucy to understand without
assistance.
Testamentary depositions are apt to seem tedious except to
the persons immediately concerned in them. It will be enough,
therefore, to say that she had bequeathed the whole of her
fortune and her savings, amounting in all to about £20,000,
to her great-niece. This money, it appeared from a memo-
randum, had been invested in a Government security, yielding,
it is true, only a moderate interest, but free, as far as could be
foreseen, from all dangerous risks and vacillations. Particulars
relating to this investment were to be found, according to the
same memorandum, in a large envelope marked " A 1" in red
ink, which would be found in one of the pigeon-holes of the
bureau which has already been mentioned.
For Lucy's benefit also her kind great-aunt had been at the
trouble and expense of insuring her life (particulars relating to
this policy would be found in the same pigeon-hole, enclosed in
THRO* LOVE AND WAR 323
another envelope marked "B 2"). Furthermore, to her true and
valued friend Achille Marquis de la Yieilleroche, the sum of two
hundred pounds, as a remembrance only and token of her esteem;
and to Lady Mabella Binks, to her son Algernon, and to her
daughter Adeliza, likewise merely as a modest souvenir, the sum
of two hundred pounds apiece, to be paid to them free of all
legacy duty.
Particulars relating to the appointment of Lucy's guardians
need not be alluded to here, Miss Elizabeth's prudent decisions
having been nullified by the fact that her great-niece had just
attained her majority, and was therefore deemed competent, ac-
cording to the law of the land, to take care of herself.
In the first portion of the will, the old lady's solicitor, Mr.
Fletcher, together with the Rev. Orlando Binks, Lucy's maternal
uncle, had been appointed her executors. Then, upon the demise
of the last-named gentleman, " Sydney Adolphus Podmore, of
Palmyra House, Clapham Common," had for a short time sup-
plied the vacancy thus created. Quite recently, however, so re-
cently that Lucy wondered that she had not become aware of
the circumstance, a codicil had been added to the will, witnessed
by Miss Barlow's medical adviser and the highly respectable
clock-winder, by which, whilst the name of her solicitor continued
still to be associated with the final administration of her affairs,
" Sydney Adolphus Podmore," for no reason therein assigned,
was deposed iu favour of " Achille Marquis de la Yieilleroche."
It was impossible for Lucy not to feel deeply grateful for this
alteration. Relieved as she was, however, she could not help
being a little surprised at it. "Achille Marquis de la Yieille-
roche " was, in the first place, a man well stricken in years.
Further stricken indeed than, with the tenacious vanity of his
race,- he might have wished his female friends to suppose. He
was of course noble, chivalrous, possessed of a thousand amiable
and lovable qualities; but he was a foreigner, impulsive, Quixotic,
eccentric, and pre-eminently unconventional. " Infatuated old
simpleton ! " " Imbecile, utterly incapable of reform." These
were a few of the epithets which he was in the habit of hurling
at his own head, so that Miss Elizabeth's attention must have
been constantly directed to his weaknesses. His administration
of his own property, too, had been, as far as could be inferred
from his present circumstances, anything but successful. If the
glories of the de la Yieilleroches had ever existed anywhere save
in the imagination of their last living representative, how had
those glories departed! Revolutions, it may be, the unsettled
condition of France, the Marquis's avowed sympathy with the
Legitimist party ; these causes were no doubt amply sufficient
to have dissipated his worldly goods, without any assistance
upon his part of rashness and extravagance; but still it was
reasonable to suppose that, to Miss Elizabeth Barlow, " Sydney
Adolphus Podmore," the ostentatiously punctilious man of busi-
324 THRO* LOVE AND WAR
ness, the ardent supporter of all that was practical, orthodox,
and respectable, must have seemed a far more suitable person to
carry'out her last wishes than an eccentric old Frenchman of
erratic habits and doubtful antecedents. Apart from the respect
and affection with which Lucy herself had always regarded the
old Professor, the fact that Anthony Hepburn had entrusted him
with the management of affairs to the utmost degree "private
and confidential," seemed, in her eyes, to be an undeniable proof
of his wisdom and integrity. But then Miss Elizabeth Barlow
could have known nothing about this. What, then, had caused
Mr. Podmore to be deposed from the high place he once occupied
in her esteem ? Had there been any recent quarrel, any serious
difference of opinion ? or was the substitution of Monsieur de la
Vieilleroche's name due merely to the proverbial capriciousness
of Miss Elizabeth Barlow's sex.
Lucy, at any rate, could find no fault with her great-aunt's
decision. Not even in her present desolate situation had she
been kept in ignorance of his supposed matrimonial intentions,
and of his subsequent tale-bearing, could she have derived so much
as a crumb of comfort from Mr. Podmore's society. There exists
an Italian proverb to the effect that it is better to walk alone
than to be badly accompanied. Lucy experienced the truth of
this now, and was relieved to find that the society of one who
had never been congenial to her need not be thrust upon her
through the force of circumstances.
Had Mr. Podmore's presence been most urgently desired, how-
ever, at this particular juncture, the Marquis gave it as his
opinion that it would have been extremely difficult to find him.
He had departed from Palmyra House, according to the same
authority, without leaving any definite address. Several per-
sons, the Marquis had been led to understand, were particularly
anxious to be informed of it. Coming events—events of con-
siderable gravity—" were casting their shadows before." Nothing
could be more insupportable than to hear people declaring, after
the discovery of a catastrophe, that they had always been con-
vinced it would happen. Nevertheless, were it not that he was
afraid of being classed with these people, he would affirm that,
from the very first moment of his meeting with " that magnifi-
cent Podmore," he had experienced instinctively. But no! He
would allow events to have time to develop themselves before he
gave a hint as to his suspicions. " Podmore " had been written
to upon a very grave and important matter by Miss Elizabeth
Barlow's solicitor. Time would show what answer he would
vouchsafe to this communication. Till then, Monsieur de la
Vieilleroche would remain silent, breathing not one word as to
the apprehensions that were agitating his mind.
Algernon Binks, notwithstanding that Lucy had expressed no
particular desire for his presence, had graciously condescended
to appear at her great-aunt's funeral. But for the message he
had sent to her by Adeliza, it would never have occurred to her,
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
325
to take any particular notice of the colour of his coat. Since he
himself had alluded to the subject, however, and had been at the
trouble of informing her that his attendance at Miss Elizabeth
Barlow's obsequies would necessitate the purchase of an appro-
priately " inky garb," and since the human mind is so grotesquely
constituted that it is prone to turn as if for solace, in sacred and
supreme moments, to the contemplation of trifles " light as
air," Lucy could not help remarking, as her cousin stood between
the sable-garmented forms of the old Professor and the family
solicitor, in the rays of a searchingly strong light, that his coat
did not certainly appear to be quite black ; of an invisible green
rather or surreptitious mulberry, she could not afterwards re-
member which. Still it was very kind of Algy to have thought
of coming at all, and his little visit of condolence after the sad
ceremony, besides serving for the moment to distract her mind,
seemed to betoken, that beneath an habitual assumption of self-
ishness, he was not entirely without sympathy for the misfor-
tunes of others ; and once we discover that a person is possessed
of sympathy and compassion, it is easy enough to forgive him
the unsympathetic cut or colour of his coat!
Algernon Binks had failed again in his preliminary examina-
tion for the army. Most, of his friends had not been unprepared
for this result. His mother and sister, whilst regretting, for
many reasons, the fruitlessness of his efforts, were less cast down
than might have been expected, for they inclined to the belief
that he was, probably, one of those transcendent geniuses whose
minds repudiate the drudgery and humiliation of set tasks; and
that, possibly, after he had somehow taken the world by storm,
and become famous, it would be stated in his biography, for the
encouragement of the incompetent, how utterly impossible it had
been for him to acquire almost every kind of information through
the ordinary channels; for there exists, according to Hume, " an
ancient prejudice, industriously propagated by the dunces in all
countries, that a man of genius is unflt for business ;" and of
all businesses, that of assimilating knowledge is not always the
least irksome.
Be this how it may, poor Algy had found it utterly impossible
to demonstrate, unassisted, what would be the exact cost, per
square yard, of a piece of " kamptulicon " oil-cloth, 72| yards in
length and 27| inches in width, and the price of which, as a
whole, would amount to £12 19s. llf d. He had tried and tried,
until his head had positively ached, and he had then left this,
and several other questions of the same nature, to shift for
themselves.
He had felt dazed and impotent, too, when it was required of
him, amongst other more abstruse problems, to "describe an
equilateral triangle of 2J inches side," on one of the sides of
which he was further requested to "describe an isosceles triangle,
having its two sides each 3 inches long," and he did not even
feel cuite certain as to how he should set about inscribing a
326
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
square (as the examination paper demanded of him), " in the
quadrilateral figure thus obtained."
Some of his translations from the French also would have
been almost comic, but for the deplorable ignorance they dis-
played of the Gallic idiom !
And then, to crown all, his English dictation!
How disgracefully it had been spelt, and how utterly degrading
to an Englishman to be actually "plucked" in the spelling of
his own language; and to show, as Adeliza afterwards remarked,
that he possessed " not even the most rudimentary knowledge
of the roots of words ! "
For Adeliza, who, in spite of her frequent bickerings, regarded
Algy, secretly, very much as most young ladies are apt to regard
an only brother, being unable to plume herself upon his magni-
ficent attainments, seemed determined to glorify and exaggerate
the extent of his ignorance—
"Nobody in the whole world could spell in quite such an
original way as Algy! " " Algy's pronunciation of the French
language was something quite delightfully special! " " Algy
would be certain to say, if anybody asked him what two and
two was, that it made five!" &c. &c. &c.; as though she was
desirous that these evidences of boyish stupidity should take
rank as full-grown and respectable Binks idiosyncrasies !
About a fortnight after the death of Miss Elizabeth Barlow,
Adeliza Binks and Captain Sparshott were joined together,
quite quietly, in holy matrimony.
Lucy, as a matter of form, was invited to the wedding; she
excused herself, however, on account of her recent bereavement,
and so was spared the witnessing of what is seldom a very
enlivening ceremony to the lookers-on.
In less than a week from the day of his marriage the Captain's
extension of leave came to an end, and he forthwith embarked
for the seat of war.
Adeliza, whose character ever since the celebration of the
sacred rite seemed to have become greatly subdued and mollified,
implored that she might not be separated from her "dearest
Charlie," without whom she had now discovered it would be utterly
impossible for her to exist; and it was finally settled, therefore,
that she should accompany him, notwithstanding her horror of
sea-sickness, and that, upon landing in South Africa, she should
remain at some comparatively civilized station whilst her hus-
band proceeded up the country in order to join the British
force.
Lucy went up to London for the day to bid farewell to Mrs.
Sparshott previous to her embarkation, and as the Captain was
very busy with his final preparations, the two cousins were
enabled to converse confidentially together for some time without
interruption.
Lucy, with her pale, anxious face and plain mourning dress,
presented a marked contrast to the handsome bride, who had
THROi LOVE AND WAR
327
donnedone of her most fascinating trousseau-toilettes for the
edification of her suburban kinswoman.
Several large black trunks, marked ostentatiously with Ade-
liza's newly acquired initial, were encumbering every available
space upon the narrow staircase in Wilton Place.
A strange feeling of profitless longing came into Lucy's heart
as she beheld them, which, had it taken the form of words, might
have been expressed somewhat as follows:—
" Fortunate, though inanimate, black boxes, bearing in your
passionless bosoms the soft raiment of a newly made bride!
Would that I, too, could get myself packed up in your inside,
and borne over sea to the far land where my love may have soon
to do battle with the dusky foe !"
" Perhaps," whispered Adeliza just as she was in the middle
of these melancholy reflections, "when I get out there, I may
see something of a certain individual! "
Lucy had often remarked, with some amusement, that accord-
ing to the traditions of the Binks family, people did not appear
to have been born " individuals." They had their individuality
thrust upon them by circumstances, and it seemed requisite,
too, that these circumstances should partake somewhat of the
equivocal, the mysterious, the marvellous.
For example, let a person conduct himself—for Lucy had
noticed that "individuals" were invariably males—with decency
and circumspection, treading carefully in the beaten track, and
denying himself all unconventional or romantic vagaries, and
he was no more entitled to take rank as an "individual" than
you or I. Once let it become known, however, to any member
of the Binks family that he had been suspected of cheating at
cards, of intriguing with a ballet-girl, or of walking in by the
window instead of the door, and his title to "individuality " was
permanently established forthwith.
Adeliza had evidently regarded Colonel Hepburn as a con-
firmed "individual" ever since the day when " dearest Charlie "
had confided to her his discovery of the large wax doll in the
brown-paper parcel, and he had thoroughly established his
claim to the title by his subsequent behaviour.
Lucy knew, therefore, at once to whom her cousin was allud-
ing. She knew, too, that the allusion was not intended to be
altogether complimentary.
" Oh, Addie ! " she exclaimed in reply, " do you really think
that you will see him ? Won't he be stationed up the country
quite an immense way off ? "
"He will, of course," Adeliza answered; "but then Charlie
will be there too, and he'll be constantly writing to me. I'll get
him to tell me everything about him—how he looks, what he
talks about, what he has on, and whether he snores, if Charlie
and he happen to sleep in the same tent; and L'll write home
and tell you all about it. And as, if I hear that dearest Charlie's
been wounded, or got fever, or anything dreadful, I've made up
328 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
my mind to call a bullock-waggon and fly off to him that very
moment, it's not at all unlikely that I may come across the
individual myself. Haven't you found out yet that the world's
an awfully small place ? "
" Oh, thank you—thank you!" was all that Lucy could answer,
for tears were starting to her eyes, and she felt altogether over-,
whelmed with emotion.
Captain Sparshott returned at about two o'clock from the
Army and Navy Co-operative Stores, where he had been busy
making purchases all the morning, his "hansom" looking like an
exaggerated horn of plenty, overflowing with parcels containing
groceries, ironmongeries, and indispensable unguents and medi-
caments.
Shortly after dismissing his cab he joined the two young ladies
in the back drawing-room, mopping his forehead, and looking,
Lucy thought, rather harassed and fatigued. He shook hands
very cordially with his new cousin, and, after embracing his
bride, informed her that he felt as if he was " quite ready for his
* grub.'" Luncheon followed in due course, when the Captain's
appetite proved that he had not spoken unadvisedly.
Lucy came to the conclusion that he, too, was much softened
and improved by matrimony, an almost tender and altogether
considerate bearing having replaced a certain swaggering impu-
dence of manner which had before distinguished him. He looked
at her, she thought, with quite a new expression of benevolent
sympathy in his dark eyes.
Probably there was not one jot or tittle of her history—or as
much of it, at any rate, as could be known to anybody besides
herself—which had not been already confided to him by his
devoted wife, and hence, perhaps, the newly awakened interest
in his glance.
After luncheon, at which Lady Mabella, who had not pre-
viously come down, and Algernon, who had not previously come
up, both put in an appearance, the young couple started off
together to bid farewell to some of the few friends who, from a
variety of causes, happened to be still lingering on in town; for
it was just the time of the year when London presents the
aspect of Dublin, or rather of Bloomsbury, her own neglected
child—of a city, that is to say, which has seen better days and
smarter people. The shutters were up in nearly all the houses
in the fashionable squares, aud the nasturtiums and mignon-
nette in their balconies were all straggling and running to seed.
Drivers of hansom cabs, so haughty and independent in mid-
season, condescended now to interrogate even the shabbiest-look-
ing wayfarers. The coachmen of great families, who happened
te have been left in town during the absence of their employers,
at Continental spas, wigless, bilty-cocked, having cast aside all
the outward badges of servitude, were taking their friends and
relations for airings in Hj-de Park in coroneted barouches,
whilst the water-cart, indefatigable alwavs at this dead season,
THRO" LOVE AND WAR
3 29
and one solitary horseman, who was in momentary expectation
of becoming a father, had got Rotten Row entirely to themselves.
On her way from Wilton Place to Victoria Station, Lucy per-
ceived many of the signs of this annually recurring desolation.
By five o'clock she was at home again, her quiet, solitary little
home, but still her " home " for all that, a resting-place from
the feverish turmoil of the world, and saddened and sanctified
now. by so many memories, bitter for the most part, but yet
some of them (thank Heaven for this, at least) sweeter and
more precious than it was possible for words to express.
A few lines were awaiting her from the old Professor : " Still
no news of our exemplary neighbour. Accumulations of letters,
telegrams, and urgent messages, are awaiting him at his resi-
dence. We are becoming more than anxious about him. It has
occurred to me that you might search again through your aunt's
correspondence. Look well through all her letters this evening.
Perhaps he may have written to her about this mysterious
absence from home, and may have even confided to her his
destination."
Lucy was not ignorant of the cause of her old friend's anxiety,
although she had not yet begun to share in it, for poverty to a
young and incorrigibly romantic person who has never expe-
rienced it is apt to seem like one of the least important and
disquieting of human ills.
But Miss Elizabeth Barlow's money being bequeathed as it
was bequeathed, and Lucy being, as Adeliza had surmised,
" quite a small heiress," what fears could there be with regard
to pecuniary matters ? In ordinary circumstances, Lucy's inde-
pendence in the future might have been looked upon as assured.
Circumstances, however, to judge by Monsieur de la Vieille-
roche's ominous remarks, were inclined to take a somewhat
alarming turn.
Upon referring to the envelope marked "A 1," in red ink,
the " particulars " it enclosed consisted simply of the following
words, in the late Miss Barlow's handwriting: "£10,000 consols
and £9500 India four per cent, stock transferred to Sydney Pod-
more, Esq., for re-investment at higher interest.—E. B." Mr.
Podmore's two receipts were enclosed in the same envelope; he
could not, therefore, deny that he had received the money. But
then, where was Mr. Podmore either to affirm or deny ? And
where, above all, were Miss Lucy Barlow's nineteen thousand
five hundred pounds? These were the momentous questions
that were at present agitating the rugged breast of Lucy's
faithful old friend.
" Monsieur didn't say he would come back later ? " Lucy in-
quired of Sarah, after she had read the Professor's note.
" No, Miss, the Marquee was in a great hurry. He had an
appointment, he said. I watched him go in at the gate of ' The
Aspens' after he left here."
" The gate of ' The Aspens !' "—the gate from which Lucy
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
averted her gaze now as from some accursed thing! Would she
live long enough, she sometimes asked herself, to marvel or to
smile at the emotions which the sight of everything connected
with "The Aspens " could not fail to evoke? Was it not more
likely that she would one day wonder, should Fate direct her
footsteps to "pastures new," how she had ever been able to
exist at all within sight of a house capable of awakening such
miserable thoughts ? No; the memories that clustered round
her quiet little home were not all sacred ones.
Any person possessing true sensibility must experience a feel-
ing of shrinking embarrassment when called upon, however
urgent the occasion, to read through the private papers of one
who is no more. As he or she glances over the written words,
written only for the eyes that are now fast closed, it is almost
impossible to help feeling a certain apologetic timidity, a sense as
of being watched—from either above or below—by this same pair
of eyes, grown alert and vigilant; and the being who would
willingly offend the susceptibilities of this invisible witness must
have come to be reckless and indifferent indeed!
Any qualms of conscience, however, which Lucy Barlow might
have experienced whilst going through her great-aunt's private
correspondence were neutralized by a conviction that the old
lady's blameless existence forbade the supposition that she could
have had anything to conceal. She read, therefore, reverently
and conscientiously, all such letters and papers as might have
been supposed to have any bearing upon the matter in question,
but discovered no clue either to Mr. Podmore's present where-
abouts, or to his disposition of the money.
Quite unexpectedly, however, she chanced upon a record which
brought tears of sympathy to her eyes.
A record of the past—of the past long buried and done with!
A letter to her great-aunt from the lover of her far-off youth!
To read this, after the silent understanding which had been
established between aunt and niece at the very last, Lucy felt
would be no indiscretion ; nay, it seemed almost as though the
awakened eyes of the departed slumberer were watching her in
mute approval.
The letter, traced in brown faded ink, upon hand-made writing
paper, ran thus :—
" My deabest beloved Betsy,
"Another death-blow to the plans we had at heart! I
have just been directed by the Admiral (damn his eyes !) to
put myself under the command of Captain Firebrace, of his
Majesty's ship Scorpion, and proceed with him immediately to
cruise in the Gutt, standing in once a day near enough to discern
signals from Gibraltar Bay. How long this state of things may
continue is known only to the Great Disposer of Events, to
whom alone I look for a favourable issue, and a delivery from
uncertainty and suspense. I hope, my dearest girl, that you will
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
331
bear up, and put your trust in Heaven, for I entertain a firm con-
viction that affection founded, as ours is, upon mutual esteem
and respect, cannot go on for ever unrecompensed. You are only
now seventeen, and if we can but get' spliced'—as we sailors bave
it—by the time you are twenty, I shall think myself one of the
luckiest fellows on shore, and shall pray that I may be enabled
to support this delay upon the high seas with Christian fortitude,
for I feel certain that if we are not destined to be joined together
in this world, we must assuredly come together in the next, so
that I shall endeavour to put a good countenance upon the
matter whichever way the wind blows. In spite of all the delay
and discouragement I have lately had to contend with, I'll not
say a single bad word for the sea. 'Tis a fine profession, and I
rejoice to learn that your brother, to whom I desire my affec-
tionate respects, is thinking of putting his little Billy into the
, Boyal Navy. The people about these coasts have a very pretty
talent for music, and I have set down, to the best of my power,
some of their songs upon paper, so that we may sing them to-
gether to your guitar, if God wills that I am ever to listen to it
again upon this earth. Iam impressed at times with a belief that
I may never again enjoy this privilege, which is present to me so
often in imagination. But I'll not repine, trusting as I do in the
abiding mercy of an All-powerful Providence, and in the con-
stancy of my dear Betsy's affection. For myself, you must be-
lieve, too, in my sincerity and truth, added to which, I find it
almost an impossibility to get on shore ; or, at least, to visit those
places where I should be likely to fall in with the society of
females. I doubt, too, whether the Senoritas would have any-
thing to say to me, for I am convinced, if you saw me, you would
protest that I was the damnedest-looking scoundrel imaginable,
burnt to the colour of an old shoe, and sadly in want of new
smalbclothes ! But I'll consider the lilies of the field, which toil
not, neither do they spin, and yet Solomon in all his glory was
not arrayed like one of these, and look forward to better times
and sounder garments. If you told the painter to put another
coating of brown paint over the face in my picture he would
make a far better likeness of it. Poor little devil! 1 dai-esay
he would be glad of the job. I must beg of you, my dear girl,
that you do me the honour and favour of wearing this portrait
as long as your affection continues for the subject of it, which I
desire to believe will be to the very end of this earthly pilgrim-
age, like his for you, who will do the same, also, by your
picture, and has left orders that it shall be lowered down with
him into his last resting-place, whether this be at sea or on dry
land. And now, that God Almighty may have you safe in His
keeping, and lead you to the perfect knowledge and understand-
ing of His ways, is the earnest prayer of your ever-faithful and
affectionate servant and lover,
"George Christopher,
" Who wishes, with his whole heart, that his dearest girl could
332
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
be present for one moment, so that he might press her once more
in his arms.
"His Majesty's Ship, Venturous,
" Gibraltar Bay, Sept. 11,18—."
This letter, which was addressed to " Miss Betsy Barlow, at
Lesser Pucklington, Bucks," bore upon the outside these few
words in the handwriting of the recipient:—" From my ever-
dearest G. 0. (Capn. R.N.), whose ship went down with all hands
off Yigo, on the 27th October, 18—. (His last letter.)"
So Captain George Christopher, R.N., had been drowned at sea
very nearly sixty long years ago! Affectionate, musical, religious,
and yet seemingly not averse, upon occasions, to the employ-
ment of tolerably strong language, he must have been worthy,
indeed, of Miss Elizabeth Barlow's early affections !
Hot that this was precisely the kind of love-letter, perhaps (the
result of an affection founded " upon mutual esteem and re-
spect! "), that Lucy would have desired to receive from " a
certain individual."
Lucy, however, although she may not have mingled much with
the most thoughtless and worldly of her kind, was essentially the •
child of these flippant, telegraphic, agnostical, lawn-tennisy latter
days ; when the most sacred and solemn subjects maybe touched
upon, lightly and airily, even in the hearing of an archbishop ;
when news can flash " from Greenland's icy mountains to India's
coral strand," in the mere "twinkling of a bedpost;" when no-
body knows, and few people seem to care, anything whatsoever
about " the dim hereafter of the soul; " when the greater portion
of the civilized globe seem to be intent only upon that most de-
pressing and fatiguing of occupations, the pursuit of pleasure;
when nearly every fashionable woman possesses a pug, and every
fashionable parson a beard, and when all the pillar post-boxes
are painted scarlet,
To her, therefore, the letter of the departed sailor seemed to
be a little rococo, bearing plainly upon its brow the imprint of
its sixty years. The strong language, it is true, lent it stamina
and backbone, but still the combination of texts and oaths
seemed to be rather incongruous, and to expose its style to the
reproach of what Mr. Matthew Arnold has termed "provinciality."
Naval officers, however, are apt to be more unaffectedly pious
than those employed in the sister-service. Is it, perhaps, that
lonely night-watch—that silent contemplation of the starry
firmament, with the consciousness that only a few planks and
cross-beams are set between him and eternity—which causes the
sailor to believe with more sincerity in the efficacy of Divine
protection ? Sixty years ago, however, piety and strong lan-
guage were " the proper thing," on shore as well as at sea, and
even in the very highest places.
" Why the devil, sir, didn't you remain for the Sacrament ? "
a royal duke ig said to have remarked to his equerry, moon re-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
333
joining him at the luncheon-table, after church ; only H.R.H.
made use of an expression which is looked upon as even more
emphatic than the much-abused name of the "puir deil!"
So that there is evidently a fashion in these things just as there
is in bonnets.
CHAPTER LIY.
The blow which Monsieur de la Vieilleroche had looked upon for
some time as impending, fell upon Lucy before she had realized
the possibility of any such catastrophe.
Mr. Podmore, sought for far and near by his numerous
creditors, was not forthcoming, and the money that had been
entrusted to him by Miss Elizabeth Barlow and other confiding
persons, had likewise mysteriously disappeared.
The leases of Palmyra House, Barlow Lodge, and " The
Aspens," were to be disposed of immediately, to meet some of
the most urgent demands ; and Lucy, but for the mangled re-
mains of her great-aunt's modest fortune, and the insurance
policy, which produced barely £100 a year, would have been
penniless and homeless as well. She was entitled, it appeared,
upon referring to the original agreement, as the tenant in
possession, to the first refusal of the lease of Barlow Lodge, and
application was made to her upon the subject—an empty form,
with which she could willingly have dispensed, seeing that it
was utterly impossible, out of the slender funds which were
now at her disposal, to do more than encounter the necessary
expenses of every day.
" And yet you will persist in paying these legacies at once to
your relatives who are already in easy circumstances ? " the old
Marquis inquired of her one day, after they had talked together
upon money matters until her head positively ached.
" Yes, of course I shall persist," she answered sadly; " all
the legacies must be paid off as soon as possible. I shall not
feel at rest until this is done!"
"And where, my dear, do you propose to obtain the money
to pay off all these people ? Eor myself, I do not intend to
accept one sou."
" I'm sorry for that. I wish you wouldn't be quite so proud.
We are such old friends, however, and we shall see so much of each
other, I hope, that I may be able somehow to help you, should
you be ever in want of money. I might assist you with your
lessons, perhaps, or work for you in some other way; but my
relations and the servants must have their legacies. As there
isn't enough money in the Bank, I suppose I shall have to sell
some of my things."
She glanced round the little sitting-room as she spoke. Never
before had its simple, old-fashioned furniture appeared so dear
to her. A new home would have seemed much less foreign and
334
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
desolate could slie have conveyed thither all her lares and senates;
but now the greater portion of them would have to go.
" You see," she went on, by-and-by, " I shall have to live in
a much smaller house—quite a cottage, in fact, or, very likely,
only in one room. What should I do with all this furniture? "
" You do not think that it would be best for you to write and
inform your aunt, milady Binks, of your position ? "
" Oh, no, no ! " replied Lucy quickly. " My one wish is to
conceal it from her. She isn't at all rich ; she hates worries; and
she has just been ordered out to Cannes for her health. What
good could she possibly do me ? But even if she offered me
help, I should refuse it. Before everything, I should like to be
independent."
She was thinking that, were she to confide in Lady Mabella,
Lord Belmorris also would probably become aware of her mis-
fortunes. She remembered, and appreciated, his constantly
reiterated request, to the effect that, in any future trouble, she
should address herself to him, as to her sincerest friend ; but
she bethought her, too, of the reasons why she had decided, in
her own mind, that she could never avail herself of his kindness.
Lady Mabella had just started for the South of France, whither
she had gone chiefly on account of her health; but with the
object also of visiting the tomb of the late Mr. Binks, who had
been interred at Cannes.
She had started off escorted by Algy, and the morose, though
indispensable Guffy. It had been foreseen, however, that vague,
peevish, and irresponsible as she was, she would be unable to
remain for long by herself in a foreign land after her son's de-
parture for England; and Lord Belmorris, with his usual good-
nature, had promised to "run down South" and "look" his
sister "up" during the winter, supplementing this duty by a
little distraction in the shape of a flying visit to Nice and Monte
Carlo. Were he to hear from Lady Mabella of Lucy's financial
crisis, what more likely than that he would either write or repair
to Clapham immediately upon his return to England, and might
not any such letter or visit prove highly embarrassing in the
position in which she now found herself?
She desired, therefore, to pay off the legacies at once, as
though Miss Elizabeth Barlow's affairs had been left in proper
order; and then, with Lady Mabella at Cannes, and Adeliza
in South Africa, there was no reason why the reduced state of
her circumstances should become known to them for some time
at least; and who could say what unexpected events might not
have taken place before then ?
" The funeral is paid," she went on now, gomg through a
list of creditors with her pencil; " the doctor, the law-business,
the butcher, and the servants are paid—all but their legacies.
I can't go on living in this house, and there would be too much
furniture for a smaller one, so I should have to sell some of
these things, anyhow. Where I am to go to, I don't know!"
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
333
And so it came to pass that, within two months of the decease
of Miss Elizabeth Barlow, a large black board was fixed up under
the branches of the sentinel lime-tree by the garden-door, over
the very spot where Anthony had held Lucy in his arms upon
that never-to-be-forgotten summer night, whereupon it was set
forth, in staring white letters that—" the desirable villa resi-
dence," known as Barlow Lodge, was forthwith to be sold.
Furthermore, pasted upon the outside of the garden-door itself,
a printed bill informed the public that, in the course of the
ensuing week, a sale would take place within doors, of most of
the effects of Miss Elizabeth Barlow, deceased ; consisting of
plate, pictures, household furniture, kitchen utensils, garden
implements, &c. &e. &c.; and that the same would be on view,
upon the premises, for three days previous to the time fixed for
x disposing of them by auction. Orders to view the objects in
question were to be obtained—and here followed the name and
address of the local auctioneer.
Lucy felt terribly homeless and forlorn when the first of these
three days eventually dawned.
The whole house had been despoiled and dismantled, the cosy
downstairs rooms having been revolutionized so that they were
scarcely recognizable.
The honest dining-room " mahogany," elongated to the dimen-
sions of a table d'hdte, was groaning beneath an unaccustomed
burden of silver, glass, crockery, and plated goods, all arranged
and congregated together according to their distinctive species.
The "threaded fiddle-pattern service" according to its kind;
the silver skewers, the "fish-slice," the wine-funnel, and the
" George the First marrow spoon," according to their kind; the
"octagonal mustard-pot, with ladle and blue glass liner," and
the "substantial square cruet-stand," with the "four cut-glass
bottles and sauce-labels," according to their kind; and then the
quaint old Worcester, Swansea, and Wedgwood services; the
" coffee-pot on stand, with lamp, and teapot partly fluted ; " the
"two round waiters with gadroon edges," and the old familiar
" bronzed and plated tea-urn; " all herded pathetically together
like poor negro slaves who are about to leave the " old planta-
tion" and be dispersed amongst new masters in unknown places !
Several of these assorted articles were to be sold singly as
w^ll as in lots, so that nut-crackers and grape-scissors, toasting-
fork and toast-rack—those old comrades and coadjutors—were
on the brink, it might be, of an eternal separation ! Tureen
and ladle might, henceforward, "tread severed paths to varied
ends," whilst even the cut-glass bottles of the " substantial
square cruet-stand " might well have quailed and faltered could
they have realized how soon the sauce-labels they had cherished
for so long were destined perhaps to be torn from their faithful
breasts!
Like the hairs of our heads, too, the very fenders, fire-irons,
and coal-scuttles were all numbered.
33^
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
They also, so Lucy fancied, looked crestfallen and reproachful,
as who should say—
" Good-by to you for ever, Miss Lucy Barlow! We have
served you well and faithfully for many a long year; but you
have cast us off now, and we shall be forced to protect, poke,
shovel up, and supply fuel for alien hearths! May you meet
with more generous treatment in your own old age!"
Lucy had selected from amongst her possessions a few
favourite pieces of furniture, the two smallest of the three blue
ginger-pots—the third and centre one, besides being slightly
chipped, was so bloated and cumbersome that she had decided
upon sacrificing itSj and it was lording it now over the baser and
more modern vessels upon the dining-room table. The family-
portraits in black paper, and that other portrait, likewise in
black, representing, as far as it was possible to conjecture, Miss
Elizabeth's early love; and the great spiked and spotted ocean
shells, which had been brought home at different periods either
by Captain Christopher or by Lucy's father (the " little Billy "
of the Captain's letter), were of course too sacred to be parted
with; as was likewise the hereditary Barlow great seal, with its
ramping lion; and the genealogical window-blind upon the stair-
case, which had taken so much time and trouble to limn and to
devise I
These, with a silver teapot, six teaspoons, a few cups and
saucers, and the best of the engravings, Lucy had collected
together in the late Miss Barlow's bedroom. If the things
downstairs did not sell for as much as she hoped and expected,
some of these others would have to go too.
It was with some satisfaction that she had set out upon the
dining-room table the showy-looking photograph-book with which
Mr. Podmore had presented her just before he had visited the
Isle of Wight. It was as good as new, but would go of course
for a mere " song," notwithstanding that it must have been ex-
pensive in the first instance, Willingly would she have included
the "aquarnim" also in the list of articles destined for sale; but
upon her return home after her visit to Belmorris Castle she had
found it stagnant and forgotten, with the uncongenial molluscs
lying, pale and unstuck, upon the shingle at the bottom, and
" all dead corpses ! " Mrs. Pilchard, the cook, who had been left
in charge of it, had for some days allowed the " 'quariums to
slip her memory," as she had tearfully informed her young mis-
tress, and she was sorry to say that " the 'quariums looked as if
they was dead! " and never were any deaths so little lamented.
At about three o'clock upon the afternoon of the first day of
inspection, as Lucy was wandering about the upper part of the
house like an unquiet spirit, she heard a loud tinkling of the
front-door bell. Below stairs several brokers and dealers had
arrived. She could hear their creaking footsteps upon the
carpetless floors, their rough voices, aggressive coughings, and
seemingly sacrilegious laughter; and guessed that, with hawk
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
337
eyes and clawing fingers, they were appraising, comparing, ap-
proving, depreciating. Feeling, somewhat unjustly, as if these
men were her natural enemies, who were come to gloat and
triumph over her in the hour of her humiliation, she had re-
mained upstairs during the whole of the morning, endeavouring,
with but little effect, to distract her thoughts by reading, writing,
tearing up and docketing old letters, and by setting her few
remaining possessions in order.
She peeped out of the window now to see who this new-comer
could be.
The figure of a "hansom cabman was perched up above the
line of the wall, and upon the door being opened by Sarah, a
fashionably dressed young couple came tripping up the pathway
to the house. The young lady was decidedly pretty; the man,
too, tall and good-looking. By leaning over the staircase, Lucy
could just see them enter the house and turn into the dining-
room. The vulture-like brokers made way for them with abject
civility, and subdued at once their coughings, snortings, and
unseemly laughter. Possibly the young couple were persons of
distinction. Sarah now came upstairs to say that they were un-
provided with an order of admittance. They were just driving
by in a " hansom " when they had seen that there was to be a
sale, and had rung at the bell. Dazzled by their resplendent
appearance, Sarah had opened the door to them at once. Might
they "just take a look round?"
" Yes; they might look round with pleasure," Lucy answered,
feeling how hollow and incongruous the word "pleasure" sounded
under the circumstances.
" Thank you, Miss," said Sarah, going downstairs again ;
"they seem very respectable."
-But the flippant talk and rippling laughter of this " respect-
able" pair soon jarred upon Lucy almost as painfully as the
snorts and guffaws of the " vultures." Evidently they did not
regard the situation in its pathetic aspect. Lucy could hear
nearly the whole of their ribald talk as they too, ignorant of her
near vicinity, appraised, compared, approved, or depreciated,
irreverently, her household gods.
"Bather a jolly thing in pickle-jars," said the pretty lady by-
aud-by, alluding no doubt to the largest of the three hereditary
ginger-pots ; " I should like to annex it." Lucy winced painfully.
" .No, no ! " returned her companion, evidently a husband ; " I
can hardly pay my way as it is ! I must wait till I get my rents
before plunging into useless extravagance ! "
"Itcouldn't come to much, dear! "pleaded the jiretty lady
" may I say that we'll go as high as fifteen shillings ? "
" Fifteen shillings for that rotten thing ! "YVhy it's not worth
fifteen pence ! It's got a great crack all down one side! Besides,
it won't be much use to us when we're in the workhouse !"
" A mad-house will be the best place for you, I think ; you seem
X
338
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
to have got rents on the brain ! May I give a commission then
for ten shillings P Mamma gave seven pounds the other day for
one that wasn't anything like as big as this one."
" I always thought that your mother wasn't overburdened with
brains; now I'm sure of it! Well, then, ten shillings, if you
won't bother me about anything else!"
Many other types of the bric-a-brac hunter, some of them
seeming even less sympathetic than this flippant couple, dropped
in at Barlow Lodge whilst Lucy's household gods were set out
upon approbation.
Then came the sale itself ; a day of anxiety, confusion, of un-
restrained trampings, snortings, and laughter below stairs ; for it
was evident to Lucy that the situation appeared comic, rather
than tragic, to most of the persons who assisted at the dispersion
of her goods.
Then followed hammerings, litterings of straw and waste paper,
the cording and carrying out of hampers, parcels and packing-
cases; and then, a lull, a grateful sense as of peace restored, and
of uncongenial elements banished and cast out; hut emptiness,
curtainless, carpetless, desolation, mingled with a painful un-
certainty as to the whereabouts of any future home.
Lucy's own bedroom still presented its normal appearance, and
here, consequently, she felt less forlorn and disconsolate than in
the dismantled apartments downstairs.
What poor buffeters against Fate we make of ourselves, when
we allow even inanimate objects to find their way into our hearts,
and when we lament the loss of a Chippendale chair, or a blue
pickle-jar, even as though it had been a living friend!
One day, after the last van, bearing away the last packing-
case, had driven off from the door, Lucy, whilst sortirg and
arranging her books and papers, chanced upon two records of the
past which, read by the light of sad after-experience, were not
exactly calculated to remove her depression.
These were, first, the slip of paper upon which she had copied
out " Maxime's " impassioned speeches in the " Roman d'un
jeune homme pauvre," whilst she was reposing in the Miss Bol-
deros' apartment at Hampton Court Palace.
"Marguerite," the words ran, "ecoutez bien ! je vous aime,
c'est vrai, et jamais amour plus ardent, plus desinteresse, plus
saint, n'est entre dans le coeur d'un homme! Mais vous aussi,
vous m'aimez . . . vous m'aimez, malheureuse ! Et vous me
tuez ! Yous me brisez le coeur! Mais ce coeur, il est a vous!
Yons pouvez en faire ce qu'il vous plait. Quand a mon honneur,
il est a moi, et je la garde ! Et sur cet honneur, je vous fais
serment, que si je meurs, vous me pleurerez ! "
This speech, essentially that of a Frenchman, making so sure
both of Marguerite's love and of her tears, in the event of a
catastrophe, seemed to Lucy, in her present miserable frame of
mind, as though it might have been addressed to herself with,
some justice by Anthony Hepburn.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
339
She regarded herself as the indirect cause of his having de-
parted upon active service; for it is difficult for a woman to
realize the actual yearning after perilous adventure, for its own
sake, which seems to exist in nearly every male breast; and
which would probably have induced Colonel Hepburn to make
an offer of his services under the very happiest circumstances,
and even supposing that he had not been in duty bound, as now,
to accompany the half of his regiment which had been ordered
abroad.
Lucy, however, could only think now of some of the possible
consequences of his departure, and of how disastrous these might
prove.
Had she consented to fly with tim, "to Australia or Hew
Zealand, somewhere, anywhere," as he had whispered toher upon
that starlit summer night, there to make " a new home under
bluer skies," he might not now be separated from her by "long
line of land and sea," encompassed on all sides by dangers, a
hopeless desperate man, to whom a violent death might come
almost as a deliverance from future torments and complications.
It is right and proper, assuredly, and conducive, too, to the
preservation of morality, that the maiden who is solicited and
entreated by man to sacrifice for his sake prudence, duty, and
discretion, should do battle determinedly for her virgin honour,
and come off victorious, if possible, from the " tented field."
There may be rare instances, however, when she who loses wins
an inexpressible blessing, a treasure, a cause for perpetual re-
joicing; or where she who comes off victorious may lose, never-
theless, what no sense of after-security or self-congratulation
can compensate her for !
" Maiden cliaste ! Maiden fair!
Sitting combing yellow hair,
' Take care! Beware!'
Letting lovers sigh and pass,
Mocking when they cry ' alas ;'
Sitting smiling at thy glass,
Telling all thy beauties over!
" Maiden proud! Maiden fair !
Time may bleach thy yellow hair!
' Take care ! Beware !'
Time may strike thy lover dead,
Leaving but for thee, instead,—
Dark and narrow bridal-bed,
Lithe red worm to be thy lover! "
Still it is as well, perhaps, that maidens should continue to
"beware" rather after another fashion, since their carelessness
might give rise to scandals, backbitings, and the humiliation of
honest folk.
At this moment, however, Lucy could not help realizing with a
sinking heart that, were Anthony Hepburn to meet his doom in
South Africa, she would derive but sorry consolation as she
Y 2
34°
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
gazed, desolate and forlorn, at tlie seven lime-trees beneath which
she had once seen him seated, from the reflection that her maiden
honour, at least, was still safe and untarnished ! In a word, that
if the being for whom alone all her joy in living must henceforth
be derived, were to cease to exist, partly through her own selfish
prudence and circumspection, it would be a lifelong regret to her
that she had not bowed herself obediently to his desire, and
followed him " somewhere, anywhere," to the "new home under
bluer skies " of which he had spoken.
She liked to think now that the notion of deserting her great-
aunt, a solitary old woman, who had watched over her own de-
fenceless years, had weighed more heavily in the balance than
fear for honour, reputation, or of the world's scorn. Indeed, I
know not to what lengths her infatuation might not have led
her could Anthony Hepburn's tall form have appeared at that
moment under the now leafless branches of the sentinel lime.
There are fleeting moments in the existences of nearly all real
women during the which, if only the absent lover could reappear
before them in the flesh, he might find perhaps that his pleading
would not be altogether in vain. Mesmerism? Electricity? The
shifting seasons ? A sadden distemper of the blood ? I would lay
the true responsibility of a strong woman's passing weakness at
the door of all of these, if I could, before I would admit that the
lady herself had any hand in her own undoing. But, be this how
it may, in nine cases out of ten the eager outstretched arms
encounter nothing but emptiness. The beloved is absent still.
The clock strikes. The perilous moment is over-passed.
The second record which sent a sharp pang through Lucy's
heart was inscribed upon the tattered cover of a child's picture-
book—a stray portion of the missile which Mrs. Yan Buren's
little girl had flung at a butterfly in her neighbour's garden—
" To my little Lily, from one who loves her."
It was not possible to be mistaken as to the writer of those
manly characters. So well known now, so treasured, so beloved,
had become every peculiarity of this particular handwriting!
There was a certain serpentine flourish in the lower portion of
the " L " in " Lily," which, as in the " Lucy" of her own
name, was carried down below the level of the other letters, a
fearlessness about the dottings and dashings, as though they
had been set down with a pen that knew no guile, and feared
no evil—in a word, it was the handwriting of Anthony Hepburn.
Those who have arrived at the afternoon of life—that sub-
dued, contemplative, and not altogether unen joy able period,
whereat, nevertheless, a susceptible and affectionate nature
cannot be said to be entirely " out of the wood —will admit, I
think, that }roung and inexperienced persons are unable to
appreciate fully the bitterest and most terrible forms of human
jealousj'. To feel, with intensity, either the loss or the desecra-
tion of an idol, to realize, even, the state of mind which may be
engendered by the fear of anv such -possibility, one must have
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
34i
penetrated into the " holy of holies," and lifted or rent the veil
asunder. For the agony which is "cruel as the grave," and
the coals thereof " coals of fire," is reserved for the being whose
nature has been achieved and completed, and it is scarcely
possible in consequence that a maiden can ever experience the
fiercer blasts of this " vehement flame."
Lucy, therefore, whilst looking with only partially enlightened
eyes upon the words written by Anthony Hepburn for a child
■—his own child—of which she was not the mother, knew not,
perhaps, the fullest extent of misery which such a contemplation
may sometimes bring with it. A cup may be bitter, however,
even at its first sip, and before we have been well-nigh poisoned
with its dregs, and Lucy, as she read those few written words,
suffered acutely, " according to her lights."
This child, with her golden hair, her sad, appealing, seeking
eyes, had attracted and fascinated her at first sight. In the
eyes, too, of the father of this child, the same expression lingered
at times. "Was this why, Lucy had asked herself since, his
face had seemed so familiar to her, even in the first hour of her
meeting with him, and, if so, why, when she had come to know
and to study every stroke of his handwriting, had she had no
inkling of the truth ?
Why, too, had she not recognized the likeness of this child
when she had seen it hanging over Anthony Hepburn's bed at
Falconborough Park P Why had she not understood at once
the full purport of Adeliza's anecdote about the large wax doll,
and the old Professor's allusion to Anthony Hepburn's devotion
to Mrs. Yan Buren's little girl ? In a word, why, to make use
of Adeliza's slang expression, had she been for so long, so
lamentably, so " terrifically green ? " so slow to suspect and
understand ? To be innocent, one need not be stupidly ignorant!
To be discreet, it was not necessary to be absolutely blind!
Gradually, however, a fuller knowledge had come to her. Her
attention had been directed, through sheer force of suffering,
towards the mainsprings of the intenser emotions. Adeliza's
married talk, too, had had some share in her enlightenment,
and once she had emerged from the mists of uncertainty, what
a mass of conclusive evidence had seemed to stand suddenly
revealed! She knew now why this little girl possessed such a
persuasive voice, and such sweet eyes, why she might so easily
have crept into her heart had occasion offered; and she knew,
too, that she could never again look into the depths of those
innocent child-eyes, or listen again to that engaging prattle,
without experiencing the bitterest of human emotions ! Sup-
posing, only supposing, that the very best of all hoped-for
things were ever to come to pass, would not the form of this
little golden-haired fairy, with her coaxing, clinging ways, seem
to be perpetually gliding between Anthony and herself; reviv-
ing memories which ought to lie bui-ied for ever, and uttering,
in dulcet tones, the ope discordant note to mar what might
342
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
otherwise prove a perfection of harmony? How, too, should
Anthony's strong arms ever fold her again to his breast, would
she be able to endure the thought that, tattooed upon one of
them, was the twining initial of the name of that fairy's mother
—a woman he must have cared for once—after some sort of a
fashion, at any rate ? If so fair a future were ever to dawn for
her, and afterwards ran risk of being thus irrevocably clouded,
what could she possibly do in order to conceal or rub out this
detestable record ? Ah, well! Adeliza had said once, speak-
ing as though from bitter personal experience, one must not
expect men to behave " exactly as if they were angels, with
wings sprouting out of the backs of their necks! " At the
present moment, however, Lucy could almost have wished that
Nature had provided her absent lover with wings instead of
arms. He could have flown to her, in the first place, over land
and sea, only poising upon the masts of ships from time to time
to rest his pinions , and, secondly, she could have made sure,
in the future, of being spared the sight of Mrs. Yan Buren's
initialj and of the scar left by the wound which her hands had
first bound up !
CHAPTER LY.
The beginning of a new year saw Lucy established in a new
home.
It had all come about in the most natural manner imaginable.
Monsieur de la Yieilleroche, as the reader is aware, had resided
for some years at Clapham. He lodged at a little detached house
—" Yine Cottage " by name—standing in a by-lane upon the
eastern side of the Common, and which seemed to peep out, as
it were, with only one eye, in the direction of Barlow Lodge.
Although the old Professor was anything but well-off, he
attached great importance to the claims of friendship, and so
Benvenuto Rossi, his brother in art and in misfortune, could
always make sure of a bed and a dinner beneath the roof of this
humble abode.
But of late, new cares and complications had beset the path
of the ill-starred Italian artist. Bent on business of the most
important though unpleasant natux-e (as Lucy was informed by
the Marquis) he had suddenly been obliged to depart for the
Continent, whence it was unlikely that he would be able to
return for some time. His room, therefore, upon the first-floor,
was vacant; and as, just at the convenient moment, a couple
who had inhabited the ground-floor apartment, had decided also
to remove elsetvhere, what more natural and proper than that
Lucy, in her pi*esent reduced cii-cumstances, should take up her
abode, for awhile at any rate, under the same roof as her old
friend, inhabiting, with the faithful Sarah, who had consented
to share her young misti-ess's fortunes, these very ground-floor
rooms, whilst Monsieur de la Yieilleroche retained his accus^
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
343
tomed garret, and utilized, as a study, the chamber of his
absent friend ?
By this arrangement, each of the two lodgers could enjoy a
proud consciousness of independence, whilst Lucy, at least,
would be spared the sense of utter desolation and abandonment
which might possibly have taken possession of her had she found
herself in an unfamiliar place, amongst total strangers.
There could be no doubt whatever now as to the cause of
Mr. Podmore's mysterious disappearance. Whether he had
been pursuing for all these years a conscious system of fraud
and embezzlement, or whether he had merely allowed himself
to become involved, as the dupe of unprincipled speculators, in
bubble companies for the working of profitless mines, the run-
ning of purposeless railwaj's, or the building of unnecessary
houses, is all one as regards this story. Suffice it to say that
"true-hearted Sydney Podmore," in spite of his high-flown
sentiments, "bluff, outspoken manner," "punctual, matter-of-
fact, business habits," and manly, " British lion " appearance,
was now an outlaw. Writs had been issued for his apprehen-
sion, supposing that he had the temerity to set foot upon
English soil; and not only was he himself irretrievably ruined
and humiliated, but he had been the cause, too, of widespread
ruin and humiliation of others.
Vincenzo Rossi, alias " the Lord Viscount Falconborough,"
had also, as far as might be inferred from his conduct, become
involved in this unexpected financial crisis.
Believing, or affecting to believe, in the solvency of his patron,
he had embarked upon a new career of extravagance, denying
himself no luxury or superfluity which could invest with pro-
bability his imaginary claims to nobility, without any thought
as to who should pay the score when the day of reckoning finally
arrived.
He, too, as far as could be gathered at present, had fled from
his creditors. He had been heard of last at Brussels, and it was
in order to discover his whereabouts, and to sow if possible the
seeds of a tardy reform, that his long-suffering father had gone
forth in search of him now.
Monsieur de la Vieilleroche, mysterious as ever, whilst await-
ing what might prove reliable information, was full of vaguely
expressed hints and surmises. There were " strange combina-
tions and developments in the drama of real life which would
seem often to be too romantic and improbable to represent upon
the stage." " Sometimes, although very rarely, athwart the
oppressive darkness by which we are surrounded, and in which,
like benighted moles, we appear to be left to grope about with-
out superior guidance," he, Achille de la Vieilleroche, hardened
old unbeliever that he was, fancied that he could " dimly discern
the finger of a directing Providence." Or again : " One day, a
day that was not perhaps so very far distant," he might be in a
position to impart to his young friend Miss Lucy a piece of in:
344
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
telligence which might excessively surprise her, though not, he
hoped, " in altogether a disagreeable manner," &c. &c.
To these shadowy insinuations Lucy, who knew that Anthony
was encompassed by dangers in the midst of a savage land, and
that there could therefore be no question as yet of his return—
the only agreeable surprise which, in her present state of mind,
she was enabled to contemplate—gave but very little heed or
attention.
Sometimes, after he had been absent for nearly the whole
day, the old man would return in the highest spirits, and
scarcely able, as it seemed, to refrain from confiding to her the
reason of his elation. At other times his brow would be anxious
and cloudy; he would merely look in at the door of her little
sitting-room, and press her hand sadly, before taking his way
upstairs, where she would hear him afterwards pacing his
narrow chamber overhead, as though oppressed by a whole host
of demons of unrest.
Sarah was of opinion that these sudden alternations in the
"Marquee's" mood were due to "worry," the result of "how
things were going on at 'The Aspens/ seeing that he was
known to be a friend of the lady, and to have something to do
as well with the teaching and bringing up of her little girl."
The people at "The Aspens" ought, Sarah informed Lucy,
to have " cleared out" long ago, for the place was to be " sold
up" with the rest of the property, on account of Mr. Podmore's
embarrassments, of which Sarah had been very much surprised
to hear, because Mr. Podmore had always seemed to her to be
'' such a perfect gentleman," and because Mr. Hitchens, too,
was apparently " so very respectable," although now people
" did say" that he had never been in service before, but that he
was a friend or poor relation of Mr. Podmore, and " all mixed
up with him in the same swim." Whether they were both
" regular downright rogues," or nothing more than " a couple
of great sillies," Sarah was sure she could not tell. She had
" heard say" that they had got up a company " for digging up
mahogany" in some out-of-the-way place abroad, and had per-
suaded people to put their money into it, but that when the
shareholders went out to look after their investment, they found
that " the mahogany was only made out of painted deal," and so
they had all either to " starve, beg, or go to the workhouse,"
which Sarah hoped she would never be called upon to do as
long as she lived"; and it would not be certainly from the same
cause, even if she did go there, for she had always had a perfect
horror of investments, and didn't "hold very much5' even to
banks ; whilst she had never so much as told a fellow-servant,
in her whole life, where she kept her savings, acting " upon a
principle." Other people again asserted that Mr. Podmore, and
his confederate Hitchens, had set afloat a scheme for collecting
and buying up all the old iron pots and pans, " such as one sees
thrown out upon dust-heaps," in order to convert them into,
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
345
' lines of railways ; " bat that lo ! when they were laid down, it
was discovered that the trains refused to run on them, because
the iron crumbled awa}', • being entirely ''worn to ribbons5'
already, and all the strength "boiled out of it" by frequent
boilings; and that this scheme likewise had been a cause of ruin
to many confiding persons.
Be this how it may, there were to be great changes at " The
Aspens," and the lady had been written to to " take herself off,"
but no answer had been received from her, as she was travelling
about abroad, and so, Sarah thought, in the course of a few days
little Miss Lily would have to be turned out and go somewhere
else; and this, and her mamma's prolonged absence, had put
the poor child " in a terrible way," so Mr. Perkins, the young
man at the greengrocer's had declared, that was "keeping com-
pany" with .Jane, " that looked after Miss Lily ever since the
death of her black nurse," or rather, " that was engaged to look
after her, but that neglected her shameful," so much so indeed,
that not many days ago " the child had wandered out upon the
Common all by herself, looking as if she hadn't been brushed or
combed for a week," and there, somehow or another, had managed
to tumble into the pond. Whether she had slipped in whilst
trying to rescue her doll, which may have fallen in first, or
whether she had thrown herself in on purpose, because she felt
" downright forsaken," nobody could say for certain.
A friend of Sarah's had seen her sitting upon the edge of the
pond only a few minutes before, although the weather was so
cold, looking " as grave as a judge," and it was " by the greatest
miracle in the world," that this same friend, happening to turn
back for something " that had slipped his memory,'' had arrived
in time to pull the little girl out of the water, since which time
she had been taken ill with low fever, and all manner of aches
and pains; and Mr. Bury, the doctor, who was now at "The
Apens" " morning, noon, and night," seemed to think that her
illness was not unlike that of which her black nurse had died
sometime before; and Sarah had heard that, besides wishing
to move her on account of the impending sale of the premises,
the doctor had said that he didn't consider the house was " that
healthy," having been allowed by Mr. Podmore to continue " in
a fearful state of repair," which didn't matter so much when the
child was able to get " out and about," but which was very bad
for her now that she had to be kept entirely to one room ; and
Sarah thought that " the Marquee," who, she had " heard tell,"
was a great friend of the poor child's father, that had died
quite suddenly in India, was a good deal " upset and worried *'
about all this, and " couldn't be quite certain, besides, that the
fever wasn't a catching-fever;" and that this was probably what
made him seem at times " so much against coming near Miss
Lucy ;" although Mrs. Porter, the landlady, had informed Sarah
that he had been, ever since she had known him, very eccentric
in his habits, varying " terrible" from day to day " with regard
346
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
to his temper," sitting up sometimes the whole night long in
his armchair, and taking his meals with less regularity than any
other gentleman with whom she had ever " had dealings in the
whole course of her born days."
Alas ! poor Sai*ah, what a strange medley of fact and fiction
would have been apparent in her ingenuous gossip to one who
could have known all!
Long after her handmaiden had quitted the room, Lucy re-
mained pondering her words.
So this child, for whom she had conceived such a sudden
sympathy and affection, was apparently deserted now by her
frivolous and unfeeling mother and left entirely to the mercy of
careless servants ! Whilst Anthony was absent, in the far land
whither he had gone, no doubt partly in order to escape from the
complications arising from his painful position, this child—his
own child!—might actually perish through illness and neglect,
while she, Lucy Barlow, looked complacently on, without moving
so much as a finger to save one of the few beings that there re-
mained to him to care for upon earth!
In what light would such heartless conduct upon her part
appear to Anthony Hepburn in the future ? Would it seem to
him to be consistent with genuine affection ? Where would he
perceive in it the loving woman's voluntary renunciation of self
and selfish jealousies, the sacrifice of every personal feeling for
him and for his happiness ?
And yet the alternative, Lucy realized, would be productive
of the most bitter emotions—emotions of the very existence of
which she had been utterly and entirely ignorant less than two
short years ago.
Ever since she had divined the truth about Mrs. "Van Buren's
little girl, her soul had sickened at the very mention of her
name. The sight of "The Aspens," too, had become hateful to
her, and the knowledge that she would no longer be oppressed
by what seemed like the shadow of a upas-tree, had gone far
towards consoling her for the loss of her old home. Mrs. Van
Buren's protracted absence, the increasing inclemency of the
weather, and the fact that little Lily had been almost con-
stantly ailing, had spared Lucy the misery of beholding
either of these near neighbours since Anthony's departure for
South Africa, and for this she could not help feeling sincerely
thankful.
A woman's heart, however, seems capable of dividing itself,
quite naturally, into as many independent sections as an orange;
and with a portion of this same woman's heart—the portion
that was fostering, pitying, maternal, opening, as it were, its
arms to succour and comfort all weak, disconsolate, and defence-
less things—she longed now to hold to her bosom this very
child, to console her in her motherless, forsaken state, to stroke
with caressing hands her golden tresses, and to look with ten-
derness and compassion into the depths of those appealing eyes
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
347
which must always seem henceforward to stab and wound her to
the quick.
But then, again, other voices within her seemed to cry aloud:
" Better, far better, for him, for you, for everybody, if this child
had never been born at all! Better, far better, if it could now
be wiped out utterly from the face of the earth! "
And between these two moods, with their subdivisions and
modifications, Lucy Barlow vacillated for the whole of one
miserable afternoon.
It had been a cold, raw day, towards the end of January—the
January of a year not so long gone by but that it must be still
painfully impressed upon the memories of many people. By four
o'clock in the afternoon it had become almost dark in Lucy's
little sitting-room, but she was too much preoccupied by dis-
turbing reflections to think about lighting the candles. She sat
upon a low chair near the hearthrug, gazing dreamily into the
depths of the fire, and having quite lost consciousness of her
actual surroundings.
Lying npon the little white bed in the inner room, she seemed
to behold, in fancy, Anthony Hepburn's golden-haired child,
safe, as far as safety could be ensured by tender watching, and
for awhile, at least, in her own keeping.
Something of his, of him, that might grow to love her in
time. And yet, and yet, not altogether " of him" either!
Some traces, some characteristics must cling to this child of
the mother who bore her—of the flaunting, over-dressed woman,
who, as the old Marquis had expressed it, was " vulgar, magni-
ficent, insupportable!" What could have induced Anthony,
who, with regard to most things, seemed inclined to be some-
what hypercritical and over-sensitive, to fall in love with such a
person as this, even in the blind impetuosity of early youth!
Lucy was not the only woman who has asked, in like case, a
similar question without being able to light upon a satisfactory
reply, although, in the present instance, the problem might pos-
sibly have been partly solved by the assumption that Anthony
Hepburn had never been in love with Mrs. Yan Buren at all—■
love, as Lucy would have comprehended the term, not being
always the prime ingredient in the making of a mistake.
Lucy's pitying, maternal instincts were just upon the point
of gaining the day, when the dread of a future possibility arose
to check them. Mrs. Yan Buren, so Sarah had heard, upon
what authority Lucy knew not, had been written to about her
child's illness. As yet, however, she had vouchsafed no reply
to this communication ; but then Sarah had also stated that
Mrs. Yan Buren was "travelling about abroad."
Supposing that she was moving continually from place to
place, might not her silence have been due to the fact that the
letter had not reached her quite so soon as had been expected ?
Upon receiving it, would she not be almost certain to hurry back
to England at once, and might not Lucy, at the sick-bed of
343
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
Anthony Hepburn's child, be forced into contact with the woman,
who had once been Anthony Hepburn's mistress ?
It was not the fear of moral contamination which made Lucy
shrink from the idea of any such contact. She was wise enough,
in spite of her inexperience in such matters, to suppose that Mrs.
Yan Buren, whatever her antecedents might have been, would
in any such circumstances " assume a virtue " if she " had it not,"
and pose as a model of prudery and maternal solicitude.
But, then, the pain, the terrible, the inexpressible misery of
such a meeting to herself!
In such a situation a greater amount of self-torture may be
endured by a highly-strung, imaginative woman, than can be
conceived of by one possessing a different nature.
" With that unjust, impassioned jealousy,
Which reaches from the Present to the Past,"
how will she seem, instinctively, to feel? to know, and to per-
ceive every tender caress, every admiring glance which may
have been bestowed and lavished by the man she loves upon
the woman who, of all others, is the least likely now to
become her rival. Scene after scene, picture after picture,
rise up and confront hei*. Agonizing, heart-breaking as they
are, she is condemned, by reason of her temperament, to
analyze and examine them all. No distressing detail or acce3-
sory can escape her notice. As though reflected in a mirror,
this hated vision of the past stands revealed before her, until
there comes into her heart—if it be a heart that is tender, un-
reasoning and unheroic, gentle, averse to blood-shedding and
strong violence—not so much the desire to stab, torture, or
utterly annihilate the woman who may once have been fore-
most in her lover's thoughts, as to destroy in her own mind all
faculty of remembrance or imagination, to root out from her
own heart its capability of profitless suffering, because of what
is now so long ago gone by.
Theophile Gautier, in his poem called " La Mort dans la Yie,"
has written a passage which, from a man's point of view, will
seem to be subtle as well as true to nature. He is writing of
the dead, and after describing how the moss has effaced the
letters of the forgotten names upon their tombs, how the worm
has spun his web across what once were their eyes, and how
the dust of their bones, as they moulder, falls upon that of their
departed forefathers, he goes on thus—
" Leurs hdritiers, le soil-, n'ont plus peur qu'ils reviennent,
C'est k peiue, k present, si leurs chiens s'en souviennent;
Enfuines et poudreux,
Leurs portraits adords trainent dans les boutiques ;
Leurs jaloux d'autrefois font leurs pandgyriques;
Tout est fini pour eux."
A man, then, it would seem from this poem, can praise and
think kindly of his rival, simply because he has ceased to exist
and can no longer stand in his way. With a woman, however,
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
349
or at any rate with some women, all bitterness will not end here.
The images evoked by the very thought of a rival, whether living
or dead, must likewise be effaced and shrouded, and, over these,
what graveyard moss will grow, what friendly worm will spin his
web ?
In no possible future could Lucy have felt capable of making
" panegyriques " of Mrs. "Van Buren, whilst she knew that even
were she to save her life from shipwreck or what not, she could
never come to regai'd her in the light of a friend.
No; the thought that she might possibly be brought into per-
sonal contact with this "vulgar, magnificent," and "insupport-
able," woman, must prevent her from entertaining for a moment
the notion of ministering to the requirements of Anthony Hep-
burn's child.
Haying arrived at this final decision, Lucy rose from her place
by the tire and went to the window.
It seemed to be dreadfully cold and raw without, and the gas-
lamps, when she drew aside the blind, looked blurred and hazy
in the clinging fog.
Yery few people were abroad ; Monsieur de la Vieilleroche had
not yet returned. He was a good deal later this evening than
usual. She remained at the window watching for his arrival. A
man was passing by upon the main road, shouting out something.
Perhaps there had been fresh news from South Africa ?
She leant her ear against the window and listened eagerly, but
could distinguish nothing intelligible. A moment afterwards she
heard the front door open and shut somewhat tumultuously, and
then footsteps in the passage.
Probably it was the old Professor. He always brought home
the evening papers ; he would tell her if there had been any fresh
news.
With a beating heart she flew to the door, and was there met
by Sarah, looking pale and hysterical, with a newspaper in her
hand.
" Oh, Miss ! " she exclaimed, as she thrust the paper into
Lucy's hand, " there's the most dreadful news possible from the
war ! Thex*e's been an awful battle, and the blacks have beaten
the English, and there's a list of officers killed and wounded, and
" casualties."
CHAPTEE LYI.
About half an hour afterwards, when Sarah, having knocked
without receiving any response, went into Lucy's little sitting-
room in order to spread the board for her simple evening meal,
she found her young mistress extended upon the floor in an ap-
parently lifeless condition. Pale and terrified, she rushed down-
stairs to apprise Mrs. Porter, the landlady.
Mrs. Porter, a woman of wisdom and experience in all matters
connected with illness, at once despatched a wan, slip-shod child
350
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
of some thirteen summers, to whom she was in the habit of allud-
ing as " my servant," for Mr. Bury, the doctor, after which she
accompanied the trembling Sarah to Lucy's room, prepared to
revive suspended animation by the application of hot bricks, cold
keys, and the cutting of laces, to be followed by remedies of a
more potent and re-inspiring nature.
Lucy's mysterious seizure began to yieldto treatment soon after
she had been lifted on to the little white bed in the adjoining
room.
By the time that Mr. Bury arrived she declared that she felt
quite well again. She looked, however, dazed and bloodless, like
a person who has been stunned by some sudden and terrible blow.
Sarah and Mrs. Porter retired to the sitting-room, leaving her
alone with the doctor.
" It's something to do, I'm sure, with this awful battle, and
with the ' casualties,' "remarked Sarah, wiping her eyes ; for the
sight of her young mistress in so disastrous a plight had shocked
and alarmed her greatly.
" Is there any officer she's got an interest in out at the war ? "
Mrs. Porter inquired.
" Not that I know of," returned Sarah; " but I only just took
one look at the paper, for the ' casualties ' of the privates and non-
commissioned officers wasn't put in yet."
" These wars are terrible trials to us all," said Mrs. Porter
solemnly; " sometimes I feel quite surprised to think that the
Lord doesn't set His face against them and put a stop to fighting
altogether."
Sarah had by this time possessed herself of the newspaper,
which had fallen upon the floor from Lucy's hand, and was
hurriedly devouring its contents.
Without reading the account of the fight itself, she turned to
the list of " casualties," and skimmed through, to the best of her
scholarly ability, the names of the officers who had either fallen,
or been wounded, in the recent disastrous engagement.
"' Killed: Major-General Clutterbuck, in command of force ;'
no: she doesn't know Clutterbuck ; I'm quite sure of that!
" Colonels Pearse, Riddell, A. Hepburn, commanding 18th
Lancers." Ah, that's who was Tom Pretyman's colonel, that was
brother to Mrs. Pilchard, that lived with us as cook when we was
at Barlow Lodge, that Tom said he'd lay down his life for any
day. Then there comes a captain and some lieutenants ; nobody
that's ever visited us, though, as far as I can make out. 'Bodies,
in some instances, fearfully mutilated.' Poor fellows ! Oh, I see
what it is," she exclaimed suddenly. " Here it is. Just listen.
' Captain Charles Sparshott, of the 18th Lancers, to whose con-
spicuous intrepidity in the emergency we have alluded above, and
who is, we are happy to add, progressing favourably, is the only
surviving son of Sir Timothy Sparshott, Bart., of Sparshott
Priory, County Tipperary.' That's him, Mrs. Porter. He's just
married her cousin, Miss Binks that was, and he's had ' conspi-
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
33i
cuous intrepidity in the emergency.' I daresay that's what made
her feel faint."
" No wonder, poor yonng lady!" returned Mrs. Porter com-
passionately. " I've no doubt there'll be a good many of them
down with that before they get home ! " and she shook her head
in ominous presage.
At this moment they were interrupted by the entrance of the
doctor.
Lucy, who seemed now to be almost recovered, followed him
to the door of the sitting-room.
" So I can leave it to you to arrange ? " she said, speaking
slowly and mechanically, in a voice hollow and unlike her own.
" You will settle about it to-morrow, if you find out that she can
be moved here P "
"I will settle everything, if you will allow me to do so. Pray
give yourself no trouble in the matter. You ought to lie down
and keep quiet now, and you will soon be yourself again. Mrs.
Porter and I can make all the necessary arrangements."
Then, turning to the landlady, he added—
"Miss Barlow has kindly consented to look after Mrs. Van
Buren's little girl, who is rather in a deserted condition just
now. There's nothing in the least infectious about her disorder;
so, if you don't object to taking her in, I will superintend the
moving of her here to-morrow. It will be a great relief to me
to get her away from ' The Aspens,' and I think, if we can avoid
any risk of catching cold, the change here can do her nothing
but good."
Mr. Bury, Mrs. Porter, and Sarah quitted the room together,
in order to talk over further details, and Lucy was left to the
solitude of her inner chamber.
Here, moaning piteously, she fell upon her knees by the bed.
" Oh, Anthony, Anthony !" she cried aloud in her agony.
" My darling, my darling, you cannot be really dead! God
could not be so cruel as to take you from me for ever ! Listen
to me; look at me; pity me now; if you are not too far off to
see and hear ! My Anthony, my love, I forgive you; I forget
everything but my love for you. How can I go on living if you
are really gone P "
Tears came to her relief; a relief that was merely physical.
Before this, she had felt as if all power of weeping had been
numbed and frozen within her.
When she rose from her knees, she seemed like one who has
become regenerated through the suffering of years, rather than
of moments.
" Yes," she murmured to herself; " everything is over now—
love, jealousy, hope! It's all buried and done with for ever!
She is the only thing left for me to care for upon earth; all that
remains to me here of him!"
3S2
THRO* LOVE AND WAR
CHAPTER LVII.
Monsieur de la Yieilleroche, who had read the terrible news
contained in the evening paper, just as he was about to return
to " Yine Cottage," was much overcome by it.
Apart from the affection with which he regarded Lucy and
Anthony, an affection which must needs have caused him to
regret deeply the death of either the one or the other of them,
and the sympathy he had felt for them in the midst of all their
troubles and entanglements, it seemed as though the occurrence,
just at this particular moment, of so lamentable a catastrophe,
rendered absolutely void and ineffectual all the combinations
which had been working together of late for the eventual benefit
of his two young friends.
" To think that this misfortune should come to pass now! " he
soliloquized, as he flung himself wearily into his shabby and
familiar armchair. "How, when I hold here in my hand the
positive proof that he is free as the air; that this woman has
actually contracted a marriage with another man! A mutual
deception, no doubt, each having been mistaken as to the'true
position of the other, and which must end, consequently, in dis-
illusion; unless, as may happen also, there has been some sort
of mutual attraction. This need not be impossible; the lady
has already had many admirers; the man is a handsome young
fellow, intelligent, accomplished, amiable, and easy-going with
women; as fascinating, in fact, as he is unprincipled! More
probably, however, their marriage is the result of a true Comedy
of Errors. She, thirsting alike for revenge and for consolation,
believes him to be noble, believes also that through her marriage
with him she will be placed one day in the very position which
Anthony Hepburn thought that she was unworthy of occupying;
she will urge on her husband to enforce his imaginary claims,
and then will come the painful awakening. He, too, has seen in
her a rich widow, a fine woman, elegant, accomplished, attractive,
according to his taste. Above all, she is a woman who is sought
after and desired—for so she has made him believe—by the man
against whom he has vowed eternal vengeance. To supplant
Anthony Hepburn, he would have pursued and made love to
one who was not even possessed of her meretricious charms.
Alas, poor fool! He has been merely plotting to remove from
the neck of the man he hates a millstone, an incubus which has
been crushing and embittering his existence for more than ten
years. He has removed it at last. Anthony Hepburn is now a
free man. 'A free man!' Ay, free indeed, from all miseries
and anxieties in the future. Ho man and no woman will ever
again have power to disturb his rest. His kind heart, his gene-
rous impulses, can mislead him no longer. He is at peace—
asleep! 'A free man,' but dead—dead—dead! And I, who
was almost commencing to believe in the theory of a benevolent
supervision over our human affairs !"
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 353
The old Professor had gleaned this information relative to Mrs.
Van Buren's second marriage from various sources. Prom the
letters of the lady herself to Anthony Hepburn, which he had
been deputed to open and read during his friend's absence, from
that " almost universal genius," Benvenuto Rossi, who was now
in possession of many facts connected with his son's recent pro-
ceedings, and who had been warned by him that any paternal
interference upon his part might just at the present moment
prevent his settlement in life with a " rich, beautiful, and accom-
plished widow;" finally, from a letter written by the "Young
Pretender" himself to his unfortunate father, and which had
been forwarded by him to " Vine Cottage " for his old friend's
perusal.
_ This letter informed Benvenuto Rossi, before he had had time
either to warn or to interfere, that the brilliant alliance in ques-
tion had now actually taken place.
The letter was written in Italian, and concluded with the fol-
lowing characteristic passage, which, when translated, ran thus :
—"' It is a wise child,' so says the English proverb, ' that can
make sure of knowing its own father,' and I would venture to
add that the father is wiser still who can be sure of knowing his
own child. You, however, have made pretension to this superior
wisdom, and, in the face of much contradictory evidence, have
persisted in recognizing in me a son. Let me profit now, I pray
ou, by this amiable infatuation upon your part, since I have
ad good reason to suffer from it in the past! Your good-for-
nothing son (as you have sometimes called me) is now upon the
high road to reform. Let the dictates of parental affection cause
you to refrain from damaging his smiling prospects. My beauti-
ful better-half believes conscientiously in my mission neverthe-
less, for reasons into which I decline to eater; I shall not con-
tinue, for the present at least, to prosecute my just claims. The
law is proverbially capricious; I might, after all, be worsted in
the encounter. My wife is, of course, ambitious for my future;
she would desire that I should immediately assert my rights.
I confess, however, that at the present moment I feel tempted
to resign the allurements of ambition for those of domestic
felicity. Let the usurper reign on, therefore, over the territory
which he has wrested from the rightful possessor. Perhaps,
without depriving him of his worldly goods, I may have been
enabled to impoverish him in other ways! Without soiling
myself with one drop of his blood, I may have been enabled to
stab him to the heart! In this there is only a just retribution.
I am merely a chastening instrument in the hands of Fate, but
the punishment which I have been the means of inflicting will
enable me to pursue in. the future a policy of mercy. I shall
assume the attitude of a generous adversary who, knowing well
the fatal power possessed by his weapons, holds his hand and
will not condescend to strike. Let your acts likewise incline
towards the better part of valour. Be discreet, and pain me no
z
354
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
more with your unpleasant retrospections and repinings. Upon'
the discretion of the soi-discint father depends the forbearance
and friendship of the ' son.' For this, I promise you, you shall
not go unrewarded.
" Without being able, for obvious reasons, to fall in exactly
with your absurd paternal pretensions, I should yet not be un-
willing, if you will provide yourself with a suitable outfit, to pre-
sent you to my wife as a humble friend, or even as a poor rela-
tion. It is to be regretted that habits of self-indulgence, united
to a sedentary occupation, have combined together to spoil your
figure, otherwise, as we are of about the same height, I could
have presented you with my own clothes as soon as I had no
further use for them. Your unsightly corpulence, however, is
a foe to my benevolent intention. Still, let this be a bargain
between us ; you are clothed decently, respectably, as becomes,
in fact, a member of my own family; you are supplied with
ample, though not with superfluous funds; you occupy, from
time to time, an honoured place at my table, upon condition
that, instead of sowing the seeds of conjugal dissension, you
endeavour to cement and foster the union which has been
brought about so auspiciously. Let me know, Benvenuto Rossi,
if I may count upon your 'paternal' (!) affection to render
me this easy but important service ? Speak now, or let your
voice be silent, as far as my ears are concerned, to the ending
of our days !"
" Young scoundrel! " murmured the Professor, as he returned
the letter to its envelope. "Young, irretrievable scoundrel!
But his sentiments, however unnatural, are not so badly ex-
pressed. He is a young gentleman who will be enabled, should
all else fail, to live very well upon his brains. His wife, too,
can make certain of an assured income, the reward of merit.
This interesting couple, then, need not fear starvation, what-
ever disappointments may be in store for them in the future.
They can be dismissed altogether from the mind, and I shall be
at liberty now to give my entire attention to my two poor suf-
fering children—my poor widowed Lucy, and Lily, the poor
forsaken little orphan."
One of Monsieur de la Vieilleroche's besetting sins, a kind of
moral cowardice, which caused him to shrink from the sight of
all human suffering which he knew that he was powerless to
relieve, and which it was his boast to compare and contrast
with his constitutional pugnacity with respect to more material
evils, had led him to avoid looking upon Lucy in the first hours
of her agony. Having read the terrible intelligence himself,
and having been informed by Sarah upon his return to " Vine
Cottage," that "Miss Lucy" had seen something in the evening
paper which had " upset her dreadful," he had slunk upstairs
to his garret with the stealthy tread of a conspirator, where he
remained in dread lest Lucy should send up for him, and thus
force him to become an unwilling witness of her despair.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
355
Upon the following morning, nerving himself for a supreme
effort, he sent to ask whether she would like to see him before
he started out upon his rounds ? In reply to this inquiry,
Sarah brought him back a message to the effect that Lucy,
although much better, was " very tired and very busy," and
that, if equally convenient to himself, she would prefer seeing
him upon his return home in the evening.
He departed, therefore, with a clear conscience, though feeling
much crushed and broken in spirit. Before commencing his
professional visits, he repaired, as he had lately repaired every
day, to " The Aspens."
On his way thither, he fell in with Mr. Bury the doctor, who
informed him of Lucy's offer to take charge of his little patient.
Seeing that this was the very arrangement which the old Pro-
fessor would have himself proposed, could he have summoned
up courage to suggest it to Lucy, he felt as much satisfaction
upon hearing it as it was possible for him to experience at so
melancholy a time.
The morning papers had been filled with harrowing details
connected with the recent fighting.
There was no disguising the fact, humiliating though it was,
that, as Sarah had remarked upon first hearing the news, the
'• blacks " had v< beaten the English."
Evidently there had been either carelessness or mismanage-
ment upon the part of those in command. The neglect of
proper precautions had resulted in a surprise, followed by what
was, virtually, a defeat, or, to speak more euphoniously, a
" disaster " to the British arms—
" ' News!' ' What news ? what news of the war ? '
' News of blund'ring and defeat!
Slaughtered forms and flying feet!
Captured colours and broken ranks !
News of numbers hacked and slain!
Of a nightmare scene, when a desperate band,
Stood face to face, and hand to hand,
With a foe as dense as the desert sand,
Or the waves of the pitiless main!'"
Anthony Hepburn, as will be surmised from what has already
been written about him, had not been amongst those of the
" flying feet."
Prom the official list of the " numbers hacked and slain," his
familiar name stood out sadly and unmistakably, bringing tears
into the eyes of his faithful old friend, as he read it over and
over again, with the vague hope that he might perchance dis-
cover some loophole of escape from so terrible a truth.
Every day, of course, fuller particulars would be forthcoming.
Prom all that could be gathered at present, it appeared that
the Colonel had fought gallantly for his life, till, overpowered
by numbers, he had fallen covered with wounds. His body,
pierced through with assegais, and cut and slashed so as to be
Z 2
356
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
barely recognizable, had been left lying near the scene of the
engagement. There were hopes that it might be eventually
recovered, when it would be interred with military honours.
The old Professor had been careful, upon leaving home, to
place the newspaper containing these heartrendering details out
of Lucy's way. The very atmosphere, however, seemed charged
with gloom and anxiety. People gathered together in groups
upon the London pavement to talk over the disastrous news.
It was almost a certainty that, somehow or another, when he
was not there to protect her from it, she must Come to know
the very worst.
Finding that the sick child, ignorant of her new and terrible
bereavement, appeared to be cheered and pleased at the notion
of quitting her solitary home, Monsieur de la Yieilleroche went
forth sadly to his daily toil, for the doctor had kindly offered
to superintend evei'y detail connected with the transplanting of
poor little Lily to a more genial soil; and he felt that for the
time being, at least, there was a positive solace to be derived
from the very monotony of his professional duties.
Returning to " Vine Cottage " at about five o'clock upon the
same evening, and venturing to peep in at the door of the ground-
floor sitting-room, he caught sight of Lucy's figure, en profile,
seated by the fireplace, rocking Lily to sleep upon her knee.
The brown head was leant down close against the child's golden
tresses, which were curling all over the tender breast of this
new mother. He heard the murmur of some sort of gentle
sleep-inducing lullaby; so as they both seemed to be, at least
outwardly, in a state of such peaceful contentment, he crept
upstairs to his garret without giving outward or visible sign of
his return.
Five minutes afterwards Sarah looked in at the door.
" It's only the Marquee's evening paper, Miss ; I thought you
might just like to take a look at it first."
" Thank you, Sarah; I don't think I shall ever want to look
at an evening paper again !"
She spoke with the sadness and resignation which had been
perceivable in her tone ever since her mysterious fainting fit of
the previous evening.
Sarah felt altogether doubtful now whether Captain Charles
Sparshott's " conspicuous intrepidity" could have been suffi-
cient in itself to be the cause of so much concentrated an-
guish. It was more probable, she thought, that her young
mistress had read amongst the list of killed or wounded the
name of some one nearer and dearer than a first cousin by
marriage. Who could this be P Perhaps when " Miss Lucy "
used to sit at her bedroom window at Hampton Court Palace,
and look over in the direction of the Cavalry Barracks, it was
because she had developed a tender interest in one of the officers
quartered there ?
" If little Missy isn't quite ready for bed yet, I'll just cut the
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
357
paper and see if there's anything fresh," said Sarah, as she
plunged a bread-knife into the heart of the Pall Mall Gazette.
" Oh, Miss !" she exclaimed presently ; " do just look here !
Won't Mrs. Pilchard be proud of her brother now ?"
" Has her brother distinguished himself P" Lucy inquired in
a tone expressive of but languid interest. " How thankful she
ought to feel that he isn't killed !"
" Oh, it's most interesting, Miss ! " cried Sarah excitedly.
" I wish I'd got a brother myself that would have behaved so
splendid ! Do listen, Miss !" and she commenced reading in a
voice trembling with enthusiasm and admiration :—" ' Instance
of Personal Gallantry.—The numerous friends of Colonel
Anthony Hepburn, in command of the service-troops of the
I8th Lancers, whose death was announced in our issue of the
23rd inst., will be deeply relieved at the gratifying intelligence
just received.'"
" Oh, Sarah ! " cried Lucy, springing to her feet, to the con-
sternation of sleepy little Lily; " let me see it! Let me read what
it says, for Heaven's sake ! "
The paragraph which had thus visibly affected both mistress
and maid ran as follows:—
"The numerous friends of Colonel Anthony Hepburn, in
command of the service-troops of the 18th Lancers, whose
death was announced in our issue of the 23rd inst., will be
deeply relieved at the gratifying intelligence just received, and
which we have quoted above. It appears that the gallant
Colonel owes his life, in a great measure, to the brave conduct
of one of the soldiers in his regiment. Private Thomas Prety-
man, perceiving that his commanding officer was defending
himself against fearful odds, dashed forward just at the moment
when he fell, exhausted from loss of blood, and being well
armed and mounted, succeeded in bearing off the Colonel's
body from the field, little thinking that he was still alive.
Colonel Hepburn's name was inadvertently entered amongst the
list of the slain, as he had been last seen surrounded by his
savage assailants; and his gallant deliverer having been able
to convey him to a British encampment some miles from the
scene of the disaster, where his wounds, which are serious, but
not it is to be hoped mortal, were promptly attended to by an
English surgeon. The terrible manner in which some of the
bodies were mutilated and disfigured accounts for the mistake
which occurred with regard to the supposed discovery of the
Colonel's remains. It is to be hoped that bravery such as we
have just recorded will not be permitted to go without proper
recognition. Surely it is for men like Thomas Pretyman that
the Victoria Cross was originally instituted and designed."
" Oh, Miss !" cried Sarah enthusiastically, when they had
both finished reading ; " wasn't it most gallant of him ? "
But Lucy had covered her face with her hands. Tears were
trickling through her fingers, and she was sobbing hysterically.
358
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
" Oh, Sarah!" she exclaimed at last, sinking back, as though
exhausted, into an armchair; " this good news seems almost
as hard to bear as the bad ! If he dies of his wounds now, I
shall feel as if he had been killed twice over !"
" Ah, Miss ! then it is the Colonel you was interested in ? "
" Yes, Sarah; you have been good and faithful to me. I have
no wish to hide anything from you. What can we ever do for
the brave man who has saved his life P "
Lucy felt at this moment that she would have placed all her
remaining goods, even the hereditary Barlow great seal, at the
disposal of Private Thomas Pretyman, if he had expressed a
desire to become possessed of them.
" I don't certainly feel as if I could have the heart to deny
him anything now," said Sarah, with a sigh.
"You have denied him something once then, Sarah? He has
asked you perhaps to marry him ? "
" I have denied him everything that a respectable young
woman has got to offer to a soldier," returned Sarah, looking
down at her apron and blushing the blush of conscious virtue.
" I didn't know then that he was going to behave so particular
gallant."
Sarah's speech was somewhat enigmatical. Lucy, however,
appeared to understand it.
" We must pray, Sarah, that they may both come safely
back," she said, earnestly and tearfully. " Oh, for a word to
say that he is going on well! "
It is not often in life that the desire of the heart is fulfilled
at the very moment of its audible expression, any more than it
is common for a person spoken of to appear, as if by invocation,
at the mere mention of their own name. Such instances, however,
although rare, do occur sometimes. White wings make their
appearance, occasionally, when we are speaking of an angel;
whilst a chance allusion to the devil may be followed by the
sight of his tail. So it is not often, but fortunately sometimes,
with the heart's desire.
The fulfilment of Lucy Barlow's uttered wish arrived, " clad
in russet gown," almost before her words had died into silence.
" Telegram for Miss L. Barlow, if you please."
It was the voice of Mrs. Porter's diminutive maid-servant.
Drab and dishevelled, she was standing in the doorway, bearing
in her grimy fingers the missive which, in spite of its familiar
aspect in these " our latter days," will never be beheld by
anybody possessed of a sensitive and imaginative natui'e with-
out a certain prayerful tremor of apprehension.
" Ob, Sarah, open it for me !" gasped Lucy, looking pale as any
traditional ghost; " my fingers shake so that I can't open it! "
Thus adjured, Sarah tore open the brown envelope, and read
as follows:—
" Mrs. Sparshott, Pietermaritzburg, to Miss L. Barlow, Bar-
low Lodge, Clapham Common. Enerland.—Don't believe, newo.
THRO'LOVE AND WAR 359
paper report. Certain individual wounded, but doing well.
Charlie progressing also. Displayed conspicuous intrepidity."
" Ah, thank God! thank God!"
CHAPTER LYIII.
The first news of Anthony Hepburn's death had reached Lord
Belmorris whilst he was staying at his country home.
" Here's a ' go!''' Algernon Binks had exclaimed one morn-
ing when they met at the breakfast-table. "Jervis says
there's a report in the village that there's been awful fighting,
and that Hepburn's killed ! "
"'Hepburn killed!'" repeated his lordship, with a start.
" Good God! you don't say so ! "
He said no more than this, but seemed, as Algy wrote off
soon afterwards to his sister at Pietermaritzburg, " perfectly
thunderstruck," and was " quite queer for a day or two after-
wards, until the report turned out to be a false one."
Algernon Binks, after depositing his only remaining parent
in the South of France, and returning for awhile to his studies,
had just " run up to the North," shortly after the New Year,
in order to "look up" his uncle Belmorris and obtain some of
the last of the shooting,
Finding himself in clover, it was his intention now to remain
on until the end of the month, at about which time Lord Bel-
morris proposed starting off for Cannes and Monte Carlo; and
Algy foresaw that, by journeying with his uncle to London, he
could save his railway expenses and make sure of travelling in
pleasant company.
The report of Colonel Hepburn's death did certainly appear to
have produced a decided effect upon his country neighbour. It
was not possible, however, for Algernon Binks to divine the
precise character of his emotions, seeing that he was reticent
and undemonstrative by nature, especially so when in the society
of his nephew; and that the said nephew, in spite 6f his shrewd-
ness and inquisitiveness, was not a particularly good hand at
reading riddles.
Then came the news that this first report had been erroneous.
Colonel Hepburn was dangerously wounded; possibly he might
have to undergo a serious surgical operation. It was hoped,
however, that his excellent constitution would enable him to
" pull through." The servants and country people about Falcon-
borough Park, who had been thrown into a terrible state of.
despondency by the first news, were greatly relieved at this
second piece of intelligence.
Then, and not till then, did the noble owner of Belmorris
Castle, seeking the seclusion of his study, sit down at his writing-
table and indite a letter to " Miss Lucy Barlow," at her old
360
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
address,." Barlow Lodge, Clapham Common," whence it was
forwarded to her at her newer and humbler abode.
From this letter, rather than from Algy's halting conjectures,
some idea may, perhaps, be obtained of the writer's real feel-
ings; for the " stable-helper manner," which, as Lucy had at
once divined, was merely a harmless affectation, was entirely set
aside for the moment, and he wrote, or appeared to write, exactly
, as he felt.
" My dear Miss Lucy," he began, " I remember hearing once
of some great man, who is said to have owed his success and
popularity, in some measure, to the fact that he always wrote to
condole with his acquaintances upon the occasion of a death in
their home-circle, and to congratulate them when there had been
an addition to their families. A few day's ago, with this
eminent example before me, I took pen in hand to write a
letter of condolence to one of the most charming of my friends,
when—you may laugh at me if you will—I found myself so
overcome by mixed feelings that I positively couldn't write any-
thing but bosh; and so, after wasting an enormous amount of
note-paper in vain attempts at making sense, I came to the
conclusion that my literary style was more adapted to congra-
tulation than to condolence, and I made up my mind to await
the more auspicious, occasion of a birth. This occasion has just
presented itself. I consider that, when a man's death has been
announced in nearly all the leading newspapers ; when the bell
in his parish church has gone on tolling for the best part of the
day; when his own servants have set about ordering themselves
decent mourning; and then, when one hears that he is alive
and doing remarkably well, although suffering from highly
honourable wounds, that one has a right to look upon him as
one who has been born again; and it is upon this new birth that
I am writing to congratulate you now. But I hope, my dear
child, that in doing this I am not behaving like an impertinent
and short-sighted old donkey. I hope that the fact that a
certain fine friend of ours is still alive may really turn out to be
a subject for congratulation. If, however, he has only been
spared to come back in order to make everybody profoundly
uncomfortable, as he once did, and to set all'of us by the ears, I
shall honestly wish that he had never returned to us at all. In
saying this, I am trying not to consider my own feelings. I
daresay you will think that it's absurd, at my age, that I should
have any feelings at all; and in this idea you don't stand alone.
I often repeat to myself some verses of Thackeray's about
waiting till you come to ' forty year,' and think how absolutely
untrue they are, at any rate with regard to myself. The indi-
vidual treated of in them, having arrived at this period of
senility, confesses to a state of perfect indifference. Young
ladies with whom he was once in love, and whose names are
mentioned, die off like flies and marry with impunity. Their
weddings and funerals produce no sort of effect upon him. He
TIIRO' LOVE AND WAR 361
has become a sort of Epicurean-Stoic, and so long as he can go
on ' dipping his nose in the Gascon wine,' cares not one brass
farthing for anything that may happen. I must say, judging
by myself, that I think the great novelist has fixed the date of
this period of insensibility a little too early; but then I may be
different in this respect, perhaps, from the rest of my species—a
sort of lusus natures in whom young people can't quite believe,
like the tame oyster who, when he was whistled to, used to
respond by running upstairs. For my own part—and I can
speak ' as one having authority'—rl think that one feels things
rather more at and about forty than one does either at twenty
or thirty ' year,' perhaps because the desires of one's heart at
that age are generally more creditable to one's taste than one's
boyish fancies. I believe that a disappointment would disap-
point me quite as much as it would a certain military hero who
shall go unnamed, for the loss of a good thing isn't less hard to
bear because one hasn't got either the hope or the energy to set
off and look for a better. If, therefore, I refrain from dwelling
upon my own feelings, it isn't because they don't exist; I've
merely shut them up out of the way, where they will remain,
eating their heads off, until they're wanted. But perhaps they
won't ever be wanted at all!
" I don't suppose you have ever been a very determined pa-
troness of British melodrama. If you had been, you would have
observed that, before the curtain falls at the ending of the play,
the'whole company, with the exception of course of the villain,
. who is either carted away dead, or led off, handcuffed, to a living
tomb, stand up in front of the audience in a paired-off and
happily affianced condition. The young lovers,-who have been so
terribly plagued and persecuted all through, are locked together
in a close embrace : he looks down at her tenderly from time to
time, and pats her on the head; her black dress, clean white
collar, and the violet-powder upon cheek and brow, combine to
tell how fearfully she has suffered both in body and in mind.
The handsome, middle-aged, married couple too, who have been
misunderstanding and suspecting each other all through the
piece, in consequence of opening the wrong telegram, announcing
tfie drowning of puppies which they choose to mistake for
babies, or something of the sort, are finally reconciled. John the
footman, and Betty the chambermaid, are ogling each other at
the back of the stage ; whilst even the comic boy-in-buttons has
got his eye upon the pretty little girl who has just been rescued
from the clutches of the cruel acrobat (you see I have got the
plot of the story pretty pat). How, all this is just as it should
be. But, at the conclusion of the last play of this kind at which.
I assisted, the crusty old bachelor of the drama, who, it was easy
to perceive, had been madly in love with the heroine from the
very beginning, was made to pair off with the most objectionable
old spinster in ringlets, who had been prying and peaching all
through the piece, and making as much mischief as she possibly
362 THRO1 LOVE AND WAR
could out of the puppy-telegram. Tbis is absolutely untrue to
Nature. It is merely arranged to satisfy the ignorant people in
the pit and gallery, who like everything to wind up according to
their own notions of what is right and proper. In the drama of
real life, the crusty old bachelor is left, at the fall of the curtain,
standing by himself; for it isn't likely that, having once been in
love with such a charming young creature as the heroine, he
could derive any consolation from marrying a hideous old maid.
He stands alone, but I flatter myself, being very much in the
same position, that, although he may not be particularly orna-
mental, there is no reason why he should be absolutely useless.
He may be of service to his friends and relatives in a variety of
ways, and by assuming a pui'ely platonic and impersonal attitude,
may end by making himself feared as well as respected. He is
in great request as a godfather, an uncle, a trustee for marriage
settlements. When the young people come into the world he
presents them with spoons anc silver mugs. Later on it is his
agi'eeable mission to administer physic or corporal punishment,
should they prove either imprudent or unruly during their holidays.
He escorts them to Christmas pantomimes, accompanies them
when they visit their dentists, and tips them handsomely when
they return to their academy. To their papas and mammas,
likewise, he is bound to deal in home truths, and wholesome,
though unpalatable, advice, should they ever quarrel or commit
extravagances ; whilst he is expected to remember both them and
their offspring in his will, and so has always a pleasant feeling
of uncertainty as to whether the attentions he receives from his
relatives are the result of affection or of self-interest. So the
years pass on over the head of one who may have dreamed of
better things. Nobody will ever know quite what he suffers,
though the recklessness with which he rides, bets, and mixes his
whisky-toddy, may reveal to a close observer how little import-
ance he attaches to health, wealth, or public opinion. How such
a poor forlorn wretch would bless any kind and beautiful fairy
who would put a ring through his nose, lead him about by a
string, and beat, torture, and maltreat him sometimes if she
liked, but who would make him feel, at rare intervals, that she
was not quite indifferent to him, and who would let him watch
over her, and run her messages. No occupation refused, how-
ever menial, so long as he might win her smiles. Ah, my dqar
Lucy ! I write like an old fool! My letter was to congratulate
you, and not to condole with myself. You know, I think, the
very high opinion I have always had of you. I am not likely to
change it, should this resuscitation fail to bring you the good
luck I try to hope that it may. If it does bring it, however, you
will find in me, as long as I live, a faithful friend, and a country
neighbour who will look upon your interests as identical with his
own. Let me know whether you ever receive this. My sister told
me you were thinking of changing your house. How well I re-
member our drive together in the fly the night you took Millbank
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
363
Prison for the Travellers' Club! Other memories, which it would
be the height of imbecility to encourage, rise up in my mind, and
warn me that it is time for me to set about my daily task of try-
ing to forget you. Your interesting kinsman, prompted, no
doubt, by disinterested anxiety for my welfare, has thought fit to
interrupt me several times, nevertheless my letter has grown to
an unconscionable length. Why is it that, when the females in
some families are so charming that one would willingly follow
them all over the world, their male relatives produce upon one an
impression so different that one is perpetually plotting and plan-
ning as to how one can escape from their company, and so be in
comparative peace, if only for the space of half an hour."
Having relieved his feelings by this concluding sentence, Lord
Belmorris signed, sealed, and stamped his letter with something
which began like a sigh, and then turned, as if quite uncon-
sciously, into a prolonged and despondent whistling—barren of
any particular tune or purpose. Before this had died into silence
there came a quick knock at the study-door. It was Algernon
Binks. Lord Belmorris slipped his newly directed letter between
the pages of the blotting-book in rather a guilty manner.
" I didn't know, uncle, whether you'd like me to come with
you for a gallop? We haven't had the horses out for several
days."
" Thank you, Algy, I'd just as soon remain quiet. I've a
good deal of writing to get through."
"You wouldn't like me to hang about so as to potter round
the place with you when you've got over your letters ?"
" Thank you, I'm old enough now to be able to look after
myself."
" Then if you don't want me, uncle, I think I'd just like to
take 'Mustard' for a canter over the moors. Can I give Jervis
the order P"
" By all means. My wish is that everybody should amuse
themselves their own way, and leave me to do the same.
Recollect this whilst you're here ; and remember, too, my boy,
that there is a point at which politeness ends, and persecution
begins. Shut the door fast after you ; it's apt to come open
again!"
" Why I can't help fancying that the rummy temper my
uncle Belmorris has been in lately has got something to do with
Hepburn's being killed and then coming to life again "—I am
quoting once more from Algernon Binks's letter to his sister in
South Africa—" is that after hearing that the Colonel, instead
of being dead was ' alive and kicking,' he shut himself up in
his ' den ' for upwards of two hours, after luncheon ; and, upon
my going to the door—thinking he might have been taken with
a lit, or something, and with no sort of idea of anything but
' doing the civil'—he gave me, without rhyme or reason, about
the most beastly snubbing that I've ever had in the whole
course of mv life, which I took, of course, like a lamb, but
364
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
should certainly ' owe him one' for, if he had been anybody
from whom I hadn't had future expectations. When I saw
that he had been writing to Lucy Barlow—as I found he had
been, for I saw ' Clapham Common' quite plainly upon the
envelope before he managed to scramble it away—I must con-
fess that I felt rather in a ' funk,' thinking that he might have
made an ass of himself, and proposed to her, and I would have
given a good deal to have been able to get a peep at the letter.
But, on second thoughts, I have made up my mind not to meet
troubles half-way, for I really and truly believe that Lucy
Barlow is such a queer sort of a girl that she might actually
refuse him, even if he has asked her to marry him, and there's
all the more chance of this now that we know for certain that
Hepburn hasn't been killed ; although we also know, more than
ever, that he's anything but a marrying man. All my calcula-
tions, however, may be awfully upset, supposing he takes it
into his head to die of his wounds ! "
CHAPTER LIX.
The possibility that Anthony Hepburn might, to use Algy's
expression, " take it into his head to die of his wounds," haunted
Lucy now at every waking moment of the day and night.
" A passionate woman's love," says George Eliot, " is always
overshadowed by fear." By a fear, too, which can assume as
many forms as Proteus himself.
Beloved ones who, it may be, are neither particularly
" passionate," nor foolishly over-fond, whose fetters, if they are
to be fetters at all, must weigh no heavier than a feather, and
who repudiate, and are impatient of, all the counter-balancing
anxieties which are ever the accompaniments of an absorbing
attachment, may often have made this discovery to their cost.
Hydra-headed and persistent, fear after fear, anxiety after
anxiety, arise in the " passionate " woman's mind.
Ho sooner is one thoroughly subdued and trampled under
foot, than lo ! another straightway uplifteth its accursed head!
If we examine into the circumstances of Lucy's acquaintance
with Colonel Hepburn from the very beginning, we shall find
that there could scarcely have been a single moment during
which she was wholly free from doubts and apprehensions of
one kind or another.
Treading upon the delightful discovery that the world con-
tained at least one being who seemed worthy of a woman's
dearest affections^ came the conviction (owing, of course, to a
misconception of facts) that the princely creature with whom
she had journeyed from Clapham Junction to Hampton Court,
was no other than the veterinary surgeon belonging to the
regiment of which a squadron happened to be quartered in the
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
365
Cavalry Barracks at the Palace. Surprise! Disappointment!
Consternation ! Doubts as to whether (supposing that sym-
pathy and admiration had been mutual) Miss Elizabeth Barlow
would ever consent to an .engagement with one whom she would
probably regard as her great-niece's social inferior; the brain
tortured and racked in its search after apposite historical
precedent.
Then came the knowledge that he actually commanded the
regiment in which she had foolishly imagined that he occupied
so subordinate a position. He was rich, sought after, courted ;
with a fine old Elizabethan house " up in the North," surrounded
by broad acres and an ancestral deer-park. Revulsion of feel-
ing hereupon. Surprise, disappointment, and consternation,
although of an utterly different kind.
Then followed these enchanted moments amongst the shadowy
cloisters, with only the pale moon and the terra-cotta Caesars
■for witnesses ; the soft light in his eyes, the blissful first con-
sciousness that she was indeed beloved, and by the one being
who seemed to realize her highest ideal of human perfection.
But his kiss—tender, passionate, resistless—was as the de-
spairing kiss of renunciation, for " he was not a marrying
man! "
But then in the library at Ealconborough Park, under the
very portrait of his own mother, had he not almost asked her
to become his wife ?
Ah !—only " almost! " There was some obstacle, some
impediment, to their union ; an entanglement with some other
woman!
Was he married already? No; he was not married. He
swore that he was not.
Did he then care about anybody whom he was unable to make
his wife ?
No, so help him Cod; he was in love with no one but her!
What then was the mysterious obstacle that stood between
them?
Alas, the day was not very far distant when all would be
made plain to her! Oh, for the blessed time before this bitter
knowledge had been thrust upon her !
With all its heartaches, its misgivings, its vacillations of hope
and fear, what would she not give to enjoy but one day of her
previous ignorance!
But she had been aroused and enlightened now.
Slowly, and by degrees, she had come to know the worst.
Nearly every circumstance connected with Anthony's former
entanglement had been revealed to her, and now she could never
be shielded by her ignorance again.
The pain she had experienced at this miserable time was not
like the pain of a sharp wound or sudden blow, which would
smart and ache less as the days went by. The effect of this
pain, she said to herself, would be permanent, enduring, leaving
366 THRO' LOVE AND WAR
her only when the faculty of remembering and the capability
for suffering had become blunted or extinct.
But she must grow blind, too, as well as oblivious and insen-
sible, otherwise would not the sight of a golden-haired maiden,
such as little Lily might grow to be one day, and the initial
encircled by the eternal serpent upon a certain manly right arm,
awaken, even in the midst of the very brightest future, recol-
lections which would be able to sting and torture still ?
But then as these thoughts had crowded upon her, usurping,
whatever her outward demeanour or occupation, the first places
in her mind, came the news that Anthony Hepburn had been
ordered out upon active service.
How quickly did the bitterness, the jealousy, and the regret
which had been evoked by the revelation of his past seem to
become swallowed up and absorbed by her apprehensions for his
safety in the present! The worst misfortune that could be was
not, now, that he should ever have cared about another woman,
or that memories and reminiscences connected with this adven-
ture should haunt and pursue her through the coming years.
All this past misery was as nothing when compared to a
calamity which might be impending in the future.
A few anxious weeks of dread, of silent supplication and
prayer, and then the blow had fallen. The worst had happened,
as far as she then knew, and she found herself looking out, like
a creature stunned and dazed, at an utterly hopeless and desolate
world.
Whilst Lucy had believed in the truth of this terrible news,
every other torturing emotion save the sense of irreparable loss
had been laid to rest.
Anthony Hepburn became the centre of a group of tender,
reverential, and adoring memories.
As she beheld him, with the eyes of the imagination, lying in
the cold slumber of death, pale, passionless—on his lips the seal
of an eternal silence—it would have seemed almost like sacrilege
to remember that he had ever erred.
The fancied resemblance which had occurred to her between
her lost lover when asleep and a knight upon a tombstone seemed
to her now to have had its origin in something psychical and
prophetic.
She had been inspired with this notion probably as a warning
that Death might step in at any moment, and extinguish with
his icy breath the newly illumined torch of love—that she should
garner and cherish love's transient blossoms before the grim
mower came with his relentless scythe—why had she not taken
this warning to heart before it was too late ?
During this short period, which seemed long by reason of its
wretchedness, Lucy had concentrated the powers of loving that
remained to her upon Anthony Hepburn's child. This child was
all that was left to her now of her departed idol. A living and
breathing proof that he, too, had lived and breathed and had his
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 367
being, and that the one romance of her now widowed existence
had not been altogether a dream.
This newly awakened love (since, before her bereavement, the
affection she had experienced for little Lily was merely that
which every tender and impressionable nature must feel for an
innocent and attractive child) seemed sent to her now as balm
and consolation.
Free from the faintest taint of agitating earthly passion—
pure as one may imagine the loves of the angels—here was surely
an emotion in which she could indulge without let or hindrance.
The misery of a few hours only seemed to have chastened and
etherealized every feeling in the heart that was once besieged by
such impetuous and eager longings!
Anthony Hepburn was dead : why had she been permitted to
live on after learning this terrible news, if it were not because
she was destined by way of penance and consolation to love and
watch over the welfare of his child ?
With the resuscitation which Lord Belmorris had compared
in his letter to a second birth, Lucy's sentiments with regard to
Lily had undergone no material change. The knight, it is true,
had arisen as it were from his tombstone, to take his place once
more amongst living men. But the woman who loved him best
had beheld him in imagination lying in his marble sleep, and
the effect that this contemplation had produced upon her was
too powerful to be dispelled, even when he had turned again
into a being of flesh and blood.
All bitterness, all sense of humiliation and of wrong, had been
slain, when she had believed that Anthony was lying slain upon
that fatal field, and dead feelings are almost as rarely called
back into life as dead men!
Here is an excellent receipt for the promotion of tolerance
and forbearance between a man and woman who really love, in
spite of their differences, and for the prevention of the setting of
suns upon their wrath, whether it be righteous or unrighteous.
Let the one who is the most aggrieved, picture to himself (or to
herself, as the case may be) the beloved offender lying straight
and silent, deaf for ever to the voices of complaint and remon-
strance, powerless alike either to retort or to explain, wearing
always that same expression of complacent dignity, rail we never
so fiercely. After dwelling for awhile upon this mental picture,
he (or she) will surely come to the conclusion that it is better as
well as wiser altogether to forgive!
But unimaginative persons, it may be argued, are utterly in-
capable of calling up this mental picture. Let them endeavour
nevertheless to forgive; for neither will such persons be haunted
by other pictures and phantom shapes that disturb and chasten.
Their need of counsel is not so urgent. I do not write for such
as these. Read, all ye who can love and suffer and imagine, the
words of Thomas Carlyle, himself a man of many grievances,
upon this subject, written soon after the being who had
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THRO* LOVE AND WAR
most claim to his kindness and consideration had ceased to
exist:
"How pungent is remorse," he writes, under the date of
December 15,1870, "when it turns upon the loved dead, who
cannot pardon us, cannot hear us now! Two plain precepts
there are. Dost thou intend a kindness to thy beloved one?
Do it straightway, while the fateful future is not yet here. Has
thy heart's friend carelessly or cruelly stabbed into thy heart ?
Oh, forgive him ! Think how when thou art dead he will punish
himself. True precepts, clear dictates of prudence both, yet how
often neglected!"
Anthony Hepburn, then, returned to life pardoned and ex-
onerated by the woman who loved him, and who had mourned
him for only some few hours it is true, but for hours that were
" shod with lead," and pregnant with the concentrated agony of
years as one dead.
Had he died, indeed, she had come now to realize, this final
act upon his part would have inflicted upon her by far the
" most unkindest cut of all! " But she had been spared a pro-
longation of any such disconsolate anguish, and so could afford
now to forgive him for every other careless or cruel stab.
She could say to herself now,blessing God all the while for His
mercy, that Anthony Hepburn was still alive. Her mission was
to watch over and care for the welfare of his child until the
moment of his safe return. And then ?
Further into the future than this Lucy had not dared to
penetrate. It seemed to her that Anthony's safe return, or
merely the knowledge of it, would be to her as the culmination
of all her hopes. She longed and prayed now for nothing more
definite or consoling than this.
But what if Anthony, after so much had been achieved with
regard to the curbing and controlling of her personal feelings,
should " take it into his head to die of his wounds ? "
This was now the haunting dread that pursued her—the
gnawing fear that had absorbed and triumphed over every other
fear and apprehension.
The old French Professor, acting entirely from benevolent
motives, had not yet informed Lucy of Mrs. Van Buren's second
marriage. He had stated, indeed, that there was now no chance
of her immediate return, and that Lily would have been left
desolate and forlorn but for her own care and devotion. More
than this he had not revealed. He had perceived or imagined
upon Lucy's brow the pale resignation of the fatalist. An ex-
pression as of hard-earned philosophic calm, which it might be
unwise to disturb, even by the awakening of fresh hopes, until
Anthony Hepburn was safely landed upon English soil. In
common with Lucy, it was as if all his expectations were
fixed and concentrated upon this day. Once it had actually
dawned, he held the conviction that things would shuffle
themselves right without very much further difficulty; but
THRO' LOVE AND WAR 369
who could make sure, allowing for distance and dangers,
both by sea and by land, whether this hoped-for day would ever
be permitted to dawn at all?
Lucy would sit now for whole hours together, in the faded
armchair near the fireplace in her little sitting-room, with Lily
upon her knee, talking to her and telling her stories. When
the mornings were fine, the two would stroll forth upon the
Common, walking hand in hand. The most perfect understand-
ing appeared to have become established between them.
Lily conversed in the old-fashioned, reasonable manner,
peculiar to only children who have always lived apart from
merry companions of their own age. She seemed to be deeply
interested in matters relating to cause and effect, and to have
no taste whatever for romping or for childish games.
"Little girls," she said, "ought always to play with little
boys," and she had never known any little boys to play with.
The only object approaching to the nature of a toy, which
seemed to afford her either pleasure or amusement, was her
large wax doll, about whose broken nose there clustered such a
swarm of stinging associations. " Jane "had told her, she said,
that she was "a great baby to go on nursing dolls" now that
she was " turned ten years old; " but she liked this " big dolly''
because it was given her by her " godpapa," and she liked her
godpapa much better than her " real papa," who was dead now,
and whom she " couldn't recollect quite." But now her god-
papa had gone away, like everybody else!
Tears, " idle tears," would fall silently from brown eyes upon
golden locks during these innocent and childish babblings!
- At other times Lily would question Lucy upon a variety of
subjects ; foolish, babyish questions perhaps, but yet displaying
unmistakable powers of observation and reflection, and altogether
impossible to answer. As for instance ;—Whether if God were
to be engaged in the creating of a pig, and the pig called out,
and said, " Oh do please let me be a man! " God would listen
to the pleading pig's voice ; and whether Lucy did not think
that this might be the reason, perhaps, why Mrs. Porter's
husband's face had just a little the look of a pig ?
And again:
Why the Creator had selected green, especially, for the colour
of the grass and the trees P Why they were not made blue
instead, like the trees upon the nursery plates ? Was it because
God had never seen the plates until after He had done making
the world, and that then it was too late to have it changed?
And why, if God was so great and so powerful, could He not
easily have changed the whole earth blue, in a " single minute,"
even if it was all finished ? Perhaps, however, it would have
looked prettier to have made it pink ?
Or, whether Lucy could really be quite sure that there were
no butterflies in heaven ? Because butterflies flew about in
every nice place upon warm days; and whether the birds would
A A
370
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
sing there as they did here ? and whether they would be bigger
birds ? and whether they would lay more eggs in heaven than
they did upon earth ? and whether the birds that flew about in
heaven would have to come out of these eggs; or whether they
were the spirits of birds that had once lived down upon the earth ?
To these inquiries it was almost humiliating to be obliged in-
variably to answer:
" Indeed, I don't know, dear! It's all a great mystery, not
meant for us to find out!"
As soon as Monsieur de la Vieilleroche had verified the con-
tradiction of Colonel Hepburn's death, he wrote to him a
detailed account of the events which had taken place since his
departure from England. By the time this letter arrived ah its
destination, it was probable that the wounded man would be
sufficiently recovered to reply to it, or else that the worst
would be over! The old Professor, after informing Anthony of
Mrs. Van Buren's marriage, of Lily's illness, and of Lucy's un-
selfish devotion, had expressed himself thus in conclusion :
" To be brought into daily contact with a gentle and noble
nature—instinctively and spontaneously derived from gentle
and noble natures that are now no more—is, in itself, a kind of
moral education, from which, in spite of all my confirmed bad
qualities, I cannot fail to profit. Events have now combined to
render this privilege within your reach also. You will enjoy it,
1 hope, for many years, long after the old friend who now writes
to you is laid at rest! The words of a living poet, who in spite
o'f the obstinate exaggeration of his political opinions, must
always be regarded by Frenchmen with pride and veneration,
recur to my mind at this moment, whilst thinking of the envi-
able which I trust may be in store for you:
' Etre l'dpoux! saisir 1'ange eperdu qui fuit!
Te voir a chaque instant, te parler jour et nuit,
Tous les mots du bonheur, t'entendre me les dire
Tremblante, et les venir baiser sur ton sourire !
Avoir le paradis pour joug et pour devoir!' *
Do not, then, my friend, make shipwreck of your life for the
second time, but come back upon the first opportunity to
England, and take possession of your happiness ! It will have
been matured out of materials of the right sort—suffering,
self-sacrifice, steadfastness of purpose; and you will have been
long in attaining it! But for these reasons it is likely to be
the more enduring. Remember, 'Le temps n'epargne pas ce
qui se fait sans lui!' "
CHAPTER LX.
The next six weeks of Lucy Barlow's existence were almost
entirely uneventful. She had received, indeed, quite an exhaus*
* Victor Hugo.
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
371
tive letter from her cousin, Adeliza Sparshott, giving a graphic
account of the terrible battle which, it was at first suppdsed, had
cost the 18th Lancers their Colonel's life. She described
Anthony's rescue by the gallant Pretymau, who seemed to have
laid well to heart the words addressed to him by his command-
ing officer, when upon hearing that there might be fighting, he
had desired to retire from the service. Colonel Hepburn, she
said, was progressing favourably in spite of severe wounds. Of
these she would give no description whatever, for fear of mak-
ing Lucy " feel nervous." Lucy ought to " cheer up," however,
and ma.ke up her mind that he was " going on capitally," and
to think " how very much worse things might have been for
everybody was agreed that " a certain individual" had had the
very narrowest " shave " in the world!
" The whole thing," Mrs. Sparshott had continued, " will
]}robably be settled up very soon now. A few troops, I believe
are to be kept out for a little while longer, but most of them
will return; and, of course, all those who have been wounded
will start for home as soon as they are well enough to travel.
Dearest Charlie, as I have already told you, is progressing very
favourably, for I am most thankful to say his wounds were not
at all serious, although very misleading in character, being
almost all of them in the back, where people, in ancient times,
objected so much to being wounded, because it looked as if they
had been running away. Dearest Charlie, however, could
never be laid under any such imputation, for he displayed the
most conspicuous intrepidity, which has been alluded to in all
the newspapers, and, after fighting like a lion, rode right
through the enemy's country with despatches, and received
those wounds from some of their horrid spears. If, when we
get away from here, it is not too late in the season, we are
thinking of joining mamma at Cannes, and returning with her to
England; for, of course, with my wardrobe in its present
campaigning condition, I could not remain there; as oue feels
bound, for the honour of one's order, to try and cut out those
horrid, flirting, picnicing girls, with whom the place is always
crawling alive, and whose one object in life seems to be to get
away all the nicest and "best-looking men from the poor married
' women; and I should be quite unequal to competing with
these creatures in my present state. So we should probably
return to England at once. Poor, dear mamma! Do you
know, Lucy, I have sometimes thought lately that we may
have been perhaps a little hard upon her ? If her affection for
poor papa was anything like what mine is for dearest Charlie,
I can well imagine the awfully paralyzing effect which his loss
must have produced upon her; and when one has nobody left
in the world to look after one, and make one their first thought,
one has naturally to look after oneself, and run the risk of
being considered egotistical. Mothers, too, seem always afraid
of confiding in their daughters for fear of " losing caste; " and,
372
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
so, I daresay, poor mamma's life may really be very lonely and
depressing!"
To Achille de la Yieilleroche, too, within this interval of six
weeks, there had come a letter bearing the same kind of colonial
stamp as that upon Mrs. Sparshott's envelope. It was addressed
in a strange, straggling, crooked handwriting—a very curious
handwriting indeed!—and after carefully examining the direc-
tion, the old man tore it open with trembling fingers, and com-
menced eagerly reading its contents.
"When he had finished its perusal, he covered his face with
his thin hands, and being of the impulsive and susceptible
nature which is usually the accompaniment of Southern blood,
burst forth into a paroxysm of lamentation.
Fortunately he was alone, in the seclusion of his own attic,
when the letter in question had been delivered to him. He re-
mained there for fully an hour afterwards, plunged, apparently,
in melancholy reflection, or doing battle with violently con-
flicting emotions.
" Ho ! I shall say nothing about it to her ! " he murmured
at last, as, after taking up his hat and cane, he quitted the
room with a sigh. "He leaves the matter entirely to my dis-
cretion—I shall say not one word. She shall not read it,
either, if I am able to prevent her, in the newspapers. ' I shall
be back,' he says, 'with the first lot that are sent home.'
Then he can tell her himself."
And so it happened that Lucy was not even aware of quite
all that had appeared in the newspapers—information which
must always seem to be scanty enough to those who long to
know every detail connected with any one particular person !
It was now about the middle of the second week in March.
A promise of Spring once more—but, as yet, only a promise.
The weather, as is usual at this season, blustering and
capricious ; sunshine sometimes, but of a wan, colourless kind,
with hurrying clouds up overhead, and a frown of menace on
the horizon.
nevertheless, the gorse-bushes upon the Common were
plentifully bedecked with golden buds; some of them well-nigh
bursting forth into blossom, whilst bright lines of crocuses and
tufts of pearly snowdrops were to be seen in almost every
suburban garden. Still, as the wind was sometimes so cutting
and so cold, and as Lily Yan Buren was neither a gorse-bush
nor an early-blossoming bulb, Lucy was often obliged to go
abroad without her little companion, who did not seem, some-
how, to be making very rapid progress towards a perfect
recovery.
During these solitary walks, Lucy's thoughts dwelt almost
exclusively upon Anthony Hepburn, upon her hopes of his return
home, the chances of her meeting with him, what attitude he
would assume with regard to herself ? What likelihood there
was of Lily becoming restored to her usual health before that
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
373
time? Whether Mrs. Van Buren might not, very probably,
reappear upon the scene and claim her child ? Together with
a thousand other speculations and conjectures having reference
to the same subject. Bat in Lucy's heart, at this season, there
awoke mysterious and intangible yearnings, for which even
Anthony Hepburn was not altogether responsible. Impres-
sions, begetting tender and melancholy emotions—favourable,
no doubt, to all that he might have chosen to desire or to
demand, if only he had been there to plead—but yet proceeding
more immediately and directly from the uncontrollable self-
abandonment of Nature, which must ever inspire with vague
and indescribable longings the souls of those beings whose pulses
respond, unconsciously, to the passionate heart-beats of the
universe. Spring-time must be a sorry season, indeed, for
those who can lay these tender dreams and impressions at the
door of no earthly visitant; who must look on, unloving and
unbeloved, at peeping purple crocus blossom and drooping
snowdrop, and in whose breasts the twittering notes of early
mating birds can awaken no secret echo of consolation and
hope.
On this particular March morning, as Lucy sauntered home-
wards across the Common, she perceived Sarah standing at
the wicket-gate leading to " Vine Cottage," evidently on the
look-out for her return. What was the matter ?
Miss Lily, Lucy's faithful handmaiden explained, had
suddenly been taken " very odd." Her head ached, and she
was rambling in her talk, asking about her " mamma," her
"godpapa," and saying she was soon going to heaven to see
her black nurse.
Lucy at once despatched Mrs. Porter's little servant for the
doctor, and hastened to Lily's bedside.
The child recognized her at once, and appeared to be relieved
at her return.
" Stay here, won't you ?" she whispered, as she clasped
Lucy's hand in both her own. " Don't go away from me, like
everybody ! I want to feel that you're near me even if I can't
see you, because I love you, and because you are so kind. My
mamma was beautifuller than you, and she was much beauti-
fuller dressed, but she wasn't half so kind to me as you are.
When will my mamma come back from abroad ? "
Lucy could only return an evasive answer to this inquiry.
" I will be a mamma to you until yours comes back," she
said, as, with tears in her eyes, she clasped Lily to her heart.
Only a little while ago—before she had succeeded in training
herself in the school of adversity—these childish questionings
might have proved terribly painful and embarrassing. She
winced still, it is true, at every allusion to Mrs. Van Buren,
but it was a wincing for which she was thoroughly prepared, a
pain she knew for certain that she must experience, differing
altogether from the crushing misery of an unexpected revela-
374
7HR0' LOVE AND WAR
tion, bringing with it the toppling down of an idol, or the
withering of a long-cherished hope.
For once we have come to realize that the idol—although
prostrate and abased—is still the dearest object of our adora-
tion, and that a hope, if it is to run no risk of being suddenly
blighted, had better never be suffered to flourish and. luxuriate
at all, pain and humiliation become, as it were, our accepted
portion; happiness and pleasure are then our only unexpected
guests!
To adore, without faith, without hope, a shattered idol p What
is this but another name for a state of perpetual torment and
unrest P But yet, to be able to adore at all is surely something.
How many there are who have not advanced even thus far upon
the pathway of human knowledge ; and it is necessary to know,
and to endure, before it is possible to enjoy with wisdom.
Adversity had taught Lucy the secret of some such philosophy
as this, and so, expectant only of pain and humiliation, she was
enabled to answer, with apparent equanimity, the questions of
Mr. Bury the doctor.
" Little Miss Yan Buren " was " a very fine little girl," but the
brain was in a " highly irritable and excitable condition." Did
Lucy know whether there had been any tendency to brain
disease in the Yan Buren family ?
Ho ; Lucy could tell him absolutely nothing with regard to the
family in question. She had never heard that any member of it
had ever suffered from brain disease.
The mother—Mrs. Yan Buren, of "The Aspens "—was a re-
markably fine-looking woman. Ho doubt Lucy was acquainted
with her ? Did Lucy know anything about the little girl's
father ?
Ho—yes; that is to say, Lucy did know something about him.
She had always heard that he was quite strong and in good
health.
Ah ! Mr. Bury was glad to be informed of this. It had an
important bearing upon the case. The child had evidently out-
grown her strength; she was very tall for her age. He had heard
that she had been born in India ? Did Lucy know how long she
had remained out there ? Her father had been, Mr. Bury be-
lieved, an Anglo-Indian official ? Did Lucy know of what com-
plaint he had died ?
Yes—no; that is to say, her father was not yet dead. Oh,
yes, by-the-by, of course. He had died not very long ago—
quite lately, in fact. Lucy fancied that she had been told that
he had died in a fit.
These blundering surmises and responses resulted in an
opinion upon the part of the doctor to the effect that " little
Miss Yan Buren," besides having decidedly outgrown her
strength, had inherited from her father, the Anglo-Indian official,
who had recently expired in a fit, " an intense susceptibility of
cerebral structure," and " that the chill she had caught a short
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
375
while ago through falling into the pond, had predisposed her to
rheumatic and neuralgic pains."
There might, however, be other causes for her indisposition,
which time would enable him to discover. She might have fallen
down, at some period, and affected her spine, or swallowed a
thimble, or a brass button. It was quite impossible to guard
against these contingencies. He had great hopes that she would
improve with the fine weather, but Spring was always a very
trying time for children. In the meantime, it was absolutely
necessary that she should be protected from catching another
chill. He would prescribe a little bromide of potassium—a most
valuable medicine in such cases—and he would look in again " the
day after to-morrow."
Mr. Bury, who was not much of a sentimentalist—and a senti-
mental doctor should be looked upon as altogether an exceptional
being—had not been sorry to glean what he considered must be
authentic information with regard to Mrs. Van Buren and her
late husband. He had admired the Anglo-Indian widow, as it
were, professionally, and from a carnal and anatomical stand-
point had decided that she was a "magnificent creature," and
magnificent creatures happened to be possessed of more interest
in his eyes than creatures of an inferior type.
As soon as Mr. Bury had departed, Lucy summoned her one
attendant, and gave her the prescription.
"Take it at once to the chemist's, Sarah, and have it made up.
Why, how happy you look ! "
" Well, Miss Lucy," answered Sarah, blushing, " I can't help,
certainly, feeling rather in better spirits to-day, which you'll
understand, situated as you are yourself, Miss, when I tell you
that Mr. Pretyman has written me a letter all the way from
where the fighting's been, and he says, 'I expect to be back,' he
says, 4 almost as soon as this reaches you, which I hope,' he
says, 4 will find you, as it leaves me, in first-rate health and
spirits; and with a good appetite for the cold roast beef of old
England, which I shall be heartily thankful,' he says, * to look
upon once again, yourself included,' he says, 4 as well as the
old folks at home, which is thinking now,' he says, 4 of retiring
from the " public " business altogether, and leaving it to me, and
who I should very much like to introduce you to,' he says,
4 one of these fine days, as it's about time,' he says, 4 that their
affectionate son Tom should marry and settle down with the girl
of his choice, if she will have him, which is a young person,' he
says, 4 that you may see in the glass every time that you cleans
yourself up for the day.' And so you see, Miss," continued
Sarah, with a happy smile,44 he's on his way home, now, as sure
as sure, and it's ten to one, I think, after reading what he says
about settling down, and taking a 4 public,' that his intentions is
perfectly honourable."
441 hope so, Sarah, I'm sure," returned Lucy sadly.
44 So do I, Miss; and in another part of his letter which comes
376
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
before that, he says he's probably going back in attendance upon
one of the officers that's been wounded, and ' I hope,' he says,
' that I may get put on to the Colonel, which is what I am
trying hard to get hold of,' he says, ' and as I believe he's after
the same intentions himself,' he says, ' I've every hope of
bringing the matter off, which is one of the arrangements
which would satisfy me best,' he says,' as I always said I would
lay down my life for the Colonel any day, which is thoroughly
one of the right sort,' he says, ' and I came very near doing it,
too,' he says, ' in no mistake !' "
" Oh, Sarah, suppose they should come back together, in the
same ship!"
" I think you'll see that they will, Miss," replied Sarah cheer-
fully, "It will be a great mercy to feel that they're safe home
again, I'm sure! "
" It will indeed ; and I hope that, if you care about him, this
young man will keep all his promises and come up to your ex-
pectations, and be true and faithful, and never do anything in
the future to make you regret that you ever met him at all! "
and she sighed the sigh of the experienced.
Mingling with her own fears and uncertainties, there had
arisen just at that moment the memory of Private Pretyman's
midnight ramble by the side of the moonshiny river with the
" young female " at Hampton Court.
Had all men, then, independent of class and station, had love
affairs and adventures in the past? Must every man have,
hidden away in his heart, recollections and regrets which would
cause the woman who loved him best to shudder and turn pale*
if they could be made known to her ?
" And dare we to this fancy give,
That, had the wild oat not been sown,
The soil, left ban-en, scarce had grown
The grain by which a man may live ? ''
The voice of. Sarah recalled Lucy to the present.
"I hope so too, Miss," she said, referring to her young mis-
tress's words; " but once I get married, I don't mean to bother
my head about the future! One can't have everything, you
know, Miss; and a girl like me must make up her mind to take
the rough with the smooth when she sets her whole affections
upon a young fellow that's been in a cavalry regiment and seen
fighting !"
CHAPTER LXI.
But neither Lucy's devoted attentions, the anxious solicitude of
the old French Professor, nor Mr. Bury's valuable " bromide of
potassium," were destined to bring back the hue of health to
Lily Yan Buren's cheek. In little more than a week from the
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
377
time when Sarah had tripped off so gaily to the chemist's, her
bosom all aglow with love and admiration for the gallant
Lancer, Anthony Hepburn's child lay cold and silent upon the
little white bed in what had once been Lucy's sleeping-room,
albeit closed and shrouded now, and transformed, through the
mysterious working of destiny, into a chamber of death.
How long a coffin for so young a child ! Very nearly six feet
in length from end to end! The undertaker was quite sur-
prised, Sarah said, when he heard that the young lady was only
"just turned ten and a half years old!" There were prece-
dents, however, for this sudden growing of children during a
short illness. Mrs. Porter, the landlady, could quote a remark-
able instance; Mr. Porter, the pig-faced man, could remember
another; Sarah could recall a third.
A death in the house is not always a wholly unacceptable inci-
dent to the majority of " that vast prolific Cockney middle-class
that makes its principal meal about midday." Suddenly, and
without any direct intervention of their own, a dramatic element
has invaded their vulgar and prosaic lives. They are assisting,
gratis, at a real tragedy, and are occupying, as it were, places in
the front row. Imagination is stimulated ; sympathy is evoked;
for a whole week, at least, there is an excuse for the continual
wagging of tongues.
During this sad period, Lucy slept in a little room upon
the ground-floor, opposite the sitting-room, a room which had
been previously occupied by Sarah, who had migrated for the
week to the upper regions.
Monsieur de la Yieilleroche had begged her to make use of
his own sitting-room, at any rate, during the hours of his com-
pulsory absence from home, deeming that, if she remained in
solitude below stairs, her spirit might become too painfully
oppressed by the close proximity of death.
Lucy, however, but rarely availed herself of her old friend's
kindness, preferring to remain downstairs in a familiar place,
surrounded by familiar objects—fearing nothing from the pale,
tall child who was lying asleep behind the closed folding-doors
in the inner chamber, and bearing, for what was loft of her, too
much maternal love to brook the thought of leaving her there
deserted and alone.
Ah, if she could only remain for ever looking exactly as she
looked now! So beautiful, so tranquil, so like the lovely white
• flower after which she had been named! But to her, as to
every other fallen blossom, there soon would come a change—a
change, the very thought of which must fill the susceptible
mind with repugnance and regret, and cause those whose imagi-
nations are capable of penetrating beneath the daisied green
sward, to wonder how anybody who is not a ghoul can have the
courage to wander about complacently in a churchyard.
Lily, as she lay there in her last sleep, looked strangely like
her father.
378
THRU' LUVE AND WAR
A certain stern dignity of expression, which is the invariable
accompaniment of death, when the dead person is what under-
takers are wont to designate " a handsome corpse," and the fact
that the child's long golden hair had been cut short by the doctor's
orders, served to heighten and accentuate the resemblance
already existing—a resemblance which, whilst it had been to
Lucy a source of constantly recurring torture, had served to
endear its possessor to her as nothing else could ever have done;
and so she could not look upon Lily now without tears of genuine
tenderness and sorrow.
The old Professor, too, who had loved her almost as though
she had been his own child, was deeply affected at her death.
" If she could only have lived," he exclaimed, " until she had
known some of the intenser joys of existence ! With these,
perhaps, would have come also the intenser sorrows ! But still
it is so sad to die before one has ever lived at all! " And he
had repeated sadly and sorrowfully Alfred de Musset's lines upon
the death of a young lady—
"Elle est morte et n'a point vfeu,
Elle faisait semblant de vivre
De ses mains est tombd le livre,
Dans lequel elle n'a rien lu."'
But perhaps, Lucy thought, although the Book of Life had
fallen, thus unread, from her hands, she would taste now of joys
which need possess no counterbalancing burden of pain. How
many mysteries might now be made plain to her! How many
of those childish questions answered to which Lucy, in her
ignorance, was unable to give any reply! She would know
now, no doubt, whether living creatures had been permitted,
unconsciously, to have any voice as to their own fashion or
semblance; why the world had not been made all blue, like a
willow-pattern nursery plate; and whether the birds and
butterflies of heaven, supposing that there were any there at
all, were indigenous to those high realms, or merely such birds
and butterflies as had flitted and carolled decorously through
the fields and forests of earth, and so had met at last with a
deserved reward.
Upon the first symptoms of danger in Lily's illness, Monsieur
de la Vieilleroche had telegraphed to both her father and mother.
From neither of them, however, had he as yet received any answer.
This did not surprise him.
Anthony Hepburn—supposing always that he had been suffi-
ciently recovered to travel—had probably started upon his
homeward way as soon as he had received his old friend's former
letter.
He, and Sarah's soldier-sweetheart, had embarked, very
possibly, on board the same returning troopship, which with
every fleeting moment must be gliding nearer and nearer
home.
As for the mother of the (jea4 child—"that magnificent^
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
379
that insupportable woman"—it was quite impossible to say
where she might or might not be at this particular time.
Whether she had ever received the telegram was altogether
doubtful; and whether, having received it, she would, con-
sidering her altered circumstances, elect to come and look once
more upon her child, was even more uncertain still. The
Professor had informed Lucy that there was a remote possi-
bility of her arrival at " Yine Cottage," and was quite aston-
ished at the philosophic calm with which she had received his
words.
" It is a pity no one should see Lily," was all she answered,
" when she looks so beautiful, and must soon be hidden out of
sight for ever!"
Of the probability of Colonel Hepburn's immediate return,
the Professor had thought it would be wiser to say nothing,
seeing that any such hope would be liable to be so bitterly
disappointed, supposing that the wounded man—after leaving
the hands of the surgeon—were to suffer from a relapse or
succumb from exhaustion. The Professor was thoroughly
prepared, however, for the event himself, and he had written
to Anthony at the club he usually frequented, and at which
he would probably be set down upon his arrival in London;
breaking to him the sad news of Lily's death, and giving him
all the particulars respecting the arrangements which had been
made for her funeral.
But the day before the sorrowful hiding out of sight for ever
had dawned now, and no word had reached the Professor of
Anthony Hepburn's return.
The funeral ceremony could be delayed for awhile, but the
coffin-lid was to be closed to-morrow upon what could look "so
beautiful, for only a little while longer now !"
All day long Lucy had felt nervous, disturbed, impatient—■
expectant of she knew not what.
Early in the morning she started off for a solitary walk,
having for its object the gathering of spring leaves and flowers
for Lily's final adornment.
She had to go some distance at this early season of the year
before she could find any, and then they were only such as
would have seemed to most people very commonplace and
ordinary for her intended purpose. <
A few white flowers looking like small ox-daisies, and yet
not altogether ox-daisies either, which grew close up under the
gorse-bushes in the more sequestered parts of the Common;
some snowy clusters of blossom which she found decking the
leafless branches of the spiked blackthorn; and then long
trailing sprays and natural garlands of dark glistening ivy,
which she discovered clinging to the trees and hedgerows in
" Nightingale Lane." She had a sort of superstitious wish that
Anthony Hepburn's child should lie only among flowers of her
own gathering, and so had refrained from buying any of the
3So
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
conventional funeral-wreaths and crosses which were to be
obtained in the town.
The crimson ribes in Mrs. Porter's little garden was scarcely
out as yet; but there was quite a wealth, considering its narrow
area, of snowdrops, primroses, and crocuses, and with these,
added to the flowers she had already gathered, Lucy knew
that she could make her garlands look quite bright and
pretty.
Upon her return home she placed her basket upon the centre-
table in the sitting-room, and sat weaving its contents into
wreaths and crosses until quite late in the afternoon.
To achieve, with perfect satisfaction to oneself, any kind of
work requires time and patience. Lucy, therefore, who had
become really interested in her occupation, went on with it
steadily until sunset, deeming it altogether a labour of love,
and never pausing to ask herself whether it was not rather a
mere pastime of pious supererogation, and whether it might not
seem—from the point of view of the flowers at least—to be just
a little barbarous as well, since not every one of these newly
unfolded blossoms might have desired to be banished so soon
to the regions of eternal night.
At about half-past five o'clock, as she was seated close to the
window in order to catch the last rays of departing daylight,
she was aware of the opening "click" of the garden-gate. It
could only be Monsieur de la Vieilleroche, she thought, but yet
her foolish heart began to beat and falter.
The "Marquis," seeming likewise to be anxious and perturbed
in spirit, had quitted home at an unusually early hour, osten-
sibly with the object of going through his round of daily lessons,
and so divert the melancholy current of his thoughts, but in
reality to ascertain in London whether any more definite infor-
mation had been received relative to the arrival of the first
convoy of wounded men from South Africa, and whether it was
probable that any of the officers might have started for home,
independently, without awaiting the departure of the appointed
troopship.
But it was not the old Marquis who was returning now. As
Lucy gazed anxiously thi-ough the window a tall handsome
young man, very much sunburnt, and wearing a blue Lancer
uniform, made his appearance inside the paling. He looked
rather sheepish and self-conscious, and flicked off some of the
best blossoms of the ribes with his cane as he strode along the
narrow pathway leading up to the front door.
Happy, happy Sarah! Her soldier-lover had returned safe
and sound from the seat of war !
Lucy's first impulse upon beholding this martial figure was to
fly immediately to the door to welcome him, to question him, to
overwhelm him with thanks and blessings for having so gallantly
rescued from the jaws of death the man she loved; to inquire
whether he, too, had returned home, or would shortly return,
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
together with many other inquiries fraught with such burning
interest for her.
But as she rose from her chair with this intention she heard
Sarah's footstep in the passage going towards the front door.
No; she would not interfere with the meeting of these happy
lovers ! Afterwards, when she had quite finished weaving her
funeral garlands, when Lily's sleeping form had been decked out
with the result of her pious toil, she would ring the bell for her
faithful handmaiden and ask for a private interview with the
" young fellow in a cavalry regiment" who had " seen fighting I"
The twilight had set in now, and she had to complete her work
by the aid of a candle.
The wreaths, when finished, looked much better, she thought,
than those that were sold in the shops. She had made a large
cross and two beautiful garlands. There were a few stray flowers
left over even then; these she intended to strew wherever there
was a flowerless corner in Lily's narrow bed.
With a heart full of reverence and regret, she went into the
inner chamber and looked down upon her little friend for the
last time.
The faint light from the one candle in the sitting-room,
streaming through the half-opened folding-doors, fell softly
upon the pale, cold face, with its closed, long-lashed eyelids,
and dimly revealed the few objects which had been suffered to
remain in the room.
Upon the chest of drawers to the left of the bedstead the
large broken-nosed doll was sitting bolt upright, its blue eyes
having been pulled open for the last time by those poor dead
little fingers, wearing the inane and irresponsible smile with
which foolish, addle-pated folk are wont to stare on in the midst
of human misery; whilst upon the dressing-table under the
window a bright bunch of golden curls, bound together with a
black ribbon, seemed as though it was caressed by the invading
beam.
Lucy went up to the dressing-table and toyed absently with
the curls.
The hair of Anthony Hepburn's child! Having about it so
much that was of him, so much of his still unburied past!
Clinging and coiling about her fingers, just as the love of him
must ever cling and coil about her heart—-just as his past must
ever cling and coil about her memory! But ah, surely without
bitterness now, after so much had been suffered and endured
by both of them, so much subdued! The coffin-lid, which would
be closed to-morrow, would hide away for ever all that might
yet remain of bitterness, jealousy, humiliation, with the lovely
child-face that would never again be looked upon by mortal
eyes!
Meditating thus, Lucy turned to the bed and laid the cross
and the two garlands upon Lily's unconscious form.
Ah, no one else would ever see her now! That cluster of
382
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
clinging golden curls was all that Lucy would have to show to
Anthony if ever he returned. It was a pity he could never
behold her lying thus asleep !
Worn out with her conflicting emotions, Lucy fell upon her
knees beside the little white bed, and buried her face in her
hands.
Silent tears soon came to her relief, and with them some sort
of silent and unconventional prayer—a half-unconscious lifting
up of the heart to the Eternal Throne in earnest and passionate
supplication for strength to meet and endure without repining
whatever fate might be reserved for her in the shrouded future;
and then a prayer for Anthony, for his safe and speedy return,
for his love (if Heaven so willed it), and for their happiness
together. If not for his happiness, without a thought about
herself, away from her out of the sight of her longing and loving
eyes, but for his happiness and well-being, at any rate, first and
foremost of all things!
How long she remained silently pleading thus she never knew.
The sound of a footstep in the adjoining room aroused her at
last, and without rising from her knees, she looked up suddenly.
Something came between her and the ray of candlelight. A
man's figure. Whose could it be P Could her scarcely uttered
supplication have ascended so speedily to the Throne of Heaven ?
Was it Anthony Hepburn or his wraith that stood contemplat-
ing her from just within the half-opened folding-doors ?
She remained upon her knees for some seconds, staring with
'haggard eyes at this unexpected apparition, her outstretched
arms and clasped hands reaching half across the flower-strewn
coffin of the dead child. Then with a stifled cry she sprang
towards the doorway.
It was Anthony Hepburn indeed, although in the subdued and
shrouded light she could scarcely discern his features.
He stretched out one hand towards her appealingly, implor-
ingly, almost with the manner of one who has returned at last
to something precious, which he is half afraid to claim.
What she could see of his face looked sad, wistful, thinner
than when she had seen him last.
With her hand still clasped in his, she drew him gently to the
bedside, and they stood gazing together upon Lily's pale face, lit
up by the caressing beam of invading light.
There are moments in life when a combination of pathetic
circumstances seems to render speech impossible, moments, too,
which, with the emotions they awakened, we can never entirely
forget, but to which we seldom, if ever, allude, even to our nearest
and dearest. This moment was such a one.
Lucy was the first to break the silence.
" You must kiss her and say good-by to her," she whispered,
impelled, as it seemed, by some sudden and irresistible impulse.
" And you must, too," he answered in a broken voice, and they
both leant down towards the coffin together. " Come to the
THRO' LOVE AND WAR
3S3
light," he said by-and-by; " let me see how you look," and he
led her through the folding-doors into the room beyond.
Their eyes met, and still standing hand in hand, they gazed
at one another tearfully and wistfully.
" And you ? " she asked falteringly, after she had dwelt
tenderly upon every line of his face; " are you quite well—
quite strong again ? "
" I'm almost as right as I can ever be," he answered sadly.
Lucy was struck with something constrained and unusual
about his bearing.
" Ah, your wound! It still hurts you P You were wounded
in the arm p "
_ " Yes; in the right one. I shall be rather awkward for some
time longer."
She glanced from his face to his right arm, and uttered a cry
of consternation.
An empty sleeve fastened across Anthony Hepburn's right
breast told its own tale.
Lucy fell upon his bosom, sobbing and weeping bitterly.
" I'm only a poor cripple now," he said, as he bent down and
kissed her tenderly, " who can scarcely even write his own name
yet so that anybody can make it out. But I am a free man
once more. Perhaps, however, I'm not now worth your taking P
Tell me, my Lucy, if you think that you can care about me
still?"
A strong man stricken down and disabled, tamed and humbled
for the time being. Ah, to think that there should have been
a time when the yearning after some such terrible misfortune,
which should make him utterly dependent upon her devotion,
could have existed for one moment in her sinful heart.
Some ten minutes later the old Professor, who had been in-
formed of Anthony's unexpected arrival, looked in at the door
of Lucy's little sitting-room, and then beholding the lovers, re-
tired as noiselessly as he had come, closing the door discreetly
behind him.
" Ah! it does not finish so sadly after all," he murmured, when
he had climbed up to his solitary attic-chamber. " Anthony's
Past is dead and done away with, but before him is unfolding
the promise of a happy Future. He will have a new life now,
with new joys, new hopes, and new ambitions. Perhaps, too,
one of these fine days, he will have other children, and then
Achille de la Yieilleroche will instruct them in the French lan-
guage."
Still, with poor little Lily lying there dead, nobody could feel
altogether light-hearted.
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